https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS26NwTTF/

Bestie I’m ovulating and this edit is a WEAPON 🥵

I’m stunned into silence……. what are words????

Hayden: I have done nothing wrong ever OwO

Roan x slight Omkar

I wrote half of it and then remembered this was supposed to be an angsty prompt, amazing. Please have some fluff.

● ● ● ●

It was Omen that found him staggering a few streets from the Enforcers’ Headquarters, bracing himself against the wall and coughing pink tinted droplets in pristine white gloves. Omen, who let out that small distressed sound that was his name, slipped an impossibly warm arm under his shoulder and a firm tail around his waist for extra leverage and half supported, half dragged him to Ezra’s.

I’m going to be just fine, promises Roan from where he’s laying on the bed in the visitors’ bedroom, shirt wide open to reveal that horrendous bite on his side and all Omen can think is, how did he walk all the way back with that? and I should have found him sooner. Then Ezra gently has him from the shoulder and is guiding him out of the room.

He’s going to be alright, promises the Witch and the door closes, leaving him pacing the corridor, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. His tail is curling and uncurling, swishing, coiling sharply around the wood of a nearby chair’s handle when a hiss of pain escapes through the wall and Ezra’s magic flares. The old wood cricks, almost splinters before he remembers to control himself and to relax his hold.

When Ezra opens the door, Omen has regained enough self-control to look him in the eyes, to see the permission in that beautiful emerald, still bright with magic, before he’s quickly, hurriedly slipping inside. Stepping around his friend, he goes straight to the bed and his hands immediately find the Hunter’s.

“Ah!” he gasps the moment they touch, eyes widening and he squeezes harder. “Ezra? Ezra, he’s frozen!”

“It’s you that’s burning up, love.” Roan laughs from the bed, fingers squeezing back as Omen anxiously hovers closer over him and the tip of his tail comes to shove a few blonde strands away from his face. Ezra pats him a few times on the head and red paints the Demon’s cheeks when he realizes that in his distress, he allowed the crown of his hair to go up in very warm, very literal flames.

“Coming downstairs?” Ezra manages before Omen is rushing to shake his head.

“No, no.” he says, eyes on the soft covers that betray nothing of the wound on the person underneath. “I’m going to stay for a while, with him.”

“Let him stay.” Roan chimes in, running a thumb over Omen’s fingers, where their hands are connected. Omen’s tail flutters over the Hunter’s chest and then over a cheek and Roan catches it and plants a small kiss in the middle of the arrow-shaped tip. Omen squeaks and then lets out a small mumble of embarrassment that makes Ezra chuckle through his nose.

“Saps.” he laughs as he drags a spare chair closer to the bed, setting it behind his friend. “But you have to let him sleep, Omen. Hydra poison can be tricky, especially when someone didn’t come to me as soon as he was in town.”

“I wanted to report first,” Roan sighs, “normally I would have had the time to do that before reaching out to the healers.”

“I’m growing old.” he snorts.

“It’s the cold.” Ezra grabs Omen by the waist and guides him down to the chair. “Makes it more potent around these parts. Sit.” he adds. “Let him sleep. The sleeping drought should start working any minute now.”

They do sit in silence for a bit after the door closes behind the Witch. The chair is close enough for Omen to keep on holding the other man’s hand and so he does, running warm fingertips over each knuckle of the Hunter’s long fingers. There are bumps and hard spots from the long use of weapons but the skin is smooth and ice cold against his.

“Was it hard?” he asks. “The Hunt.”

“It was… the usual.” Roan huffs. “I’ve been sent after Hydras before and they usually nest in lakes but this was… more of a mud bath. Nasty little thing, really. I think I’ll have to burn my clothes come morning.” He eyes the chair where his cape rests, dripping slowly to a puddle on the floor.

“And possibly, that chair. Help me with that, will you?” He yawns.

“If I was there.” Omen gnaws at his lower lip, then looks up, eyebrows furrowed, “If I was there to help you-”

“I would be too distracted to do my job. Omen?” Roan sits up a little higher against his pillows even as he has to blink the sudden sleepiness from his eyes and squeezes their joined hands a bit tighter. “I’m good enough in what I do to keep on coming back to bother you. Indefinitely.”

