#cheer up the oj tag a bit

[nutakuro]

Welcome to Hotel Oj !

[excellentexecution]

Anonymous asked: ⭐️ + Owen

Send me ⭐️ + a name, and I’ll write a drabble between that person and my muse!

Koko had been the one to alert the house. Panting, the urgency of his voice clear as day, his visit to the Hart family home turned into something far more troublesome than it was before. Hardly was anyone expecting the dire tone to come out of him at all. That afternoon a seemingly pleasant one, High Energy spending the day together as not just tag team partners but friends, the Birdman and the Rocket, the Hitman playing a tough battle of Go Fish against the British Bulldog. Davey nearly lost, too, the coffee table in the living room had become an amazing spectacle for those who wished to watch. Neidhart taking place as one such person, curious, loudly cheering for both sides of the cards to win, Bret and his eyes had tried with effort to only look out the windows a handful of times. From the sofa, scanning the scene of Owen and Koko playing like children in the backyard, not ready to put down his guard entirely in front of Davey Boy. He had a match to win. Was just about to, had picked the perfect card and was ready to land that final blow to the brother-in-law, that was when Koko came bursting through the back doors. Heaving like he ran a mile - Bret, you gotta come out here, man. Owen’s hurt - wheezing as he eyed the Hitman standing, rushing out the doors himself, forgetting his Go Fish fray. Dave crowned the apparent champion. 

Laid out on the grass like he had been thoroughly run over, Owen was a pitiful sight as he groaned, cried out in pain. His face streaked in ache, arms shaking supports as they attempted to lift his body upward, off of his back. Blue eyes just a touch red in color, Bret took no time in kneeling beside him, somewhat foxed but certainly concerned. Searching for possible wounds - what happened, Oje? Scouring every inch of exposed skin, the length of Owen’s arms from underneath his tank top, the span of his legs that shorts couldn’t protect, even his combed golden hair and head, it was confessed that the ankle had taken a turn for the worse. A casualty to physically explaining a well-conceived prank to Koko, a story retold, a trip over his own two feet by Owen. Funny enough reason to have such an injury, true to character for the Rocket, still did Bret tend to him like he always did. Scooted closer to the damaged part, inspected the ankle with great care, held little brother’s foot in his own hands, gently cradled it. Pressed fingertips to the bones, observed the reactions, smiled a bit at how comfortable the Rocket was around him still, age just a number. Nothing had changed between them since they were kids. 

Big brother always there to look after Owen, make him feel better, protect him from any and all harm, a twisted ankle would put the blonde out of action for the next few hours. Ground the Rocket for just awhile, a package of ice and good relaxation the treatment as prescribed by the Hitman, no more monkeying around with Koko. It was a hard pill to swallow. Really seemed to have depressed Owen, a frown overtaken his usually happy features, his grin, but was soon smoothed over by an affection so sweet, so kindly asked for by him. A small token that would steal away all the torment. A simple favor between friends and brothers, a kiss to the boo-boo. Aw, please, Hitman. It really, really hurts - pleaded for with teary expression. True emotion that looked both too real, too raw, too goofy and overly dramatic, Bret humored Owen. Gave into the silliness and bent himself downward, raised the ankle to his lips, pressed a couple of kisses to the skin for good measure. Massaged the foot and held onto it for a few seconds after, it was like they were children again. Elder coming to the aid of the littlest. Ready to scoop him up and take away all the dangers of the world, Owen embraced Bret with such conviction that it almost made the Hitman start to cry too. The Rocket sat up completely, arms looped around his older brother’s neck, nose buried into the flesh and breathed deeply. It was nice. It was real, despite how silly everything else around them was, brothers bonded. 

An ‘I love you too, Owen’ spoken over the calls of birds, sounds of nature that played throughout the backyard, Owen would have one more performance that afternoon. A final ride into hazardous waters. One last hurrah for himself and others to enjoy, least all but Bret. His fingers running through dark curls, the shorter strands that nestled at the base of the Hitman’s neck, played with, he whispered into big brother’s ear. Dreamily, like a song from a fairytale: Davey owes me for this one. Bret couldn’t keep from laughing. The losses be damned.

___

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

Chiaroscuro: Aura, Chapter 19

Warnings: Foodplay (drinkplay?), unprotected sex, oral sex, biting, some blood

Tags: @hannibalssweaters @reclusive-cat-lady @limerami @saekkos @yournewsatanistpisshunter @angelfallenspirit @astrallysublime @kshandra @rocket-dancer @bakedbybeelzebub @blood-ghuleh @jitterbugs927  @inferuscorvus @ptite-shit @scriptor @localmusicrocks

If you’d like to be tagged let us know!

Enjoy!

The tornado tears through the landscape and heads your way. You open your mouth to scream... and awaken with a gasp. “What the actual fuck is up with these dreams?” you whisper as you look around you to make sure you didn’t wake anyone up. Nothing but snores and deep breathing...and someone talking? You roll over and see John by the bar, talking on his cellphone. “...Yeah. C, O, P, I, A. I have no idea if he has any other names. The king wants to know everything we can find. Check in at noon, regardless...”

You frown, brows furrowing, before slowly and gently extricating yourself from the pile of sleeping men. You approach as John hangs up, and you murmur, “What’s that about?”

To his credit, he smoothly pockets his phone and turns to you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes ... the only way you know you startled him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says as he draws you close to him. “Just passing along my king’s orders.”

“About Copia? Why?”

That smile continues even as he presses a loving kiss to the end of your nose. “Trying to put Johannes at ease, that’s all.” He swirls you over to sit next to him at the bar and grins to you, the smile finally reaching his eyes. “Well now, I have you all to myself for once!”

