#i have to be honest i'm always afraid of writing omen

[sailorvenusxoxo]

Demonic Bonding (Crowley x Male Reader)

Fandom:Good Omens Pairings: Crowley x M!Reader, Crowley x Aziraphale at the end Requests: Through the asks, and not comments, please ♡ Summary: You're a demon sent to survey Crowley's temptations, despite you two disliking each other. Aziraphale suggests a bonding session, to have you two tolerate each other better. Your minds misinterpret bonding. Warnings: Light smut, BDSM, swearing, author got cold feet by the end, collar, leather, soft aziracrow ending Word count:2.6k Requested by: @alexiyahyah , and @chrissydablsissy had also asked for something with Crowley, but not necessarily this. a/n (please read): So. I have no idea how to sum up my thought process shortly, but I'll try. By reading the Vulture Article, I was utterly disgusted. Distanced myself a bit, but still stayed in the fandom, because I love it so much. In my honest opinion, I now believe GO to belong to Sir Terry Pratchett, the honest actors and crew working, and the fans. It's my first time really writing GO smut. Read tons before, but not since the article. I don't know, I supposed that by doing this, I was afraid. I got a bit uncomfortable at first. What if people view this as insensitive? What if people misunderstand my intentions? But please be aware. I'm still a bit wary about writing smut on GO, but the fandom can't die. Some of us love it too much, to let this filth of a person ruin it. We can save it by our own fan works, not giving this man any once of recognition anymore, and simply support the victims, and try to make NG lose more and more money. Saw a blog talking about it. Either way... Love you guys a lot, I tried my best. I love Crowley and Aziraphale with all my heart, which is why I ended it on a soft note for them.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Do I look like a bloody…How do they call it? Kid-stander? Kid-sitter? Baby-stooder?”

You mumbled, looking at Beelzebub, your lips pursed in an annoyed fashion. Your mind and mouth were starting to ramble, as you tried to remember that human word they used, to address the person who watched over their heirs.

You sniffled softly, rubbing in your nose, avoiding snorting a fly by inadvertence. You were used to flies and other soiled things that composed the realms of Hell, but that did not mean you were fond of ingesting it. It buzzed down the current body you possessed, and Beelzebub was always extremely furious to lose a fly.

Beelzebub groaned in warning,  looking up at you with their rotting lips and their glassy eyes.

“And do I look like I’m politely proposing this to you? This is not damned Heaven. Though we all wish it was damned. We suspect the demon Crowley of not accomplishing his temptations properly. For a bit, we let it through, despite the proofs he may or may not be fraternising with the blasted angel from the east gate. But now, we can’t let it slip. We need someone to assist him, and it’s going to be you!”

Barked Beelzebub, their voice raising in anger and command. You sighed in sheer annoyance, more bored and disgruntled than remotely afraid. You had been planning on torturing a recently deceased French twat politician, famous for colonisation, racism, and other lovely things that brought him to this place, but it looked like you couldn’t. You cursed silently, regretting the fact that Hastur would be the one applying the Nazi torture to the politician, instead of you.

But as you were contemplating on hurrying your task to get back to the little torture chamber, Beelzebub mumbled, a bit confused.

“I don’t get this bloody fussing. Thought you two got along, or you were his fan or s’mthing. You’re dressed like a groupie.”

Your head snapped back to the Duke of Hell, an offended scrunch on your face.

“…A fan? Will people just stop about it, already?! May I remind you he wasn’t the first snake in the existence of things? Nor was he the one who first dressed like this! He’s just trying so hard to be this snake entity, with it being his entire thing, just because he was the snake who tempted Eve, but he’s ridiculous! He’s trying so hard he even named himself Crowley! Who the fuck does that?! He’s just desperate, I’m telling you-!”

You ranted, as Beelzebub rolled their eyes, already sending you off to earth, as you pestered to yourself. You had never really met Crowley, nor did you interact with him, but you knew that because of that blasted fallen angel, the snake appearance was now all his… Sure, his snake tattoo near his ear was not a bad idea, so you did it yourself, except on the collarbone, also adding it to the list of things you had claimed for yourself. But come on, he wasn’t the only snake demon. You were there too! Bloody bastard had taken the credit all for himself…

As you descended on earth, you reviewed the information Beelzebub had literally thrown at you, the inscriptions written on the dirty parchment, that you held in your bloodied hands.