Omen purses his mouth so tightly, white bleeds from where his fangs dig in his upper lip. “We can try just once, next time…”

“Omen Morningstar.” Roan snorts, almost laughs to the Demon’s pout but somehow manages to keep his glare sharp. “If you dare tail me during a hunt, I’ll bolt my windows and door and you won’t be able to sneak in my room for at least a month, do you understand me?”

It’s an empty threat, they both know that but Omen’s warm chestnut eyes widen in betrayal for a few seconds anyway and his cheeks puff out. “You wouldn’t.” he says with his best puppy dog impression, the one that reminds the Hunter of Biscuit when she’s trying to convince you your lunch would be serving a much higher purpose in her own stomach. “You wouldn’t do that.”

Roan only gives him a smile in return as he allows himself to sink back into the plush pillows. Ezra’s potion, even though mild in taste as always, is making quick work of his tired body and both his limbs and mind are beginning to feel heavy, foggy with sleep. Then Omen is shifting and he’s over him, close, and there are warm lips softly touching his forehead and careful fingertips tracing his cheek, down the thin scars there.

“Sleep well, saeraes.” Omen whispers as sleep takes him, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

● ●

When Omen’s eyes crack open with a start, the candles have long burned out and the only illumination in the room is the silver moonlight creeping in from the misted window. Dust is dancing in the moonbeams and the nightly silence has fallen over everything, thick as cream, but the Demon’s claws extend instinctively; his tail whips, missing the floorboards for a hair’s breadth.

Something’s moving in the room.

One caught up breath, one terrible second ready to lunge… and then he slumps back on the chair he had fallen asleep on, tail hanging limp to the floor and the muscles of his back achy from the sudden tension.

“Roan.” Omen huffs as the Hunter frees the last corner of his blanket with a sharp tag and then flings it over the other side of his bed, reaches over to arrange it better where it has fallen. “What are you doing?”

“Alkar is sleeping on the floor again.” sighs the man. “I don’t know when he got in here, he didn’t wake me up.” He glances up at him. “I scared you.”

Omen furrows his eyebrows at the concerned eyes that stare at him. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place. ” he mutters and then he’s up and taking the few steps between him and the bed, trying to push the flushness away from his cheeks. He gets on the mattress and peers over the other side, at the Lycan curled up on the floor, tail around his legs and now barely peeking out from underneath the blanket. Alkar’s ears twitch and he furrows his nose with a small growl but he doesn’t wake up.

“Should we drag him up?” Roan ponders.

“He’ll bite.” Omen snorts, “And then he’ll just roll over and keep sleeping.”

He looks the Hunter up and down in his thin linen shirt and the few sheets that remain on the bed. He slips a hand over his and he can feel his own skin burning against the ice cold of Roan’s fingers. “On the other hand, you are going to freeze.”

Omen has never felt extreme cold; having an inner furnace burning up all day and night long helps a lot in this cold little town. And now he’s eager to share his warmth as he allows himself to get underneath the few remaining covers and snuggle up to the Hunter’s body, careful not to squeeze his waist and the bandages wrapping it too much. He pushes a leg between those of the other man and fits his head underneath his chin.

Roan smells a little bit of medicine and blood and something in Omen can trace the last gentle wisps of Ezra’s magic in his system. That undertone of smoked whiskey is there, it always is, and he can never tell if it’s a perfume or just the Hunter’s fragrance but he likes breathing the sweetness in anyway and he buries his nose in the tender skin of his neck. It makes Roan laugh, a small sound Omen can feel vibrating up his chest and into his own, making his heart beat a tad faster.

The Hunter brushes his fingers through long, silky hair and then drapes it over Omen’s waist, bringing him closer, holding him neatly against himself. Their bodies match next to each other with ease like how they’ve slept so many times before on his bed at the White Wolf and Omen lets out a pleased sigh.

“Stay…” Roan whispers this last word as he slowly sinks back into sleep, body thankful and relaxed against Omen’s heat.

I’ll stay until he sleeps, Omen promises, then I’ll go fetch another blanket from Ezra and let him dream in peace.

“Innocent?” He gave a humourless laugh. “So everything they said was a lie?” He looked at her bewildered, “ You didn’t kill countless of people? You didn’t destroy millions of lives? You didn’t kill my brother?”

She flinched.

She could feel his breath on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to back away, but he had her trapped. He had her cornered, shackled and scared.

Just droppin’ this here for no reason at all.