You think for a second, smiling as you realize... “You’re right. How nice for me.” You reach up and tug on a lock of his hair, twirling it around your finger.

He grins, bright blue eyes cheerful and intense as they lock on yours. “Flatterer. I’m the one who’s honored.” He catches your hand and kisses your wrist, eyes still boring into yours, and your pulse quickens just a bit.

“Honored? By me?” You take a deep breath, trying to keep your cool in the face of his insanely beautiful eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

He laughs, hands rubbing over your bare knees softly. “We can be honored for each other, how about that?” He glances over the bar, allowing you to catch your breath, and he grins. “How about a morning drink?” And he looks so mischievous that you can’t help but smother a laugh.

“I’m supposed to be back at training hard this morning, I don’t think a morning drink would be a good idea unless it’s oj,” you say with a smile.

“Could always do a mimosa,” he replies. The twinkle in his eyes is too much for you, and you giggle.

“You are a horrible influence. Fine, but make it a really small one!”

“A really small mimosa, coming right up!” He hops off the chair and gracefully begins pouring drinks, making you smile at the fluid motions.

He sets a glass down in front of you with a flourish, and you look from it to him, eyebrow raised. “That’s your idea of ‘really small’?” You take a sip. “I’d hate to see your version of ‘really big’.”

His grin is playful. “But the important question is ....do you like it?”

The flavor bursts on your tongue, and you can’t help the soft hum of pleasure as you close your eyes, swallowing the sip. You hear a rather smug-sounding noise come from the drummer, and you open your eyes again to see him watching you with an even larger grin. “...it’s pretty good, yeah.”

He clutches his chest, over his heart. “Pretty good? Just pretty good? Woman, you wound me.” You giggle. “My drinks are legendary, and you call this one ‘pretty good’? May as well just shoot me.”

You laugh, coming around the counter with your drink. “You’re a big goofball. It’s the best mimosa I’ve ever had. Happy?”

He grins. “Ecstatic, my love.” He bids you to take another sip, and before you can swallow he kisses you, tongue dipping in and swirling around yours and the liquid. “Mmm...that’s even better.”

“How...how do you do that without making a mess?” you say, honestly surprised.

“It’s a true skill,” he says with a chuckle as he gestures to you to take another drink, and when you do, he kisses you again. “Mmmmm...definitely one of the best mimosas I’ve ever made ... your flavor adds the kick it’s always needed.”

You blush faintly, but chuckle. “Between Jonas wanting a perfume of me, and you wanting my flavor, I should see about just getting myself bottled.”

“Good idea,” John says with a laugh. “Bottled goddess. Sounds amazing.” He pulls you closer. “Although I have to admit, given a choice, I much prefer my goddess fresh.” He kisses you, running his tongue along your lip, then takes your hand and pulls you over to the couch. “No, bring your drink,” he says when you move to sit the glass on the bar. “I have a confession to make,” he adds as he takes the glass from your hand and twirls you down onto the cushions.

“What’s that?”

“This isn’t all for you...it’s for me too.” His eyes twinkle. “Want to be my glass?”

You blink at him, at the twinkle in his beautiful eyes, and swallow. But you smile. “I’d like that, yes.”

John smiles. “Good. We’ve already used your mouth. Go ahead and press those gorgeous tits together and up for me.” You shiver as you do as he asks, and his eyes darken as he takes the drink and slowly pours some into your cleavage. You can feel a small amount trickle down your belly, but that’s forgotten as he leans down and starts gently drinking, lips brushing your skin, tongue swirling.

When he finishes sipping at your cleavage, he swoops down to lick up the dribbles that paint your stomach, holding your gaze, then slowly he licks back up, his tongue tracing the swell of one breast before circling your areola, then gently suckling your nipple, drawing a tiny mewl from you.

He moans against your skin, tonguing gently at your nipple as he sucks, and your fingers curl around his hair as your back arches. He’s so gentle with you, so soft, it makes you want to melt. He pulls away with a soft pop and sighs your name, then shifts you closer and pours just a little more of the mimosa in the hollow of your neck. You stay very still as the liquid pools, some running down your back, and he slurps it off you, lips gently sucking, and you cover a louder mewl of pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “better than I imagined it.” He pours another small amount at your neck and he drinks again, licking everywhere to catch all the drips and trickles. “Definitely the best mimosa I’ve ever made.”

You’re gasping his name, loving the feeling of his tongue everywhere. He bids you lean back and pours some onto your belly, cool liquid followed by his warm mouth. His tongue dips into your navel, making you gasp his name again, and he growls softly as he drinks from you.

He sets the glass down long enough to help you lie down, and then pulls you toward him as he kneels on the floor between your legs. At your whimper, he whispers, “Just...let me try...” Carefully, he pours mimosa at the top of your mound, right above your clit, and as it slides down you, he begins to lap it up.

Your core clenches, and you stifle a cry into your hands, not wanting to wake the others. This feels...so damn good...He swirls the liquid, warmed from his mouth, around your clit, and you shudder hard. A cry of surprise gets muffled into your hand as he suddenly lifts your hips, your ass resting against his chest so that your core is up near his mouth and your weight is on your shoulders. He growls again as he pours more of the drink over you, and in this position gravity can’t pull it down off you. His tongue laps up the sweet drink, made even sweeter with your taste, and he muffles curses into your cunt.

He sets the glass down and the drink is forgotten as he begins to devour you, his tongue and lips sliding around and along your folds, your entrance, your clit. His tongue swirls over the swollen nub as first one, then two fingers slide into you, and your hips begin to move, your cunt sliding back and forth on his mouth.

