#amber iridescent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellewritesx · 2 months ago

Text

possession agreement

(part three of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Jealousy brought him to the bar. Possession dragged you into his lap.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), kind of a size kink, choking kink, some light stalking, jealous and possessive behavior, slutshaming, lots of feels

A/N: thank you guys so much for the love on the series so far! i've gotten a lot of requests to be added to the tag list, so if i've accidentally overlooked yours, just let me know :) hope you like this one. don't cheer too soon. good luck x

Word Count: 4,851

...

He sees you before you see him.

The bar is crowded, low amber lighting pressing warm against your sweaty skin and hazy music rattling deeply in your ribs. You're loosely cradling a drink, something pink and sweet, wrapped in an emerald green dress with iridescent sequins, so short it barely clings to your thighs, cinched at the waist and hugging every inch of your body like it was poured onto your skin.

It's a new dress, bought two days ago with the little black card that Harry had tossed in front of you on the bed one night, like it meant nothing. ''Just use it'', he'd said. ''Buy whatever you want.''

And that you did. You've always been so obedient, so eager to please. It's one of the reasons your arrangement works so well. But lately, the transactions have started to blur into something... different. It's not just groceries and bus tickets and rent anymore. Not just the careful, predictable spending of someone just taking what they need.

Now it's glossy department store visits, spontaneous dinners for one at upscale restaurants, even spa days and yoga retreats. Designer perfume that clings to your skin. Heels that cost more than your rent. Dresses that shimmer in the dark.

He'd noticed the changes in you. All the little shifts.

Your perfume was the first thing that changed. Sweet, like you, expensive in a way that clings, notes of vanilla and jasmine, and something more adventurous he can't quite name.

It lingers in his car after he drops you off. Lingers even longer in his sheets. The first time it happened, he caught himself burrowing into the pillow you had laid on, inhaling so deeply it left him light-headed. He changed the linens the next morning with a scowl, told himself it was distracting. Unprofessional.

He tried to blame this momentary lapse of judgment on the perfume, on its tenacity, its price tag. But he knew. It wasn't about the perfume. It was you.

The way your voice softens when you say his name, a tone you save just for him. The way your smile twitches when you try not to laugh at the noises of complaint he makes when you leave the bed. The way you're always so kind to him, even when he's cold or harsh or difficult. He doesn't know what to do with that kind of softness. That kind of grace. Especially when it's directed at him.

You've changed, he can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you walk into a room with your chin up a little higher. But you're still the same at your core. Still shy when he mentions sex outside the bedroom, just a passing comment, really, a teasing whisper in your ear when you're cooking or reading a book. Still thanking him every time he buys you something as simple as a coffee, even though he always rolls his eyes and mutters ''it's part of the deal, baby''. Still too gentle for this world. Still too good for him.

And the lingerie... fuck. He's seen the credit card charges. Little things that cost hundreds, maybe thousands, of pounds. And he knows it's for him. You never say it, but you only wear them when you know he'll be the one undressing you.

He fucking loves it.

The timid smile on your face when he tugs off your hoodie, revealing the sheer, shimmering little things that look painted onto your skin like he's unwrapping a present. Pearlescent mesh that cups your tits like a second skin, thin garters that dig into the plush curve of your thighs, delicate embroidery right where his mouth loves to be. You never say much when he peels it off, just blush and look up at him like you're waiting for his approval. He always grins. ''Fuckin' love that you wear my money like this.''

You moan when he tells you how gorgeous you look. You shiver when he mutters how good it feels knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Sometimes, when he's buried between your thighs, he thinks about snapping photos, keeping a private collection, but he reckons you wouldn't allow him.

After all, even after all these weeks of tangled limbs and messy sheets, you still won't let him fuck you, not properly. Not the way he wants to. Needs to. You'd always politely stopped him when things started to slip too far, and he'd respected that, without question, without pressure. Never asked why.

Until one night, after you'd melted beneath his mouth, trying to catch your breath, when he'd propped up his face on one hand, stroking your arm in slow, lazy circles with the other. He'd asked, quiet and curious, ''Why d'you always stop me, baby?'' Not accusing, not frustrated, just genuinely wondering.

You'd been shy about it. Said it softly, hesitantly. That you just wanted to get to know him better before doing something that intimate. That it wasn't about him, not at all. That it just meant more to you. He'd never thought of sex as anything but a release, as friction and sweat and a way to shut off his brain, and he'd felt something odd curl in his chest at your words. Not annoyance. Not rejection. Just… respect. Maybe even admiration. You saw sex as special, sacred, and for once, he wanted to deserve that. Deserve you.

God, what was he turning into?

The question lingers in the back of his mind as he watches you from his shadowed corner near the back of the bar, hidden by the low-hanging bulbs and velvet curtains, eyes tracking you like a sniper with his jaw set and his knuckles white.

You're blissfully unaware. You sip your cocktail, lips glossed and sticky around the rim, smiling at something on your phone as if you don't feel the heat of a dozen gazes trained on your body. You don't even seem to notice the way all the men in the bar study your every movement. You don't hear the way the women whisper in jealousy about your dress, your confidence. A girl who could get anything she wants with just a bat of her eyelashes.

He hadn't planned to come. You hadn't even told him where you'd be. You hadn't needed to. He always finds out.

The moment he saw the tag from your new dress in the trash and the ridiculously high charge made to his credit card, he knew. You were out. Without him. In that dress, on his dime.

You laugh at something the barista says, the sound bright and genuine, and his throat tightens. God, you're pretty. That's the worst part. You're pretty and kind and so stupidly innocent about it all, like you don't realize what you do to people when you walk into a room. Like you don't realize what you do to him.

He ducks into the men's bathroom quickly, just to splash cold water in his face, just to try to snap himself out of whatever trance you've seemed to put him in. Get it together, Harry.

He swiftly slides back into his booth when he returns, and for a second he debates going up to you, making sure that everyone sees that he's the one taking you home at the end of the night.

Then the guy approaches.

He's tall. Closer to your age than Harry is. Clean-shaven and grinning like he actually believes he has a chance. Harry leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches the stranger slide into your space, hand braced casually on the bar beside your elbow.

''Hey,'' he says, voice cocky but smooth, sounding charming enough to hide the hint of arrogance. ''I was gonna wait for your boyfriend to come back from the bathroom, but… I figured, screw it. Mind if I buy your next drink?''

You blink up at him, a little surprised, but you smile sweetly at him nonetheless. ''Actually, I'm here alone.''

That goes straight to Harry's gut. Alone. You're here alone, looking like that. Wearing his money. Sitting pretty on a barstool like a trophy someone forgot to take home and worship. His jaw ticks.

''Damn,'' the guy says, clearly pleased. ''Lucky me, then. You're so hot, I can't believe no one's snatched you up yet.''

You smile politely, but Harry can see the offense etching its way into your skin, a delicate frown sitting on your pretty face. That's my girl, he thinks. He'd learned early on into your arrangement that you didn't appreciate being degraded or objectified, and he'd nearly lost his family jewels the first time he called you ''hot''. ''I'm not a cup of tea, Harry'', you'd told him defiantly.

''No, I mean it,'' the guy presses, inching closer. ''It's like you walked in and I forgot what I was doing. I've been watching you the whole time, just couldn't take my eyes off you.''

Your smile falters just slightly. Harry sees it. The way your fingers tighten around your glass. The way you glance away, uncertain, uncomfortable. But the guy keeps going.

''Listen, I know this is forward, but do you wanna get out of here? Maybe hit another place with better music? Or straight to my place, if you'd prefer,'' he asks confidently.

Harry's up before he realizes it, drink forgotten on the table behind him. The blood in his veins is cold, electric, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a wire. He's on autopilot as he cuts through the bar, ignoring the brush of shoulders, the flicker of stares.

His only focus is you. His girl and a stranger who clearly has no idea what he's playing with.

He stops just behind you, hand curling around your waist, fingers splaying possessively across the curve of your side.

''She's taken.''

His voice is low. Rough. Measured, but only just. A breath away from breaking this man's nose.

You go stiff in his grip. Your eyes snap to his, wide, caught somewhere between shock and relief. The guy blinks, taking a step back with his hands raised.

''Look, man, she said she was alone—''

''And now she's not. Move.'' His eyebrows raise, the look on his face saying ''try me. I dare you.''

The guy swallows and stammers something, but he's already turning to retreat. You open your mouth, debating whether to strangle Harry for following you here or kiss him for saving you from that creep.

But Harry doesn't give you the chance to speak. His hand clamps around your wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make it clear; you're leaving.

''Harry—'' you start, but he's already dragging you through the crowd, jaw locked, pace fast. You trip slightly in your heels, breath catching as you stumble after him.

The door slams open with a sharp crack, rain sweeping in around you both like it's part of his fury. He storms out first, and you stumble after him, heels clicking sharply against the wet pavement, glittering dress clinging tighter to your skin with each second.

The streetlights blur with water, casting gold halos onto the slick pavement. He doesn't let go of you even as the rain soaks your clothes. He doesn't even look at you. Just paces a few feet away, running a hand through his damp hair like it might somehow tame the chaos boiling inside him.

''What the fuck were you thinking?'' His voice is thunderous, splitting the air like the lightning that's blocks away from you. He finally turns to face you, jaw clenched, lips curled in a frustrated snarl. ''Out. Alone. Dressed like that? Do you have any idea what kind of creeps hang around places like this?''

Your heart is racing, not just from the cold or the scolding, but from the abruptness of it all, how you'd gone from laughing over a cocktail to being dragged out like a misbehaving child.

''Excuse me?'' You blink against the rain, glaring at him through your soaked lashes. ''I was having a drink. I was fine.''

He scoffs, taking a step closer. ''You call that fine? That guy was three seconds away from dragging you into a fucking alley. And you were smiling at him. Entertaining his delusions. You're a woman, for God's sake. Don't you know better than to engage with men like that?''

You huff out a bitter laugh. ''Men like what, Harry? Men who find my location, who watch me from dark corners?''

''I was keeping an eye on you!''

''You were stalking me.''

''Well, apparently I have to, because you don't seem to have any survival instincts whatsoever.''

''I was being polite!''

''You were flirting.''

You throw your hands up in exasperation. He's behaving like a petulant child. ''And what if I was? It's not like you're my boyfriend.''

That hits him like a slap in the face. He smiles tight-lipped, bitter. ''Right. Not like I have a say, right? Because I'm just the guy funding your new lifestyle, paying for your little wardrobe, all those fucking slutty dresses—''

''Are you seriously throwing that in my face right now?'' You spit back at him, offense settling deeper in your bones than the cold.

He doesn't say anything. He knows that comment was low, even for him, but he doesn't take it back. He can't, he's too deep in it now.

You take a shaky breath, fists curled at your sides. ''I didn't ask for any of that. You offered. You set the rules. The boundaries. Yet here you are, dragging me into the street like a jealous ex.''

His eyes widen slightly, running his hand through his soaked hair in frustration. ''I'm not jealous,'' he says defensively, but his voice lacks the conviction it usually carries.

''Bullshit.''

''I'm not.''

You tilt your head at him, voice growing quieter, the exhaustion seeping in. ''Then why are you out here? Why were you in there, Harry? Don't lie to me. I'll know.''

He flinches like you hit him, and for a second, he doesn't have an answer. Just stares at you, rain dripping down his temples as his drenched curls stick to his skin, his jaw tight.

You know you've hit the nail right on the head. There's no use pretending anymore. He can't stand the idea of someone else touching you, looking at you, even if he's the one who keeps you at arm's length. Even if he swore he didn't want anything more.

''I didn't like the way he was looking at you,'' he finally mutters under his breath, a hint of shame crawling up his neck.

You bite back the lump in your throat. ''Why?''

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again. His hands twitch at his sides, like he doesn't know whether to reach for you or push you away. He looks back at you, and the fury in his eyes is morphs into something softer as his gaze drops briefly to your dress, soaked through and clinging to every curve.

You're shivering now, teeth chattering every few seconds, hair sticking to your cheeks, mascara probably halfway down your face. You're trying so hard not to cry, not to shake, not to break in half in front of him. But he sees it.

''Fuck—'' he breathes, almost to himself. Like he can't believe he let it get this far. Let himself get this far. Setting boundaries and breaking them. Pushing you away but still kissing your skin.

Shoving his feelings so far down until it was too late to realize they'd consumed him.

He shrugs off his coat in one swift motion and steps forward before you can say a word. He drapes it around your shoulders and tugs it closed in the front, hands lingering a beat too long on the lapels. You stare at him, stunned, lips parted.

His hand lifts, almost hesitant, and brushes your soaked hair gently out of your face. The contact is soft, so impossibly soft after all that screaming. His palm lingers against your cheek, warm, even now.

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing, and he's staring at you like he doesn't know what the hell to do with everything building behind his eyes. You nuzzle into his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe you both do. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's fate.

Your lips crash into his like a dam breaking, weeks of tension and questions and all pouring out in one desperate collision. He freezes for a split second, like he hadn't considered this outcome, like he didn't know he was drowning until your lips pulled him to the surface. But then he's kissing you back with every ounce of heat and anger and longing he's buried beneath his rules.

One hand fists in your hair, the other at the small of your back, pressing you into him like he's terrified you'll vanish if there's even a sliver of distance between you. It's messy, wet, a little frantic, but it's real. Your arms slide around his neck, trembling hands clinging to the soaked collar of his shirt.

You've never done this before. Never kissed. Never crossed that invisible line. But now that it's happening, it feels inevitable. Like everything else was just leading up to this moment.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. His chest is heaving. Your lips are swollen. His hands are still on you, fingers twitching like they don't want to let go. You look at him and see it in his eyes. The want. The fear. The guilt. The hope.

Neither of you says a word. You just stand there, shaking under his coat in the pouring rain, while your heart beats loud enough to drown out the thunder.

He doesn't speak as he suddenly pulls you through the downpour. Just stalks toward his car while you try to match his pace, your heels slipping on the slick asphalt, but he doesn't slow down. His hand is locked around your wrist like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go.

He tugs the door to the driver's seat open impatiently and practically throws himself in, dragging you with him, wet limbs tangling, your body landing hard against his in the cramped front seat.

The door slams shut behind you, muting the sound of the rain to a steady percussion against the roof, the storm now caged outside while another builds in the tight, humid air between you. You're both drenched, clothes sticking to your bodies like a second skin, breaths ragged, chests heaving.

Your knees hit either side of his hips, thighs sliding against his jeans as you straddle him awkwardly in the seat. His hands are already under your dress, bunching the fabric up to your waist with zero finesse, just raw impatience. ''Wore this to tease me?'' he hisses, jaw clenched, eyes dark as sin. ''Parading around in this tiny fucking dress like you don't belong to someone?''

''I don't belong to anyone,'' you retort defiantly, hating it when you're treated like an object, like a possession.

But right now, you're breathless, and you don't sound so convinced anymore. Not when you're rutting your hips down against the hard line of his cock in his jeans, not when your panties are clinging to you, wet from both the rain and your own arousal.

He barks out a laugh that's all raging jealousy and lust. ''Bullshit. You belong to me. This cunt belongs to me.''

You whimper at his vulgarity, grinding down harder. The windows start fogging up around the edges as his hands grip your ass, dragging your body against his. ''You're such a desperate little thing,'' he mutters, cock thick and straining beneath you. ''Bet you'd let me fuck you raw right now, wouldn't you? Right here in my fucking car. Don't care if people walk past and see, do you?''

You shake your head, drunk off him, dizzy from the filth in his voice, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

''You're so fucked up for me, baby. Look at you. Letting me do this to you. Wish that fucking creep from the bar was here to see how you behave when it's just you and me. Fuckin' filthy, baby.''

Your hands shake pathetically as you work open his jeans. He helps, yanking the zipper down, pulling himself out with a hiss. And then… Jesus Christ.

Your mouth goes dry. You'd nearly forgotten how massive he is. Thick and veiny and already leaking at the tip, twitching against your thigh. You stare like you've never seen him before. How the hell is that going to fit inside of you?

He must see the flicker of nerves in your eyes because his voice softens just slightly, only for a second. ''You sure?'' he asks sternly, his hand skimming your thigh, eyes watching you like a hawk.

You nod. ''I want to. I just... Fuck, Harry, you're big.''

His jaw flexes with pride, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, you feel him reach under your dress again, curling his fingers into the waistband of your panties and starts to drag them down.

''Up,'' he murmurs. ''Need these off you.''

You shift your weight onto your knees to help, thighs bracketing his hips as he tugs the soaked fabric down your legs. But as you sit up, spine straightening in the cramped car, your head smacks hard into the roof.

''Ow—fuck!'' you hiss, dropping back down on his lap instantly and grabbing the crown of your head with both hands.

Harry freezes. Then his lips twitch. Then he laughs.

''Shit, are you okay?'' he asks between chuckles, clearly trying and failing to stifle them, swatting your hands away to cradle the back of your head and inspect the damage.

You glare at him, shoving his shoulder when he presses a finger into the bruise that's surely forming on your scalp. ''Do I look okay?''

''You look like you just lost a fight with the ceiling, baby,'' he says, grinning now, voice warm with amusement.

You swat his chest, trying to look mad, but the corner of your mouth quirks too. ''Don't laugh, it hurts like a bitch.''

''Aw, c'mere.'' He pulls you forward into a kiss, soft and smiling. ''You're alright. I've got you.''

The lingering tension from your fight earlier melts away, and you let him take your panties the rest of the way off. Let him hold you steady again. Let yourself breathe.

His fingers brush through your soaked folds like he's checking how ready you are, and he hums in approval, almost smug. ''So wet for me already, baby. I barely even touched you.''

Your thighs twitch. He lines himself up with you, holds your hips, and begins to guide you down slowly. ''Just breathe, baby. Gonna go slow. Let me stretch you.''

You sink an inch. Then two. Then stop with a sharp inhale, your nails digging into his shoulders.

''Fuck, too much?''

You shake your head. Your walls are fluttering around him, pulsing tight as your body struggles to accommodate his size. But God, you want to. You want to take all of him. You want to be ruined by him.

''Just... give me a second,'' you whisper, barely able to speak.

And he does. He leans up, wraps one arm around you to pull you impossibly close, forcing your back to arch into him. He kisses your jaw. Your cheek. Your collarbone. Your shoulder. ''You're doing so good,'' he murmurs. ''So fucking good for me. My pretty girl.''

