Alright, then i'll request something because why not right? May i request omen with a reader who also controls shadows? Like how would he react to her powers or would there be any funny moments where reader tries to control his body? OH I GOT IT You think that she would be able to touch his face? I just cannot stop thinking about how his body work 😭😭
Take your time, i dont mind waiting. Or just ignore it if you dont have the feeling to write. Thank uuuu <33
shadowing you // omen x gn!oc
synopsis; omen finding out that his s/o has similar powers as him, dw his reaction is very cute uwu + Iko will have specified abilities lol
tw// none just fluff! And ofc might be some errors in some sentences lol
a/n: bro its been a hot minute since ive written anything, it may be rusty but enjoyyyyy!! and lawddd this gif makes me foam JNDNJDWJDWJNDWJNDWJNDWJNDW
"Would they be opposed to a handknit sweater? I've buried hundreds."
Iko was at the shooting range, trying to focus on what it feels like to hold weapons just in case they're not able to get access to their abilities during a warzone. They peeked around corners and shot the dummies and occasionally threw some daggers of lightning at the head points with accuracy. Sweat was pooling around their uniform as they wiped a drip from their jawline. Not aware that someone was observing them from afar, within his shadows.
A black shadow-smoked figure appeared behind them before they could raise a dagger to continue their training. The shadow flicked the weapon towards the ground, “What the fuck?” They muttered and narrowed their eyes, the flickering shadowy smoke wore off from the daggers, and they recognised it. “Omi?” They breathed, and as expected from the shadows, it was him.
Omen hummed and nodded in acknowledgment of them. They grinned and smacked his chest gently. “Disrupting my training?” He scoffs at the accusation and turns away as he crosses his arms, as if he were avoiding the truth. Iko laughed and tugged his arm to uncross them. Omen and Iko have been together for less than 3 months; they had a rocky past but knew that they needed each other when things became harsh. Iko fell for him before knowing it, but Omen, surprisingly enough, fell harder for them. He never felt this way before after turning into who he is now, thinking love or these feelings wasn’t true or achievable until he sensed their pure soul. Iko saved his life.
He rolled his head slightly, as if he were rolling his eyes. “I want to see what love has been up to,” he mumbled as he fiddled with his scarf. Iko nibble their inner cheek, trying not to smile. “Just want to practice where I'm at with my skills” Iko checks the mags as they smirk at him.
“Say, do you want to join me?” Iko nudged him and tossed a sheriff to him, which he swiftly caught and grasped confidently. Omen nods, “Gladly”. Within seconds, he disappeared and teleported on top of a platform, and they both began to practice together.
–
Omen stood near them to take a small break, loading up his guns and weapons. Iko saw his shadow and theorised an idea they had been mentally brainstorming with Neon and Clove. The two only knew about Iko’s ability to control shadow and wanted to see if they could do it with Omen.
They undulated their fingers, and not only their shadow moved, but so did his. Omen widened his eyes and was irked slightly. Iko parted their lips in shock and watched their own shadows dance within his. “What in the world is happening-” He muttered and almost dropped his gun but caught it just in time, both mesmerised yet awed.
Omen shook his head slightly, swallowed his concerns down and shifted, almost like he was contemplating something, then teleported in front of them, gathering his shadow back to his form antheir hand, clasping his hands over theirs, gently. “Come. Follow me.” Iko gulped and nodded; they both headed to the chambers, especially for radiants.
–
Iko explained to Omen what happened, and he knew he had to assist them with their abilities, or else it might kill them completely. They undulated their abilities with his; he sat still and positioned himself in front of Iko. Calmly. He exhaled and watched closely. The focused agent swiftly moved closer to his face, and they closed their eyes. Their shadow reached for his face, and it felt like feathers brushed against his ghostly features, almost a soft blow of warmth. Their hands cupped his phantom face. Specs of small sparkles like galaxies meeting heaven mixed with calm chaos.
Omen’s shadow glitched slightly, and he felt himself feel human and alive, not knowing Iko was capable of reaching his soul. They both opened their eyes, and their shadow emerged into one. A mixture of dark purple and shades of others. They didn't pull their gaze away from each other before their shadows were gathered back to both owners. Omen stood there, no words. Iko swallowed again, “Did I do something-” Interrupting their question. His body came closer and wrapped his arms around their body. The once stiff agent softened their stance and embraced him tightly.
“That brought me more love than you can describe in words.” Omen rumbled and placed his chin over their head. Iko grinned and nuzzled into his scarf.
“Though ideas have been formed.” He mutters, almost confidently. The agent stopped and their cheeks reddened like roses in early spring had bloomed.
“Oh really?” They nibble their inner cheek, their thoughts were wilding in places. Omen noticed and scoffed gently, lovingly. “That, but i can teach you to knit as well.” Iko blushed and giggled, “Gladly, id love that.” The phantom let out a short chuckle of admiration and brushed their hair aside to peck their cheeks and forehead.
E N D.
a/n: THANK YOUUUUU SMMM FOR THIS REQUEST !!!! Im so so sorry its been ages since ive touched tumblr and my docs DNJWNWJNDWNDWJ
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Omen’s chronic case of trigger finger stops only when he finds you at the other end of his gun. But, of course, it’s not you.
It’s the Phantom—your Phantom—that should have given it away, but he’s not paying enough attention to notice the pixelated camo print that has been meticulously painted on the body or the laser sight that’s mounted. He just can’t stop staring at you. He’s drinking in your face, that fact that you’re here with him again.
He hasn’t seen you in forty three days—not that Omen’s counting. First, you had been assigned on a reconnaissance mission in Siberia. It was supposed to be two weeks, maybe three max, but it’s been impossible to get a hold of your team. Omen has had no word from you in forty three days, and it’s affecting him more than he’d care to admit. Now, he finds himself in Morrocco, shifting between sand and sentiments as he struggles to keep his attention where it matters—
Omen doesn’t sleep. He isn’t sure what he does to pass the time, really, but sometimes, he thinks he sleeps because he dreams. He dreams that you’ve died somewhere in the desolate tundra and it’s his fault. He’s too far away to help you when you need it most and too weak to do anything to save you. He is thrust into consciousness each time, chest heaving and hands shaking. He finds that it’s worse on quiet nights.