Sweat pops out on your skin as your hips keep rolling—you can’t stop them now if you tried. He feels so damn good, and when your eyes open to glance up at him, your eyes meet, and your orgasm is like a flipped switch—the sight of those intense eyes staring into yours as he sucks your clit is too much, and you scream into your hands as you clench hard around his fingers.

Your orgasm is still surging through you as John quickly, almost roughly, pulls his fingers out of you, grabs you up and practically tosses you over his shoulder, heading for the door of Papa’s room. He keeps you over his shoulder as he strides down the hall and kicks open the door of what you assume is the room he was given when they’d arrived last week. He drops you onto the bed and you look at him, bewildered. “What...? Why...?”

He’s pushing his pants down as he replies, “I need to fuck you and I don’t know if I can be quiet about it ... and I know for damn sure I don’t want you to be quiet ... so....”

You flush, but you nod to him. “Then I won’t be quiet.” Your eyes roam his body, loving the lean lines of him, and you can’t help but shiver at the sight of his cock, the tip flushed and weeping. He moves to the edge of the bed, smirking as he grabs your ankles and pulls you so that your ass is flush with his thighs. You whimper as his cock slides over your folds, hitting your now overly sensitive clit. “Oh, John...”

“Fuck, you feel so good, my goddess,” he growls back, and then slowly sinks into you.

You wail as he slides in, and when he bottoms out and holds himself as still as he can, his hands roaming your body, your cries fade into desperate whimpers. “Please, John, please...move, move, move...”

“You always beg so sweetly,” he groans, hips swirling against yours. You whimper as his cock drags all over your walls, and he feels your muscles quiver as he lifts your legs over his shoulders. You gasp as he leans forward, planting his hands on either side of your stomach—you know what this position will do. He smirks darkly at the look on your face, and then he’s moving, his cock plunging in and out, slamming hard into your g-spot. You scream, stars bursting behind your eyes as he hits that one spot over and over and so fast and hard and...he growls your name as he feels you begin to squirt on his thighs.

Your hands go to his biceps, anchoring yourself to him, gripping so tight you wonder if you might bruise him, but that’s your last coherent thought as he pounds into you and your orgasm takes over...your cries ring through the room, and so do his shouts.

Your vision goes white as you come and come. You’re vaguely aware of him emptying himself into you, his hips stuttering against yours as he writhes against you, before his legs give out and he rests his weight on top of you. You gasp for breath as you come down, hands quivering as you slide them into his hair, feeling his own gasping breaths puff on your chest.

You lie there together, not speaking, just you stroking his hair, and him placing sweet kisses on your skin. Minutes seem to stretch into days as the two of you soak up the connection between you, and all you can do is sigh, replete.

Finally, because it’s been eating at you almost the whole time, you murmur, “Was it really to keep Johannes at ease? You’re not planning on hurting Copia, are you?”

John freezes, then sighs, nuzzling your belly softly. “No, we’re not planning on hurting Copia...as long as he doesn’t try to hurt you.”

“Do you really think he’s a threat?”

He sighs again, then as if resigned, he pulls out of you and repositions the both of you on the bed so you’re lying on your sides, face to face. “Just looking at him? No. He seems like a squirrelly little dude who’d jump out of his skin if his shadow said boo.” He pushes a stray lock of your hair out of your face, then cups your cheek. “But...” He sighs again. “We all shift, and we all have our wolf side. But Johannes ... of the five of us, he’s the most wolf. He has spent weeks, months at a time as his wolf, and he’s the most keyed in to his wolf’s instincts. If he says something isn’t right, then something probably isn’t right.”

You frown. “That’s...look, I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense. But I...I have my own gut feeling, John. And yes, I agree that something is off. But my gut tells me that it’s not as terrible as you all are making it out to be.” You cup his cheek in return. “So far, everyone here besides Imperator has been wonderful. Even Papa Nihil is charming—I can see where my Papa gets it from. So please...don’t rush into judgment, okay?”

John shakes his head. “I do as my king commands, and he’s not looking for any trouble, beautiful. He nearly lost his shit with Johannes yesterday and that has never happened before without the angel’s influence. He’s got a kingdom to take care of and this alliance is still just starting ... he has a lot to lose by jumping to conclusions. We’re just being...cautious. When it comes to you,” he kisses your nose, “we all just want to be cautious.”

You relax, and you smile at your nose kiss. “That’s good. I can understand that. Thank you, John.” You lean in to kiss him, but before you can you suddenly hear, “WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?!” from down the hall. You jump with a gasp. “Oh shit, no one knows we left!”

“Fuck.” John gets up while holding you back at the same time. “You can’t rush out of here, you don’t have any clothes on, woman.” He grabs his pants and pulls them on quickly. “Just wait for a minute, I’ll tell them you’re all right.” Cursing under his breath, he heads for the door.

You call out as he moves for the door. “You carried me here naked, what’s the difference?!” But the door shuts and he’s gone. You scowl and sit down on the bed, crossing your arms, dangerously close to pouting.

He’s back in mere moments, carrying a robe that he gives to you, and he’s chuckling. “What’s so funny?” you ask grumpily. “And why the hell do I have to have a robe now? It didn’t seem necessary earlier when you caveman-ed me here.”

John chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “I’m sorry about that. I was just so eager to have you...besides, I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

You stick your tongue out as you pull the robe on. “Did Johannes try to punch you?”