The praise knocks something loose in you. You grip the back of his neck, burying your face in his wet curls at the top of his head as you slowly start to sink down further, inch by inch. It burns, but it's good, thick and overwhelming, your slick easing the way.

''God, I can feel you squeezing me,'' he growls, forehead dropping to rest on your chest. ''Tight little cunt's choking me, baby. Fuck.''

By the time you've taken all of him, you feel split open, fuller than you ever thought possible. You both freeze there, chests heaving, soaking wet and panting. You clench around him instinctively and he moans, moans, like he's losing control.

''I've never let anyone ride me before,'' he pants, dragging his hands up your sides as you adjust. ''You know that?''

Your brows twitch up, surprised, your hand combing through his wet curls, his face still pressed against your boobs. ''Why?''

''Don't like giving up control,'' he admits. ''But fuck...You, I'd let you do anything. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are on my cock.''

Your lips part, stunned by the confession, by the way his voice strains at the edges, the hunger in his eyes when he pulls back up, looking at you like he's unraveling beneath you.

He rocks his hips up just slightly, and the friction sends sparks through your stomach. You brace your palms against his chest and start moving, slow at first, lifting your hips and dropping back down. He hisses between his teeth.

''Fuck, yes. That's it. Ride me, baby. Show me how bad you need it.''

You moan as you begin to find a rhythm, the tight squeeze and drag of him making your head spin. Every time you drop down, it feels like he's deeper, thicker, rubbing that spot that makes your vision blur.

One hand shoots to your throat, squeezing gently as his hips thrust up into you sharply. ''This what you wanted, huh?” he snarls, grip tight enough to make your breath catch. ''Wanted to tease me all night just so I'd fuck you like this?''

You nod desperately, moaning as his fingers flex at your neck. ''Harry, please.''

''You're mine,'' he growls, thrusting up into you harder now, no longer letting you lead. ''Mine to look at. Mine to touch. Mine to fuck.''

His possessiveness makes you clench hard around him, the struggle to breathe making you feel dizzy and depraved and his. You're barely keeping up anymore, your thighs burning, body trembling, but he's got you, one hand guiding your hips while the other keeps you tethered to him by the throat.

Your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to mark your neck, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down and groans, ''Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good. Let everyone know who you belong to.''

You cry out, slamming your hips down on his, his cock punching deep as he fucks up into you, harder now, rough and punishing.

''Tell me you're mine,'' he demands. ''Say it.''

''I'm yours,'' you sob. ''Harry, fuck, yours—''

That's all it takes.

He lets go, growling as he snaps his hips up again, again, again. You feel him spill inside you with a strangled curse, hot and endless, his entire body trembling beneath yours. He groans your name into your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your back as if he could fuse your bodies together and keep you there.

His release spurs on your own, and he lets out a choked moan when you squeeze him, riding out the high, milking him of every last drop, as the coil in your stomach snaps.

You're shaking, both of you breathing heavy in the steamed-up car, rain pattering against the windows, your soaked dress still bunched around your waist.

And when you finally open your eyes and see the way he's still looking at you, jaw clenched, lashes wet, hand stroking your thigh possessively, you breath hitches.

He lets you linger against him for a second too long. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heart under your palm, the slight tremble in his fingers where they rest on your thigh. But then, just as you're starting to think this might mean something, he pulls away.

He gently nudges you off his lap, tucking himself back into his jeans, like the moment never even happened, and your stomach drops. He leans over the console to tug your crumpled dress down and fasten your seatbelt, avoiding your eyes the entire time.

''Hey... Are you okay?'' you ask, voice soft, dipping your head lower to get him to look at you, or at least catch a glimpse of his face, of what the hell he's thinking right now.

He pulls back, slumping into his seat and staring straight ahead, his eyes unreadable. ''Yeah. I'm fine. Let's just go.''

It stings more than it should. Not cruel, not dismissive exactly, just... closed off. As if something cracked open between you two, only for him to slam it shut again just as quickly.

And you wait. For a look, a soft smile, a brush of his fingers. Any kind of reassurance to soothe the ache of the subtle hint of regret in his voice. But nothing comes.

You nod slowly, swallowing the lump rising in your throat as he turns the key in the ignition, the air between you thick with everything left unsaid. ''Okay.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh @haliastyless @drewrry @maddiesalvatore1839 @robinsue87 @zoraaasyd @sincerely-yours-marsbar @m0mmyfromtarget @maudie-duan

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump

...

893 notes · View notes

yan-randomfandom · 8 months ago

Note

yandere viktor with an innocent and naive reader but with magical abilities, where the reader knows how to use simple magic like conjuring plants or controlling water... ((the reader only knows the basics of magic, since no one taught it and this magic would be the only one so far who knows how to do it, and the reader was a little scared of being in a rush or being studied like a lab rat because she has magic, but she confided her secret to Viktor...)) Why do you do that?

Y!Viktor x GN!Mage!Reader

a/n: posting this before act 2 omg, i think i need a rewatch — btw this one only has very light yandere undertones,, ..erm

🫧 ;

"Psst. Hey, want to know a secret?"

Viktor blinked. His eyes followed the moving reflection on the iridescent river. Your figure was mirrored in the water, an unreadable expression on your face.

... He looked up, alarmed. Were you talking to him? Viktor didn't even know you.

You met his amber eyes. For whatever reason, on the edge of the cliff just above the water, you folded your legs against your chest and buried half your face in your arms.

"Well?" you pushed, voice muffled.

His mouth opened, then closed. Viktor nodded wordlessly instead.

" ... Promise me you won't tell anyone."

Without a moment's hesitation, the young boy nodded again.

He watched as you stood up and jumped steadily into the river, splashing him and his mechanical boat. A low, frustrated groan escaped him as water seeped into his clothes.

"Oh, sorry," you said as he tried to wipe the water from his face. "Let me get that for you."

Suddenly, Viktor felt his weight gradually become less unpleasant—almost refreshing, even, as if the water slid across and away from his skin and clothes.

That's when he saw it.

A small blob of water, floating in the air. It moved carefully like it was fragile.

Then came another, and another. Small specks came together until it formed one single bubble.

Abruptly, it dropped in the river. Like nothing ever happened. Viktor's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Cool, right?" you grinned. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, his jaw gaping. One of your hands was lifted, fingers poised in a manner of delicacy.

"You," Viktor finally spoke, stammering, his breathing ragged. "You did that? Was that... magic?"

You chuckled, settling yourself beside him. He turned to you, scooting over to make room, and met your steady gaze. “I think so. But I was serious when I said never, ever tell anyone.”

He shook his head, utterly appalled. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"I wish—"

“This is not funny,” he snarled, his demeanor shifting completely, catching you off guard. “If you’re just here to get a reaction out of me, I’d advise you and your friends to leave. Please.”

You frowned, standing up with your fists clenched. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m so sorry! And I don’t… even have friends.”

Viktor searched your face.

There's nothing to suggest a lie. He's observant, and he quietly prides himself over it, but this is one of the few cases where he genuinely starts to doubt his judgment.

"But," you sighed, turning away. "I'll leave if that's what you want. Apologies."

...

"... Wait."

— 🌱

The leaves of the seedling barely moved.

"Aw," you chuckled, dropping your arm to your side. Who knew conjuring plant powers could be so draining? "Well, I tried. Let's take a break!"

He let out a choked noise, pausing his writing. "We barely started! How is it that whenever you get to try something new and amazing, you avoid it?”

...

You didn't respond immediately.

Viktor put down his notebook, looking back at you, who was blankly staring at him.

"I guess I'm... scared?" you said, tilting your head. To his surprise, you gently grabbed his hand, running your thumb across his palm.

His face warmed. He physically couldn't say or do anything.

"You're the only one who knows about this, Vik," you muttered, your eyes fixed on his rough skin. "I sprung this on you when we were kids, which is kind of hilarious, by the way, but I had a reason. In my mind, you were the only one who would understand."

He thought so, too.

Viktor couldn’t stop himself from slipping his fingers between yours. It was a good thing you weren’t looking at him—otherwise, you might’ve seen how red his face had become.

"And you told me no one will believe me," he said, and while the memory was of you giving him a serious warning, his tone was filled with nothing but endearment.

"I still stand by that," you laughed, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment. You still hadn't glance at his face. He mentally scolded himself for almost hoping you would see his expression. "Especially with our age now. They'll just think you're crazy."

"I understand," he chuckled, turning away. "About that break... you want to go to our usual?"

A smile curled your lips. "Yes, please!"

— 💌

Viktor said he has a surprise for you.

Admittedly, you're feeling extremely anxious. He grew up to become a researcher, an inventor—facts that don’t surprise you.

As his best friend, a person able to do magic, while absolutely shitty at it, you know he sees you as someone with massive potential. Literally. No one else in Piltover or Zaun is known to do this. Maybe in a hundred years—who knows? You didn't even have a proper education.

...

Viktor cleared his throat. "I've been offered a position in the University of Piltover."

You froze. The letter in his fingers bore the university’s wax seal in the center, bold and unmistakable.

“Holy shit,” you blurted, your eyes darting between him and the letter. “Holy shit!”

Jumping over to Viktor, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace. The biggest, most triumphant smile tugged at your lips. He staggered a little, but you were too wrapped up in your happiness to notice.

"Language," he laughed, hugging you back.

You snickered. "I'm so proud of you! Words can't even begin to express how happy I am for you!"

Pulling back, your hands still rested on his shoulders. Your smile relaxed ever so slightly as your eyes gazed into his softer ones.

"I knew you could do it," you exhaled.

A small pause.

Viktor had a look. Oh, shit. What’s that smirk for?

"...You're not done," you accused, raising an eyebrow.

He lifted the letter in his hand. "I have not accepted yet."

Now, your brows knitted together in utter confusion.

"... Why not—?"

"I said I won't be going unless they let me bring a plus one."

You smile faltered, denial crossing your face. He noticed it. Did he just say what you thought you heard him say?

"Are you saying...?" Your expression shifted into worry; you didn't quite understand his point.

"I want you to come with me," Viktor said, grabbing your hand and placing the letter in your palm. "To Piltover."

Oh, no. You didn't mean to.

You panicked, pulling away, the letter slipping from your hand.

Viktor's brows furrowed. He thought you'd be happier about the news.

Then, he looked around.

It had rained just before he decided to share the news. Some raindrops were still fresh, glistening from the downpour.

And around your figure, small droplets rose into the air. The air is thick with tension.

"Viktor. You're not giving me to them, are you...?"

Defeated. That's how your voice sounded.

"Of course not," he hushed, pushing you onto a chair. "Never. Please calm down. Let me explain."

You obliged, sitting down. He sat beside you.

"I'm sorry," you spoke first, meeting his eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. Heck, I trust you more than anyone. The thought of going up there... it just makes me anxious."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. He turned his head. "However, I promise you, I won’t let them take you away from me. You’ll be solely under my care. But I do know someone who’s willing to help us."

Viktor. So compassionate and filled with empathy. You admired him for those very reasons, not just for his brilliance. His presence feels like a whole other world to you—someone who could help you understand your abilities. Perhaps the only chance you have to truly learn who, or what you are.

"I'll be a burden."

"No. Of course not. I want you by my side."

You hesitated. Despite your family being clueless about your ability, they were still the people you cared for. You still had a life in the undercity.

"And if I refuse...?"

Viktor took a moment to respond. The thought of leaving you hurt his heart.

"You... I believe you don't have much of a choice."

You couldn't explain why, but you found it in yourself to wholeheartedly believe him.

— 💜

zamn

critique is welcome btw

#yan writes #yandere arcane #viktor arcane #yandere #yandere arcane x reader #viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader #mage anon

1K notes · View notes

zorosdimples · 1 year ago

Text

꒰ ITADORI YUUJI X READER ꒱

minors do not interact—i will block you! cw: gn!reader, rimming (yuuji receiving), male masturbation. note: i have no excuse for this…

“F-fuck,” Yuuji gasps, back bowing off of your shared bed. He strokes himself feverishly, the sticky clicks of his arousal and the loud slurps that tumble from your mouth echoing in the room. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

You pause your ministrations, a thread of iridescent spit connecting your tongue to your boyfriend’s wet, fluttering hole. When you pull away, the string snaps. You shift to lay your head against his muscular thigh, mischievously rubbing the strip of flesh that rests beneath his sack; he shivers.

“You say that like you don’t want to finish.” A mock-pout graces your slick lips while your hand dances up to his balls, fondling the hot, velvety skin.

“Shit.”

He sucks his teeth. His fist slows as it reaches the base of his thick cock, foreskin pulled back, a fresh bead of pre pearling at his flushed tip. You sit up and lean forward to lap at it, dipping your tongue into his slit. A clammy palm catches your cheek as you taste his desire—rich and tangy; he nibbles his lip and smooths a calloused thumb up your cheekbone.

“Keep going—please.”

You reposition yourself between Yuuji’s strong legs. Slowly, you spread him apart—breath kissing his puckered rim—watching it twitch in anticipation. “Ask me again,” you murmur. His frustrated groan earns him an airy chuckle.

You’re a fucking tease, after all.

The man above you could easily overpower you; he could drag you by the hair and slot your panting mouth right where he wants it, using you to get off.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he yields to you. You may not give him what he wants, but you always give him what he needs.

“Baby please,” he whines, voice ragged with desperation. He looks down at you with heavy lids, his gaze molten amber—liquid gold. Dew shimmers at his temples and mats his blush hairline, and a sliver of pink darts out to dampen his lips. “Needa come so, so bad.”

Yuuji barely gets the words out before you finally swirl your tongue around his hole then slip the muscle inside, allowing him to roll his hips and gently buck against your mouth. Each time his ass makes contact with your face, you both moan, and it’s only a matter of moments before he finishes across his spasming abdomen with a cry.

Boneless, your lover nudges you away with his knees, then pulls you on top of himself, chest damp with sweat and heaving against your own.

“Yuu!” you shriek as his tacky spend oozes between your bodies and smears across your belly. He playfully squeezes your hips, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

“All you should worry about is how ’m gonna return the favor,” he mumbles into your skin. Before you can reply, he flips you over onto your back—showing you that a little mess is the least of your concerns.

#i’m sorry i promised to finish this 4 days in a row and then didn’t #i hope you can forgive me :’-))#yuuji <3 #༄ kae writes #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #jjk x reader

1K notes · View notes

ambermaitrejean · 6 months ago

Text

Iridescent clouds. Arapahoe County, Colorado. Photos by Amber Maitrejean

#photographers on tumblr #iridescent clouds #lenticular clouds #rainbow clouds #sky

391 notes · View notes

hello-from-nrc-infirmary · 6 months ago

Text

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 5: Finale

Chapter 3: Sunset

Formal is irrelevant. The firelight gains prominence as daylight fades. More logs are added, allowing smoke to fill the air. The younger children slowly leave for their beds. Others stay, laughing with friends. Their joyful cacophony is almost drowned out by the rambunctious music.

Smoke and ash wisp into shadows. The kaleidoscope of prancing images twirl around them. An illusion of flowers dance underfoot. If any attempted to touch them, they would vanish.

Soot is kicked up with every step. Vern's stained skirts flare out on another spin. It's strange and comforting to have a partner. A familiar dance he can do in the deepest of sleeps now flutters anew with every beat. A few steps bring them back.

Sweat shimmers across their foreheads. The minutes and hours bleed together. One melody into another. An iridescent fish ballet weaves around the dancers. A bubbling laughter spills from Vern. Steel smiles, his own airy laugh joins in.

"What's... so funny?"

The sprite meets his gaze breathlessly, "I'm... really happy."

"Eh?"

Joined hands lift above to spin around. The area around them is barely a blurr. Focus returning to Steel, the sprite tries to calm himself. "I-is he still umm..."

"Yeah, on my six."

"... let's um... not think about him," Vern tries. His head feels light, a mild dizziness buzzes down from it.

".. okay."

He welcomes night's breath cooling his skin like autumn rain. Vern can tell when some musicians would take a break and join back in. A simple rotation, yet easy to get lost in. Forgetting the world is hard, yet indulging in a moment is effortless.

For this bubble in time, emotion vibrates the air. Colorful shapes morph to each beat. It has been too long since his muscles felt like a newborn foal finding it's footing. Who is keeping who from collapsing is unclear. The firm earth underfoot is the only certainty.

A gasp from the onlookers is nearly drowned by the rhythm. A string pulls at his mind. His eyes want to follow, yet a turn blocks his view. His brow creases as he attempts to see behind Steel. "Ver.."

Pink dusts the sprites cheeks. It's only one word, a fraction of his name. The syllables spoken softly warms him. Tearing his focus back to his friend, he tries to stay on his toes.

"Almost," Steel winks, "we have to finish this one."

"Y-yeah," Vern manages a dizzy nod. His amber eyes sting, but not from the smoke. A soothing wave rolls through his veins, easing his tension. He almost misses a familiar, icy crack.

Chapter 4: Dusk

A tight spin jostles his focus. Flashes of magic collide. The music falters as smoke billows through the remaining crowd. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against it. Tucking himself against Steel, he waits for the air to settle. He flinches, as a drop hits his cheek.

"Er.. sorry."

The sprite swears the liquid away. Checking his bandages, he finds an inky substance he's well acquainted with.

"It's alright, I um..." he pauses, ducking as Steel casts another counter spell, "don't mind."

Sparkling green mist flares from Vern's hands. Vines burst from the ground to restrain Victor. "Enough!"

Snowflakes drift around them. Citizens that stayed murmur in uneasy awe. The spring sprite trembles slightly, his muscles begging for rest. "Do you forfeit the challenge?"

There's a rumble underfoot. Stumbling, Vern's spell loosens as spikes of ice shoot out of the dirt. He's tackled. Air is knocked from his lungs despite the cushioned fall.

"You alright? Any injuries?"

Vern slowly blinks up at Steel, gasping while registering the questions. "U-umm... I'm fine... I think..."

"Why," Victor's voice rings out above the chaos, icicles forming in the air around him. "Why do you reject everything I do for you?!"

Ooc// Welcome to the final boss fight.

Tag List: @nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain

Songs for the dance:

There's Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

A Bar Song (Tipsy) by Shaboozey

I Don't Wanna Wait by David Guetta & OneRepublic

Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling

Élan by Nightwish

Songs for Everyone vs. Victor:

It Ends Tonight by All-American Rejects

Liar by Jelly Roll

Ready For This by All Good Things

Trophy Hunter by Within Temptation

#Vern's hometown #Centennial Celebration #stealing steel #ooc// finally...