There’s an enemy Raze that throws a grenade towards him. Omen barely has enough time to teleport away from danger into a narrow, curved alleyway. A trail of bullets follows him. One manages to bury itself into his shoulder. The controller hisses in pain and tucks himself deeper into the corner. Elsewhere, he hears Wingman making his rounds onsite. Killjoy’s turret goes off on his right. Overhead, one of Skye’s birds burst into a ray of light.
“Omen, you need to stop worrying,” Sage crosses her arms in the way she does whenever she’s about to scold someone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sage eyes the half-finished sweater in Omen’s lap. It’s sat there for the last half an hour, untouched, as Omen stares at the screen listing updates on current missions. The status for you and your team hasn’t changed in eight days. It doesn’t stop him from checking.
The healer sighs. There’s nothing she can say to truly ease his mind, but she does her best anyway. You’re hardy and have a level head on your shoulders. You’re there with Jett, Cypher, Breach, and Astra. An experienced team. There’s nothing for Omen to worry about—
The enemy Viper fills the air with her noxious gas. It burns to breathe it in, but Omen has no choice. He stands in a toxic, green sea. He walks forward with cautious steps. Every so often, he flicks his gun back and forth, thinking he’s seeing something out of the corner of his eye. He thinks he sees your face in the veridian haze, but when he turns, there’s nothing there at all. He turns around and barely spots Viper off to his left. His shot is accurate, deadly. The air clears almost as quickly as she falls. It leaves him out in the open, exposed and in clear view down your sight.
“What will you do if you see her?” The tone in Vyse’s voice is monotone, but Omen knows better. She never speaks without reason. The Range is quiet, save for their gunshots. She shoots three targets, dead center, before lowering her Guardian. Her signal that it’s Omen’s turn.
He raises his Sheriff and hits his three targets with similar accuracy.
“It will not come to that.”
Vyse hums. She turns to a series of mannequins standing in the corner of the Range and fires, hitting a clean headshot.
Omen takes his turn, hitting two in the head.
“Will you kill her?”
Omen misses the third. It takes three more shots until he’s able to get a clean hit.
“Perhaps not with aim like that,” Vyse remarks dryly. “At least she’ll put you out of your misery by killing you first.”
He sees your familiar face, and it’s as if time itself has grinded to a complete and utter stop. He feels a strange pang in his chest. He can’t bring himself to focus his aim on you. His fingers are stiff. It's as if his body can’t bring itself to pull the trigger.
The feeling is not mutual.
He hears someone behind him shout his name. Maybe it was Skye or Brimstone, he can’t be sure. He falls to the ground before he can register the pain of your shots coursing through his body.
Whorls of brown smoke rain down from the sky as the sound of Skye’s bird shoots into the air before erupting into blinding brilliance. Enough time is bought. Two pairs of hands hurriedly find themselves hoisting the injured Controller off the ground and away from the open fire.
Omen doesn't feel pain the same way now, or at least, he thinks he doesn’t. He’s not sure what is normal anymore. He knows he should be afraid—you managed to do some nasty damage—but his heart stutters as he manages to catch a glimpse of your face between the wisps of smoke that fill the air. He’s too taken to register Skye and Brim speaking to him, Gekko racing over and frantically asking “what happened?,” Killjoy replying that there’s no time for this now, we need to leave.
Just the thought of you is enough to send his mind racing. Even as he’s hauled away, he finds himself scanning the smoke for some sign of you. He’d accept even a trace, some vestige, but you seem to have disappeared in the chaos. For now, you have lived only in his thoughts. He is enamored by your spectral presence, your haunted, hopeless loverboy.
in Omen's mind, he's just being vigilant. to everyone else, there's clearly more going on.
Omen x f!Agent!Reader
parts [1], [3]
Omen who attaches himself to your hip and never once considers why he’s so keen on having your company.
Omen who is one of the last people in the entirety of Valorant HQ to realize that he has a crush on you.
All the other agents know. They talk about it too, just not to him.
“Brim keeps hinting at a mission, a big one—Wingman, put Cypher’s hat down! Don’t touch what’s not yours, little buddy—He said it’s several weeks in the field.” “Yeah? Who do you think’s going to go?” “Omen?” “Ha! Only if the new recruit goes too! He’s like her shadow or something.”
Omen is too tense when Miks challenges you to a friendly game of Mario Kart in the breakroom.
He’s watching too intently from the corner of the room as Yoru shows you how to do tricks with his butterfly knife.
Even as the mission looms closer and the agents begin preparations, the tension never leaves him.
Deadlock catches the way that Omen hovers when she’s giving you some shooting tips in the Range
Vyse notices the annoyance rolling off him when she’s helping you with utility placement during group training.
It’s on one of the rare occasions that you are not with Omen that Jett finally says something.
He's sitting with his bonsai tree, shears in hand, but not a single leaf has been trimmed. Instead, he's too busy watching you in the training room with Phoenix and KAYO as you practice your aim with the Sheriff when she speaks, “chill out, Omen. No one’s trying to steal your girl.”
The sure-footed shroud fumbles with his shears, they fall into his lap. His voice, gravelly and panicked, “what?”
Jett’s too busy laughing at his reaction to respond, so Neon finishes for her, “the new girl. You don’t need to stare daggers into everyone that gets within a three foot radius of her, you know.”
Omen, who never hesitates with his words or is ever wanting for something to say, has been rendered speechless.
“Just tell her already. It’ll make this less painful for all of us.” Jett grabs a banana off the table and throws him a wink. They don't wait for him to respond, the two Duelists set off to join you for combat practice.
Omen vaguely contemplates saying something that day at lunch, then that night when you’re seated next to him on the couch, struggling with a row of purl stitches, wonky and uneven, when his comms go off, signalling an urgent mission requiring immediate departure. That mission.
Omen, who digs for his comms, only to be greeted with his own reflection in the dark screen, no ping.
Omen, whose heart drops when he realizes that it’s your comms going off.
Omen who hardly mutters a goodbye before you’re dashing out of the door just in time to join Jett and Cypher as they run down the hall towards the helipad. He hears your voice faintly call out to him. "Be back soon!"
Omen who’s left there alone with his sweater (well, your sweater, but you don’t know that yet), half-done, and the empty sofa cushion beside him, warm from where your body just was.