“The key word there is ‘try’,” John smirks as he helps you to your feet and guides you to the door.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you grumble as you pad down the hallway toward Papa’s rooms. You’re already scolding your wolf in your head, and when you open the door you open your mouth to start...

And Johannes grabs you in a punishingly tight embrace. “Jesus fuck, you scared the fuck out of me. All I could think of was the day you ran and I just about shit.”

The words die in your mouth, and you hug him back. “Oh, Johannes, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t think during that...orgasm John gave me. I should have realized...I’m so sorry.” You pet his hair softly, trying to calm him.

“You don’t need to apologize, this idiot does.” Tim whacks Johannes on the back of his head as he walks by. You manage to look around and see everyone is awake and in varying degrees of annoyance. “You’re not living in a prison, you can come and go whenever you want.”

“But...you’re all worried about...well, Copia and the angels and shit. I should at least let you know—”

“And you were with John the whole time,” Henrik interrupts. “You were perfectly safe.”

Johannes squeezes you tightly. You feel his harsh breathing, his rapid heartbeat, and you squeeze him back just as tightly. “That may be so, but it’s simple courtesy to let someone know where I am. I am sorry, my wolf.”

Johannes looks down at you, and you feel him relax a tiny bit. He leans down and kisses you, then buries his face in your neck. “You smell like John. Shower with me?”

You chuckle and press a kiss to the shell of his ear. “I’d love to.”

He swoops you into the bathroom, but not before you see Papa and Jonas talking quietly to each other, heads bent, expressions serious. You watch Johannes closely as he turns the shower on, strips you out of your robe, and helps you into the stall, neither of you saying anything. When he starts washing your hair, you finally say, “I’m worried about you, my wolf.”

For a moment he says nothing, but his hands still on your scalp. You turn your head enough to look, and you’re surprised to see tears in his eyes. “...I can’t let anything happen to you. I was...I was supposed to protect you. And I fucking failed miserably.”

“My love,” you say, turning to fully face him. “What are you talking about? You didn’t fail. Look, here I am, safe, with you.”

He snorts. “You got kidnapped. Drugged. Choked. Had your ankle shattered. You’re safe now, but...but you haven’t been this whole time. You were gone...for days...and I couldn’t stop it from happening!” He pulls you in tightly to him. “But this time...I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You close your eyes and lean into him. This ridiculously precious man... You pull away a step and grab his face, making him look at you. “First, if I wouldn’t have run off, I wouldn’t have been kidnapped or drugged or choked. So, I think it’s safe to say that was way more my fault than yours. And second,” you press your thumb to his lips to keep him from interrupting you, “you are going to drive yourself insane trying to keep anything from ever happening to me. It’s not possible for you to protect me from every single thing—you’re a shifter, not a god.”

He pulls away from your thumb and opens his mouth, but you just put your hand over it. “And third, I’m progressing really damn fast in my training. Pretty soon I’ll be able to protect myself, and then you won’t have to worry as hard.”

He scowls and pulls your hand down. “Do you honestly think that you being able to kick ass will make me not worry about you? I will always worry about you! I worry about Papa too! You think I don’t have nightmares about him getting caught off guard by one of those angel pricks?” He shudders, and suddenly looks extremely tired.

“Johannes...how much have you been sleeping lately?” You cup his face, worried.

He shrugs. “What does that matter?”

“It matters if you’re exhausting yourself.” You stare at each other for long moments. “I ought to tell the others, have them make you rest today.”

Johannes’s snort is incredibly loud. “I love you, sweetness, but I know you’re not going to suggest my staying away from your training this morning when that rat bastard is going to be there. You know good god damn well I won’t be resting when he’s in the same room with you.”

You sigh. “How about a deal then? When my training is over, you and I will come back here and take a nap together. Just you and me. How does that sound?”

He stares at you, then relents. “If it’s what you want, sweetness.”

You frown. “Well...it is...I want you to take care of yourself too.”

Johannes returns your frown with one of his own. “Taking care of you is my top priority.”

“But how will you take care of me if you’re a raging wreck?” You smile faintly as you watch him working out the logic. “Do you see, my love?” You kiss his lips. “You can’t do the one without doing the other.”

He’s silent for a moment, and then he sighs and nuzzles the side of your face. “You make too much sense, you know that? I’ll...I’ll try to ease up. A little.”

You chuckle softly, closing your eyes in enjoyment of his nuzzles. “It’s a start.” And you move his hands back to your still-sudsy hair.

He spins you around and returns to washing your hair, groaning as you gradually begin to grind your backside against his front. “You keep that up, sweetness, and I’m going to end up taking you against the wall.”

You grin, sliding your ass against his thigh teasingly. “Maybe that’s what my goal is.” You hear him growl before he turns you again and rinses your hair out. As he does, his still-soapy hands run down to cup your breasts, enjoying the slick slide over your wet skin. You moan as your nipples harden in his palms.

He pinches and pulls the hardening peaks, dragging another moan out of you. “How is it that I’m always ready for you?” you say, a rasp to your tone as you arch your back and push your breasts into his hands. “I came so hard with John, I shouldn’t feel this way, but gods I want you to fuck me right now.”

Johannes laughs, low and dark. “It’s part of my charm.” He picks you up suddenly, his arms under your thighs, spreading you wide around his hips. His cock nestles against your core, a perfect fit, and as he kisses you his tip rubs against your clit.

You moan into his mouth, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, plunging your hands into his wet hair. You rock your hips against him, seeking more friction, more anything--your need claws at you, making you feel almost frantic.