253 notes · View notes

unboundprompts · 11 months ago

Note

hi!! i was wondering if you could do something that was similar to ‘how to describe hair colors’? kinda like how you did the eye color one? it’s alright if you can’t but thank you in advance either way :)) 💕

Different Ways to Describe Hair Colors

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Blonde Hair Descriptions:

She had hair like the sand on the beach, and it reminded him of home. Of long summer days and the music his dad used to play for him.

His hair was like sunlight spun into silk.

Their hair reminded her of fields kissed by morning sun, or the gentle glow of a candle's flame in the evening.

Brown Hair Descriptions:

Her hair was a tapestry woven with earth's hues.

His brown hair resembled the deep, mysterious tones of a forest at twilight, where shadows play among the trees.

As the light touches it, their brown hair shimmers with hints of copper or amber, reminiscent of autumn leaves ablaze in the sun's last rays.

Black Hair Descriptions:

Her black hair was like a midnight veil, absorbing light and drawing you into its depths.

His hair was like a night sky adorned with stars.

Their hair shimmers like a raven's wing, catching glints of iridescence.

Red Hair Descriptions:

Each strand of her hair is a brushstroke of copper, auburn, and gold, intertwining to create a vibrant mosaic that captures the essence of a sunlit forest in fall.

His red hair evoked the warmth of a crackling hearth on a winter's eve.

Their hair flows like molten copper, radiant and alive with energy.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

I also have a Patreon! Become a member to gain access to a Member's Only Community where you can chat and message other members and myself. Also gain access to my personal writing, which includes completed short stories, chapters from novels in progress, as well as completed scenes.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #how to describe hair colors #hair color description #hair description

620 notes · View notes

mocharyc · 3 months ago

Text

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜 Pt.2!!

♡ 7 Invincible variants x reader (Lake Trip!!) ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ The Lake's Secret‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 13k+ [2 Part] ☆ TW: fluff(LOTS of kisses/funny moments) Omni-Mark Mohawk-mark Sinister Mark

☆ Author's Note: Went a little crazy on the heavy fluff in this chapter, I just wanted to give each variant some love <3 smut up next!! PS. I did a lot of description in this chapter for each variant appearance in swimwear :P bare with me pls!! AHH

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The morning sunlight transformed the fortress corridors into ribbons of gold and amber as Y/N changed into the swimming attire she'd discovered in her wardrobe. The fabric was unlike anything from Earth—lightweight yet substantial, with a subtle iridescence that shifted between teal and lavender depending on how the light caught it. The two-piece suit fit as if tailored specifically for her body, comfortable in a way that suggested whoever—or whatever—had prepared this place had considered even the smallest details of their comfort.

She ran her fingers along the material, marveling at how it seemed to respond to her touch—warming slightly, conforming more perfectly to her curves. Catching her reflection in the polished metal surface that served as a mirror.

The reflection showed someone different than the woman who'd been a GDA experiment only months ago—stronger now, not just physically but emotionally. Something else had changed too—a certain softness in her expression that hadn't been there during the war, a hint of contentment despite everything they'd endured.

She wrapped a flowing coverup around her shoulders—a gauzy material that felt like silk but possessed surprising durability—and slipped her feet into sandals that adjusted to her exact foot shape the moment she stepped into them.

"Ready for some fun?" Lensless called, practically materializing outside her door.

He wore what appeared to be swimming shorts in a vibrant blue, his lean but powerful frame practically vibrating with excitement. His face was alight with anticipation, dimples appearing as his smile stretched wide. The sunlight filtering through nearby windows highlighted the defined muscles of his shoulders and chest, not as bulky as some of the other variants. "No-Mask found a shortcut to the lake through the eastern terraces!"

Y/N smiled at his enthusiasm. "Lead the way."

They found the others gathering in the grand entrance hall.

Mohawk stood with his arms crossed, pretending disinterest despite the anticipation evident in his restless shifting. He'd chosen black swim shorts with electric blue accents that matched his mohawk—which was styled as meticulously as ever despite the casual occasion. His jaw was set in its usual stubborn line, but his eyes kept darting toward the entrance with poorly concealed eagerness.

His physique was more rugged than the others, with broader shoulders and thicker arms covered in a tapestry of battle scars that told stories of countless fights. A particularly jagged mark curved around his right bicep—newer than the others, perhaps a souvenir from their recent dimensional war. His chest was broader and covered in a mat of dark hair that tapered into a prominent trail leading down his stomach toward the waistband of his shorts. Unlike the other variants, he wore a thick silver chain around his neck—something he'd salvaged from his destroyed world, though he'd never explained its significance.

"About time," he grumbled when he saw Y/N, though his eyes softened as they tracked over her figure, pupils dilating slightly. The harsh lines of his face gentled, "Thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"And miss seeing you actually relax for once?" Y/N teased. "Not a chance."

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. "Who says I'm relaxing? Maybe I just want to show off my superior diving skills."

"Superior to what?" Y/N countered, stepping closer to him with playful confidence. "Last I checked, you sink like a stone."

Mohawk's eyebrows shot up, surprised and delighted by her challenge. He leaned down, his considerable height advantage allowing him to tower over her despite her enhanced physiology. "Oh, you're asking for it now, princess," he growled, "First one in the water gets to decide dinner tonight."

"Deal," she agreed, eyes sparkling. "Hope you like cooking."

Phantom stood slightly apart from the group, his swimming attire a stark contrast to his usual masked appearance. Though still covered from neck to ankle in what resembled a sleek wetsuit, the absence of his mask revealed a face startlingly similar to the other's, yet marked by a scar that bisected his right eyebrow. His eyes, when they met Y/N's, held a vulnerability that his mask always concealed—deep brown with tiny flecks of amber near the pupils, framed by surprisingly long lashes with soft brown locks pooling over his forehead. The wetsuit clung to his frame like a second skin, revealing lean muscle that spoke more of agility than raw power.

"You look... nice," he offered quietly, the words slightly awkward as if compliments were foreign territory. A hint of color touched his cheekbones as he spoke.

"So do you," Y/N replied with equal softness, letting her gaze linger on his exposed face with deliberate appreciation. "It's good to finally see you."

"Thank you for giving me a reason to take it off," he murmured, so quietly she almost missed it. His fingers brushed against hers briefly—a fleeting touch that sent unexpected warmth up her arm.

The double meaning wasn't lost on her; a faint flush colored her cheeks as she inclined her head in acknowledgment.

No-Mask approached with a large woven basket tucked under one arm. "I've packed provisions," he announced. His usually perfectly combed hair was slightly more relaxed today, a few strands falling across his forehead in a way that made him appear younger, less severe. His swim trunks were a practical navy blue, conservative compared to the others but still revealing a physique that balanced strength with academic precision—the body of someone who trained methodically rather than brutally. An intricate tattoo peeked just above his hip, mathematical symbols interwoven with what might have been dimensional coordinates.

"Local fruits, those bread-adjacent items Mohawk didn't completely destroy at breakfast, and some of the luminescent beverages."

"I added those fizzy purple ones you liked yesterday," he added specifically to Y/N, a hint of pride in his voice. "They're at the bottom to maintain optimal temperature." The small, thoughtful gesture revealed a side of No-Mask rarely displayed—someone who quietly observed preferences and adjusted accordingly.

"Always such a boy scout," Sinister drawled, materializing from the shadows with predatory grace. His swimming attire—black with strategic yellow accents—managed to appear both casual and dangerous, clinging to his muscular frame in a way that drew the eye despite one's better judgment. His body was a perfect balance of aesthetics and lethality—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every muscle defined as if sculpted. Unlike the others whose scars seemed random, several of Sinister's formed intentional patterns—ritualistic markings from ceremonies Y/N dared not ask about. His dark hair fell in loose waves around his face today instead of its usual severe styling, softening his sharp features in a way that reminded her of their time alone together in that other dimension.

His trademark smirk played at the corners of his mouth, but there was something almost playful in his black eyes today. "Some things transcend dimensions, it seems."

"At least I contribute," No-Mask retorted, though without real heat.

"I've contributed plenty," Sinister countered, arching one perfect eyebrow. "Who do you think convinced the provisioning system to include those bottles of fermented nectar you're so fond of pretending not to enjoy?"

He caught Y/N's eye and winked, she couldn't help but smile in return. "Our resident academic enjoys his intoxicants when he thinks no one is watching, dove," he stage-whispered, draping an arm casually around her bare shoulders and leaning close enough that his breath tickled her ear. "Quite the dancer after his third glass, too."

No-Mask's ears reddened slightly as he looked away. "I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Liar," Sinister chuckled, his arm lingering on Y/N's shoulders a moment longer than necessary before he gracefully pulled away. His fingertips trailed along her arm as he did, a subtle reminder of their shared intimacy that sent goosebumps across her skin.

Viltrumite Mark emerged from a side corridor. Unlike the others who had opted for Earth-style swimwear, he wore what appeared to be traditional Viltrumite bathing attire—a form-fitting white garment with intricate silver detailing along the sides that highlighted his impressive physique without being ostentatious. His body carried the unmistakable perfection of pure Viltrumite genetics—taller than the others by several inches, his musculature denser, shoulders broader, with a chest covered in dark, thick hair. Where the others wore their scars openly, his skin was largely unmarked—a testament not to a peaceful past but to higher Viltrumite regenerative abilities.

The traditional attire left his powerfully built legs exposed as well, revealing calves as hard as marble and thighs that spoke of incalculable strength. His dark hair was slightly longer than the others now that it was loose, and slicked back it looked softer than a baby's butt (is that the right fraze? 😭)

His expression remained composed, but there was a softness around his eyes when they landed on Y/N.

"The weather is ideal for aquatic recreation," he observed, voice deep and measured. "The atmospheric conditions suggest minimal precipitation probability." Despite his formal speech, there was an undercurrent of anticipation in his tone.

"In other words," Y/N translated with a warm smile, "perfect day for a swim?" When he nodded, she boldly reached out to touch his arm—a gesture that once would have seemed impossible given his intimidating presence. "Will you actually get in the water with me? Or just observe from the shore like a stalker?"

A hint of color touched his high cheekbones, as he held back a soft chuckle, "I will participate," he confirmed, his large hand briefly covering hers where it rested on his arm. "Your enthusiasm is... infectious."

"Thank you for the weather report, old man," Mohawk snorted, Interrupting their little moment. "Some of us just call it 'a nice day'."

Viltrumite Mark's lips quirked, "Efficiency of language is not always the highest virtue."

"Neither is excessive verbosity," Mohawk countered, but there was a grudging respect in his tone that hadn't been there weeks ago.

Omni Mark was the last to join them, emerging from a side corridor quietly. He'd chosen swimming attire in deep burgundy that contrasted with his usual red and gray suit, the color highlighting the powerful lines of his physique without ostentation. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead, revealing features that appeared somehow younger without his usual severe expression—still bearing the weight of leadership but touched now by something almost like anticipation.

His body combined the best aspects of the others—the power of Viltrumite Mark, the precision of Phantom, and a quiet confidence that needed no demonstration. A single scar ran along his left side, just below his ribs—the mark of what must have been a nearly fatal wound in another life. Unlike Mohawk's rugged hairiness, Omni's chest featured a more refined dusting of dark hair across his large pectorals that traveled into a neat line down his abdomen. His shoulders were impossibly broad, tapering to a narrow waist that spoke of both incredible strength and agility. When he turned to adjust something in the small bag he carried, Y/N caught sight of the defined muscles of his back, rippling beneath golden skin with even the smallest movement. The tiny lines that usually appeared between his brows when he was deep in thought were smoothed away, giving him an almost carefree appearance.

"Everyone ready?" he asked, gaze sweeping the group before settling on Y/N with quiet warmth. His eyes lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, taking in the way the light played across her newly exposed skin.

"Born ready!" Lensless declared, bouncing on his toes, "Last one there has to help Mohawk with dishes for a week!"

Before anyone could respond, he vanished in a blur of motion, leaving behind only a gust of displaced air and the fading echo of laughter.

"Cheating little shit," Mohawk growled, though a reluctant grin tugged at his lips as he started to float up. In a heartbeat, he too disappeared, the blue streak of his mohawk visible for a split second before he was gone.

"Children," Sinister sighed dramatically, but his eyes gleamed with competitive fire. "Shall we show them how it's done, dove?" Without waiting for an answer, he scooped Y/N into his arms with effortless strength, cradling her against his chest.

"Sinister—" she began, but her protest dissolved into surprised laughter as he launched them both skyward, bursting through an open skylight with reckless precision.

The world became a blur of color and sensation—the cool rush of air against her skin, the solid warmth of Sinister's body against hers, the dizzying beauty of the alien landscape unfurling beneath them. His arms held her securely, one beneath her knees and the other supporting her back, his grip confident without being restrictive.

"I've carried you through dimensional rifts and chaos," he murmured against her hair, his voice barely audible over the rushing wind, "but this is infinitely more enjoyable, wouldn't you agree?" There was something almost tender in the way he held her now—possessive still, but without the desperate edge that had characterized their first encounters.

"Now are you enjoying the view?" he murmured, voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing past them. This close, she could see flecks of gold in his irises, a fascinating contrast to the black that dominated.

"It's beautiful," she admitted, allowing herself to relax into his hold for the first time since–

"Yes," he agreed softly, eyes never leaving her face. "It is."

The moment of connection was interrupted by a streak of motion to their left—Phantom soaring past, his unmasked face transformed by an unexpected grin that erased years from his appearance.

"Getting slow in your old age, Sinister?" he called back, voice carrying despite the distance rapidly growing between them.

Sinister's eyes narrowed, and competitive instinct immediately engaged. "Hold tight, dove," he warned, just seconds before accelerating to a speed that forced Y/N to bury her face against his chest, eyes watering despite her enhanced physiology.

The journey that should have taken minutes on foot compressed into seconds as they rocketed over the fortress walls, across the rippling expanse of blue-green fields, and toward a shimmering line of aquamarine that marked the lake's position on the horizon.

Below, Y/N caught glimpses of blurred motions—the others racing across the landscape, each in their own style. No-Mask moved with methodical efficiency, his pace steady and sustainable. Omni Mark soared with dignified power, his trajectory a straight line toward their destination. Viltrumite Mark flew with precision, his white attire a stark contrast against the colorful landscape below.

"Look down," Sinister instructed softly, adjusting his flight to allow her a better view. "They're following different paths, but all heading to the same destination." Something philosophical colored his tone—unusual for the typically sardonic variant. "Much like us, I suppose."

Y/N glanced up at his face, struck by the rare moment of reflection. "Some paths were darker than others," she offered carefully.

His arms tightened fractionally around her. "Indeed. But perhaps the destination matters more than the journey, in the end." His eyes, when they met hers, held a complexity she was still learning to navigate—regret and hope intertwined in equal measure.

The air carried a sweet, almost intoxicating fragrance—like jasmine and something more exotic, something that seemed to clear Y/N's mind while simultaneously enhancing her awareness of physical sensations: the strength of Sinister's arms around her, the heat radiating from his body, the silken quality of the air against her skin.

The air above the lake shimmered slightly, creating an almost mirage-like effect that made the colors more vibrant, the light more dazzling. Y/N felt a strange tingling sensation across her skin as they descended—pleasant, like the warming effect of gentle sunshine after a cool swim.

Lensless had already arrived, of course, and was performing elaborate acrobatics from a rock outcropping that jutted over the deepest part of the lake. Each dive was more complex than the last, his body twisting and spinning with superhuman precision before slicing into the water with barely a splash. His face was alight with pure joy, eyes crinkling at the corners as he waved enthusiastically upon spotting them.

Sinister descended in a controlled arc, setting Y/N gently onto the pink sand several yards from where Mohawk was emerging from the water, his mohawk impossibly still perfectly styled despite being soaking wet. Water cascaded down his muscled torso, highlighting a collection of scars. The sun caught the water droplets clinging to his skin, making them shimmer like tiny diamonds against his tanned flesh.

"Sweet touchdown," Mohawk announced, striding toward them with the confident swagger that seemed coded into his DNA. He shook his head deliberately, sending a spray of glittering droplets in all directions. The water traced rivulets through the dense hair covering his chest, droplets clinging to the dark trails before continuing their journey downward. "Beat you fair and square, princess."

"You had a head start," Y/N protested, though she couldn't help smiling at his infectious enthusiasm.

"Excuses, excuses." He stepped closer, towering over while Sinister groaned from behind. "I believe the wager was dinner of my choice?" His grin turned mischievous as he leaned down, bringing his face level with hers. "Hope you're ready to cook those spicy things we found in the field yesterday."

"I never agreed to cook," Y/N countered, holding her ground even as water dripped from his mohawk onto her shoulder. "Just that you got to choose."

Something playful flashed in his eyes. "Ahh cheating now are we?" he murmured, before darting forward to press a quick, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth. The brief contact left a cool, damp impression on her skin, gone almost as quickly as it arrived. "But I'm feeling generous. I'll help...supervise."

"Now, I suppose you took so long because grandpa here was giving you the scenic tour?" He smirks, guestering lazily to Sinister who crossed his arms behind Y/n.

Sinister's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I was simply being considerate of precious cargo," he replied, voice silky with threat despite the casual setting. "Unlike some barbarians who know only brute force and crude language."

"Boys," Y/N intervened before the verbal sparring could escalate, placing a restraining hand on Sinister's arm. "Let's not waste perfect weather on bickering."

Both men subsided, though the competitive tension remained—a dynamic Y/N was beginning to recognize as their particular way of establishing boundaries and connection simultaneously. Despite their differences, there was something almost brotherly in their antagonism now, lacking the deadly intent that had characterized their early interactions.

The others arrived in quick succession—Phantom landing with silent grace at the water's edge, No-Mask jogging in at a steady pace despite having carried the provisions the entire way, Viltrumite Mark descending with precision, touching down without disturbing a single grain of sand. Omni Mark was the last to arrive, descending from the sky, the sunlight catching in his dark hair and revealing subtle auburn highlights that Y/N had never noticed before.

"Everyone accounted for?" Omni asked, his eyes immediately seeking Y/N as if confirming her safety was his first priority. When she nodded, his posture relaxed, "Good. This place seems secure, but we should still establish a perimeter."