He stays there motionless until the fabric goes cold as if waiting for the last trace of you to fade away. Wordlessly, he gathers your knitting and returns to his room, alone.
this is the most company Omen has had in a while... he doesn't mind it one bit
Omen x Agent!Reader
parts [2], [3]
You watch Omen, who sits across from you in the break room, as he cleans the weapon in his hands. It’s a Phantom—you can tell as much by the rounded barrel and the shape of the body—but its design remains unfamiliar to you, piquing your curiosity. All the agents had customized their guns to some extent and you were no exception, but this variation was one you had never seen before on Alpha Earth or Omega Earth.
He doesn’t acknowledge your attention at first, not out of malice, but his own concentration. He’s already redone the red wrapping that covers parts of the handguard and the stock, and combed through the purple feathers that run along the top of the body. Now all that’s left to do is dust and polish. His gloved hands run along the raised wrought iron edges with sharpened precision as he runs the worn dusting cloth over the surface. These are the kind of tasks he enjoys; ones that demand his attention and force his wandering mind into a rare silence.
It’s not until you shift slightly, keening to get a closer look at his handiwork from over the table, that he remembers where he is. He glances up to your face, commits to memory every detail of the look of amazement on your face, and fails—as usual—to realize that he’s admiring. He doesn’t notice that his hand has slowed to a stop and yet, his mind remains tranquil all the same as he stares at you unabashedly.
It’s not until you glance up at him and toss him an easy smile that his mind begins to race and he’s quick to avert his gaze back down to the task at hand. You’re a relatively new recruit, though you swiftly found yourself in the good graces of the other agents. Cheerful, easy to talk to, and reliable—even Viper couldn’t find a reason to be cross with you. Omen had initially kept his distance as he does with all newcomers to the protocol. It’s easy for him to isolate himself; who would want anything to do with a monster like him?
You did, apparently. It started with sitting together in the breakroom. Short conversations turned into longer, more natural discussions over meals at the mess hall. Now, it’s only expected that where one goes, another is sure to be nearby.
Only now do you break the comfortable silence.
“Did you modify this yourself, Omen? It’s beautiful.”
Omen eyes the skull emblem that sits on the receiver. It stares back at him now and every time he aims down the sight and every time he pulls the trigger. Its eyes don’t glow now; the safety is on and the magazine is empty and he’s somewhere safe, far away from battle and bloodshed. But he can imagine their eerie red glow all the same. He thinks of the rush he feels when he watches a body crumple to the ground, lifeless. It sends satisfaction running through his veins, a twisted sense of gratification, but beautiful?
It’s a thoughtful pause before he responds.
“Yes, I did.”
You hum watching as he continues to massage the metal with polishing cloth under his thumb.
Omen has never been one to mind silence, in fact, he’s found that he craves it more often than not, but there’s something about this moment that he can’t quite explain. The thought of you standing up and leaving the room creates a pit in his stomach that he can’t ignore. It leaves him wracking his brain for something to add, to selfishly keep your attention on him for just a little while longer.
“And what of your’s? Killjoy has your Phantom, does she not?”
He doesn’t look up, but he can see you in the periphery of his vision. He sees the way the expression on your face morphs into one of pleasant surprise, that he remembered you excitedly mentioning last week that Killjoy agreed to help modify your stock rifle. Of course, Omen remembers. He remembers everything you say.
“She does! She hasn’t been able to do much work on it the last few days since she’s been on missions, but she said she has time this weekend and thinks she can get it done by Monday…” Omen continues polishing his rifle as he listens to you talk, pleased with his work.
You prattle on about the modifications—adjustments to the shape of the body to make it more rectangular, a purple paint job, RGB lights. You talk about other modifications you’d like to do on your other guns when you have the time.
Omen doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to; you always know that he’s listening. It shows in the way he remembers the details.
“I’m excited to see it! It was really fun to modify my Classic. I can’t wait to work on the others.” You chirp as Omen finishes the barrel.
Wordlessly, he sets down the cloth and admires the way the metal glints in the light. He angles it towards you for you to see.
You nod approvingly.
Then, Omen speaks. “I’m sure it will be…” He admires the way you look across from him, eyes bright, “beautiful.”
He loves the way you beam at him.
“Thank you, Omen! I think so too.”
He stands up, gun in hand.
“The reloading mechanism of this gun is special too. Care to join me in the Range? I can show you.”
“Would I!” You bound up next to him in matched paces. He’s much taller than you, forcing you to crane your neck.
He stares down at you as you walk together towards the door.
Warnings: All male characters are Yandere, blood, violence, smut, nsfw mentions, obssesion, side characters deaths.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
Yoru: Words. [Coffee shop]
For him, words mean nothing if the actions don't back them up immediately; whether be in friendships or his intimate life—to which he shouldn't worry at all since he has none—, he won't heed to promises nor apologies if those are not fulfilled accordingly.
This fact never changed, strengthening with time and polishing it through everything surrounding him despite clashing wildly with the rest. Deaf to complaints and blind to dirty stares, he continues to strive forward in life ignoring them; because if not even the first light made him change his mind, neither will the people who came after the disaster.
Even when he found himself falling in love, Ryo’s morals and beliefs never warped nor misguided.
Odd, in everyone's eyes. Reasonable, in his.
The loner wolf got someone to like him and tame his wild heart by simple actions, little by little, until Yoru stopped being the radiant with powerful abilities, to introduce himself to you as Ryo; a normal japanese man who enjoys the smell of coffee and reminisce the old times with a heavy heart.
You were completely fooled by his web of lies to keep you away from the mess his life is, to keep you on your toes whenever he desired to share bits of his past and made you feel like the only person special in his world; which is true, despite the many wrongs he's done, you are truly what he could consider his special someone and his treasure.
You managed to have him wrapped around your finger in less than a month with sweet words and caring nature. Stubborn but mindful, hot-headed but grounded—you were the perfect mix complimenting him.
Yoru didn't even know he was capable of trusting something as important as his heart to a stranger of sorts, blindly following what his emotions dictate and what your sweet words enchant him to do.
He was in love, completely and utterly head over heels for you it was almost ridiculous.
Eating every word you’d have to say as if it were the law, watching your hands work around your station and do their magic while making his favorite beverage for the day, stealing glances his way every now and then—it was embarrassing how pliant you made him by just being there.
There were days he would stay longer. When work was not important and you seemed thrilled to have him around, he’d lounge in the coffee shop and watch you work with a smile gracing your features.
And when the night falls, and you are tucked away in the privacy of your room, he would kiss every inch of your body that you allow him to touch and worship you as if you were a god, his god; preaching, marking and claiming you as his.
