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froggibus · 3 months

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Reminiscence - Omen

Genre: hurt/comfort + fluff

Pairing: Omen x gn! reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: after Omen returns from Indonesia, you find yourself questioning the nature of your relationship in light of his returning memories

CW: spoilers/allusions to Reckoning!! hurt/comfort, FWB type relationship, mentions of violence? talks of Omen's past, lots of reassurance

ive been playing valorant again and ive been do downbad for Omen its not even funny. this man lives in my head rent free 24/7 365...anyway val simps i noticed you're content starved and i am here to provide

Your nail cracks when you sink your teeth into your fingertip too hard. You rip your hand away from your mouth, shaking it around in the cold air to soothe the throbbing nail bed as you continue to pace around HQ. Your fingers are replaced by your bottom lip, your teeth desperate to sink into something, anything, to keep you grounded while you wait for the men to return.

It’s a near 10 hour flight from Indonesia back to HQ, and while Brimstone had told you to get some rest, you couldn’t fathom it. An overwhelming feeling that something was wrong had been hanging over your head the entire evening, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t shake it.

Omen is anxious the entire flight back from Jakarta. His heart hammers against his ribcage and the flood of blurry memories is endless. All he can think of is how he’s going to confront Viper, what answers he’s going to beg her for.

When they land back at HQ, it’s the middle of the night. Even after Sova, Iso and Cypher exit the dropship, Omen remains in his seat. Exhaustion radiates through him, shockwaves of pain from the machine he’d been forced in earlier still roll over his body.

You start to worry when only three men return from the hangar. Cypher and Iso are in good spirits, but there’s a sour look clouding Sova’s face. While the others return to their respective rooms, Sasha flops on the couch in front of you, his presence managing to stop your incessant pacing.

He waits until everyone is out of earshot before speaking. “Something happened,” he keeps his voice low, “with Omen.”

“Is he okay?”

“We had a close call, he’s still in one piece.” The archer sighs, “he didn’t speak to us about it, but his memories…he remembers something.”

You flinch. It was selfish, but you’d always feared the day Omen’s memory would return. Dreaded it, even. The man was never clear on the nature of your relationship, never clear on what he felt for you. You’d grant each other comfort when it was needed, and on some nights, much more than that. There was never a definition there, though, never any certainty.

Your feelings for him only grew with time but Omen remained as stoic as always. His lack of commitment left you painfully awaiting the day his memories would come back, when he’d remember he had a wife and kids, or some pretty supermodel girlfriend you could never compete with. You wanted to, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull away.

Sova rises to his feet, squeezing your shoulder in reassurance. “You should rest.”

You swallow and nod, waving him off as he retracts into the dark halls. You don’t rest, though. You plant yourself on the couch and continue to wait, your thoughts running laps around your mind. It’s nearly four in the morning before you hear the hangar door open and soft footsteps approach from down the hall.

You clench your hands tightly, nails digging into your palm. You’re not ready for this, you’ll never be ready for this. A part of you is tempted to retreat to your room, but then Omen is rounding the corner and you know it’s too late.

“Y/n?” He looks surprised to see you, “what are you doing awake?”

You force yourself to your feet, walking around the couch to face him. “I was waiting for you,” you say quietly.

Omen isn’t quite sure what to say to that—he’s never sure what to say to you. The love he feels for you is always outweighed by his fear of the past, the fear of himself, and he always finds himself retreating from his feelings.

“It’s late.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. It’s only two words, but it sounds an awful lot like a dismissal. A silent plea for you to go away. It’s two words, but it practically confirms the thoughts that have taunted you all night.

You hang your head and start to drag your feet to your room. You’re tempted to argue and stay put and force him to tell you what happened tonight, but what good would that do?

Omen watches you walk away with a heavy heart. All he craves right now is your comfort, but it’s not fair to you, or to him, or to Viper. Until he can make sense of the things he’s learned, he can’t fathom putting that on you.