"What is this, boot camp?!" Mohawk groaned, flopping dramatically onto the sand. "We're literally in a pocket dimension created specifically for us. The only danger is Lensless doing a cannonball too close to shore."

As if on cue, Lensless zoomed past them, creating a miniature sandstorm in his wake, covering them all in a snowfall of sand, "I heard that!" he called, already halfway back to his diving rock.

Within moments, the once-pristine shore became a hub of activity as they staked out their territory on the pink sands. Y/N noticed that the sand seemed to adjust beneath her feet, conforming to her footprints before smoothing out again, leaving no trace of her passage. The air carried a sweet scent—like honeysuckle but with an undercurrent of something spiced and exotic that she couldn't quite place.

No-Mask spread a large blanket he'd somehow managed to bring along, arranging their provisions in neat sections, the satisfied smile on his face was unmistakable. His movements were precise yet relaxed, a pleasant change from his usual tense efficiency.

"The fruits should be consumed first," he advised, gesturing to a pile of color-shifting delicacies. "They appear to lose optimal flavor when exposed to direct sunlight for extended periods."

"Okay DAD," Mohawk snorted, though he immediately grabbed several pieces and sprawled on the blanket, apparently unconcerned about getting it wet. He bit into one of the fruits, juice running down his chin as he closed his eyes in appreciation with a low groan. "Even at the beach, you can't turn it off."

"Someone needs to maintain some semblance of order," No-Mask replied primly, though a small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he arranged the remaining items with precise care. Without his usual formal attire, the sunlight revealed a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones—a humanizing detail that softened his often austere appearance.

"Here," No-Mask said, suddenly appearing at Y/N's side with a fruit that shifted between deep purple and electric blue. "This one has the highest nutrient density according to my analysis." He offered it with an almost shy gesture, "As I concluded earlier...I noticed you seemed to enjoy similar varieties at breakfast yesterday."

Y/N accepted the gift with a grateful smile. "Thank you for noticing."

A pleased pink flush colored his cheeks as he nodded and returned to organizing the provisions, but not before Y/N caught the hint of a genuine smile—small but real.

Y/N settled on the blanket beside him, accepting a luminescent drink with grateful thirst after their rapid journey. The liquid tasted like nothing from Earth—reminiscent of berries and citrus but with complex undertones of spice and sweetness that defied description. As she swallowed, she felt a pleasant warmth spreading through her chest, different from the usual sensation of the beverage. She dismissed it as the effect of the sunlight and the excitement of the day.

"This is amazing," she sighed after a long swallow, watching as Lensless continued his acrobatic display for Phantom, who was offering surprisingly constructive criticism on his form.

"Better than building catastrophe countermeasures and fighting for our lives?" Omni Mark asked dryly, lowering himself onto the blanket beside her with unexpected grace for someone of his size. A relaxed smile played at the corners of his mouth, the tiny lines at the corners of his blue eyes crinkling with genuine amusement.

"Is that a joke, Omni?" Y/N teased, nudging his shoulder with her own. "I didn't think you knew how."

The unexpected touch of humor in her voice drew a low, rich chuckle from him—a sound so rare and genuine that it momentarily attracted the attention of the others before they tactfully returned to their activities. "I contain multitudes," he replied, his voice warm with affection. "Some of which might surprise you."

"Infinitely," Y/N confirmed, smiling up at him.

"We should have brought instruments," Sinister mused, stretching out on Y/N's other side with casual elegance. The sun gleamed on his perfectly muscled torso, "I once hosted the most extraordinary beach soirees. Live music, exquisite refreshments, the occasional execution for entertainment..." He caught Y/N's raised eyebrow and amended smoothly, "Which is obviously off the menu now, dove. Perhaps just the music, then."

"You play?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious about this unexpected glimpse into his past.

A shadow of something melancholy crossed his features before his usual sardonic mask slipped back into place. "Several instruments, actually. My Y/-... I was particularly fond of the violin." His fingers twitched slightly as if muscle memory was recalling the movements required. "I was told my playing was the first thing about me that wasn't completely terrifying."

"I'd play for her," he continued after a moment, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "Hours sometimes. (fav band 😭) was her favorite for stormy nights." His long fingers moved through the air in phantom motions, recreating music only he could hear. For just a moment, vulnerability replaced his usual sardonic expression, giving Y/N a glimpse of the man he might have been in another life.

The way he tried to hide reference to his lost love, the woman Y/N resembled but wasn't—created a momentary quietness. These acknowledgments were becoming more frequent as they settled into their new reality, less painful as they learned to differentiate between past and present, between memory and possibility.

"I'd like to hear you play someday," Y/N said softly, reaching out to touch his hand in gentle understanding. His skin was surprisingly warm beneath her fingertips, and she found herself lingering, tracing the lines of his palm.

Sinister's sharp features softened as he watched her fingers move across his palm. His free hand came up to cover hers, trapping her touch against his skin. "I'd like that too," he admitted, his voice unusually raw with emotion. "Perhaps there are instruments to be found in this realm."

The moment hung between them, intimate and weighted with possibilities neither was quite ready to name. Then something shifted in Sinister's expression—a flash of vulnerability quickly masked by his more familiar mischievous grin. "You're flushed, dove," he noted, reaching out to brush his knuckles against her cheek with unexpected tenderness. "The alien sun agrees with you."

Before Y/N could respond, they were drenched by a massive splash as Lensless cannonballed into the water barely feet from the shoreline, sending a wave over the entire group. The cool water was momentarily refreshing against Y/N's inexplicably warming skin.

"LENSLESS!" Mohawk roared, jumping to his feet in outrage, water streaming from his mohawk. His face contorted in exaggerated fury, "I'm going to drown you, you hyperactive little—"

"Have to catch me first!" Lensless laughed, already zipping across the water's surface in a blur of motion, barely touching down on the massive lily pads as he went. His eyes danced with mischief, face alight with the pure joy of the challenge.

"Oh, it's on," Mohawk growled, launching himself into the air after the speedster.

What followed was possibly the most extraordinary game of tag ever played—two superhuman beings darting across the surface of an alien lake, one leaving sonic booms in his wake, the other creating massive splashes with each powerful leap. Lensless had speed, but Mohawk had raw power and determination, making the contest far more even than it might have appeared at first glance.

"Look at them go," Y/N marveled, watching Mohawk's surprisingly graceful movements as he anticipated Lensless's patterns. "I've never seen Mohawk so... playful."

"War leaves little room for joy," Viltrumite Mark observed, his deep voice surprisingly close as he settled on the blanket nearby. His formal posture remained, but there was a relaxed quality to his shoulders that hadn't been there before. "The absence of constant threat allows forgotten aspects of personality to resurface."

"Even yours?" Y/N asked boldly, turning to face him.

The hint of a smile touched his lips. "Even mine," he acknowledged with a small inclination of his head. "Though perhaps less dramatically than others."

"Ten on Mohawk," Sinister drawled, watching the spectacle with amused interest.

"Lensless is too fast," Phantom countered, having wandered back to join them. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, making his usually intense gaze seem softer, more approachable. "Twenty says Mohawk doesn't lay a finger on him."

"You're on," Sinister agreed with predatory anticipation. "Though what possible use we have for wagers in a post-scarcity utopia is beyond me."

"Bragging rights," No-Mask supplied, meticulously drying his hair which had been soaked in Lensless's initial splash. "A social currency that transcends economic systems."

"The satisfaction of victory is universal," Viltrumite Mark added unexpectedly, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. He had positioned himself slightly apart from the group, but close enough to participate in the conversation—a subtle shift from his usual complete isolation. "Even among the Viltrumite elite, competition remains essential."

"Speaking from experience?" Phantom inquired, a rare teasing note in his usually reserved voice.

"Perhaps," Viltrumite Mark replied, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Though such admissions would be considered... undignified in my former capacity."

"Good thing dignity isn't a requirement here," Mohawk shouted from halfway across the lake, proving his superhuman hearing was as sharp as ever. "Otherwise we'd have thrown you out weeks ago!"

Remarkably, Viltrumite Mark's response was a low, rumbling chuckle that seemed to surprise even himself.

Y/N laughed, delighted by their banter, by the normalcy of it all. Watching these men—these variants who had wreaked such havoc across dimensions—engage in something as simple as friendly competition and petty wagers felt like witnessing a minor miracle.

"Care for a swim?" Omni Mark asked quietly, offering his hand as the others continued debating the likely outcome of the high-speed chase still ongoing across the lake. His perceptive gaze lingered on her flushed cheeks. "The water might be refreshing."

Y/N nodded, slipping her hand into his as she rose to her feet. She discarded her coverup, aware of the subtle shift in Omni's breathing as his gaze traced the lines of her figure with appreciative restraint. His pupils dilated slightly, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, the words clearly not meant to be spoken aloud based on the surprise that flickered across his face afterward. Rather than backtrack, however, he simply squeezed her hand gently. "I don't say that enough."

"You don't have to," Y/N assured him, though the compliment warmed her more than the alien sun ever could.

"I want to," he insisted, his usual commanding tone softened by genuine emotion. "Some things should be said, not just understood."

"Mmm Omni, you flatter me. Now lead the way," she invited, enjoying the rare flash of uncertainty that crossed his usually composed features. The brief loss of control was oddly satisfying.

They walked together toward the water's edge, a comfortable silence between them despite the chaos erupting across the lake as Mohawk nearly succeeded in tackling Lensless, only to find himself clutching empty air as the speedster darted away at the last possible second.

The water was the perfect temperature as they waded in—cool enough to refresh but warm enough to welcome. It had a strange buoyancy unlike Earth's lakes, supporting their weight with unusual gentleness. Y/N found herself floating effortlessly, the water cradling her body as if designed specifically for comfort.

"This is incredible," she sighed, gazing up at the alien sky where wisps of purple-tinged clouds drifted across the blue expanse. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're really here."

Omni Mark floated beside her, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed, creating small ripples across the crystal surface.

"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly. "Coming with us? You could have stayed with your Earth, tried to rebuild."

Y/N considered the question seriously, appreciating that he'd asked rather than assumed. "No," she finally said, turning her head to meet his gaze. "Even before all this, I never truly belonged there. The GDA's experiments made sure of that."

A shadow crossed his face at the mention of her past—the cruel transformation that had given her Viltrumite abilities but robbed her of normal human connection. His hand found hers beneath the water, fingers intertwining with gentle strength. The contrast between his massive hand and hers was striking—his palms calloused from years of battle, yet his touch remained infinitely tender against her skin.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, his deep voice rumbling through his chest in a way she could feel rather than just hear, "I'm glad you're here. Not because you remind me of her—my Y/N—but because you're you. Different. Your own person."

The simple honesty in his words touched something deep within her chest. She studied his face—the lines of stress that had begun to soften in recent weeks, the way the alien sunlight caught the hints of auburn in his otherwise dark hair. There was an openness to his expression now that had been absent when they first met, as if he'd finally stopped fighting against hope.

Before she could respond, however, a colossal splash erupted nearby as Mohawk finally managed to capture Lensless, tackling him mid-flight and sending them both crashing into the lake with enough force to create a momentary tidal wave.

They surfaced seconds later, Mohawk maintaining a headlock on the struggling speedster despite the water surrounding them. Rivulets cascaded down Mohawk's broad shoulders, highlighting every ridge of muscle beneath. "Got you, you little shit!" he crowed triumphantly. "Who's slow now?"

"Still you," Lensless gasped, though there was laughter in his voice despite the precarious position. His leaner frame was completely dwarfed by Mohawk's massive arms, yet there wasn't a hint of real fear in his expression—just the joy of play that seemed to come so naturally to him despite everything he'd witnessed. "I let you catch me. Got bored of running."

"Bullshit," Mohawk retorted, though he loosened his hold slightly. He flicked water from his mohawk with a practiced head twist, somehow managing to make the ridiculous hairstyle look intimidating even while soaking wet. "Admit it—I'm the superior Mark."

"In your dreams, spike-head," Lensless shot back, suddenly vibrating his molecules at such speed that he slipped from Mohawk's grasp like mercury, reappearing several feet away with a victorious grin. "But good effort! A-plus for determination!"

Mohawk lunged for him again, but Lensless was already gone, his laughter echoing across the water as he zigzagged toward the shore where Phantom and Sinister were exchanging what appeared to be currency salvaged from their now-destroyed dimensions.

"Pay up," Phantom demanded, wearing a smirk. "He didn't maintain the capture for the required five seconds."

Sinister rolled his eyes dramatically but complied, handing over what looked like gleaming coins of an unknown metal. His movements were deceptively casual, but Y/N noticed how he continuously scanned their surroundings, old habits refusing to die even in this sanctuary. "Semantics," he complained. "The mohawked barbarian clearly won the engagement."

Their bickering faded into the background as Y/N found herself drawn deeper into the lake, away from the shoreline chaos and toward a particularly massive lily pad floating near the center. Omni Mark kept pace beside her, his powerful strokes cutting through the water with effortless grace.

"Race you to the big one," she challenged impulsively, feeling suddenly playful in a way that would have been unimaginable during the war.

A rare, full smile transformed Omni's serious features, "You're on," he agreed, immediately surging forward with a powerful kick.

Y/N matched his pace, her Viltrumite physiology allowing her to cut through the water with superhuman speed. They reached the massive lily pad simultaneously, both breaking the surface with triumphant gasps.

"Tie," she declared, reaching for the edge of the floating plant. The lily pad was even more remarkable up close—at least fifteen feet in diameter, its surface a deep emerald veined with luminescent blue that pulsed gently, as if the plant itself was breathing. The edge was slightly raised, creating a natural barrier that prevented water from spilling onto its surface.

With a graceful heave, Y/N pulled herself up, discovering that the lily pad's surface had an unexpected springiness—firm enough to support weight but with a gentle give that made it surprisingly comfortable. She scooted toward the center, making room for Omni Mark as he joined her.

Water cascaded down his powerful frame as he hauled himself onto the lily pad, the burgundy swim trunks clinging to his thighs in a way that outlined every defined muscle. The dark trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband caught her attention briefly before she forced her gaze back to his face.

"This is amazing," she marveled, running her fingers across the surface. The plant felt warm beneath her touch, almost responsive, the luminescent veins pulsing slightly faster where her fingertips made contact. "It's like it's alive. Not just living, but... aware."

Omni Mark nodded, observing with scientific curiosity as the veins beneath his palm glowed brighter in response to his touch. "Remarkable. I wonder if there's a form of botanical sentience at work here."

"You are such an analyst," Y/N teased gently, though she found his intellectual curiosity endearing rather than cold. It was a side of him the others rarely showed—this genuine wonder at the universe and its mysteries.

He glanced up from his examination, catching her fond expression. A slight pink flush colored his cheekbones as he realized she'd been watching him, the blush making him look younger, more vulnerable, "Force of habit," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Some things transcend dimensions, as Sinister so eloquently put it."

"I like it," Y/N assured him, shifting closer until their shoulders touched. The contact sent a pleasant warmth through her that had nothing to do with the alien sun overhead. "It's nice seeing you excited about something that isn't strategic advantage or tactical positioning."

The lily pad dipped slightly with their movement, causing Y/N to instinctively grab Omni's arm for balance. His hand immediately covered hers, steadying her with gentle strength. His forearm was solid beneath her fingers, dusted with dark hair and crisscrossed with almost invisible scars—badges of battles she'd never witnessed.

"Sorry," she laughed, though she made no move to pull away.

"Don't be," he murmured, gaze dropping briefly to where her hand rested against his warm skin before returning to her face with newfound intensity. His pupils dilated slightly, the blue of his irises darkening to midnight as his breathing changed subtly.

The moment stretched between them, weighted with possibility. Around them, the alien world continued its strange, beautiful existence—delicate winged creatures skimming the water's surface, the distant shouts and laughter of the others playing on the shore, the gentle pulse of the living platform beneath them. Yet for Y/N, everything narrowed to the minute space between them, to the quiet anticipation in Omni's eyes.

When he leaned forward, it was with deliberate slowness, giving her every opportunity to pull away if she chose. She didn't. Instead, she met him halfway, her fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck as her other hand came to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart quickening beneath her touch.

Unable to resist, she curled her fingers slightly, catching the coarse hair that dusted his pectorals. The unexpected touch drew a soft gasp from him, his eyes widening briefly before narrowing with a new intensity. Taking advantage of his surprise, Y/N leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against his, abandoning the earlier gentleness for something more demanding.

The kiss deepened as Omni's hand moved to cradle her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone with reverent care. His other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer until she was nestled against the solid wall of his chest, dwarfed by his sheer size yet feeling completely secure in his embrace.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, Y/N found herself cradled in his lap, though she couldn't recall exactly how she'd gotten there. The lily pad beneath them glowed with increased brilliance, as if responding to their elevated heart rates or shared body heat.

"That was..." Omni began, then paused, apparently struggling to find words adequate to the moment. His usual eloquence seemed to have abandoned him, leaving him staring at her with an expression of wonder that made something flutter in her chest.

"Nice," Y/N supplied with a soft smile, enjoying the rare sight of his usual eloquence deserting him.

A laugh rumbled through his chest, the sound vibrated through her where their bodies connected, rich and warm. "Vast understatement," he corrected, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear with tender precision. "But yes. Nice."

Instead of pulling away, he leaned forward again, this time pressing his warm lips to her forehead with gentle reverence. His kisses traced a path—her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth—each touch feather-light yet sending warmth cascading through her. His fingers cradled the back of her head with extraordinary tenderness as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear.

Y/N couldn't help the soft giggle that escaped her as his lips tickled the delicate skin of her neck. The unexpected sound surprised even her—how long had it been since she'd actually giggled? The sound seemed to delight him—Omni Mark smiled against her skin and deliberately repeated the motion to coax another laugh from her.

"I've never heard you laugh like that before," he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. His large hand came up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing gently across her lower lip with reverent attention. The wonder in his gaze made her heart skip. "It's beautiful."

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck at the simple sincerity in his words. "It's been a long time since I had reason to," she admitted.

His expression softened, something fiercely protective flashing in his eyes. "Then I'll have to give you more reasons," he promised, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through her very bones as he pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth.

The lily pad beneath them pulsed in sync with their heartbeats now, the blue veins creating patterns like constellations across its surface. Y/N watched, fascinated, as the luminescence seemed to follow the path of Omni's fingertips as they traced lazy patterns along her shoulder.