He kisses you desperately, holding you as if he could pull you into his soul. His tip rubs against your clit over and over, but it’s not enough friction to get you to come, not nearly enough. Your throat works, begging into his mouth to come, to take you, please, and he slides into you immediately, and you both groan, the sounds becoming one even as you do too.

He pushes you against the wall as he thrusts up into you, and you rake his back with your nails...leaving scratch marks as you go. “Mark me,” he mutters against your lips, “mark me up, I’m yours just like you’re mine.” He pushes into you again and again, taking you hard.

You cry out at the feel of him stretching you, and you bite down hard onto his shoulder. He bellows your name as his hips slam even harder into you at the delicious pain, and you whimper, your teeth still sunk into him. He feels like heaven...

He rolls his hips into yours, pelvic bone grinding against your clit, and you tear your mouth away from his shoulder and let out a cry that sounds almost inhuman. He looks at you, startled, and you gasp out, “I’m fine, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

He grins to you, then his hips are snapping, one hand slipping between you both to rub at your clit. You scream his name as your orgasm hits like a freight train, clenching so hard around Johannes that he nearly can’t move. He snarls and bites down on your own shoulder this time, sinking to the floor even as his hips keep snapping, his own orgasm raging through him.

He buries himself to the hilt in you, and as he fills you with his cum, his teeth sink farther into your shoulder, breaking the skin. You’re so deep into your orgasm that you don’t even feel the sting of his bite. He holds you tight, soaking in the feeling of your body jerking tightly against his.

You come down slowly, clinging to Johannes for dear life. You feel him twitch inside you, making you shudder softly, and with the movement you finally feel his teeth in your shoulder. You gasp, a thin rivulet of blood sliding down your chest only to be washed away in the shower stream. “J-Johannes-!”

He pulls his mouth away from you and curses at the sight of the bite mark. But when he goes to lick it, he pauses and stares laser beams into you. “I want you to keep it.”

“Keep it? Keep what?” You look down at the spot he bit. “You mean...you mean,” his cock twitches inside you again and again. “You mean you don’t want to heal it?”

“No, I don’t. In fact...” He gently pulls out of you and rushes out of the shower and into the main room. You blink when, three seconds later, he’s back, dragging a flustered Papa with him.

“What the hell are you doing—why is she bleeding?!” Johannes ignores him and pulls the shower door open, all but shoving Papa inside.

You let out a little squeal of shock and Papa splutters and gasps. “Have you lost your damned mind, Johannes?”

“Nope.” Johannes’s grin is wild. “Ok, maybe a little ... but I’m thinking clear. Trust me.”

The wolf steps up to the pope, eyes gleaming, and Papa steps back, under the spray and against the wall. The water soaks through his clothes, and his bangs hang dripping in his face. “What are—” Johannes grips the front of Papa’s shirt and rips it open. You squeak again as Papa gasps in shock. Before either of you can say anything, Johannes sinks his teeth into Papa’s shoulder, in exactly the same spot you are currently bleeding from.

Papa’s shout is a mix of pain and anger. “What the fuck, Johannes?” he roars. Before he can say anything more, the wolf cups the back of Papa’s neck and yanks him forward, kissing him hard.

 “Take my mark,” Johannes says when he breaks the kiss. “Both of you, please, take my mark. It... it would mean...” he pauses. “So much. Everything.”

You blink, trying to think through the shock. “What...what do you mean mark?”

Johannes blinks back down to you, and then he looks sheepish. “Uh...maybe I should have explained...”

“You think?!” Papa snaps, trying to keep his shirt from getting bloody.

Johannes turns the shower off and gets towels for each of you, but Papa refuses to take one. “Just explain yourself, Johannes,” he says, the bite of anger still in his tone.

As he wraps a towel around his waist, Johannes says, “I take it someone explained to you about how shifters bite and our saliva heals?” You nod. “Well, if we don’t heal our bites, they’ll scar, leave a mark...and in Avatar Country, that’s our way of showing...we belong to the other person. Keeping the mark is like... it’s like...”

“Like being married?” you ask, your voice very quiet.

Papa’s eyes widen, and his mouth drops open in shock as Johannes continues, “Usually there’s a private ceremony, but...with everything going on lately, I couldn’t wait...”

Johannes finally looks, really looks, at the both of you and realizes he may have made a serious mistake. “I’m...I probably shouldn’t have... Look, if you don’t want it, I can still heal it and it’ll disappear, like... like it never happened.” Now he looks more than sheepish ... he looks embarrassed, worried...terrified. “Just...just...fuck, fuck I shouldn’t have...”

You quickly stand up and take his hand, tugging him toward you. “Johannes, it’s okay.” You smile and cup his cheeks, and tears form in your eyes. “I’m honored, my love, and I want nothing more than to be married to you.”

Papa is still looking shocked, but he slowly pulls himself together. He slips out of his now ruined shirt and lets it fall to the floor as he takes a deep breath. “I...I cannot say that I have ever entertained the notion of getting married before. And a little more warning would have been nice.” He looks into Johannes’s eyes, and his own two-toned stare softens. “But I cannot think of anyone else I’d rather be married to.” He steps forward and kisses the other man. “But I think...that it’s only fair that we mark you and each other in turn. This is all mutual, after all.”

“But...but, Papa, how would we do that? We’re not wolves, we don’t bite,” you say, confused. “At least, not like he does.”

Papa smiles faintly, and you watch as his incisors grow into fangs. “I have it covered on my end. As for you, my love...concentrate and sharpen your energy in your teeth. That should work.”

 “Are you serious?” you ask Papa.

“After everything you’ve seen and experienced since we brought you here, you still need to ask?” Papa says with a smirk.