Every touch, every bite mark, every time you gasp for air when he drowns himself between your thighs, taking and taking in tandem what you offer in a silver plate; he cannot get enough, going for your sensitive spots one at a time until he has you shattering with pleasure and he chases after you to join. But no matter what, always prioritizing you.
That’s how ridiculous this whole thing is.
Phoenix and Jett are the few who are witness to his affections and love towards another human being— and made it out alive after being found out spying on the Japanese man.
To say you saved them from the wrath of Yoru's anger despite having all the reasons to smite them would be an understatement. They are more than thankful, if not curious about your history with the riftwalker and what it meant to have a partner outside the realm of normalcy.
It was dangerous, in truth, to have his personal life disclosed this easily to everyone who was his comrade in battle. Nothing good would come out of it and his lies would be found out if you were to interact further with them.
But at the end, he realized it could favor him immensely if the others knew, except for you.
Yoru is not someone who can trust others easily, as previously stated. Quite the opposite.
Through his tough persona, he evades people all the time to avoid being seen or cornered to socialize; insulting and pushing away whoever wants to approach him even from a friendly stance.
When you entered his life he understood he wouldn't be able to protect you alone. Hence the lies, to keep you at arms lengths. But now that you were too involved in his world, the best course of action that he finds reasonable is to rope a few other agents to ensure your safety, as dangerous as it might sound.
Cypher would make sure to erase every trace of interactions with the riftwalker after every meeting; all at the high price he won't disclose by contract with the Moroccan man. He is not proud of what he owes him now, but to know you're well secured and protected, he would do it again and again.
He contacted Killjoy to hack into the system to find any correlation of your social circle to whoever worked or is currently working for Kingdom. Once the list was delivered to his hands, Yoru would make sure everyone on the list would be erased from existence; not a single soul would be able to escape him.
By what methods? That's for him to take to the grave, with no witnesses.
You are his world, you are his everything, and he will make sure you are safe and sound or else hell will rise.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
Omen: Words. [Knitting shop]
The concentration poured into keeping himself together could be arguably the best quality he could offer.
Not everyone can pride themselves about the determination of keeping oneself alive for longer than nature intended; since his due time was past the date and he’s now breaking every little law of the universe, he wonders if this was some sort of punishment for going against it.
He’s never asked to be revived into…a monster, despite having many people arguing that whatever he is now, is better than being dead.
A foolish thought.
Omen can definitely be naming the many reasons as to why it is not a miracle, but a penitence for his past mistakes when he was alive. Atoning for his sins in the form of smokes and dirty armor, from broken flesh and ignited bones, it pains him deeply being alive and despises whoever treats his hurt as if it were nothing.
Being reborn as a new being shifts something on his brain, unintentionally, and he begins treating himself as an inhuman. Therefore, anyone who looks his way treats him the same way: like a monster.
Is inevitable, really, a course of action not even he has the power to stop nor change. He goes along with whatever happens in his surroundings now, accustomed to his comrades' attitudes.
He’s more than aware of their dirty looks and general avoidance whenever he is in the vicinity, oblivious of his capability of sensing emotions through wavelengths or the fact that he’s witness to their change in demeanour— they know how to keep it professional enough so disturbances don't take place.
That is how his days go by, used to it, used to being an unsightly view and detriment to the morale of his comrades with his unsettling voice and mannerism. His turmoil means nothing if the rest is content with not having him around; so he absconds, hides himself most of the time and pretends he isn't alive for their sake.
There is nothing new in his everyday life.
Or so he thinks, before his curse tides the wave in his favor.
Imagine his surprise the first time someone didn't react negatively with his presence.
It threw him off, confusion overtaking him and assuming he just read the cues wrong. It surprises him more when you don’t react at all until he speaks out loud, scaring the living shit out of you.
When you look at him, or more specifically, where you thought he was, Omen supposed this would go different.
Not being a sociable person, Omen finds it odd to have been convinced to come to Harajuku for materials he needed. Some of his knitting kits have gone missing, and trying not to bother his comrades, he never spoke about the issue.
Yoru made some reassurance, in his own way, that no one would mind the way he looks since everyone there was already a freak. Omen didn't refute his saying, since his words had truth in there, despite feeling offended.
“They won't even notice you at night,” he commented.
No fear, no screams, not even a glance nor terrified expression painting your features besides being startled; that's how your first meeting went: only a smile and the pleasure to assist him.
Kind and lovely, adjectives Omen would never think of being used in his vocabulary, but for this occasion, it was necessary, a must to describe you. Amusing, too, whenever he would ask you questions about certain things, voice deep and reverberating it sent shivers down your spine; he made you nervous.
One more worker, just like him, but missing a certain ability most had.
You were blind.
For better or worse, it doesn't change your way of treating him like a human being; despite him losing his humanity over and over again on the battlefield, taking life after another, you treat him with a kindness and warmness that he has forgotten long ago.
You are quick to erase the awful thoughts running through his brain with little chats and adorable clumsiness, chasing after him at the shop to keep talking. It was flattering that someone was taking an interest in him this deeply, and inevitably, he finds himself chasing after you too.
Omen believes this is how liking someone feels, contrary to his initial thoughts on socializing, he finds it fulfilling and easy to navigate with you with this newfound feeling.
His one time visit becomes a recurrent, always looking for you and ignoring everyone else in your surroundings to bask in your full attention and pretty smiles. Even when people visit the shop, even when people comment on his overall look with disgusted faces, one word from you eases his tension and doubts.
You are a sweetheart to a fault, letting everyone walk on you because of your calm demeanor and shy complex under stressful situations. He would watch people talk behind your back within your presence, ignoring completely the crestfallen expression on your face or the gathering tears in your eyes when you think he’s not there or no one notices.
They belittle you, doubt your work and decision making because of your lack of vision.
They doubt him too, for his appearance perhaps, he doesn’t know for sure. But their words begin to target him as well, stronger than before, with the full intention of seeing him fall and break under the pressure of the masses and therefore, you would fall too.
Omen decides he wants them gone.
Aim is another quality of his, you know?
A little secret whispered in your ear one night. With a promise to return and barrel of the gun cold, he goes off into the dark and blends in within the shadows surrounding the city to fulfill his wishes.
Whatever he does outside the sliding doors of the little shop should be none of your concern, but his alone. If you hear crying, muffled sounds at the end of the street, or just the minimum rustle at the entrance, he’s warned you to not chase after it.