"You know," she said, running her fingers through the coarse hair on his chest with newfound boldness, "for someone who gives orders all day, you're surprisingly gentle."

A soft chuckle rumbled through him. "Only with you," he admitted, catching her exploring hand and bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to each fingertip with deliberate care, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't have to be the commander here. Just... yours."

The unexpected vulnerability in those two syllables—yours—made her breath catch. Before she could respond, he continued, "If you want me to be, that is."

"I do," she whispered, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. "Though I'm not sure how the others would feel about that arrangement."

His lips quirked in a small smile. "We're in uncharted territory here. Seven versions of the same man, one extraordinary woman. I think we're beyond conventional relationship dynamics, don't you?"

A distant whistle from the shore reminded them they weren't truly alone, despite the illusion of privacy their floating sanctuary provided. Glancing toward the source, Y/N saw Mohawk standing waist-deep in the water, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted something indecipherable at this distance. Behind him, Sinister appeared to be preparing for a swim, removing various concealed weapons from his person despite the supposed recreational nature of their outing.

"We should probably head back," Y/N sighed, though she made no immediate move to disentangle herself from Omni's embrace. "Before they decide to come investigate."

"Probably," he agreed, looking equally reluctant. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone with gentle wonder, as if memorizing the contours of her face. "Though just for the record, I'd be happy to stay here with you until the stars come out. Or longer."

Y/N smiled, leaning into his touch. "Me too. But I suspect Mohawk will start throwing things if we ignore him much longer."

As if on cue, a splash erupted nearby as something hit the water with surprising force. Glancing over, Y/N was startled to see what appeared to be a piece of fruit floating where the projectile had landed—apparently Mohawk had indeed resorted to throwing things to get their attention.

Omni Mark's eyebrows rose in amusement. "I'm continually amazed by his accuracy," he observed dryly. "That landed precisely ten feet from us—close enough to get our attention without actually hitting us. Though I'm tempted to teach him a lesson about wasting food."

"Later," Y/N promised, reluctantly shifting away from his warmth. "For now, I'm curious to see what No-Mask packed for lunch. He mentioned something about those purple fizzy fruits I liked yesterday."

"Ah, so it's food you're leaving me for," Omni teased, a playful side she rarely glimpsed emerging as he helped her to the edge of the lily pad.

"Well, a girl has priorities," she teased back, delighted when he threw his head back with a genuine laugh.

He pressed one last lingering kiss to her palm, his touch lingering longer than strictly necessary.

They slipped back into the water together, the cooling liquid a stark contrast to the heat that had built between them on the lily pad. As they swam toward shore, Y/N found herself reflecting on the strange, wonderful complexity of their situation—seven versions of the same man, each distinctly different, each finding their own unique connection with her. Not as a replacement for what they'd lost, but as something new, something healing.

The shore scene that greeted them was pure chaos—exactly what one might expect when godlike beings decided to take a day off. Lensless and No-Mask appeared to be constructing an elaborate sand structure that resembled the fortress, complete with working drawbridge made of smaller lily pads and twigs. Phantom was demonstrating some kind of martial arts form that involved impossible aerial maneuvers, his body cutting through the air with dancer-like precision despite his powerful build.

Mohawk stood with arms crossed, attempting to appear casual despite the obvious relief in his expression when he spotted them approaching. Water droplets still clung to the dense mat of hair covering his broad chest, glinting in the sunlight like tiny jewels, "About time," he called gruffly. "Thought maybe the lake monster got you."

"Lake monster?" Y/N repeated, quirking an eyebrow as they reached shallow water. She swayed slightly as she stood, the sudden transition from swimming to standing making her lightheaded.

"Whoa there," Mohawk said, his gruff demeanor instantly giving way to concern as he stepped forward, one large hand coming to rest at her elbow to steady her. "You okay, princess?"

"Fine," she assured him, though she didn't pull away from his steadying touch. "Just stood up too quickly."

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her face, unconvinced. "You're flushed. Maybe you should sit down for a bit." The genuine worry in his usually gruff voice touched something in her chest.

“No no trust me, im fine,” She smile softly, blowing him off as she gently bushes the bits of sand off her hands, glancing back at Omni before turning back to Mohawk’s concern face. “Wait tell me about this monster.”

"Yeah," Mohawk insisted, gesturing vaguely toward the depths. His face was set in exaggerated seriousness, though humor danced in his eyes. "Sinister swears he saw something huge moving around out there. Probably bullshit, but..." He shrugged, the casual movement not quite disguising his genuine concern.

"Touching as your concern is," Sinister drawled, materializing beside them with predatory silence despite the water that should have announced his approach, "I assure you what I saw was quite real. Approximately twenty feet in length, serpentine body structure, multiple appendages."

"And just when were you planning to share this information with the group?" Phantom called from where he'd paused his practice, arms crossed over his chest in disapproval.

"When it became relevant," Sinister replied with a careless shrug, "Which would have been when it attacked. Until then, why spoil a perfectly lovely outing with unnecessary concerns?"

"And yet you didn't think to mention this before y/n and I went swimming?" Omni Mark asked, voice dry with disbelief, though his gaze remained concerned as it flicked between Y/N and Sinister.

Sinister shrugged elegantly, water streaming from his powerful shoulders and down the defined ridges of his abdomen. The dark hair that ran from his navel downward created a perfect trail disappearing beneath his swim shorts, somehow making him look even more predatory. His black swim shorts clung to his powerful thighs, the yellow accents somehow emphasizing the predatory grace with which he moved even in casual settings.

"It showed no aggressive tendencies. Besides, dove here has proven remarkably capable of handling herself in dangerous situations." His gaze shifted to Y/N, something predatory yet appreciative in its depths. His eyes lingered on the way the iridescent fabric clung to her skin, shifting between teal and lavender as she moved. "Though I notice Omni seems to be handling her quite effectively as well."

The double entendre was deliberate, his smirk widening as a flush crept up Y/N's neck. "Not that I blame him," Sinister continued, his voice dropping to a silky purr as he stepped closer, completely disregarding the concept of personal space. "You look positively edible in that swimwear, dove."

Before she could formulate a response to the blatant flirtation, Mohawk stepped between them, using his body to create space. "Back off, Dracula," he growled, "Give the lady some breathing room."

"Such chivalry from our resident barbarian," Sinister remarked, though he did step back slightly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm simply appreciating the view. As are we all, I imagine."

Before the verbal sparring could escalate, Lensless's voice cut across the beach.

"FINISHED! Come see! It's AMAZING!"

The sand fortress was indeed impressive—an intricately detailed replica of their actual home, complete with tiny windows that caught the sunlight at the same angles as the real ones. No-Mask stood beside it with quiet pride, his usually pristine appearance transformed by sand clinging to damp skin and swim attire. Unlike the others whose chest hair ranged from subtle to prominent, No-Mask's torso was nearly hairless. His navy blue trunks were somehow still perfectly aligned at the waist despite their aquatic activities, a testament to his meticulous nature that extended even to beachwear. The mathematical tattoo peeking above his hip seemed to shift and rearrange itself in the changing light, as if the equations were solving themselves against his skin.

"The structural integrity is questionable," he admitted as they gathered around to admire the creation. He absently brushed sand from his lean forearms, "But the aesthetic accuracy is satisfactory."

"It's beautiful," Y/N assured him, genuinely impressed by the detail work. "How did you get the spires so perfect?"

"I had an excellent reference point," No-Mask replied, his gaze momentarily flicking to her face before darting away, a subtle rose tint coloring his cheeks. "Photographic memory. Once I've seen something—or someone—I don't forget the details."

The implication that he'd been paying such close attention to both her and their new home made something warm bloom in Y/N's chest.

"Lensless," No-Mask explained, gesturing to where the speedster vibrated with barely contained excitement. The vibrant blue of Lensless's swim shorts seemed to blur with his movements, creating an almost hypnotic effect against his lean, wiry frame. A light dusting of light brown hair across his chest caught the sunlight, glinting like metallic threads with each excited movement. Droplets of water still clung to his eyelashes, as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

"His fine motor control at accelerated speeds is quite remarkable. He was able to shape the sand with sufficient velocity to temporarily vitrify the surface."

"I made glass!" Lensless translated proudly, his dimples deepening with delight. "With my fingers! Super-fast! Wanna see?" Without waiting for an answer, he plunged his hand into loose sand below, vibrating it at such speed that the grains began to glow. The veins in his forearms became visible with the effort. When he withdrew his hand seconds later, he held a crude but recognizable sculpture of a bird, its surface gleaming with fused sand particles.

"For you," he declared, presenting it to Y/N with a flourish. His eyes searched her face eagerly, seeking approval with an openness none of the others allowed themselves. "A souvenir! Our first beach day!"

The simple gift, offered with such genuine enthusiasm, touched Y/N deeply. "Thank you," she said, accepting the still-warm sculpture with careful hands. "I'll treasure it."

"Really?" Lensless asked, his eyes lighting up. "Because I could make more! Different animals, or maybe buildings, or—"

"Perhaps let Y/N enjoy this one first," No-Mask interjected gently, placing a restraining hand on the speedster's shoulder. "Before you fill her quarters with an entire menagerie."

"Right, right," Lensless agreed, nodding so rapidly his features blurred slightly. He stopped abruptly, looking at Y/N with surprising solemnity. "It's just... I haven't made things in a long time. Only destroyed them. It feels... good. To create instead."

The unexpected depth behind his simple statement created a moment of poignant silence among the group.

Before Lensless beamed again, his whole face lighting up as a thought came to mind. He impulsively took her free hand and pressed a swift, innocent kiss to her knuckles before zipping away, leaving behind only a lingering warmth and the faint scent of ozone from his speed.

Behind him, Phantom approached with unusual hesitancy, something clutched in his hand. Without his mask, the scar bisecting his right eyebrow was thrown into sharp relief by the setting sun. His wetsuit clung to his body like a second skin, though it had been partially unzipped at the neck, revealing a hint of dark chest hair that contrasted with the paleness of skin that rarely saw sunlight. The exposure seemed almost intimate for him, a small but significant concession to the day's informality.

"I also... found something," he said quietly, offering his closed fist to Y/N. For once, his eyes didn't dart away from hers but held steady, a rare moment of direct connection that felt as intimate as a touch. There was a vulnerability in his direct gaze that made him seem younger, less hardened by the battles he'd fought. "While I was practicing forms near the water's edge."

When he opened his fingers, a small object caught the sunlight with prism-like brilliance—a stone about the size of a marble, perfectly smooth and shifting between colors as it moved. Unlike the color-changing fruits, which transitioned between recognizable hues, this stone seemed to capture colors Y/N had never seen before, shades that shouldn't exist in any spectrum she was familiar with.

"It's incredible," she breathed, accepting it reverently. The stone felt warm against her palm, pulsing gently as if responding to her touch—or perhaps her heartbeat. "Thank you, Phantom."

"It reminded me of you," he said softly, the words clearly difficult for him to voice. "Brilliant. Unusual. Beautiful in ways that defy explanation."

The unexpected poetry from the usually taciturn variant left Y/N momentarily speechless. Before she could formulate a response, Phantom continued in a rush, as if afraid he'd lose his nerve:

"My mother used to collect unusual stones. She said they were like people—ordinary at first glance, but extraordinary when you take the time to really look." He glanced down at the stone in her palm. "I think she would have liked you."

He inclined his head slightly, but not before Y/N caught the pleased expression that flashed across his exposed features. Without his mask, Phantom's emotions were surprisingly easy to read—as if the barrier had been holding back not just his face but his ability to connect. In a gesture so swift it might have been imagined, his finger brushed against her wrist as he withdrew his hand, a fleeting touch that nonetheless sent a shiver across her skin.

"Getting competitive with the gift-giving, are we?" Sinister observed, his tone light though his eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the interactions. "How charmingly primitive."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first," Mohawk retorted, though there was less bite to his words than usual.

He flung himself down on the blanket beside Y/N, his powerful frame radiating heat as water continued to evaporate from his skin in the alien sunlight. The mat of dark hair that covered chest glowed in the sunlight, attracting all eyes to the prominent trail leading down his stomach. The black swim shorts with electric blue accents rode low on his hips, revealing a carved V-line that disappeared beneath the waistband.

Y/N's eyes inadvertently traveled lower, noticing for the first time the considerable bulge beneath the clinging wet fabric. She quickly averted her gaze, a flush warming her cheeks as she realized Mohawk had caught her looking. A knowing smirk spread across his face, but surprisingly, he made no crude remark. Outloud at least.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked instead, his voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. Before she could stammer a denial, he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "It's okay. I certainly like what I'm seeing."

The blatant admiration in his eyes made her flush deepen to a dark red, but there was something oddly comforting about his straightforward attraction. No games, no hidden agendas—just honest desire tempered with surprising respect.

"So what's the plan now? More swimming? Food? Nap in the sun like overgrown lizards?" he asked drawing the variants attention to him instead of Y/n’s flushed face, slowly stretching out luxuriously like a satisfied predator.

"All acceptable options," No-Mask mused, settling onto the blanket with casualness, his usual rigid posture relaxing into something more natural. He carefully arranged himself to maintain a respectful distance from Y/N while still being close enough for conversation. "Though I would recommend applying solar protection if extended sun exposure is the consensus."

"Nerd," Mohawk scoffed affectionately, reaching over to muss No-Mask's carefully arranged hair. "We're virtually indestructible. Pretty sure sunburn isn't a concern."

No-Mask ducked away from the rough touch with practiced ease, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "Virtually indestructible does not equate to completely impervious," he pointed out primly. "Particularly in an alien environment with unknown radiation patterns."

"Speaking from experience?" Y/N asked, noticing the faint freckling across No-Mask's shoulders that hadn't been there when they arrived.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise that she'd noticed such a detail. "Perhaps," he admitted gently rubbing his shoulder. "My skin has always been... susceptible to solar radiation. More so than the others." He gestured to a small container nestled among their provisions. "I formulated a protective solution if you'd like to try it."

"I'd appreciate that," she said, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. "Would you mind?" She held out her arm in invitation.

No-Mask hesitated for just a moment before nodding, a pink flush coloring his ears as he retrieved the container. His fingers were cool against her skin as he carefully applied the lotion—meticulous, thorough, yet remarkably gentle.

"You have very steady hands," she observed as he worked.

"Years of laboratory precision," he explained, though his voice had grown slightly husky. "Though I confess, they rarely have such pleasant subjects to work with."

"If I may suggest an alternative," Omni Mark interjected before No-mask and Y/n’s conversion could escalate. Settling beside Y/N with casual grace that nevertheless positioned him as a subtle buffer between her and Mohawk's sprawled form. His deep burgundy swim trunks contrasted perfectly with his sun-kissed skin. Droplets of water still clung to his dark hair, making it appear almost black where it swept back from his forehead.

"The sun will set in approximately two hours. Perhaps we could enjoy the water until then, share a meal as the twin moons rise, and return to the fortress before full dark."

"You are such a planner," Sinister observed, though without real criticism. He lowered himself onto the blanket with fluid elegance, deliberately positioning himself on Y/N's other side. "Though I must admit, the prospect of experiencing our first alien sunset has a certain poetic appeal."

From several feet away, Viltrumite Mark observed their interactions with composed interest. The sunlight caught in the droplets clinging to his broad shoulders, creating a momentary crown of light around his regal bearing. He moved toward them with deliberate steps.

As he approached, Y/N noticed tiny silver flecks in his otherwise human-appearing eyes—a subtle reminder of his pure Viltrumite heritage.

"The light quality will be optimal for observing celestial phenomena during the sunset," he offered, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the beach. "The atmospheric composition creates refraction patterns unlike anything on Earth." His gaze met Y/N's with unexpected warmth beneath his formal demeanor. "It would be... pleasant... to experience it together."

"Together," she agreed with a smile. "All of us." She patted the space beside her on the blanket, inviting him to join their circle.

For a moment, Viltrumite Mark seemed surprised by the casual invitation, as if unused to being included so naturally. Then, with careful precision, he lowered his imposing frame to sit beside her, his posture still formal but noticeably less rigid than usual.

"Thank you," he said quietly, for her ears alone. The simple words carried unexpected weight.

Y/N looked around at the seven variants—men who had once brought terror to countless worlds now building sand castles, sharing food, and bickering over friendly wagers. She smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the alien sun overhead.

"No," she replied, reaching out to briefly touch his hand. "Thank you. All of you."

The simple gesture sent warmth spreading through Viltrumite Mark's usually stoic features, a fleeting softness that reminded Y/N that beneath all their differences, these men shared the same core—the same heart.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

And so the afternoon unfolded with unexpected harmony—swimming in the crystal waters, exploring the strange beauty of the alien shore, sharing food and conversation as the sun began its descent toward the horizon.

When Mohawk challenged Omni to a diving contest, it evolved from competitive showing off into genuine appreciation of each other's athletic abilities. What started as Mohawk's bellowing "Watch this, commander!" before executing a perfect cannonball that sent water twenty feet in all directions transformed into an intricate display of aerial acrobatics that left Y/N breathless with admiration. The way Omni's powerful form cut through the air with \ precision that contrasted beautifully with Mohawk's wild, almost feral grace—different expressions of the same magnificent strength.

When Lensless convinced No-Mask to help him build an even more elaborate sand structure, Phantom quietly joined them, his precise movements adding architectural details the others hadn't considered. "It needs flying buttresses," Phantom murmured, almost to himself, as he shaped perfect arches with gentle fingertips that seemed impossibly delicate for hands that had destroyed worlds. No-Mask observed silently before nodding once, a glimmer of respect lighting his analytical eyes as he added, "And here—a complementary spire for balance." Lensless vibrated with excitement, creating perfect geometric patterns in seconds that would have taken master craftsmen days, his childlike joy infectious as he called, "Y/N! Look! We're rebuilding Atlantis! Or what we think Atlantis might have looked like if it existed in this universe and also had really cool laser turrets!"

During a moment of relative solitude as Y/N floated near the shore, she found herself surprised by Sinister's approach. Unlike his usual confident swagger, he moved through the water with uncharacteristic hesitation, keeping a respectful distance for perhaps the first time since she'd known him. More surprising still was his difficulty making eye contact—the man who typically fixed others with predatory intensity now seemed unable to meet her gaze.

"Something on your mind?" Y/N asked gently, treading water as she studied his unusual demeanor.

