Lookism x Reader: Aftermath (Goo, Gun)
G/N. 514/515 Spoilers. Fluffy, surprisingly. Masterlists
"Look at the state of you."
Goo doesn't look abashed at all, despite the literal hole in his body.
The goddamn self-inflicted sword wound.
You had half a mind to inflict a few more of your own for his stupidity.
"Was this really the best strategy you had?"
His air of arrogance and self-confidence doesn't dissipate. There's a stubborness in his gaze even as he looks at you with a pout on his lips and tells you to stop being mean. Gun was already a disappointment during the fight, and now he comes back to you being a sourpuss.
"I am not a sourpuss-" you start through gritted teeth, and then realise maybe you should handle this menace with some delicacy.
Hurt lies beneath his playful attitude and under his wound. Gun was always intended to be his ride die-or-die, at least from Goo's point of view. Him rejecting his offer of a partnership wasn't unexpected, but what was supposed to be their 'final fight' was an anticlimax.
"He cheated!" Goo still screeched, days after the fact. Mentioning something about Gun's ultra-instinct, and how he wasn't being 'him'.
By now you had heard this story and his complaints with endless patience. You can recount every detail of the fight, and recite word for word how wrong-footed Goo felt.
"I know," you would agree every time, despite not really caring. "Bastard, isn't he?"
"YES!" Goo shouts vehemently, vindicated, eyes bugging out. "I knew I could count on you, Cupcake."
He presses a loud kiss to your cheek, as a thank you and an agreement that Gun truly is a bastard. Appeased, he doesn't bring this up again until the next hour.
"Your eyes are kinda pretty."
Gun doesn't flinch at the antiseptic on his wounds, the solutions you pour onto his scrapes, your sloppy stitching on his lesions.
He does, however, recoil sharply at your comment.
"I haven't seen them properly before," you add with an impish grin, "Pretty."
"No." Gun glares at you with his eyes, like voids. Dark brown, almost black. Shark-like, you think, predatory. There's no golden hues, no flecks of light reflected. A vacuum.
The only thing that has carried over from his Ultra-Instinct defining feature - is the warmth.
(Strange to think of someone like Gun Park, a man constantly out for blood, as warm.)
But even as he glowers at you for your comments, there's a softness only you can see, only when he looks at you.
Whether his eyes are colourless, set amongst an obsidian backdrop; or natural - like the darkest chocolate, an unpolluted midnight sky...
You find comfort and tenderness in his gaze.