‘Demon Crowley. Not try and trick him, may possess holy water. Seen fraternising through years with angel from the East gate. Make sure he accomplishes temptations. Reports.’

You scoffed softly, as the crappy, shaky, and dirty elevator let out a cough of blurting horrible static noises, announcing you had arrived in earth.

Obviously, you had landed in Aberdeen, Scotland, instead of Soho, London, England. Typical of the people handling the elevator, to make demons land close enough to act like it was mistake, but far enough to piss you off.

Oh, well. Just a simple… Fly would do, right? Or a little demonic miracle to land in London. Not like they’d notice down in Hell anyway, with how much miracles bloody Crowley was producing recently, always making the alarms beep, driving Hastur out of his blasted mind. Which you always enjoyed, let’s be fair (or not. It was bad to be fair. Well, not your bad, so- anyway!)

You suddenly appeared in the busy London street, hurriedly leaning against a railing on the street, avoiding an old style Bentley that was driving extremely fast. You cursed to yourself, since you had almost gotten discorporated, all of that by a lousy…

You stopped, frowning, recognising the car. An old-style Bentley…? Oh god, it was-

“I told them I didn’t need or want to see you!”

Crowley hissed at you, storming out of his car, pointing a slender finger at you. You rolled your eyes, grumbling, recognising him immediately. Once again, you and Crowley did not really know each other personally. But you knew of each other.

And let’s say you two were not keen on sharing the same style and flair. It may sound so childish and immature, but you were demons. You were supposed to not care for maturity or proper, so you two weren’t going to pretend you two liked each other.

“You think I enjoy being here?”

You hissed back, pulling your hair away.

“Damn it all, I had a fat Frenchie to torture down there, and they just assigned me to babysit you, simply because you can’t do your job well!”

You snapped, gripping the railing with one hand, your knuckles turning white. Crowley scowled, rolling his eyes under his round sunglasses.

“Right, right. Sorry, forgot you’re always down there in the slums. Bloody loam, getting your hands dirty.”

He snarled, looking at your dirty and bloody hands, with some dirt under your fingernails. You rolled your eyes, unimpressed.

“Was that the best you can do? Acting like the posh angel you skip around with, and notice the dirt?”

You snickered, a mocking smirk on your chapped lips. Crowley’s squinted, a new fury seeping even through his sunglasses at the mention of Aziraphale.

“Do not speak of him. Do not even mention him, you hear me? If Hell is sending you about this, I’ll-”

He started, before you scoffed, your red snake eyes staring at him.

“Christ almighty, I’m not here to tell you to break up with your angel boyfriend. You think I give a fuck on what you’re up to here, between 8 to 8? All I need is actual proofs that you’re doing your temptations, and I’ll get the fuck out of SoMo.”

You grumbled, shrugging, as Crowley pinched his lips, still tense and annoyed.

“…I suppose they won’t just do it with reports, they also need other proofs, huh? And Aziraphale’s not- And it’s Soho, not SoBo-”

He grunted, as you mumbled.

“I said SoMo, not SoBo. Perhaps you’d hear better if it weren’t for that horrid tattoo on your ear.”

Crowley stayed silent, simply looking at you with a defying glare.

“…Wanna follow me around all day, like a bloody puppy? Fine. But no comments or other interactions. And just… Let’s say a week. It’ll satisfy them for a bit. And wear sunglasses, damn it! Humans will see your eyes!”

He snapped, walking away from you to a sort of old bookshop, that you reckoned to be the angel’s. You grumbled, cursing about the sunglasses, but still getting out the one you brought. You reluctantly followed him, crossing the busy street, looking slightly around. Last time you were around earth, it was… 1986, you reckoned? You had been checking in on new trends and stuff, for a bit of holidays from the Hell chambers, had even done some business with some slimy snarky TV magnate, Lord Baddingham or something.

Either way, you hurried to the store, your shoes clinking on the concrete, before entering the bookshop. Your nose scrunched at the unusual, pleasant smell, a mix of vanilla, coconut, and some monoi, along with the lingering smell of old books. This entire place, as large as it was for a bookshop, simply screamed of ‘Angelic’, and you were slightly disgruntled by it. Your throat hurt a bit, at all the pleasant smells, and you reluctantly walked in, as Crowley nonchalantly walked in, as if he owned the place, his pace always reminding of the tempting serpent he had been, before the first woman of Earth.