Sinister's jaw worked for a moment before he spoke, his voice lacking its typical sardonic edge. "I wanted to... apologize," he said, the words clearly uncomfortable on his tongue. "For what happened after... the cave. When the others found us."

Y/N immediately understood. After their intimate encounter in the alien cave, before they'd joined the others, Sinister had been insufferably smug, making thinly veiled comments about their liaison that had embarrassed her deeply.

"The way I spoke about what happened between us," he continued, fingers tracing patterns in the water's surface rather than looking at her. "As if it was merely a conquest. As if what we shared meant nothing."

The unguarded vulnerability in his voice caught Y/N off guard. "Sinister..."

"It wasn't nothing," he said firmly, finally meeting her eyes with an intensity that took her breath away. "Not to me. I just... I've spent lifetimes using arrogance as armor. Old habits."

Y/N moved closer, touched by this rare glimpse of the man beneath the villain. "Come here," she said softly, reaching for him.

Sinister hesitated, uncharacteristically uncertain, before closing the distance between them. Y/N cupped his face in her hands, surprised to feel a slight tremor in his typically unshakable composure. She pressed her lips to his in a kiss that contained none of their previous desperate passion—this was something gentler, more honest.

"Thank you," she whispered against his lips when they parted. "For telling me."

Something profound shifted in Sinister's eyes—a softening that transformed his entire face. For a fleeting moment, the hard lines of cruelty eased from his features, revealing glimpses of who he might have been before tragedy had carved him into something so sharp and dangerous. His hands, usually weapons themselves, cradled her face with a reverence that seemed foreign to them, fingertips exploring the curve of her cheek as if memorizing something precious and fleeting.

"You make me want to be better," he admitted in a whisper so quiet it barely disturbed the water between them. "And that terrifies me more than anything else in this or any universe."

The moment was broken by a splash and Lensless's delighted laughter from across the lake. Sinister's familiar smirk returned, though somehow less sharp-edged than before.

"We should rejoin the others before they send a search party," he murmured, though he made no immediate move to pull away. "Or worse, Mohawk decides to practice his synchronized swimming routine. I'm still recovering from the last performance."

Y/N laughed, the sound echoing across the water.

As they swam back toward shore, Y/N couldn't help but notice how Sinister positioned himself between her and the deeper parts of the lake—a protective gesture so subtle she almost missed it. When she caught his eye, he merely shrugged, the movement rippling through the water. "Call it an abundance of caution, dove. After all," he added with a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "I've developed quite the interest in your continued existence."

Throughout the afternoon, Y/N found herself the recipient of small, thoughtful gestures from each variant—Omni Mark's hand resting at the small of her back as they walked along the shoreline, his thumb tracing gentle circles against her skin; the contrast between his commanding presence around the others and the way his eyes softened uniquely for her, silently seeking her approval with each decision as if her opinion was the only one that truly mattered to him; No-Mask carefully arranging a makeshift headrest from his discarded coverup when she decided to lie in the sun; Mohawk bringing her a luminescent drink when he noticed her looking thirsty, his gruff "Here" belied by the tenderness in his eyes; the way his fingers lingered against hers during the exchange, his gaze darting away when she caught him staring at her lips, a rare flush coloring his cheeks beneath his swagger; Phantom silently offering shade when the sun became too intense, his body positioned to block the harshest rays without crowding her space.

Lensless's attentions were the most obvious—zipping back and forth to bring her interesting shells and stones, creating elaborate sand sculptures around her whenever she stayed still for more than a minute, his energy channeled into making her smile. "Watch this!" became his constant refrain, each display of speed or skill performed with hopeful eyes seeking her approval. "I found something amazing!" he exclaimed, carefully opening his palm to reveal a tiny spiral shell that pulsed with bioluminescent light. "It changes color when you hold it—look!" As she took it, the shell shifted from azure to violet, responding to her touch. Lensless's eyes widened with delight that matched her own. "See? It likes you! Just like—" he stopped himself, suddenly self-conscious, before finishing in a rush, "Just like all of us do."

Most unexpected were Viltrumite Mark's quiet attentions—a cooling breeze created by a subtle movement of his hand when the heat grew oppressive, the careful placement of a perfectly ripe fruit beside her when she hadn't even realized she was hungry, the silent offering of his powerful arm when the pink sand became too shifty underfoot. His reserved demeanor never fully vanished, but there was something profoundly touching about the way this proud warrior—who had commanded armies and conquered worlds—now devoted himself to ensuring her comfort through gestures so subtle they might go unnoticed by anyone else.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The alien sun dragged closer to the horizon, and Y/N started to notice little unique traits about each of the variants that somehow made them more endearing—Omni's habit of absently tracing the line of his jaw when deep in thought, the way his eyebrows would draw together in the same configuration whether he was contemplating battle strategy or deciding which fruit looked ripest; the way Sinister's fingers constantly moved as if playing invisible piano keys when relaxed, a remnant of some long-forgotten skill from his past that surfaced only in these rare moments of peace; Mohawk's unexpected gentleness when handling the strange small creatures they discovered in tide pools, his hands becoming impossibly delicate when cradling a tiny starfish-like creature with translucent appendages, his usual brashness giving way to whispered fascination; to the barely audible hum that accompanied Lensless at rest, like an engine perpetually idling.

No-Mask continually documented their findings in a small waterproof notebook he'd somehow brought along, his curiosity transforming his usually serious face into something approaching childlike wonder. "The cellular structure is unlike anything I've documented in my previous universe," he explained to Y/N when she peered over his shoulder at his meticulous sketches. "These organisms appear to share both plant and animal characteristics, with symbiotic relationships that—" He broke off, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"Not at all," she assured him, genuinely fascinated by both his observations and the rare animation in his usually stoic features. "Tell me more."

The smile that bloomed across his face was like sunrise—slow, radiant, and transformative. His hand found hers as he continued his explanation, thumb absently stroking her knuckles in perfect rhythm with his excited words, as if physical contact completed a circuit between them.

Phantom, once comfortable enough to remove the upper half of his wetsuit in the heat, revealed not just scars but an intricate tattoo across his shoulder blade—glyphs in a language Y/N didn't recognize that he quietly explained were remembrances of those he'd lost. "Each symbol represents someone," he explained, voice hushed as if in a cathedral. His fingertips traced one particular glyph, elegant and flowing unlike the others. "This one... this was for my Y/N. I designed it myself to capture her spirit—always in motion, always beautiful." The raw vulnerability in his admission hung between them, precious and fragile, before he added softly, "She would have liked you, I think. You have the same courage."

Viltrumite Mark, despite his formal bearing, displayed unexpected dry humor in his rare comments, often delivered with such perfect deadpan that it took the others a moment to realize he was joking. When Mohawk sent a massive splash directly at his face and Viltrumite Mark remained perfectly still, water streaming down his impassive features before he remarked, "I believe I'm now adequately hydrated, thank you," even Sinister had dissolved into reluctant laughter.

"I never thought I'd live to see it," Sinister drawled, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "The mighty Viltrumite telling jokes. Truly, this universe continues to surprise."

"Not a joke," Viltrumite Mark replied with perfect composure, though the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Merely an observation." His gaze slid to Y/N, something warm flickering behind his regal demeanor when she laughed. "Though I admit, certain... reactions... make the indignity worthwhile."

As the alien sun touched the horizon, casting long golden fingers across the landscape in strikingly similar fashion to their first evening in this world, they gathered on the pink sands to witness the spectacle. The sky transformed into a canvas of impossible colors—vibrant purples and deep crimsons bleeding into oranges so bright they seemed almost tangible.

Y/N found herself seated in their midst, in a position that had evolved naturally yet felt deliberately orchestrated. Omni Mark sat behind her, his strong legs creating a V-shape that cradled her body, his chest a warm support against her back. The thick muscles of his pectorals provided a comfortable cushion, the light dusting of chest hair tickling pleasantly against her shoulders when he shifted. His fingers threaded through her hair with gentle reverence, occasionally tracing the shell of her ear or the line of her jaw with tender precision. "You're tense here," he murmured, thumbs finding knots at the base of her neck that she hadn't even realized were there. His touch was commanding yet infinitely gentle as he worked the tension from her muscles with expert precision. When she sighed with pleasure, his arms tightened fractionally around her waist, his breath catching audibly before he mastered himself again.

Mohawk had claimed the space to her lower right, his head resting against her thigh with surprising vulnerability. His usual restless energy had settled into something quieter, more content. Occasionally his lips would brush against her skin—not demanding, barely there touches that felt like questions rather than statements, each one sending tiny shivers through her body. His hand rested on her calf, thumb drawing lazy circles against her ankle. The mohawk that gave him his name now lay slightly flattened from the day's swimming, making him look younger, almost boyish despite his massive frame. When she absently ran her fingers through the still-damp strands, he made a sound suspiciously close to a purr, pressing into her touch like an oversized cat seeking affection.

"Enjoying yourself, princess?" he murmured, voice rough with contentment, as he nuzzled against her thigh. The stubble on his jaw created delicious friction against her sensitive skin, raising goosebumps along her leg.

"Very much," she admitted, tugging playfully at his mohawk. "Who knew the big bad Mohawk was secretly a cuddler?"

"Tell anyone and I'll deny it," he growled without heat, pressing a deliberately scratchy kiss against her inner thigh that made her gasp. His eyes gleamed with mischievous satisfaction at her reaction, though he gentled his touch immediately afterward, soothing the spot with a tender brush of his lips.

Sinister sprawled to her left with feline grace, his head propped on one hand while the other traced elaborate patterns across her bare stomach. His touch was deliberately hypnotic, fingertips barely making contact yet leaving trails of warmth in their wake. His eyes, when they met hers, held knowing amusement at the effect he was having. "I never mentioned it before, but your skin fascinates me, dove," he mused, voice pitched low for her ears alone. "The way it responds to the slightest touch—like this." His finger traced a delicate spiral just below her navel, smiling as the muscles underneath jumped in response. "So honest. So beautifully reactive."

"You're playing with fire," she warned, biting her lower lip softly.

"Always have," he replied with a wicked smile that softened into something more genuine as he added, "But this is the first time I've cared about getting burned."

Phantom sat close enough that his shoulder pressed against hers, his usual rigidity softened into something almost relaxed. His hand had found hers at some point, their fingers intertwined in a grip that felt both protective and seeking protection. His thumb stroked her palm in time with the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, a silent rhythm shared between them. Unlike the others who watched the sunset, Phantom's eyes remained fixed on their joined hands, as if the simple connection was more wondrous than any celestial display. When she squeezed his fingers gently in question, he looked up with such naked emotion in his usually guarded expression that it stole her breath.

"I never thought I'd feel this again," he confessed, voice barely audible over the gentle sounds of the lake. "Peace… with you"

No-Mask had positioned himself slightly forward, half-turned toward the group as he explained the astronomical phenomena they were witnessing. His hand rested lightly on Y/N's ankle, seemingly an absent gesture though the precise placement of his fingers—directly over her pulse point—suggested otherwise. As he spoke, his excited gestures occasionally brushed against her shin, each touch followed by a fleeting glance to gauge her reaction. "The refraction patterns are creating colors beyond our standard visual spectrum," he explained, eyes bright with intellectual excitement. "Some species might perceive entirely different sunset displays than what we're seeing—though personally, I can't imagine anything more perfect than this particular view."

His gaze, when it met hers, made it clear he wasn't referring to the sunset at all.

Lensless couldn't maintain any single position for long, this new natural energy of his driving him to constant movement. Yet he always returned to the same spot, sprawled across the sand near Y/N's feet. Sometimes he would rest his cheek against her foot, sometimes grasp her ankle with gentle fingers, or sometimes simply lean against her leg—each return accompanied by a brilliant smile as if he'd discovered something precious anew. "You know what this reminds me of?" he asked, vibrating slightly with contained energy. "That time we went camping by Lake Michigan—well, not you-you, but the Y/N from my world—and we stayed up all night counting stars until you fell asleep and I counted your heartbeats instead." His expression turned wistful before brightening again. "I counted eight thousand, two hundred and forty-three before sunrise. Each one was my favorite sound."

The sweet, painful honesty of the memory shared so openly made her heart ache with a weak smile. She reached out, brushing sand from his unruly hair in a gesture that made him beam with unfiltered joy, so different from merely 2 days ago back in her universe.

Most surprising was Viltrumite Mark, who had positioned himself directly behind Omni, creating a protective semicircle around Y/N. His hand occasionally reached forward to brush a strand of hair from her shoulder or adjust the blanket beneath them. Though he maintained his dignified composure, there was something tellingly vulnerable in the way his powerful body had gradually relaxed throughout the day, his usual perfect posture softening into something more natural. When their eyes met briefly over Omni's shoulder, the intensity in his gaze made her heart stutter—not with fear, but with the realization that this being who had commanded armies now looked at her as if she were the only authority that mattered.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Omni murmured, his voice pitched just for her despite their close proximity to the others. His breath was warm against her ear, sending pleasant shivers down her spine.

"More than I could have imagined," Y/N agreed, watching as the first of the twin moons began to rise opposite the setting sun—a pale silver disc tinged with azure around its edges. She leaned back further into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against her shoulder blades.

"Worth it?" Mohawk asked unexpectedly, his voice gruff with something that might have been uncertainty. His fingers tightened slightly on her ankle, betraying the importance of her answer. "Leaving everything behind? Coming here with... us?"

The question hung in the air, suddenly important in ways none of them had fully articulated before. Y/N looked around at these men—these variants of the same person who had somehow become something more than their origins, something more than the damage and violence that had shaped them.

"Yes," she said simply. Her free hand moved to cup Mohawk's cheek, feeling the subtle rasp of evening stubble against her palm. "A thousand times yes."

"Even with Mohawk's terrible singing last night when he found that washing place in the castle?" Lensless quipped, breaking the solemn moment with perfect timing.

"Hey!" Mohawk protested, "My singing is majestic."

"If by 'majestic' you mean 'causes wildlife to flee in terror,' then yes, absolutely," Sinister drawled, earning a handful of sand tossed in his direction.

"Coming from the man who talks in his sleep about conquering pastry shops," Mohawk shot back with a victorious grin when Sinister's usually impeccable composure cracked with surprise.

"I do no such thing," Sinister replied with dignity, though a telltale flush crept up his neck.

"Oh, you absolutely do," No-Mask confirmed, smiling softly "'The croissants shall bow before me.' Direct quote."

The unexpected teasing of these deadly beings bantering like brothers—made Y/N's heart swell with affection. Even Viltrumite Mark's shoulders shook with silent laughter, his usual stoicism cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath the warrior.

"For the record," Y/N interjected with mock seriousness, "I find Mohawk's singing rather charming. Like a bear gargling rocks, but in a good way."

"HA!" Mohawk exclaimed triumphantly, while the others dissolved into laughter.

As the light faded and the twin moons cast their silver-blue glow across the landscape, Y/N found herself surrounded by these men who had once brought terror to countless worlds but now looked at her with expressions ranging from open adoration to carefully guarded tenderness. Each touch—Omni's fingers threading through her hair, Mohawk's cheek against her thigh, Sinister's hand resting on her waist, Phantom's thumb stroking her palm, No-Mask's precise fingers at her ankle, Lensless's playful tugs at her toes, Viltrumite Mark's careful adjustments of the blanket beneath them—conveyed something deeper than mere affection.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

As they gathered their belongings and prepared to return to the fortress, Y/N cast one last glance over her shoulder at the now-peaceful lake, illuminated by the ethereal glow of the twin moons.

The sun slipped finally below the horizon, casting the world in the ethereal glow of the rising moons, Y/N found herself filled with an emotion she hadn't dared name until now—hope. Not just for survival, not just for peace, but for something they were building together, choice by choice, moment by moment.

A new beginning, indeed.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Hope y'all like this chapter :3 I put a lot of thought into this... Smut up next with MOHAWK MARK!! Omni following 😔✊

Pt.3 (SMUT with Mohawk)

Pt.1 (𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜)

144 notes · View notes

innisgreens · 25 days ago

Text

hello, little doves!! 🕊️ to celebrate the announcement / release of THE SIMS 4: ENCHANTED BY NATURE and the long-awaited fairy occult type (i’m very much hoping and assuming), i’ve created my very first challenge — a whimsical, fairy-themed CAS challenge!

i’ve kept it short and sweet with seven prompts, and i’ve also included some vague visualizers for each for anyone who’d like a little extra inspo — but of course, feel free to go in whatever direction the prompt takes you!

𖡼.𖤣𖥧 woodland whimsy — a fairy cas challenge 𖡼.𖤣𖥧

one — dewdrop whisperer

a visualizer, if needed: soft petals, early light, mist-kissed lashes, bleary eyes, fresh fawn tracks, the hush before birdsong, forgotten earl grey tea left to cool, wild peony, young clover, sweet birch sap.

two — mushroom guardian

a visualizer, if needed: damp moss underfoot, warm soil, toadstools, a log fallen across a bog, iridescent beetle shells, the low thrum of the forest, crackling underbrush, frogs croaking in a shaded hollow, spiced cedar, moss-covered bark, black pepper, dried sage.

three — storm sprite

a visualizer, if needed: wild wind, static on the skin, the sharp bite of ozone, blades of grass, petrichor, a sky split in two, crushed violets, wild mint, windchimes, laughter on the wind, the flutter of startled birds.

four — moonlight trickster

a visualizer, if needed: a silver grin, a firefly trail, a giggle at a campfire, full moonbeams, cricket symphonies, night-blooming jasmine, smoked vanilla, star anise, plum juice.

five — keeper of the wild garden

a visualizer, if needed: smoked rosemary, a whispered secret, wildflower honey, the shimmer of a bee’s wing, berry-stained fingers, sun-warmed thyme, rosehip tea, bubbling brews on a stove, beeswax candles being lit.

six — crystal-winged regality

a visualizer, if needed: a sunbeam reflecting off a still pond, a monarch butterfly wing, the forest canopy, polished river stones, white amber, silver fir, the first frost, echoes through high trees.

seven — heir of lost things

a visualizer, if needed: forgotten buttons in the soil, a threadbare blanket, the damp earth beneath laundry hung to dry, a call from afar, chipped tea sets, the memories of last time, dried lavender, dusty rose, faded cardamom.

please tag me at @innisgreens or @cutietrait and use the #innisgreenscas tag so i can see your lovely creations!