“Well, from you guys, I’m used to just about anything. From myself...well, in my head, I’m still just a fangirl.”

Johannes and Papa both frown at you. “After everything you’ve done? After everything we’ve been through?” Papa cups your cheek. “My love, you are so much more than a fangirl.” He kisses you deeply, then moves his mouth down to your opposite shoulder. “Stay still, my goddess.”

Johannes wraps his arms around your waist and murmurs, “I love you both so much,” as Papa’s teeth sink into your shoulder. You hiss at the sting, and your hands go up to cup each man’s head.

“I love you, too,” you murmur, fingers sinking into Papa’s hair as he marks you. You take the pain into your heart, and you smile, knowing that now you are visibly theirs. A tear makes its way down your cheek, then another, and you cry in joy as Papa pulls away.

He kisses you again as Johannes presses his lips to your temple, and you shudder into their embrace. “I’ll wear your marks forever,” you whisper.

Tears fall down Johannes’s cheeks, and he beams to you both. Papa gently moves you to the side, stepping up to his wolf and brushing his wet hair off his shoulder. “Ready, my love?”

“Never readier,” Johannes says, as he grasps your hand and pulls it up to his mouth, kissing it. “Mark me.” Papa wraps his hand around the wolf’s neck and brings him down a little closer, and Johannes grunts as Papa’s teeth sink into his flesh in the same spot that he marked your shoulder.

The wolf shuts his eyes, fingers lacing with yours as a look of pure bliss slips onto his face. A small trail of blood slides down his chest. After a few moments, Papa pulls away, licking his lips free of Johannes’s crimson essence. “Even your blood tastes amazing, my love.” He leans down and licks up the trail of blood on the taller man’s chest, before straightening with a smirk.

“What can I say? I’ve always been delicious.” He kisses Papa while you shake your head and laugh.

“You’re so ridiculous,” you say as you kiss Johannes’s hand and watch the two men embrace.

“Also part of my charm,” he says against Papa’s lips, and then they both turn to you. “Your turn.”

You swallow, then nod and close your eyes. You feel your energy and grab on to a small portion of it, then focus it into your teeth. Your gums start to itch suddenly as you feel your energy slip down over your teeth, and when you gently probe with your tongue you feel...well, nothing, but you open your mouth. “Is there anything there?”

Papa smiles. “Points of light over your teeth. Let me...” He slips his fingertip in and taps the tip of the point. A tiny bead of blood wells up on his finger, and he chuckles. “That will more than suffice.”

You giggle nervously. “OK, if you say so.” You place your hands on Papa’s hips but hesitate. “What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s not enough? What if...”

Papa stops your babbling with a kiss. “You’re thinking too much,” he says quietly. “Just trust in us.”

You stare at him, then nod. You press a kiss to his shoulder, then bite down. Papa gasps as he feels your energy break his skin, and his fingers curl into your hair. The taste of Papa’s blood, coppery and strong, fills your mouth, and you breathe hard through your nose to keep from gagging. After a few moments you step back and spit the blood onto the shower floor, looking at the wound on Papa’s shoulder with mixed feelings.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asks as he caresses your cheek. “You’re not having second thoughts already, are you?” At his words, you feel Johannes tense up behind you.

“No, no, of course not.” You smile up at Johannes, your lips pinker than usual. “It’s...I know that you both want this, but...I still feel weird about hurting you like this.”

Papa smiles. “You are so sweet, my love. Trust me, you are not hurting us. Something like this? It felt good to me.”

Your smile turns shy. “Like when I get spanked?”

“Precisely,” Papa says on a growl, sending frissons of desire up your spine.

You don’t say anything, just turn toward Johannes, who still looks a little tense. “I didn’t change my mind, my wolf,” you whisper.

Johannes nods, though he doesn’t relax. “I...I’m sorry, I should have asked before...before I marked you both like that. But I...I really want this...”

“Oh, Johannes...” You step up to him, cupping his cheek. “I want it too. I already know that I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with you all. That you want a physical reminder...” You beam to him, then stand on your tiptoes and sink your teeth into his shoulder.

He lets out a hiss and pulls you close, lifting you off your feet a little. You pull away and spit his blood out, wipe your mouth a little. “I’d make a horrible vampire,” you say. Then you look into Johannes’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking down to his marked shoulders, then looking at yours and Papa’s. His eyes well with tears again, and he pulls you both close. “I...I’m more than all right. You both...with my marks...you’re even more beautiful...” He kisses you, then Papa, and the joy you feel coming from him is indescribable. Suddenly, he looks around, as if only just realizing the three of you are standing in the shower. “Fuck, what was I thinking? I must be out of my goddamn mind keeping you in the shower like this, fucking christ...”

Your hand on his cheek halts his babbling. “It’s all right, my wolf.”

“Yes, well, I am going to go dry off.” Papa smiles and touches Johannes’s cheek, then turns for the shower door. “You both might want to wash again, if you even got that far.” And he steps out.

You blush faintly and chuckle. “N-No, I don’t think we did.”

“I think we at least got your hair washed,” Johannes chuckles, turning on the water again. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up. Time to train again.”

“Back to routine ... that’s going to be hard after a day off,” you say as you both begin to wash.

“Man, you get lazy quick, sweetness,” he teases. “It was just one day and already you want to slack off.”

You scowl at him. “Hey, that was the most time off I’ve had in like a year!” You huff and turn your back on him.

He makes a sound in the back of his throat and washes your back. “You know I was kidding, sweetness. We all know you work way too hard.”

You try to stay tense, annoyed, but it’s impossible when his hands are stroking your back, his lips are ghosting over your neck, and he’s murmuring, “Don’t be mad, sweetness, please don’t be mad...”