Should have been you.

Your eyes fell on a cozy, large royal red chair, where stood a fluffy blanket, with a pillow. It was angled directly to the sun, letting a ray of sunlight on the spot. You noticed Crowley’s eyes, despite the glasses, lingering quickly to it, and you scoffed to yourself. The lucky bastard… he must have relaxed so often here, simply lounging in his serpent form, embracing the warmth.

As your eyes still glared at it, visibly trying to burn it through thoughts, a person came in. Well, not a person. You immediately sensed it was the angel. Whether it was the white hair, the blue eyes, the fond wrinkles on his face, or the softness of his cheeks or his body, it was disgustingly angelic. This man was an angel.

“Oh, Crowley! This your guest, then…”

Aziraphale nodded, addressing a polite nod to you, as you blinked, a bit stunned at the angel’s reaction to you. Crowley grumbled, scoffing, laying his jacket on a sofa.

“Stop the teasing, angel. Y’know I don’t want him there. He’s just… there. For a week, minimum, time to give Hells the proofs.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes for a second, his eyes looking to Crowley’s, as he took off his sunglasses. The angel’s gaze seemed almost fond and amused, as he tutted.

“We talked about this, Crowley. With the amount of time, he’ll be spending here, might as well be making it more comfortable. You two ought to bond!”

Aziraphale grinned, nodding, as you cringed. Ugh, you remembered bonding. And as fun as it had been, you did not picture it with Crowley.

Crowley blinked, also taken aback by the angel’s proposition.

“Uh… Bonding? You are sure, angel?”

Crowley almost murmured, a bit stunned. Aziraphale proudly nodded.

“Yes! I’m sure you two can do it and simply create strong bounds! It isn’t that hard, when the effort is put it in.”

The angel confirmed, as the demon stood there, unconvinced.

“Were you the one who started this trend, anyway?”

Asked Crowley, as you both looked at his leather accessories and gears, up in his fancy modern flat.

You nodded, lips pinched, analysing each detail of the gears, begging to find a fault in it, just to spite him.

“I was. Well, BDSM was always a thing, humans can be kinky little things. I just put a name on it, made it more famous, and added the leather aesthetic.”

You explained, nonchalant, thinking back of numerous fun memories you had made on earth in the 80s, shocking some humans, and tempting others.

“Which you copied.”

You added, in a little jab, grabbing a collar with your bloodied hands. Crowley rolled his eyes, grabbing a whip himself. You stared at it and frowned.

“The leather’s worn. Throw it away. You’re fussy about plants, but not leather?”

You scoffed, scolding him, as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, piss off. You think this what I do all day?”

He grumbled, as you sighed, taking the collar off the wall.

“Let’s just wrap it up, hm? A little session, in all of hell’s ways, and maybe then we won’t discorporate each other in the next few days.”

You mumbled, heading to put the collar around his neck, your hands grazing against his neck, as he frowned.

“I’m the submissive?!”

He noticed, almost appalled, as you raised an eyebrow.

“…I’m supposed to watch what you do. So…Yeah, you are.”

You observed, rolling your eyes, hooking the leash to his collar.

“M’kay. You know everything, hmm?”

You asked him, as he scoffed softly.

“We’re not humans. I don’t believe we need to have the whole conversation about consent and boundaries with each other. Good on you for introducing it to them, which is odd for a demon, but we don’t need it.”

He said, as you raised an eyebrow, softly gripping it.

“…Piss off. Humans, demons, angels, no matter what entities, consent is the most important thing. I won’t touch you, unless you specifically say you accept, and want it.”

You gritted through your teeth, adamant.

“I don’t care if it means loathing this whole week. I won’t budge on consent. No nothing, without consent.”

You grumbled, as Crowley pinched his lips, looking away for a bit. He was hesitant. Not towards what he wanted, but perhaps over what he was willing to admit.

“…I consent, and I want it. I’ll be the submissive. My safe word is… ‘Be-bop’.”

He stated, as your eyes squinted. Huh, Be-bop.

“…Be-bop.”

You echoed, nodding, before gently tugging his leash down, to have him on his knees.

“…Are you ready?”