—

You get an hour of restless sleep before you’re woken up by a shout followed by a door slamming. You jump to your feet, body swaying as you fight the black spots from standing up too quickly. When you finally gather your bearings, you see Omen standing in the corner of your room, eyes locked on you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, still on alert from the sudden awakening.

The wraith shakes his head, finding his way to your bed as naturally as he would his own. He lets himself fall to the mattress. He hasn’t slept since before Indonesia and his argument with Viper has only tired him out more. You look at him with those soft eyes that slow his racing heart, and Omen knows he’s so gone.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue from how well he fits into your bed—into your life—but you manage to bite it back. You sink back into your bed next to him, careful to draw your knees into your chest so that you don’t accidentally touch him.

Your feelings from just hours ago still cloud over you, settling over your heart like a thick fog. “Did something happen? I heard a door slam.”

“I spoke to Viper,” he says simply, stretching his arms to fold them behind his head.

“And?”

“I got answers.”

A sigh passes through your lips. Typical Omen, granting you only short answers and curt glimpses into his life. Your eyes begin to tear up, your nose stinging with the impending threat of your emotions. You tilt your head back, desperately trying to keep calm.

“Y/n?”

You clench your jaw, continuing to stare at the ceiling. If you dare open your mouth, you know the floodgates will open.

“Did I—is something wrong?” He ghosts a hand over your hip, not quite touching you but letting you know he’s there.

“I—” Your voice breaks as soon as you try to speak, the tears finally bubbling over and starting to run down your face. You give up on trying to hide it, finally turning to look at him.

“Oh,” he says quietly, finally bringing his hand to grab your waist, the other one wiping your tears and cupping your wet cheek.

“Why don’t you ever share your life with me? I feel like—like you don’t even like me. And now you remember everything and you’re gonna leave and go back to your life and—”

Omen cuts you off with a dry laugh. The sound is enough to shock you out of your meltdown, your breathing turning even without you even realizing. You stare at him curiously. What about this is funny?

When he speaks, his voice carries all the kindness in the world. “Do you really think I’d leave just because I remember my past? Y/n…”

The sad nod you offer him breaks his heart.

“Y/n,” he brushes his thumb beneath your eye to catch another tear. “My past is a monstrosity, I was a monstrosity…I don’t want to go back to that, ever.”

“But—”

“Ever.” He affirms.

You stare at him, admiring the delicacy he paints your skin with. You’ve shared soft moments with him before, but this is something entirely new, entirely different.

“You’re not a monstrosity,” you whisper. “You’re not your past.”

He leans his against your shoulder, admiration clear in the gesture. It was only a day ago that he was placing a furious phone call to Brimstone on the jet home, uttering the same words you just spoke. Somehow, hearing it from you is more convincing than hearing it from himself.

It’s silent for only a moment before he says: “Getting back to what you said earlier.”

“What?”

You hardly even remember what you said to him in the midst of your meltdown, the words now sounding foreign in your ears.

“You think I don’t like you?”

“No, it’s not—you don’t need to…” you trail off awkwardly.

He pulls away from your shoulder and adjusts his grip on your face to force you to stare at him. “You said you feel like I don’t like you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Y/n.”

His tone is serious and forces you to pause before you speak again. He still holds your jaw in his hand, keeping your gaze level with his. His fingertips are like fire against your skin.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He keeps that same serious tone. “The things I feel for you, they cannot be described with fondness, or admiration, or ‘like’. I don’t—I can’t” he corrects, “put it into words. But y/n, just know, it would take ripping me apart and scattering my atoms across time to get me to leave you.”

You melt. The former rigidness to your muscles, the proud set of your jaw—it all melts away. The butterflies in your stomach burst into your chest and leave you speechless.

Omen presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Are we clear?”

You nod.

“Good.”

Omen falls back onto your mattress, grabbing your hips to tug you down with him. You settle in against the side of his chest, your head nuzzled into the crook of his arm. Your body practically gives away heat, acting as his own personal radiator.

He sighs contentedly, the sleep he’s been delaying coming easily with you by his side.

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