Being covered in dry blood is not a pretty sight, and he wonders then, watching the life fading from another monster who dared disrespect you, if you would accept him for who he really is.
So when he reaches the threshold in the shop, startling you and freezing on the spot, he asks you if you would ever consider loving someone who doesn't belong in this world anymore.
When you kiss for the first time, Omen doesn't think, he can't, too overwhelmed to process what's going on.
It’s odd, but somehow, warming. Your face is warm with how embarrassed and nervous you feel, lips reaching into thin air, but at the same time, colliding against a surface you believe could be his mouth.
Your hands hold his head in place through the fabric of his hood, and he can feel your thumbs rubbing softly against what could be considered his cheeks in a soothing motion when you press further and then back away, smiling softly at him.
There are no words to say, it's unnecessary at this moment when the question has been answered.
Omen caresses your face with his claws, and he feels you shiver and sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.
Leaning in, he decides to take what he wants from you, and you gladly let him have his way with you, whispering his name the moment his hands disappear under your clothes and smoke embraces your whole body.
Inside the closed shop, no one is witness of the way Omen loves you that night, with his whole being and emotions only he dreamed of being real and is now a reality.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
Gekko: Freedom. [An acquaintance]
Throughout his life, Mateo has always been considered a friendly person.
Conversations here and there, making friends down the street, enamouring the grandladies next door who always gush over his cuteness and kindness as a little kid.
He's always been popular amongst the people surrounding him; a star shining brightly amongst others, a leader, a role model. Mateo is everything and all mothers wish for their kids to be when they grow up, for people to have as a friend, and for girls to want in their boyfriends.
But for him, none of it is of importance. It’s irrelevant and pointless to praise him non-stop when he believes nothing of what they say.
Mateo only wishes he could be freed from all of this pressure and simply live his life as a normal teenage boy.
Having been born and raised by a single mother has been tough, with the many expectations put onto his shoulders and many accomplishments he felt the need to fulfill, Mateo never had the time to discover himself in this world but to wear the shoes of someone who is predetermined to succeed.
They expected him to be smart; so he would study non-stop, missing hours of sleep and time to be playing outside just to focus on his grades and reach the top results. They expected him to be kinder; to always share his things, to share his food, to share his money until he was broke just to please the rest of the world.
They expected many things he despised, but Mateo never said no.
It was like a curse he self-inflicted and didn’t know how to get rid of, and as much as he tries to lash out or simply think to rebel and live like he wants, the nagging feeling of guilt eats him alive before he acts.
Giving up and accepting the façade he's created is the easiest path. He will stop struggling, he will come to terms with what he's chosen and just bear with it.
Mateo will have to live chained to this fate.
But then, he met his little crew.
The one time he decides to do something for himself, he gets wrapped into the biggest catastrophe that has ever been; affecting everything and everyone in the world until there is nothing but himself and his new friends.
The shift they cause is what makes him decide to start being selfish.
They say when you meet death face-on you can never become the person you used to be. In his case, it meant leaving behind the cocoon of someone who pleased everyone in his surroundings and was finally feeling the metaphorical chains break him free.
Mateo breathes deeply when he comes to that realization, and it almost feels like the first time doing it.
And it gets better.
Because through Reyna is how he meets you.
You are stunning, amazing, funny, gorgeous—he’s running out of words to describe you!
Shaking his hand for the first time, he knows it has to be you. The one to complete his puzzle, the one to fill that empty space of his new life.
Mateo falls in love with you right there and then.
He never believed to have strong feelings for anything in life nor desires that he deeply wanted for himself except freedom— but you made him change his perspective as soon as you came into his life.
It was as if a door had been unlocked and all the suppressed emotions bursted without control, clouding his mind and getting overwhelmed with what he was feeling until there were no other thoughts but you.
You were the contender of his affections and desires now, and Mateo, in his sick twisted way of thinking, thought that you will have to belong to him as well.
Just like he claimed his crew to be his, despite them being sentient, just like he claimed back his life, and just like he got the courage to toss away everyone who crossed his path and denied him the opportunity to evolve into someone better—he is now going to claim you as his.
Nevermind that you had a partner already, nevermind Reyna eyeing him carefully after the exchange of pleasantries, dubious and concerned because of his unstable emotions; his focus was you, and you alone.
Blame it on the world, blame it on Kingdom, fuck, blame it on him for going to this lengths to make sure he had a chance.
Mateo has killed people before.
The Valorant protocol trains them to have impeccable aim and be smart about their actions, so it is no wonder he could kill your partner in one clean shot the next day and hide the body for no one to find.
Many secrets bloom from his action, but no regrets were found in his eerie smile nor empty hazel eyes when Reyna confronted him about it. Mateo had the upper hand, because he knew she wouldn't say a word—because despite being a cold-hearted person and having her judgment intact, she has a soft spot for him, and Mateo plans to abuse that for his goal.
It comes in handy with everything he taught himself when you look for someone to hold onto, crying and sobbing when your partner goes missing.
Mateo acts empathetic, soothing your cries and assuring you he would never leave your side until your partner is found. He promises to do everything to help, and to keep you company as you try to heal from the sudden disappearance.
And it takes you a long time to move on. Deciding whether your partner abandoned you or simply decided to be gone from the world, Mateo's words bring a smile to your face every time he tries to cheer you up.
Flirting, teasing, and keeping you on the edge of your seat with his actions is his way to test the waters.
Mateo is eloquent when it comes to words and his ways of gaslighting. To make you trust him slowly and not only by baseless talking—is a long process, a tedious one where he needs to make sure everything is going according to what he needs and not be rash on his decisions.
He compliments everything you do, from what you wear to what you do. He’s always there whenever you need company or someone to talk to.
Mateo brings years of experience in entertaining and being the good guy to make you like him; it’s genius how polished he has that persona that it looks natural.
Sometimes, when he feels the need to know the progress in the relationship he’s trying to build, he becomes bolder and breaches the friendly distance in which you keep him at.
Mateo corners you in the hallway once, hovering over your mouth with inches apart, breaths intermingling and lips barely touching until he suddenly pulls away. He acts flustered and nervous, apologizing and making excuses as he escapes from the situation. But then he sees you from a distance, tip of your fingers touching your lips as he sees you shaking on the spot, too shy to move away or say something.
It’s like he’s toying with you on purpose, you think nervously. Face warm and a hammering heart threatening to burst through your chest. Mateo loves teasing you, but this has gotten to a point where he’s starting to slip and become desperate.