You asked, your voice surprisingly soft, as Crowley squinted his eyes, a bit surprised, but nodded.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You kept him bound to you, for a while. Tugging on the leash when you wanted, earning soft grunts from him. You couldn’t understand why, but it was working. When your red eyes looked to his yellow eyes, you felt it. The pool of heat in your abdomen, and the lust that came over you, crashing like a wave.

Limbs were tangled together, as the smell of the leather and his cologne remained between you two. Blows were struck, soft and hard, mixing pain and pleasure. You gripped his hair, he gripped yours. His hand wrapped itself around your neck, as you tugged on his collar.

Your lips also found each other, in this mess of leather and sensations, in a surprisingly soft lock. It was working. You were bonding.

Your fingers caressed his back, tracing the scars from his lost wings, as you feverishly bit and grunted at his shoulder.

It had ended with actual binds, and actual poles. Just two bodies in fusion, working against the others, wrists and ankles tied together, simply bonding, until you both fell asleep, to your own surprise. You had forgotten about fatigue and sleep. But it was a pleasant feeling, after the panting, the sweating, the marks, the leather, the words, the gestures… To simply fall asleep on him, bound.

________________________________

Crowley woke up, feeling something stirring at the binds. At first reluctant and wary, he opened his eyes, finding none other than Aziraphale, beside the bed, softly untying the binds.

“…Angel?”

Crowley croaked out, surprised to see him. Aziraphale looked at him, his blue eyes bright due to the sunlight. His smile was as soft as usual, though there was hint of cheekiness to it, like whenever he was about to mock Crowley, and thought of a thrilling joke.

“Just so you know, I had meant a light lunch, or perhaps some baking, to bond. Not this.”

Aziraphale remarked, softly sighing, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“But I supposed it worked. Which I’m glad for. The result is the same, as you so often say.”

Crowley snickered softly, looking at Aziraphale.

“…Yeah, it worked. And you’re… You’re here.”

Crowley remarked, sounding nonchalant, though his eyes were everything but this.

“…Yes, I’m here.”

Aziraphale confirmed.

“I suppose… That at the end of the day, no matter what or who, it always is just the two of us.”

Perhaps it always was, yes.

[feiandart]

Hi Fei, not sure if this message becomes public or not but I couldn't find any other way to contact you. Just wanted to apologise for my comment on chapter 35. I realise in retrospect it might have seemed rude, I was trying to be funny. So, I'm very sorry, and I don't want you to think I didn't enjoy the chapter. I have deleted the comment. If I may take this chance as well, you have been an inspiration to me, I love your writing. I am too an aspiring writer that took a sabbatical for many years, though my self doubt is my biggest saboteur right now. I would love to know how you honed your craft, your words are so beautifully written. I look forward to the next chapter ♥

First of all, hello and thank you for reaching out to me! ♥

I'm afraid my memory doesn't work properly (it never does, sadly), but I'm pretty sure no comment made me think "oh, that was rude", so don't worry at all ♥ Gonna admit now I'm curious 'bout what that was owo But I will not ask for you to share that again if it makes you feel uncomfortable!

Your words means a lot to me! ♥ I had inspiration issues for half of my life. I was around fifteen when I wrote my last paragraph, and after that I didn't for other fifteen years. Honest to God, Good Omens and its community saved me in more than a way when I was at my lowest - helped me both with coming back at writing, and starting drawing for myself. I startend enjoying things again. And I needed that. So, since finding inspiration again was so meaningful to me, being able to inspire others is like I achieved something so big I can't really find words to express it properly. It makes me feel kinda... Oh, dunno. I guess we can go with: blessed. Finding inspiration was (and is) an healing process to me. And I hope it'll be the same to others. So if it came to me, I can only be SO glad to know!! So thank you so much for sharing this!! ♥

Let me tell you this: I am my biggest saboteur myself. So I do understand what you say, and I can guess what you feel right now. My suggestion is something practical. Go in front of the mirror, tell yourself what you want to do and look straight into your eyes. Then, say: "I will do it. And you will NOT stop me." Then say the same to all the people who might go against you. Nobody, not even yourself, should have the power to stop you from doing the things you love. It may be hard at the very start, troublesome meanwhile, but I can assure you nothing's better than being able to live your dreams. All I can do for you now is assuring you I am on your side! And I am sure you can do whatever makes you feel happy.