You sigh, leaning back and closing your eyes as your head gently rests on his shoulder. “I can’t be mad when you’re rubbing my back like that...” He chuckles softly, and you smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You both rinse off and head back out to the main room, and are immediately inundated with cheering wolves who all but bury Johannes with hugs and back claps.

Henrik wraps his arms around Johannes and heaves him up in the air, shaking him. “My brother! Never thought I’d see the day!”

Johannes laughs, struggling a little in embarrassment. “Yeah, me either, asshole, let me down!”

Jonas swings you about, and you see John and Tim hugging Papa. You laugh as Jonas kisses you thoroughly. “It really is like getting married!”

“Damn right it is,” Jonas says happily, then kisses you again.

You pull away, cup his face, and stare into his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything, right? I mean...” You blush furiously. “With the rest of you. You’re not going to...back away because I’m marked, are you?”

Jonas pauses, and his expression turns serious. “Normally that would be the case.” He looks over to Johannes, then back to you. “But this is hardly a normal situation. I would have you be mine, ours, for as long as you would have us.” You beam to him, and pull him down for a deep kiss. You don’t know what you would do if you lost any of them.

“I belong to all of you, Jonas. I don’t want that to ever change.” You slide your hands into his dreads, wrap him up in another deep kiss.

“Your wish is my command, little flower,” he murmurs. “And I fully expect to prove that to you later ... but you have to get ready for training now.”

You nod, but steal another kiss before heading for your workout clothes, another gift from the king. You pull on your sneakers and pull your hair back into a ponytail, then nod. “I’m all set.”

Jonas stares at you, his heated gaze roaming you from head to toe. His growl is nearly your undoing. “Go, get to the training room before I have you underneath me.” You blush, blow him a kiss and head for the door.

“Wait for me, sweetness,” Johannes calls from amid the crush of his bandmates.

“I’m just going to the training room, my love, I want to warm up and meditate.” You slip out of the room and down the hall.

Johannes frowns and starts for the door, his pants half on, but Papa stops him. “Let her have a few moments to herself, my...my husband.”

The term of endearment brings Johannes up short, and he turns to the other man with an almost wondering look on his face. Then a wide grin splits his lips, and he pulls Papa close. “Say it again.”

Papa obliges. “Husband. My husband.” He says the words like he’s rolling them around his mouth, tasting them.

Johannes groans and kisses Papa deeply, emotion making his heart feel overfull. He wraps his arms right around Papa’s waist and moans into the other man’s mouth, drunk on this new feeling.

[etherealnik-archive]

When I’m Gone

Pairing: None Rating: T Tags: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, This Is Exactly What You Think, Bees, AU Where Ronan Isn't The Greywaren, Oops, I'd Say I'm Not Sorry But I Really Am, Ronsey If You Squint, Gansey Dies AU, Canon Divergence

Event: @ravencyclenetwork​ search: AUs  → Gansey Dies AU

Ronan moved certainly and slowly, bringing the glass down against Gansey's neck, trapping the offending insect — Wasp? Bee? Gansey couldn't tell, but Ronan's actions told him enough — inside. Ronan carefully worked his fingers under the cup, probably waiting for the thing to crawl onto the side. Gansey was almost unaware of how close they were until he felt Ronan's hip against his, holding him close even if he didn't mean to.

Then, all hell broke loose.

[Read Now on AO3]

Seven years ago, he heard a voice. It was a whisper.

“You will live because of Glendower. Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not.’”

He wouldn't forget what it said.

Every now and then, Gansey would remember those haunting words, feel them run like a chill down his spine and towards his toes. He was beyond knowing how to stop the involuntary shudder, having lived with it for what felt like his whole life, but he still felt the same wave of unease that passed over him at the memory. Gansey was almost surprised at how the memory hadn't waned.

He clenched his fists gently, remembering finally why he was standing in the middle of Monmouth Manufacturing with a pair of pliers as his fingers dug into the sharp metal of his glasses frames. The bridge had snapped after a particularly hard hit to the face while he was exploring the Virginian forests earlier in the day, and he had been muddling in a pool of exhaustion for what felt like months. He supposed his less than substantial sleep schedule was probably to blame, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to lay down and go to sleep when there were so many better uses for his time.

The clock on the microwave was blurry without his prescription. He was about to finally make the final six steps toward the kitchen counter when the sound of the fridge slamming closed behind him caught his attention. Thankfully, he was long past the surprised jumps he had learned whilst sneaking about his parents’ house at hours far too late for normal people to be awake, and he was able to turn around to face the noise the same way he would at three in the afternoon.

Unsurprisingly, it was Ronan with Chainsaw perched delicately on his shoulder, a half-finished glass of orange juice in one hand and the empty carton in the other. He managed a weary smile, prepared to make a light joke about sleepwalking or Ronan's insistence on pulpless OJ.

Ronan held up a hand before he could speak. “You look like ass,” he said simply, gesturing loosely at Gansey's form and then finishing off his drink. He let his eyes drift down to the broken glasses in Gansey's hand and sighed, reaching into his pocket to produce a similar pair as simply as if he was handing over a piece of gum or a pencil.

Gansey blinked, furrowing his brow at the sight. “Oh,” he said softly, taking the smooth metal frames from Ronan and sliding them onto his face. They were the spare glasses he normally kept on his nightstand, but he had lost them months ago. The prescription in them was newer, but Gansey preferred the aesthetic of the older pair and refused to wear them. “Where did you find them?”