#cas challenge #innisgreenscas #sims 4 cas #ts4 cas #ts4 cas challenge #sims 4 cas challenge #sims 4 fairies #ts4 fairies #enchanted by nature #ts4 enchanted by nature #innisgreen

111 notes · View notes

amnhnyc · 1 year ago

Text

Behold the dazzling colors of an iridescent ammonite (Placenticeras intercalare)! A relative of today’s squids, this ammonite lived some 80 million years ago near what is now Alberta, Canada. This fossil’s spectacular coloration is the result of millions of years of high temperatures and pressures. As these forces acted on nacre in this ammonite’s shell, it was transformed into a gemstone known as an ammolite. Along with amber and pearl, ammolite is one of only a handful of gems made by living organisms. You can spot this rare specimen in the Louis V. Gerstner, Jr. Collections Core in the Museum’s Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation!

Photo: © AMNH

1K notes · View notes

actuallybean · 2 months ago

Text

Cupid's Shuffle | Part Two

Cupid’s arrow was supposed to patch things up with Sam, not point you straight at Castiel—and resisting it might just be harder than falling. *Contains sexual material, slow-burn, brief mentioning of a past relationship with Sam Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Castiel x Reader (Eventually), Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic) Part Three Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester was no barista, but in the bunker’s kitchen that morning, he might as well have been one.

The early light filtered through the overhead vents, dust motes drifting in the amber haze as he moved with uncharacteristic care between the stove and the counter. Four mugs. Four people. And, if Cupid’s instructions were even halfway accurate, two of those people were about to get their wires crossed—in a good way, if Dean had his way.

He lined the mugs up like little soldiers. Yours, of course, was the tea. Chamomile, with a touch of honey and something that smelled suspiciously like lavender. Sam’s was black coffee—thick, bitter, no sugar, the kind of brew that could wake the dead and punch you in the face at the same time. His own was somewhere in the middle, and Cas… well, Cas didn’t exactly need anything to drink, but Dean made him one anyway. Mostly out of habit. And maybe a little out of guilt, considering what was about to go down.

He pulled the tiny glass vials from the pocket of his flannel shirt and stared at them for a moment like they might hiss or explode. They didn’t. The first was a soft rose-gold hue, shot through with tiny flecks of iridescence. That one was for you. The second—Sam’s—was silvery and cool, like mercury in liquid form. Supposedly, once both were consumed, they’d act like Cupid’s arrows: tethering two souls toward love, or at least a very strong nudge in that direction.

Dean sighed and popped the corks.

“Alright, Romeo juice. Time to earn your wings.”

The pink vial went into your tea with barely a ripple. The silver one slid into Sam’s coffee, vanishing like it had never been there. Dean gave both drinks a quick stir, muttering under his breath, “Here’s hoping this doesn’t end with somebody punching me in the face.”

He stood back and surveyed his work like a mad scientist in a lab. Everything looked normal—just four steaming mugs on the table, surrounded by the scent of caffeine and warm honey. All that was left now was to call the players to the stage.

Before heading out to fetch you and Sam, Dean closed his eyes and mumbled a prayer. “Cas, we could use you down here. Don’t ask questions. Just... show up.”

With that done, he left the kitchen, boots clunking against the tile as he stalked down the hall.

Behind him, the kitchen fell into stillness, save for the faint hum of the old refrigerator.

And then, with the softest flutter of wings, Castiel appeared.

He blinked, turning slowly to orient himself. The kitchen was empty. Odd. Dean had called him, but no one was here. Still, he was used to waiting.

His eyes settled on the table—the four mugs lined up like an offering. He approached slowly, curiously, head tilted just slightly to the side. The steam curling up from the drinks carried familiar scents—tea, honey, and strong, dark roast. One mug, the blackest brew, sat closest to him. He paused, then reached out and wrapped his fingers around it.

Castiel had no real need for sustenance, but over the years he’d grown used to the ritual of drinking coffee. He found the act oddly grounding. So, without thinking too much, he lifted the mug to his lips and took a careful sip.

It was strong. Bitter. The kind of drink Sam would like.

Unbeknownst to Castiel, the magic dissolved in the liquid slid quietly into his grace like silk through fingertips. There was no flash of light or dramatic thunderclap. Just a soft ripple. A tug.

He didn’t feel it. Not yet.

✦

By the time Dean returned—with you and Sam in tow—Castiel was already seated at the table, the half-empty mug resting between his hands.

Dean’s footsteps faltered as he walked in. His eyes zeroed in on the table, and his stomach dropped through the floor.

Cas was sipping Sam’s coffee.

“Oh, hell.”

You gave him a confused glance as you moved past him and picked up your mug—the tea, the one Dean had doctored for you. It smelled good. Warm and calming. You didn’t even hesitate. The mug was already halfway to your lips when Dean opened his mouth like he was about to say something... then closed it again, helpless.

Too late.

You took a sip, let out a soft hum of approval, and slid into the seat next to Castiel.

Sam, oblivious, grabbed a plain mug of coffee—the one Dean had poured for himself originally, the only one without anything magical laced inside. Dean watched it all unfold like a slow-motion car crash, his brain trying and failing to figure out if there was a way to undo what had just happened. But the mugs were drained, the potion was drunk, and there was no take-backs with Cupid’s arrows.

He dropped into his seat with a groan and buried his face in his hands.

You raised a brow, amused. “You good?”

Dean’s voice was muffled. “I just watched fate get dropkicked.”

You chuckled softly but didn’t pry. The warmth of the tea was sinking into your chest now, relaxing muscles that had been tensed since the breakup. You still felt raw, but at least you weren’t crying anymore.

Beside you, Castiel sat quietly, his presence as solid and steadying as ever. You glanced at him, smiling gently.

“I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“Dean called me,” Castiel replied. “He seemed… concerned.”

You gave a short laugh. “That sounds about right.”

The table settled into a companionable silence for a while. Sam pulled out his phone, scrolling through something he clearly wasn’t interested in. Dean looked like he was trying not to hyperventilate into his mug. And you… you just watched the steam curl up from your drink and let yourself sink into the familiarity of it all.

Eventually, you stood and gave Dean a quick nod. “I’m gonna go talk to Cas for a bit. That okay?”

Dean waved a hand without looking up. “Go. Take him. Just—keep him from drinking anything else.”

You laughed under your breath and gestured for Castiel to follow you down the hall to the war room. It was quieter there, the air still and hushed like a library. You dropped into one of the chairs and let out a long breath.

“I didn’t wanna talk to Dean about the breakup,” you admitted, voice quiet. “He’s Sam’s brother. I know he’s trying to be neutral, but…”

Castiel sat across from you, his eyes calm, patient.

“…I thought maybe you’d understand. Or at least just listen. You’re good at that.”

He nodded. “I will always listen.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache—not romantically, not even close. Just… comfort. You weren’t sure how else to describe it. A reminder that someone still saw you. Still cared. Even if everything else felt like it was unraveling.

“I keep thinking about all the fights Sam and I had,” you went on, twisting your fingers in your lap. “It got worse near the end, but even before that. It was like we were always holding our breath, waiting to screw something up. And when we finally did, it felt like relief and heartbreak at the same time. Like we were finally letting go of something we’d both been afraid to admit wasn’t working.”

Castiel said nothing. He didn’t need to.

You looked down, then offered a half-smile. “It still sucks though.”

“It would,” he agreed, his voice low and sure. “Because it meant something to you. That pain is real. And it is not weakness.”

You blinked back the unexpected burn in your eyes. “Thanks, Cas.”

He inclined his head slightly, the barest shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Always.”

Neither of you noticed the shimmer still hanging faintly in the air around you, like the afterglow of a star falling too quietly to be seen.

✦

The morning came soft and sweet, like the slow rise of a song you didn’t realize you loved until it hit the chorus.

You stretched beneath the blanket, blinking against the filtered golden light bleeding through the bunker’s heavy curtains. The ache in your chest from the breakup with Sam hadn’t disappeared—but it had dulled, turned from a sharp, screaming wound into something quiet and manageable. Like an old bruise you could forget until you touched it just wrong.

You took a breath. One of those long, steadying ones. The kind that felt like the first clean inhale after a storm. Then you rose, pulled a sweatshirt over your pajamas, and padded barefoot down the cool hallway floors, headed to the kitchen in search of coffee—and maybe, just maybe, conversation.

Dean would be there. He always was in the mornings. Half-grumpy, mostly caffeine. And for once, you didn’t want to be alone.

You rounded the corner into the kitchen, rubbing your tired eyes—

And froze.

He was there.

Castiel.

He stood near the far counter, backlit by the warm flicker of the under-cabinet lighting. His coat was missing—just a rumpled shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, fingers lightly brushing the rim of a ceramic mug like he wasn’t sure if it was his. The blue in his eyes caught the light like glass struck by dawn.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t move.

The world… shifted.

The clatter of the coffee pot, the hum of the fridge, the distant sound of a car somewhere outside—all of it faded. Like someone had reached out and thumbed the volume dial of reality down to a hush. It was just you and him, suspended in this sudden, inexplicable stillness.

And then your eyes met.

It was like being struck—not by fear or pain, but by recognition. Like your soul had been walking blind for years and had just turned a corner into someone it already knew. Your breath caught, chest tightening with something unfamiliar but undeniably real. A warmth bloomed low in your stomach. Your hands felt stupid. Your feet suddenly too far from the ground.

Castiel’s gaze didn’t flinch. But something in it softened. Like he’d been searching for something without knowing what it was… and had finally found it.

You opened your mouth to say something—but all you could manage was a quiet, “Hi.”

His lips curved, barely there but unmistakable. “Hello.”

The air between you shimmered. Not literally—not magic, not yet—but the weight of it was electric. Like a current buzzing under your skin. Like the universe had pressed pause on everything that wasn’t him.

Dean, sitting at the table with a newspaper and a coffee in hand, watched the entire moment with growing dread.

He slowly lowered his mug.

“Oh… crap.”

You didn’t even hear him.

Castiel stepped a little closer, awkward but sincere, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should—like the magnetic pull between you both had taken him by surprise too.

“I didn’t know you’d be awake,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you answered, voice small. “I was… just looking for coffee.”

“I was looking for.... honestly I don't remember” Castiel replied with a slight chuckle as he nervously rubbed the back on his neck.

You both stood there, hearts clumsy, eyes doing that nervous little dance people do when they can’t quite look directly but can’t bear to look away.

It should’ve been uncomfortable.

It wasn’t.

Dean stood from his chair with the posture of a man preparing to call an exorcist.

“Right,” he muttered. “I’m gonna… go burn some toast. Or the kitchen. Or myself.”

You barely registered him leaving the room.

All you could feel was the gravity of him, standing just a few feet away, and the wild, inexplicable certainty that something—everything—had just changed.

And somewhere deep in your chest, a spark flickered to life.

94 notes · View notes

moonmaiden1996 · 2 months ago

Text

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part 11

Shin had managed to keep Lu from adding glitter to the dumplings. But he hadn’t been able to stop her from liberally sprinkling it into the soup and rice. In fact, the entire dinner table now looked less like a lovingly prepared meal and more like it had been bombarded by a squadron of mischievous pixies wielding glitter cannons.

The centerpiece—a steaming pot of miso soup—twinkled unnaturally under the warm lighting, flecks of glitter swirling through the broth like little stars trapped in amber. The rice had been molded into heart shapes, each grain shimmering with an iridescent dust that caught the light in a way that was decidedly… off-putting. Plates of karaage were arranged in perfect concentric circles, surrounding a dipping sauce dish shaped like a flower, all of it glistening under a heavy coat of luminous sparkle. A tray of tamagoyaki—somehow also shimmering—had been cut into perfectly neat star shapes. Even the sushi rolls were graced with edible gold leaf. And as if the visual assault wasn’t enough, the salad had joined in—glitter clinging every surface, from cucumber to tomato. The entire spread was a glittering, gleaming overload for the senses.

"I’m just saying," Lu hissed, glaring at Shin from across the table, "if she stays holed up in the guest room all day, this entire plan’s going down in flames. We can’t win her over if she’s buried under a duvet, Shin!"

"You do realize how insane you sound, right?" Shin snapped, setting the final dish down with more force than strictly necessary. "This isn’t some magical shojo anime where she swoons just because you made rice that looks like a Care Bear exploded."

“It’s romantic,” Lu insisted, spinning dramatically on her heel, the glitter on her apron catching the light with a ridiculous flourish.

“It’s insane,” Shin deadpanned, each word falling from his lips like a verdict. “He butchered a dozen gangsters right in front of her. You think glitter soup’s gonna fix that?”

Lu rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “You’re so emotionally stunted, it’s tragic.”

“And you’re so deluded it’s concerning.”

“Excuse me for believing in love and second chances!” Lu stuck her tongue out at him.

“Excuse me for believing in trauma therapy and not thinking salmon and sparkles can solve the problems of a love-sick assassin stalker!” Shin snapped.

The back-and-forth was cut short by a voice—a calm, firm voice that carried no room for argument. Aoi stepped into the room with her usual grace, hair pinned back perfectly, sleeves of her floral blouse neatly rolled up to her elbows. Her presence alone commanded attention, the gentle authority of a mother catching her children over a toy.

"Lu," she said softly, resting a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder, "You have a wonderful heart. And this dinner… it's a lovely gesture."

Lu’s face lit up with pride, her chest swelling as she absorbed the praise.

"But," Aoi continued, turning her gaze toward Shin, "Shin is also right."

Lu’s smile faltered. Shin smirked, sensing victory.

“She’s been through something truly terrifying,” Aoi explained, her tone gentle but resolute. "Nagumo is... intense. And while I do believe he’ll make a wonderful partner one day"—she threw a brief glance toward Nagumo, who was sitting silently at the table—“right now, she needs time. And care. Not pressure.” She smiled at them both. “We’ll make it warm. Welcoming.”

Aoi turned her attention to Shin. "And Shin..." she said, her eyes narrowing playfully.

He looked up, wary. “What?”

"You’ll sit next to her."

Shin groaned audibly. "Why me?"

"Because you’re her buffer," Aoi said simply, wiping her hands on her tea towel. "If she starts to look overwhelmed, you can give Nagumo one of your signature glares until he stops being weird. You might even have to punch him if it gets too bad."

“…He’s always weird.”

“Exactly,” Aoi replied, patting his cheek.

Shin muttered something indistinct—clearly not suitable for polite company—as he began trudging upstairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he reached the guest room door, Shin hesitated just long enough to regret every choice that had led him here. With a sharp exhale, he knocked twice—quick and purposeful.

“It’s me,” he said, voice low. “Shin.”

Silence.

He leaned against the doorframe, letting his head thud softly against the wall as he exhaled slowly. “I’m the guy from the register,” he added, his tone light but weary. “You know, the one who sells you that terrifying brand of black coffee? The stuff that tastes like burnt rubber?”

Still nothing.

“I’m also the guy who throws in those ridiculous panda-shaped sugar cookies to try and balance out the bitterness. Even if you never eat them. Because, unlike you, I have taste.”

A long beat of silence.

“…Look,” he continued, his voice softening, “I’m not here to force anything. I know things got… messy. But there’s food downstairs. Aoi cooked, and Lu—well, Lu turned the dining table into a glittering crime scene. It’s chaos. It’s weird. But it’s also kinda… normal? For us.”

You shifted beneath the duvet, your gaze drifting toward the door. His voice was steady, casual, but it felt familiar in a way that almost made you feel safe—like you could actually take him up on his offer without the weight of any expectations.

“You don’t have to talk. Or stay long. But there’s a seat with your name on it. I’ll sit next to you. If Nagumo starts being weird again, I’ll elbow him. Or kick him under the table. I’ve got options.”

When you finally opened the door, your gaze met Shin’s—eyes slightly puffy from lack of sleep, hair a little tousled as though you'd been tossing restlessly. Your clothes were rumpled, the faded edges of the borrowed old t-shirt and sweatpants look almost as tired as the frown tugging at your lips.

For half a second, Shin looked taken aback—then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relaxed. He gave a short, relieved sigh and stepped back, a hand gesturing down the hallway.

“Alright. Let’s go before Lu bursts a vein from excitement.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lu gasped as you descended the stairs. “You came down!” she cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she leaned in closer, smiling far too wide. “You are so pretty. You're definitely one of those women who can pull off the whole unkempt look—I’m dying. Shin, look at her, she’s precious.”

You blinked at the redhead.

“Please stop talking,” Shin muttered behind you. He placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you gently to the table, pulling out a chair before dropping into the one beside it.

The table was covered in food—steaming bowls of soup, a pile of freshly grilled meat, shimmering miso. You weren’t sure whether to feel touched or vaguely afraid.

“This is your seat. Prime distance from the soup and directly in my line of sight so I can punch anyone who says something stupid,” Shin said, glaring across the table.

Lu opened her mouth.

Shin looked at her. “Don’t.”

Aoi stepped forward, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. Her smile was gentle, her tone soothing. “We’re so happy you’re here. Just eat what you like. Don’t worry about the glitter.”

“It’s festive!” Lu added cheerfully, settling into the seat beside the black-haired man you still couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at.

“It’s unholy,” Shin muttered. “But edible... probably.”

Nagumo shifted closer to the table. The usual aloofness in his posture was gone—his hands twitched slightly at his sides, eyes flickering in your direction more than they should have.For a moment, he just looked at you. There was something unguarded in his expression, something quiet and aching. “…I’m glad you came,” he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t look away, either. Something turned over in your chest.

Aoi clapped her hands softly. “Let’s eat, before Lu finds a way to put glitter in the soy sauce.”

With that, the meal began. Plates filled quickly—bowls of rice, skewers of tofu and chicken, neatly arranged side dishes. It was surreal, sitting here after everything you’d seen, surrounded by people who killed for a living (or at least married to someone who killed for a living) and were now passing you seaweed salad and asking if you wanted seconds. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. Possibly both.

You blinked at your plate. The portion was overwhelming, but watching the others inhale their food made it seem less strange—except Nagumo, who just sat, staring blankly at Shin across the table.

“So,” Lu said, voice sugary as she leaned across her plate, “you probably don’t really know Nagumo yet, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just glanced at her over the rim of your glass as you took another sip of soju.

Sakamoto, wordless and efficient, topped it off before the glass had even left your hand. His expression remained perfectly neutral as he reached across with another bowl of rice.

“Well,” Lu went on, undeterred, “he’s amazing.”

Nagumo blinked, the tension in his shoulders drawn so tight it looked painful.