Because there is so much a man like him can tolerate. And the tension between you two, sexual tension that has him trembling and absconding in his quarters to find some relief in the pleasure you provoke him by just being there, is starting to make him lose his mind.
When you breach the barrier by throwing yourself at him one day, having enough of his constant teasing, and you fall onto your bed, climbing on top of him and kissing him with fervor and heated passion, he knows he’s won.
Mateo reciprocates with the same sentiment, drowning in your lips and taste, with his heart full and desires fulfilled. He holds you tightly and without restrain, hands roaming your body and touching and taking.
As clothes fall to the floor and your warm and naked bodies intermingle in a dance of passion, you confess your love to him between moans and gasps.
Only when Mateo releases inside you, feeling the pulse of your walls fluttering around his cock as you reach your orgasm, does he allow himself to cry and kiss you all over as he confesses his love for you too.
This is what it means to have freedom.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
Cypher: Family. [A chess piece]
In his culture, family is the most important aspect in their lives. The ones to trust unconditionally and love infinitely, and those who will reciprocate his feelings throughout their whole lives with no regrets.
To Amir, his grandfather was his world.
An angry old cranky man was he, beating the crap out of intruders who dared disrespect the La Amari family and protecting what little land they still held against Kingdom's agents.
His grandfather had no powers nor weapons for the enemy to fear him—but it was of no need for this battle. La Amari's grandfather was a well-respected person that his own people feared him sometimes; because he gave what no one else could: hope, enough of a little spark to inspire others into being active in the fight against Kingdom and their thirst for power.
That alone was dangerous, and it kept Kingdom's agents on a tight leash to not cause a riot.
“Think about what will make you lose, instead of what will make you win. To know what’s at stake is a better fuel to incentive you to protect it”, is a piece of advice Amir will never forget.
And it was the last thing his grandfather taught him.
It was devastating losing him at such a young age when he had a future to hold onto, people to take and many to guide. But Amir accepted its fate, because no one can defy death and its destiny; continuing living his life by those beliefs and advice and not disregarding everything he’s learnt.
Then he met Nora. He fell deeply in love, and had his first child. Every decision made, every move he took on life was calculated and thought before accomplishing it. Amir believed he had everything solved and paved until his very end, but nothing went according to his plan.
He was never able to figure out the plays of death, always one step ahead of him, and once again taking away everything that was important to him in one swift move.
Death wasn’t the culprit to his many misfortunes, though.
Imagine his surprise when he found out the same people who took Nora’s life were the same gang who murdered his grandfather many years ago. And later on, destroyed the rest of the lineage of La Amari.
The whole crime scene reeked from their trademark, unable to hold back and destroying everything on their way. It was a bloody mess, and the images of his family mangled and dead will remain grafted inside his brain for the rest of his life.
Amir believes that’s the moment where everything changed for him.
La Amari disappeared from the earth, he made sure of that, his family name was dead now and scrubbed from records. The only thing that will carry the memory is him, Cypher, in search of vengeance and answers.
But with time, everything changes its course of action and now Cypher is involved in what could be considered some sort of organization to save the world.
Funny how things evolve.
He meets new people, he learns a few things here and there, he gets fond of some kids, genius fellas they are, a techie and a walking bomb—Cypher takes everything in with open arms, but never without the advice resonating throughout his brain like an echo.
Think about what will make you lose.
Like a chant, he repeats the same sentence when meeting new agents or when deployed to missions. Cypher is the first to come up with solutions, the first to come with counterplans and always a step ahead of the enemy.
And then, like a rock thrown into a well, a disturbance is found.
You are a weird one, he thinks when meeting you for the first time, all smiles and sparky soul.
Jumping and talking non-stop, always a little ray of sunshine to the youngsters but annoying punk for the seniors.
It always seems to go on tangents when speaking with you. Cypher likes things concise and straight to the point, so it's obvious to him that he doesn't find you amusing in the slightless.
Cypher doesn't care for you at first, treating you with less than affection and little patience when dealing with you. You are nothing in his life, just another agent and someone else he needs to keep his eye on.
And then, you matter, in more ways than he anticipated.
Because the moment the anniversary of his wife and kid's death comes around, Cypher spirals into a pit of depression he hasn't felt since the incident, digging himself into his own tomb inch by inch as punishment and blaming himself for everything that hurted his loved ones.
And like a star shining in a dark pit, beckoning him with the warmth and gentle touch, is when everything goes to shit.
Because you, being the smart cookie you are, sympathized with him the moment you saw him break down and closed off to the world in panic.
You are not Nora, you don’t even resemble her in any aspect whatsoever, but his frivolous and conflicted brain twists your actions, your pure intentions, into something that he desperately thinks he needs.
Comfort.
Cypher sees in you an anchor to take advantage of, and you are so unaware of his intentions, so innocent and flustered so easily by his words, that you simply follow whatever he needs you to do.
An obedient little fella, a sweet young adult ready to help whoever needs it without regarding their own self. You follow him like a puppy inside the protocol, you shine brighter when he compliments you, you are so thirsty for his attention he never leaves you hanging with anticipation.
Cypher accepts then that you are what he needs now to fill his own wish and hole in his heart until he takes care of the bigger matters.
But to have you, he needs to think clearly; to own you, he needs to make his moves smartly.
Finding information about your background, your life, the people you mingle with and the man you were obligated into marrying is easy. Is like you're leaving this all for him to find on purpose, is like you know he's doing this to get you, and you're helping him.
And damn him! A surprise is what he finds amongst your files! A family member of the gang who destroyed his life, the gang who were hired by Kingdom to erase La Amari's lineage and conquer the little lands of Morocco. You! You were the key to everything to finally finish what his grandfather started many years ago!
Cypher is joyful, ecstatic, and so eager to take everything from them and, as a prize, keep you to himself.
And when he has everything he needs, he begins his game.
It’s so easy. Breaking down their walls, breaking their security and their lackeys, is like a child's game when he realizes this is not a challenge.
Like chess, his moves are smart and calculated, and everything crumbles in front of their eyes.
Think about what will make you lose.
He makes the first move, killing the white's pawn.
Your friends are the first to fall. One by one, they die by his hands and his own methodological mind games to gain information regarding you and your family.
They plead for forgiveness, they ask him to leave you alone, but Cypher is quick to silence them forever.
