Ash and Ambrosia // Omegaverse

V: Recoil

TW: Self harm
Ash

Since she had held him and cried on his shoulder, the wall between them vanished.

She had stopped smoking, and was always by his side, laughing with him, protecting him and keeping him company. It was everything he wanted.

Unfortunately, she was still hiding secrets.

One morning, he reached out to touch her, and she recoiled as though the was burned, stroking her wrist as though she had an allergic reaction.

When she saw his face, she immediately apologised. "Sorry I didn't mean to. Please just warn me before you touch me, okay?"

Was he that disgusting that his touch required mental preparation? Instead of asking, he just nodded, accepting her apology. As long as she was still with him, it would be okay.

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Ambrosia

Rosia hummed as she tilted her neck to the side and replaced the big white patch on her neck, pressing it down until the adhesive took a hold in a practiced manner.

Brushing her teeth in the bathroom, she furrowed her eyebrows at the white patches on her neck and wounds and scars on her upper arms that peeped out from her loose white shirt. She clicked her tongue as she pulled up her sleeves revealing the deep scratches that were still red from yesterday and changed her bandages. She would need to use her thighs today.

Preparing to leave, she chose a skirt that ended just below her knees, a white turtleneck with sleeves that ended above her elbows and a cute vest. It was a more feminine style than she preferred, but it served a purpose of concealment and ease of access.

At lunch that day, Ash had nudged her wrist. The brief moment of unexpected contact sent shivers down her spine, and a whiff of fructose carried on the air momentarily paralysed her, breath catching in her throat. She dug her sharpened nails into her skin on her upper thighs beneath the table, the pain grounding her.

He must have been releasing it unconsciously, as he still smelled like the neutraliser she had gifted him. Thankfully he accepted her apology and didn't comment on her strangeness.

At home, Rosia relaxed with her legs outstretched on the bed, hands behind her propping her torso upright. She let out a deep exhale and collapsed onto her back. Rolling onto her stomach, she reached out and searched for a familiar piece of fabric, bringing it close, inhaling slowly. The lingering scent of apples was soothed her agitated nerves, but it wasn't enough. She buried her entire head in the sweatshirt, taking in his smell.

"Ash," she breathed, ragged, with feverish obsession in her eyes.

The symptoms had been getting worse lately, and it took all her strength to hold back her pheromones, which so badly wished to react to his.

After enough time had passed, his soft scent guided her to dreams of him.

"Ash," she muttered in her sleep, a lock of hair caught between her lips.