Last, but not least (dear Lord I wrote so much and I'm not done yet.......), your last question. Funny thing to answer that one, actually. 'cause I never practiced. I never studied a way to arrange phrases and words, actually right now I'm always a bit overwhelmed anytime I sit myself in front of the screen and open my file to start writing. I'll tell you, I'm the messiest people in the entire universe. I had all the plot already written back in november, but yet my characters slip off my hands and do whatever they want. Does it makes any sense to you? I have to costantly re-arrange my plot to make sure everything have some kind of logic. The rest come from my own mind. Sugar, specifically, means a lot to me under a lot of different aspects. Both characters holds part of myself, my own traumas, my own experiences, my own mazes and struggles. I think maybe sometimes things went when I didn't want them to go 'cause my mind played dirty on me and I was unable to stop it. But I don't complain. So I'm afraid I don't have a real answer but this one: I just put myself into every single word I write. I play all the scenes in my mind just like watching movies. I feel what my characters does and, I will not deny this, oftern I cry while doing that too. I'm a bit too much emphatic, perhaps?

Gonna admit, writing Sugar is exactly like going to therapy to me. Goes just along with that, it helps me process myself, my own emotions, helps me validate anything bad I've ever felt.

Well uh, I got pretty carried away with this answer but I hope you can find something helpful around all of these messy words of mine ♥ (And sorry for my poor english if I made some mistake here and there, I fully believe in honest-to-God messages when it comes to answer people, both in comments, chat or anywhere else, so I never actually go back trying to correct my messages. Dunno, it feels like leaving you all full access to my stream of consciousness everytime I give answers like these. Not sure this makes sense. To me it does.)

Don't ever ever be afraid to tell me what you think or reach out! I'll always be here, happy to give you an answer. Thank you so much! ♥

[fembutchboygirl]

Hi I'm asking about ur WIP specifically sacred ground bc I'm v curious~

HII Sacred Ground is a good omens fic i started writing a while after s2 dropped! It's a 5+1 about aziraphale's bookshop being a shelter to others (and to aziraphale)

Here's a couple snippets!

"I'm afraid we were just about to close," he said, not even lifting his gaze from the page. "Oh, I'm so sorry, it's just that it's raining cats and dogs out there and I left my umbrella at home. Could I just stay here for a bit until the weather clears up? I promise I won't be a bother." "Oh!" The man looked with surprise out the windows, past which mother nature was giving the streets of London Soho a well-needed powerwash. "Good Lord, I hadn't even paid notice. Of course, of course– stay as long as you need." "Oh, thank you so much, really." "Please, it's no problem. Er–" He looked around anxiously before reaching under his desk and pulling out a fluffy, spotless white towel. "Here you go," he said, approaching Dinah. "Do dry yourself off, dear. Dreadful weather out there." "Thank you so much," she repeated, and took the towel from the man. It was extremely soft when she grabbed it; it might as well have been brand new. What a well prepared shop, she thought, keeping a towel near the door just for occasions like these. She ought to start doing the same. "I hope I didn't catch a cold out there."

The man gave her a look-over. "No, no colds at all," he spoke, and so assertively that Dinah felt inclined to believe him.

It is well known that angels love by nature. They hold a sort of blanket love over all living beings, from the tiniest and most remote unicellular bacteria to the oldest spruce tree in a mountaintop in Sweden. Some people — "people" being one particularly sophistic demon and a bunch more who plagiarized him afterwards — have argued that this sort of impersonal love is disingenuous; since, if you love exactly everything exactly equally, wouldn't that be the same as not loving at all? Angels have said in return that it's actually not like that at all, and refused to give further statement. Despite this, most angels advise against becoming personally attached to particular living beings, given their propensity towards dying. Then, of course, most angels don't have a problem with this to begin with. They all spend most of their time up in Heaven, only dropping by Earth for occasional check-ins or special events, such as the birth of Christ or the final showing of The Sound of Music. As Heaven's emissary on Earth and therefore the one most jeopardized by this problem, Aziraphale had to pay special attention to said bit of advice, and tried his best to follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, his best didn't always work out.

The cat arrived on a foggy morning in 1810.

"Aziraphale, if you don't tell me what's going on, I swear to Someone I'm parking the Bentley right through your front door."