Humming to himself, he moves his bishop to kill the white's knight.
That little husband of yours put up a real struggle. It was not an easy task to have them under control, nor make them give you up as he snarls and fights to get free.
Cypher was taken aback by their loyalty, surprised but eager that this might turn bloodier than he anticipated.
It’s funny, too, that despite having someone who loves you this deeply, you always look for Cypher. As if this person isn't enough to satisfy you.
Cornering the white's queen was easy.
Every obstacle was eliminated. Anything and anyone he considered might cross his path or make the situation difficult for his plans to move forward is no longer a threat to him, nor his objective.
Cypher fixes the pieces to their positions once he's finished, and in turn, clicks on a button of his surveillance set-up.
The many screens light up with views from the cameras he has around the base and hidden away by simple eyes.
In one of them, he sees you walking down the hallway with quick steps, hurriedly making your way to Cypher's room.
He sees the determination in your expression, the fast pacing of your steps and in less than a minute you are at his door, huffing to catch your breath and eyes wandering around his room.
Your body language says everything he needs to know—from your shuffle in feet and avoidance to look him into his eyes. You are nervous, if not a little shy to confront him about something.
But he is patient, hands resting on his lap and legs crossed, awaiting for your words with eagerness.
“I like you,” you say, approaching him slowly and nervously rubbing your arms. “I like you a lot, Cypher.”
Unaware of his affairs, you inch closer and kneel in front of him, hands holding onto his and looking into his eerie blue eyes.
“Will you take me?” you ask.
Cypher smiles under his mask, a finger under your chin and gently caressing your lower lips with his thumb.
“But of course, my dear. You are mine now.”
He has won.
—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—
Miks (Song). [A rave]
Adrijan believes he has everything figured out by this point.
With the radiant powers he’s been bestowed upon, and the energy of his people that surround him all the time, he knows for sure nothing can go wrong nor amiss with how things play out.
All he has: friends, family, a community; it’s what anyone could ask for and more. They always reassure him and say how blessed they are to have him to rely on. Their pillar, their hero, their most trusted friend—
If only he wasn’t getting fed up with the good guy act, he’d have been more than happy to hear such words. It starts to get tiring when he isn’t able to maintain a grin nor the hype at the raves he hosts; few do notice, he’s come to realize, but never say a thing.
Why would they, when they literally feed off his energy to keep them entertained? Most of that crowd doesn’t look after him nor his own vibes. They all are selfish and intolerable, sometimes he wonders why he still mingles with those people.
It gets to a point where Adrijan starts to detach himself from what’s considered normal behaviour—or normal under the umbrella of social status. Unaware of his own faults and defects, it’s easier to blame others instead of admitting he has a problem too; however, it shows in the way it affects him psychologically.
The shift is not obvious at first. It starts slow, and with little things no one would bat an eye to.
His manner of speech becomes unstable and slightly aggressive, the words he uses are no longer mindful nor thought of before being said; even his actions seem to change when he isn’t careful and becomes, more often than not, violent to things that he has no control over.
The people don’t seem to mind, for they are just like him, if not worse sometimes. If he were to be placed next to that sort of crowd, he would be seen like an angel instead of the amalgamation of personalities he has become.
Ollie and Klara were lucky to have come across him when his emotions were somewhat stable and was acting friendly after his sets were played at a local rave.
With the adrenaline running high, and the good energy pumping through his veins, he lent them an ear after discovering he was a radiant just like a few of their comrades.
Despite the atmosphere not being the most adequate to handle a conversation about an ongoing war, fighting against agents of their mirror selves, and the possibility of their own world collapsing because of the radianate, Miks was more than ready to reject their proposal to help them out.
He was sure he didn’t want to become another pillar for a group of people who meant nothing to him, even when a lot was at stake.
What contradicted his decision was meeting you a second after they begged him to consider it. Their words were lost in the background with the music as his green eyes focused and locked onto your form approaching them.
You were beautiful.
Probably the most beautiful being he has seen in his entire life and has come across his insignificant life.
Singing along to the music blasting through the stereos, arms thrown over Ollie and Klara’s shoulders, you smiled at him, asking for his name, and he was a goner.
The instability of his emotions was kept under control when he finally joined the protocol and was asked to live with them for better management. He found no issue as long as you were there too, and that’s probably why no one suspected him of being…dangerous.
Miks falls in love hard and fast. Like a lighting bolt striking his heart and filling a void he never realized he possessed.
He’s not ashamed to admit it to anyone who asks despite their worrying glances and constant questions. He is proud of the love he holds for you, and wishes you could see it too.
The questions come from a place of constant worry for you, though. They notice. They see it. The obsession he has for you is not healthy.
But every time you were on the team, success was guaranteed. When everything is at high stake, those moments are when his love and emotions are in tune for one goal: to protect you.
Nevermind that Miks sacrifice absolutely everyone if it means you come back alive and well. In the battlefield, no one else matters but his beloved, and everyone has learned that they can’t fully rely on him, except for you, perhaps.
Miks lives by it. Lives by you and your words of encouragement when he does a good job. Lives by your feather touch and stolen glances when you cross paths. He is so enamoured by everything about you and it shows in every single action of his that is almost pathetic. It gets to the point everyone in the protocol knows of his devotion to you, and only you, that he is seen as the loverboy whose darling doesn’t seem to realize he is in love with her.
It hurts, though.
It hurts him deeply that he is such a coward for never saying it outright to your face that you continue with your life as if his love meant nothing. He likes to think you are doing it on purpose to stir the fire consuming him slowly; to keep him on the edge of a seat and simply waiting for him to be unable to take it anymore and explode.
It’s cruel, but it excites him.
But there is so much a man like him can handle as he keeps his true nature bottled up.
The ticking bomb reaches its limit on a rave he hosts.
Sets are ready, the equipment works wonderfully and the crowd chants his name as if he were a god. He is the main show for the night, and makes sure to be as handsome as he can get for you.
Ollie and Klara weren’t able to make it. But it’s not like he cares much, cuz’ as long as you are there, nothing else matters.
Amongst the crowd of people who gathered around his set up, you were dancing and jumping to the beat of the songs he played. You were all smiles and laughter, singing and moving with the rest of the sea of people. Miks winks at you as he maneuvers a vinyl before hooking it up to the recorder. You cover a smile behind your hand and wink at him playfully, his heart soars.
The happiness doesn’t last for long. For a fraction of a second, just a moment where he makes a change of songs and a few of the crew distracts him, he loses sight of you.