“You left them in the Beamer,” he shrugged, pressing his hands back into his jacket pockets. “I figured you'd need them back after you got your ass handed to you by a tree.” Ronan explained, setting his empty glass down so he could run his fingers over Chainsaw's head protectively. “They're all yours if you promise to go to sleep. It's 2 am, man. Get some rest.”

Gansey had always had a hard time telling Ronan no, and his throat tightened a little bit even at the prospect. Something about him commanded authority even when he was joking around, and Gansey couldn't help but listen. “Okay,” he said, twirling the glasses in his fingers. “Fine. Only if you go to bed too, though.”

A shark-like smile split Ronan's face and he winked playfully. “No rest for the wicked, Dick,” he teased again, his entire form seeming to slowly come unwound.

This didn't happen around anyone, not even Adam. Gansey was surprised it ever happened around him either. The smallest things led to it, the furrowing in Ronan's brow easing, the usual tension in his shoulders replaced with a lazy arrogance as he leaned lightly on the counter. Ronan Lynch was a man who always seemed to be at attention, and even when he was at ease he was still wound up tight, ready to bite or punch or hurl insults. Even when he relaxed, the taller boy seemed to have a method to it—first the lazy smile, then relaxed shoulders, all the way down to his feet.

Gansey gave Ronan a small laugh in return, shaking his head playfully when he suddenly stopped. Ronan's entire body went rigid at the sight of the cut-off smile, the coils in his body wound up again, ready to strike, protect, guard. Gansey would never understand how his walls were rebuilt so fast. Ronan's eyes drifted to his shoulder, and his gaze did not waver. “Don't move.”

Again, Gansey listened, keeping his eyes on Ronan's as the man slowly crept forward, grabbing the glass from the counter again and cupping his hand under it. Gansey had a vague idea where this was going, and the woozy feeling from earlier crept back in, followed by fear at the mere look in Ronan's eyes.

Then he felt it, and he went completely still.

An ordinary person might have simply smacked their neck and moved on, but Gansey knew better. He felt the tickling crawl of tiny legs on the side of his neck, crawling off the collar of his polo and onto his skin. His gasp got stuck in his throat, fear holding him tight as any vice. Ronan was right on him now, the glass pressed gently against his shoulder, ready to seal the insect inside and pull it away. He thought he might faint.

Ronan moved certainly and slowly, bringing the glass down against Gansey's neck, trapping the offending insect — Wasp? Bee? Gansey couldn't tell, but Ronan's actions told him enough — inside. Ronan carefully worked his fingers under the cup, probably waiting for the thing to crawl onto the side. Gansey was almost unaware of how close they were until he felt Ronan's hip against his, holding him close even if he didn't mean to.

Then, all hell broke loose.

A drop of orange juice dripped off of the side of the glass, smacking against the bug's head. Gansey heard the thing buzz angrily before he felt a hot, searing pain in his neck once, twice, three times. Ronan swore loudly, throwing the glass away and crushing the bug in his fist. He winced once in pain, but he didn't reach for his hand. He reached for Gansey's neck, three small pinpricks of blood dotting the tanned skin.

Ronan swore again, this time in language so foul it was unusual even for him. He pressed the insect—a wasp, after all; barely the size of Ronan's thumbnail—into the counter with the heel of his hand, smashing it until it was beyond dead.

The room was swimming, and Gansey could already feel his throat closing up. The skin around the sting swelled slightly. The world tilted under his feet. “Ronan,” he whispered, falling to his knees.

Dazed, Gansey reached up for the taller boy, vaguely aware of being jostled into Ronan's arms and carried somewhere. “Stop,” he mumbled, blinking slowly at the ceiling. Had it been one sting, even two, Gansey knew he might be okay; however, he knew that three was too much. His doctor had warned him that even one would be enough to be deadly.

Ronan stared at his friend, his own heart hammering hard in his chest. “Do you have an Epi-Pen?” He asked, fumbling over his words in a way that said he didn't know how to deal with all the emotions coming over him. It wasn't unusual, but it still hurt Gansey's heart.

He looked away. His Epipen was locked away in the Pig's glovebox, and he felt foolish for not thinking to carry it with him. He didn't know if he would get to make the mistake again.

And so, he let his eyes close, trying to take slow, steady breaths, but it was too much. He could feel his muscles cramping, feel his heart failing, but he could only think of his friends, his family. Ronan. The boy had seen enough death in his life. In fact, when Gansey managed to clear his vision enough to see Ronan's face, he looked more like the boy he had been years ago, a boy thrust into a situation where he had no control. Gansey, having coped long ago with the idea of his death, smiled sadly. “Glovebox,” he said softly, dragging his finger down Ronan's chest as he was laid on the bed. He knew then he wouldn't get back up, but he pressed on anyways. “In the glovebox.” He would spare Ronan this moment. He had seen enough.

Ronan, tears rolling down his cheeks, grabbed Gansey's keys from the hook by the door and practically jumped down the stairs to get to Gansey's car. He almost broke the handle to the Pig's passenger side door, opening the glovebox and rooting through it with disastrous speed. He cheered to himself when his hand closed around the small tube, running back upstairs as fast as his legs could possibly carry him.

Ronan pushed open the door to Gansey's room, and paused in the door. Gansey was looking at him, but he wasn't, not really; just staring into his eyes with a blank, empty look. The look of someone who wasn't able to look anymore.

He let out a choked sob, the Epipen falling from his hands as he moved toward his friend's body. He pressed his forehead to the boy's shoulder, crying into it loudly and messily.

Normally, he would be ashamed of showing these emotions, of letting all of his cards show—but now, there was no one to see him.