"There's no need for such things," Aziraphale protested.

"Then be honest with me. Thou shalt not lie, and stuff. Let me come over." It was the minute before dawn on a Sunday morning, and the streets were still fairly quiet, devoid of the typical hustle and bustle of day-to-day London. If it hadn't been for this uncharacteristic silence, Aziraphale wouldn't have noticed the faint rumbling of the motor in the background of the call. "I don't seem to have much of a say, do I?"

[internerdionality]

Can I ask if there is anything percolating in the Suffer a Sea Change series? That "pre-ship" tag is haunting me.

I am also equally haunted by the I'm Not Ready for Whatever This Is series. The impending poly situations. help.

Yes, you absolutely can, thank you for asking, and yes, there is! The latter will be out well before the former, but both are very much in the works.

I am kind of a classic case of ADD “takes on too many fics” kinda writer. Right now my top priorities/fics I feel driven to write are:

My winter exchange fic for the Sprizzy server (currently untitled, about halfway done, will be posted third week of January come hell or high water)

The next Stizzy installment for I’m Not Ready for Whatever This Is, which is going to be titled "Add a Flourish" (I was hoping for this next part to plunge into the SteddyHands but Stede wasn’t done wallowing in angst. Almost done, will be posted second or fourth week of January depending on how progress on the exchange fic goes)

Finishing Fuck it Through as a Crew (draft of the chapter is done but needs some heavy editing, also January)

Final chapter of Paid with Sighs and Rubies (about half done, aiming for late January/early February)

Always another chapter of my “Batman becomes a cat” fic, whenever I have time

Past that, things get hazier. I really want to get back to my Marvel time travel fix-it but I’ve been a bit blocked on the next chapter. I have a T4T4T modern GentleScribed that I keep meaning to finish but have barely touched since Season 2 came out. The next chapter of Burning Like Embers, Falling Tender is actually about half done but every chapter of that thing is a monster, now, so it still has a lot of writing before it'll be ready to post.

Annddd yes, the sequel to Soaked to the Skin, which is titled Cut to the Bone and explores Izzy and Lucius settling into Stede's crew and figuring out what Lucius being polyam actually means for them, while Ed wrestles with having lost Stede and Izzy! I have about 35K written for it, but most of that was drafted in late 2022 and very early 2023. I haven't had the motivation to work seriously on it for a while, I'm afraid, but I do really want to get back to it.

To be honest, I have some insecurities about it being not as good as Soaked to the Skin—I don't want to follow my baby with something that'll disappoint readers! But I'm hoping once I clear the decks from some of my top numbered priorities above (assuming they don't immediately get replaced with new plot bunnies, lol), I'll find the energy to focus on it again. I've had some beta readers go through the current in-progress chapters recently and they have been giving me some more hype about it!

(Although if it's the Ed/Izzy pre-ship tag that's haunting you, that plot thread isn't going to pick back up until the third — and final? maybe? unless I turn in into a quartet? — installment for that series, tentatively titled Struck to the Heart. Except for how, you know, his devotion to Ed is always driving Izzy's character and motivations. But they're not going to be in the same zip code at any point during Cut to the Bone. I'm so, so sorry. )

And then finally, down here in my purgatory, I have my "I swear I haven't abandoned you" fics like Unmoored (next chapter started, at least?), Dining is Pageantry, my three Good Omens WIPs, the sequel to Learning at the Foot of One of the Greats, the next chapter of What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor (I swear I'm gonna finish that fic one day, I swear), Praying on the Height, and that Rizzy cannibalism fic I keep promising HopelessScribe I'll finish :D

And below that I have my graveyard fics that I haven't worked on in months but really do want to go back to one day—the DC/Slayerverse crossover, the insane Dragonriders of Pern OFMD AU, my winter piece (from last year, oy) for Dragonmuse's Leda House series, and all my poor abandoned SuperBat wips!

[vhyral]

*eyes emoji* if u want prompts,,, "One of them is hurt and the other falls asleep in their hospital room" for Roan and an LI of ur choice :33c

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.

He never does and when Ezra comes to wake his patient up the next morning, he can’t but chuckle at the Hunter and Demon sleeping snuggled against each other, Omen’s tail lazily draped over Roan’s waist. Alkar, unseen from the door, shifts on the floor, letting out a yawn as his two partners stir.