The low lights and heated ambient doesn’t help the anxiety skyrocketing when he can’t find you anywhere with his eyes. The show keeps going though. Miks tries to maintain calm and keep the crowd eager and energetic. His eyes flit around the space all the time, minutes pass by, and then, finally, he spots you in the far back.
Making out with a friend of his.
Like a broken record, everything in his brain halts and he freezes upon seeing the betrayal play in front of his very eyes.
And all he sees is red.
There is no one who doubts his intentions when he speaks with the crew to cede his space to the next DJ earlier than intended, and steps down in a hurry to make his way towards you.
His blood rushes to his ears, his hands ball into fists, and his eyes hold a fury and vengeance no one has witnessed in him before as he avoids the bodies of people still dancing, unaware of the hell that has broken loose. If he hasn’t taken his gun out it was only because he is still trying to maintain appearances despite wanting to put a bullet through his head.
The anger grows tenfold when a few of his group of friends try to stop him with barks of laughter, trying to appease him as he snatches his arm from their hold. One of them tells him to let his friend have his fun for a bit longer before they take turns with you. They offer him a spot as well, too blind to realize the anger residing in his chest.
He pushes the guy away and goes to grab his friend by the back of his shirt to peel him away from you. Your body crumbles onto the floor with a loud thud.
Aware is not a word he could use to describe you right now—disoriented and lost is how you look, with the eyes bloodshot and disheveled clothes, looking up at him in confusion as you can’t seem to process what’s going on.
The relief he feels when he realizes you’ve been drugged and weren’t doing this out of your own volition is gratifying. Oh, Miks knew you couldn’t betray him like this! How foolish of him to even have considered it in the first place.
Only when he secures your safety inside his room backstage, he goes back to the group and drags them away from the rave with light conversation and empty friendly smiles, promising them a more exciting adventure.
Miks takes his time with each of them by denying any way of escape or salvation. One bullet per limb, he makes sure everyone has one on at least one leg to ensure they won’t escape before reaching for more bullets and reloading his sheriff mumbling a happy tune.
He only gags them after because their cries have started to annoy him, and ties them up to trees surrounding him in a circle; away from prying eyes but close enough so the music can muffle their pained screams.
“A demonstration, if you may,” he grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
With his sonic vibrations he covers one of the guy's ears and emits a high pitched wavesound that has his victim writhe in pain until the orifices begins bleeding. What follows next are his shoulders, gathering up pressure into his palms and slamming them down hard until the bones crack and pop under his touch with a reverberating bass.
The rest don’t take long to realize Adrijan is going for torture without an once of pity as he cleans his hands on what used to be his friend’s clothes. He goes for every spot that might make them suffer the most, experimenting and toying with them, laughing brightly alongside their cries and screams for mercy.
Each one of them meets the same slow and most painful punishment he can deliver by the end. He hopes anyone misfortuned enough to commit the same crimes knows that Miks will fight and murder for your sake, no matter the consequences.
By the time he is done, what used to be his group of friends are nothing more than a pile of flesh and broken bones, bleeding out slowly and life no longer clinging to any of them.
When he goes back to you, proud of his actions and more than eager to take you away, you welcome him with a sob and pained cries, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you ask him to never leave you alone again.
Miks hugs you tighter, face burying into your hair as he inhales your scent and promises in hushed whispers that he belongs to you, and only you.
When you hold his bloody face with tenderness and lean up to kiss him, soft and gently, Adrijan admits to himself he would do this again if it meant protecting you.
His darling is finally where she belongs. With him.
I admit I cheated on my beloved Omen with another fictional character. But I gotta keep up my need of writing about him.
OMEN ON A RELATIONSHIP
He really can't believe he's daiting someone, him? Daiting? Like kissing and all that? Oh Lee sheet
Tough he's happy and giggly about all, he likes to keep it private. Other agents are a little gossip girls so he prefer not talking much about it. Not that he's embarrassed he just get nervous when people ask how you two falled in love
He is very attentative, even if he has to much to carry on, he'll never forget a important day or not help if you had a bad day
Very protective also, doesn't like you going on missions alone and either trust the protocol too much, so he might be over you all the time making sure you are safe and sound
At the start everything feels new to him, well, because it is, so he needs some space and time to process how to act and how to make a relationship work
He is used to scape and take times alone when he needs, but now with you, he doesn't want to be alone at all. He want to talk a little, cuddle if he feels like it, and even have some kisses on his face while he is knitting.
By time he'll make sure you are feeling loved, he will feel more sure of himself and trusting his own actions with you. At first he will ask everything, if he can hug you, if he can knit you something, if you are comfortable with a letter, etc
But with the time going on, he will have more trust on himself and start to surprise you with little details:
Surprise picnics, letters, a plushie of you knitted by him, homemade food. Everything he can offer just to make you know that even if he is silent sometimes, he doesn't love you any less.
He can't kiss, and instead, he will press the zone of where his lips should be against your forehead as you both cuddle.
hellooo, it’s very nice to meet you!! if it’s not too much can i ask for an omen(monster con) one shot? just anything with fluff would be nice :3
🐠
⛓️ Omen x Reader Oneshot One room for two 🗡
When you checked into the hotel, you were warned that there weren't enough rooms for everyone, but neither you nor Omen expected you to end up in the same room. For the next few days, you were going to share the same room.
Omen glanced at you while you were studying the bed. You had to share not only one room, but also one bed.
"If you push, I'll push you off the bed."
She gave you a frown. Omen would be lying if she said she didn't like you, but she couldn't tell you so bluntly, especially now that you were going to share the same room.
You looked at her and smiled a little.
"If you want, I can sleep on the floor."
"No way! In the sense… I don't need it if you don't bother me sleeping."
You nodded.
"If I get in your way, you can tell me."
She rolled her eyes, making it clear to you that she wouldn't have stayed silent even if you hadn't told her. Omen understood that you would have fewer chances to meet during the day, because you both came there for the event, but now she had some kind of guarantee that you would still be able to chat.
You arrived there together and you had plans to attend several events together, if everything goes as planned. Omen had big plans for this whole festival. Of course, she promised Liam that she wouldn't kill anyone, and she really didn't have any such plans yet, but since you went too, she had a chance to get closer to you.
Perhaps by the end of the festival, she could have directly told you how she felt about you, or maybe it would have happened even earlier.