Lu clasped her hands and tilted her head, unbothered. “He once saved a dog, you know.”

Nagumo didn’t look up. “It was rabid. I shot it.”

The vein in Lu’s forehead throbbed, but she waved a hand as if brushing off the correction. “Details. He was protecting people. Think John Wick meets… Batman. But with better cheekbones.”

Another gulp. Another pour. Your silence was your only answer, a calm wall of detachment against Lu’s enthusiastic energy.

“And don’t even get me started on his hair,” she added, throwing a hand in the air. “Perfection.”

“More like bad bedhead,” Shin muttered.

“I would kill for bedhead like that,” Lu snapped.

Aoi, ever the calming presence, refilled a side dish and smiled at you. “Nagumo is also very dependable,” she said softly. “He doesn’t speak much, but when he acts, it counts.”

“Exactly!” Lu beamed. “He’s like a loyal stray cat… with knives.”

Nagumo stared at her, bewildered.

She gave him a thumbs-up.

You raise your glass again, knocking the contents back, and before it touched the table, Sakamoto was already refilling it.

Shin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get her drunk?”

The older man didn’t respond. He simply continued ladling soup into his mouth with calm precision.

The warmth in your stomach spread into a haze behind your eyes. Voices blended into a blur, their edges soft and indistinct. You could still hear Lu—something fast and high-pitched—and Shin snapping back, sharp and annoyed. But the words were beginning to slide right past you.

“Will you stop trying to sell him like he’s a boyfriend at a charity auction?” Shin barked, waving his chopsticks across the table.

Lu’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not selling, it’s highlighting his assets! Something you clearly don’t have!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shin said flatly, standing. “I didn’t realize glitter-covered rice and fantasy were enough to cover up a deluded assassin.”

Lu stood too, her braid swinging over her shoulder. “At least I believe in love! You wouldn’t know it if it stabbed you in the back—and with our job, it probably will!”

“Bring it on, sparkle gremlin.”

Aoi sighed and reached out to calm them. “Children, please—this is dinner, not—”

Too late.

Lu grabbed a spoon and hurled it. Shin blocked it with a plate. Rice flew. A chopstick landed in the dumplings like a javelin. Shin shoved her shoulder. Lu threw a bao bun.

Within seconds, the two shopkeepers were locked in a scuffle—Shin’s arm around Lu’s waist, Lu trying to bite him.

Sakamoto calmly slurping his soup.

You didn’t notice. You were too tired too, the anger that had energised you has slowly fizzled out into frustration then to overwhelming tiredness.

A dagger slipped from Lu’s sleeve. It flew, high and wild. Shin ducked, cursing. Another blade followed, slicing through a soy sauce bottle and lodging in the far wall.

Nagumo moved.

No hesitation—he rose from his chair and vaulted across the table in a single motion. His coat flared as he came between you and the chaos. One hand hovered near the inside of his jacket, the other stretched slightly behind him, protective.

You stared up at him. His frame was rigid. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and assessing.

Something in you gave out.

You reached forward without thinking, arms wrapping around his waist, forehead pressing into the center of his back. The tension in his body stark against the trembling in yours. Quiet tears had already begun to fall without your notice, dampening his shirt.

Your breath hitched. Hands fisted into the fabric at the front of his shirt, clinging.

“Can I…” your voice cracked, small and broken, “Can you take me home now?”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Nagumo froze. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hand—rough and warm—came to rest over yours. He didn’t say anything, but something in his posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders eased. Beneath your arms, he could feel the tremble of your breathing, every quiet sob that left your chest.

He turned just enough to glance down at you—your face pressed against his back, hair falling forward to shield it from view.

“Anything my wife wants.”

Before the words even settled, his arms were already around you. He lifted you with practiced ease, holding you close. There was no hesitation in his movement, no stumble. Only certainty. His voice dropped to a low grumble as he carried you toward the door.

“This dinner was a mistake. Won’t happen again.”

You should have said something. Should have protested that it should have happened at all, that you should be on your way home now, trudging through the late commuter traffic to get your favourite beverage as a reward for a grueling day hunched over a computer. Not here. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Behind you, the clatter and chaos of the table quieted. Shin, still tangled with Lu in a half-hearted scuffle, paused. Lu froze mid-sentence, eyes widening with glee as Nagumo disappeared out of sight.

“Did it work?” she called out, her voice unsure now, lighter.

Sakamoto, still seated with one leg crossed over the other, gave a silent thumbs-up, the corner of his mouth twitching with quiet amusement.

‘’Huh?’’ Shin starred out after the pair before letting out a pained shriek ‘’Stop biting me!’’ Lu sunk her teeth into a rather meaty piece of Shin’s arm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hallway of your home felt almost unfamiliar. Distant. The color of the walls struck you as off, like something had shifted while you were gone. You didn’t remember how you got inside. You didn’t know where your bag was, or your keys. Part of you wondered if he’d picked the lock. Or if he had his own set. Or how he knew which room was yours.

It didn’t matter. Not now.

Nagumo carried you to the bed and set you down at the edge. His movements were steady and precise. You felt the mattress dip as he crouched in front of you, his calloused hand came to your cheek. “I’m going to tuck you in,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You’ll feel better after some sleep. Alright?”

You nodded. Your body felt slow and uncooperative, but you let yourself move under his guidance. You didn’t resist when he pulled the blanket over you. You let the weight settle. Let the warmth in.

You thought, maybe, he’d lie down beside you. He didn’t. But he wanted to. You saw it in the way his eyes lingered, in the way he hesitated just long enough before turning away. He stood, adjusted his coat, and stepped back toward the door. He was leaving. Finally,

That’s what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stay out of your world. The one built from late-night coffee, bad bosses, quiet mornings. You told yourself that. Over and over. But now he was here. And so were you.

His tanned coat shifted as he reached the door. You watched him.

“...Nagumo.”

The word caught in your throat. You forced it out. “Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Of course, love.” he closed the door before settling on the bed beside you. Just close enough to be there. One hand rested near yours on the blanket, as you closed your eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

@yomsy @noodle81937 @cjafjatkstke

Sorry this took me so long! I could not decide what these crazy two where going to do. Shin and Lu are the best not actual siblings ever, I just had to write this. Hope it was worth the wait.

#sakamoto #nagumo sakamoto days #sakamoto days #nagumo x reader #nagumo #shin asakura #lu sakamoto days #aoi sakamoto #sakamoto tarou

100 notes · View notes

novaursa · 8 months ago

Text

To Win a Princess (to refuse a dragon)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: Events and timeline of the story differ from the canon events.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: coming to light

- Next part: her choice

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The early morning light casts a warm light over the Dragonpit, illuminating the towering form of Belerix, your magnificent dragon, as he stands awaiting you. His scales shimmer with shades of deep sapphire and midnight black, streaked with hints of silver that catch the sun as if each scale were etched in starlight. His eyes, fierce and intelligent, are pools of molten amber, watching your every movement with a loyalty and bond that transcends language. Belerix’s long, serpentine neck rises high above, his massive wings folded against his sides, the membranes a dark, iridescent blue that hints at the power held within. His claws are sharp and glinting, his powerful limbs carrying the strength of ages, a creature built for the skies, yet grounded only for you.

You stand beside him, readying to mount the saddle strapped securely to his back. Your mind drifts to the memory of your last clandestine encounter with Tyland, the warmth of his hands, the tenderness of his touch, and the whispered promises exchanged in the dim glow of candlelight. You feel the weight of the small gift he gave you in your hands—a delicate, finely crafted pendant bearing a golden lion, its eyes set with tiny sapphires that gleam as brilliantly as your dragon’s scales. The pendant hangs from a fine chain, its design understated yet unmistakably Lannister in its symbolism. A promise, he had said, of all he wished to give you openly one day.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re about to slip the pendant safely into your cloak when a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Y/N.”

You freeze, fingers clenching around the pendant as you turn to see Daemon approaching, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp and discerning. You quickly attempt to hide the pendant, tucking it within your palm, but Daemon’s keen eyes have already caught the glint of gold. In one swift movement, he reaches out, his hand closing over yours, trapping it gently but firmly.

“What have we here?” His tone is light, yet there’s a hint of scorn as he pries open your fingers, revealing the lion pendant. A dry scoff escapes his lips, and he shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. “A Lannister, of all things. I knew it. You’re wasted on that lion.”

You snatch your hand back, narrowing your eyes at him as you close your fingers protectively around the pendant. “I am wasted on no one, Daemon. And Tyland is… more than you care to understand.”

He arches an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he studies you with that infuriating smirk, the one that’s always a touch too knowing. “Is that so? And what does he give you, this Lannister lord? Gold and promises of wealth? Words whispered in the dark with no courage to stand beside you in the light?” He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You could have anyone in the realm, yet you settle for the emblem of a gilded lion.”

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze with steady defiance. “Tyland gives me loyalty, Daemon. He respects my choices, my freedom. He does not seek to control or claim me.”

Daemon’s gaze darkens, the smirk slipping into something colder. “Freedom?” he echoes, scoffing. “Is that what you call hiding in shadows, sneaking through hidden passageways like some… common tryst?” He steps closer, his tone laced with both mockery and something sharper. “You think Tyland will be able to protect you? Or that his golden lion will stand against the wolves and dragons that surround you? You deserve more, Y/N.”

You feel a surge of anger rise within you, and you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “And you think you’re the one to give me that ‘more’? I know well enough that my value is not measured by the strength of another’s claim, Daemon. Tyland sees me as his equal.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a flash of irritation breaking through his calculated calm. “An equal? You’re deluded, Y/N. He is a Lannister—loyal only to his coin, his house. They care nothing for you, not truly. He could never offer you the strength that comes from a true bond… nor the loyalty that I would give you.” His gaze flickers with something intense, something almost possessive, as he adds, “You could do far better than a lion.”

Your lips curve into a faint, bitter smile as you regard him, weighing your next words carefully. “Let me guess. You think that ‘better’ would be you?”

He steps even closer, his expression shifting to something almost serious, as though he’s prepared to make his case. “You could do far worse, that’s certain. I am not like these weak-willed lords and simpering knights. I am a dragon. I could be the only match worthy of a Targaryen princess.”

You laugh softly, the sound carrying a touch of derision as you meet his gaze head-on. “You, Daemon? You think I should accept you as some… consolation prize, simply because you couldn’t have Rhaenyra?”

A flash of anger crosses his face, his jaw tightening as he glares at you. “Consolation prize?” he echoes, his voice low, edged with offense. “I offer you the chance to stand beside someone with power, with fire. I am no one’s consolation, least of all yours.”

You hold his gaze, unflinching. “And I am not a fool, Daemon. I will choose my own path, my own love, whether it meets with your approval or not.”

He scoffs, taking a step back, his expression twisting into something bitter. “Fine. Run to your golden lion, then. But don’t come looking for protection when his courage fails him. You’ll find little security in Lannister promises.”

You lift your chin, refusing to be swayed by his words. “I would rather have Tyland’s loyalty in the shadows than empty promises in the light.”

Daemon stares at you for a long moment, his gaze a mixture of frustration and something almost like disappointment. With a sharp turn, he steps back, casting one last, scornful glance at the pendant in your hand before he walks away, his footsteps echoing through the Dragonpit.

Left alone, you turn back to Belerix, your fingers brushing over the pendant as you feel the strength of your resolve harden. Mounting your dragon’s saddle, you take a deep breath, the familiar weight of the pendant grounding you as Belerix shifts beneath you, his powerful form rising to life as you prepare to take to the skies. The wind begins to stir, lifting your hair as your dragon’s wings unfurl, and with a single command, Belerix launches into the sky, carrying you far from the whispers and judgments below.

The world grows smaller as you soar above it, and with the wind rushing past, you feel the quiet certainty of your choices, undeterred by Daemon’s doubts or the court’s expectations. You clutch the pendant in your hand, a reminder of all that you’ve chosen and all that awaits, knowing that wherever this path leads, you are the one who has forged it.

Daemon swings himself off his horse in the courtyard of the Red Keep, his face still etched with the simmering anger from his recent encounter with you. His hands tighten into fists as he hands the reins to a stable boy, muttering under his breath as he strides across the courtyard with purpose, his expression dark. The conversation with you had struck a nerve, and the sting of your words—your dismissal, your insistence on Tyland over him—echoed in his mind like a taunt he couldn’t shake.

As he approaches the entrance to the Great Hall, the murmurs of gathered courtiers fill the air, along with the faint, incessant clinking of goblets and quiet laughter. Daemon’s gaze sweeps across the hall, catching the familiar figure of Tyland Lannister standing among a small group of nobles, his typical calm composure present even as he engages in polite conversation. The sight of him, the man who had somehow claimed your affections, only deepens Daemon’s irritation.

Without hesitation, Daemon strides forward, his steps swift and direct. As he nears, he allows his shoulder to knock heavily into Tyland’s, a forceful impact that jolts Tyland, causing him to stumble slightly, his goblet tilting and splashing wine across his attire in an unexpected splash of deep crimson.

Daemon continues forward without so much as a glance back, his expression set, his gaze fixed ahead as if Tyland were nothing more than an obstacle in his path.

Tyland catches himself, setting his jaw as he looks down at the spilled wine, the dark stain spreading across his carefully chosen clothes. He straightens, recovering his composure, though there’s a glint of irritation in his eyes as he watches Daemon’s back disappear into the crowd. At his side, Jasper Wylde—who had witnessed the entire exchange—arches an eyebrow, a look of bemusement crossing his face as he turns to Tyland.

“Well,” Jasper murmurs, his tone dripping with curiosity, “what was that about, I wonder? Daemon Targaryen isn’t usually one to bump into people by accident.”

Tyland takes a measured breath, suppressing the anger that threatens to flare. “Indeed,” he replies, his tone calm but with an edge of controlled frustration. “I would hardly call it an accident.”

Jasper lets out a low chuckle, watching Daemon’s retreating figure with a wry smile. “It seems our Rogue Prince is in quite the mood today. He looked ready to set the whole hall aflame. Any idea why he’d be… targeting you, of all people?”

Tyland meets Jasper’s curious gaze, carefully choosing his words. “I wouldn’t presume to know what goes on in Prince Daemon’s mind,” he says coolly, brushing at the wine-stained fabric of his attire with a faint frown. “Though, one might assume he simply found himself… displeased with certain matters of late.”

Jasper smirks, his eyes narrowing with a knowing look. “Displeased, is he? Seems more personal than that.” He glances at Tyland’s stained attire, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps it’s not the first time he’s felt displaced, hmm?”

Tyland holds Jasper’s gaze, his expression composed but with a flicker of restrained irritation. “It would seem Prince Daemon has his own… grievances. I, however, am not inclined to play into his theatrics.”

Jasper chuckles, clapping Tyland on the shoulder with a conspiratorial smile. “Wise choice. Daemon is a man who’ll fight a losing battle for pride’s sake alone. Let him sulk—it’s clear enough he’s not getting what he wants.” He pauses, watching Tyland with a glint of curiosity. “Though it does make one wonder… what—or who—he might be after.”

Tyland’s gaze sharpens subtly, though he keeps his tone level. “Curiosity can be dangerous, Lord Jasper,” he replies, a faint smile touching his lips. “Daemon Targaryen is hardly the sort to be understood by idle speculation.”

Jasper raises his hands in a mock surrender, grinning. “A fair point, Lord Tyland. I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of… whatever this is.” He casts another glance at Daemon, who is now at the far end of the hall, his dark expression still set in brooding anger as he engages with another noble. “But it’s rare to see Daemon so ruffled. Something—or someone—has certainly put him off-balance.”

Tyland allows himself a subtle smirk, glancing down at the wine stain as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “As long as his frustrations remain… inconsequential, I see no reason to concern myself.”

Jasper nods, though a glint of amusement remains in his eyes as he watches Tyland. “Very diplomatic of you. But a word of advice: watch your back. Men like Daemon don’t take well to being denied. He may pretend otherwise, but I’d wager he won’t let this go so easily.”

Tyland inclines his head, his tone quiet yet firm. “I assure you, I am well aware of Prince Daemon’s… tenacity.”

With that, Tyland straightens, casting one last, composed glance in Daemon’s direction before resuming his place among the gathered nobles. Jasper remains beside him, though he continues to eye Tyland with an intrigued smile, clearly enjoying the spectacle of animosity unfolding between Daemon and the man who, by all appearances, seems to have won a place that Daemon might have coveted.

The Great Hall is alive with the hum of conversation, nobles mingling in clusters, laughter and polite chatter filling the space. Queen Alicent stands among a small group of courtiers, her posture poised and graceful, her every movement a study in restrained elegance. At her side, Ser Criston Cole watches over her with the quiet vigilance expected of the Queen’s sworn protector, his gaze scanning the room for any hint of trouble.

As the doors to the hall open with a soft thud, the energy shifts. Daemon strides in, his expression set, his eyes sharp as he surveys the room, and within moments, his presence demands the attention of nearly everyone. Alicent’s gaze narrows slightly as she observes his path through the hall, noting the faint tension that radiates from him. She watches as he approaches Tyland Lannister, their brief encounter marked by the distinct jolt of Daemon’s shoulder against Tyland’s, causing Tyland to stumble and spill his wine.

Alicent’s brow furrows, her lips pressed into a thin line as Daemon continues forward without so much as a glance back, his expression unreadable as he slips into the crowd. She leans slightly toward Criston, lowering her voice so only he can hear.

“Ser Criston,” she murmurs, her tone carrying an edge of curiosity laced with caution, “what do you make of that?”

Criston shifts his gaze from Daemon to Tyland, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he watches Tyland recover from the deliberate bump, Jasper Wylde at his side. After a pause, he leans toward her, speaking in a low, steady tone.

“It seems Prince Daemon has taken some… issue with Lord Tyland,” Criston observes carefully. “A rare display, considering Daemon’s usual disregard for the nobility.”

Alicent glances back at Daemon, her gaze calculating as she takes in the prince’s tense posture, the dark edge to his expression. “It’s unlike him, even so,” she remarks softly. “Daemon has never paid Tyland much mind before. Why now, I wonder?”

Criston’s expression darkens slightly, his jaw setting as he considers her words. “Perhaps Lord Tyland has found himself in the path of Daemon’s ambitions—or in possession of something Daemon wishes for himself.”

Alicent raises an eyebrow, glancing at Criston with a spark of interest in her gaze. “Possession, you say?” She tilts her head, studying Tyland’s composed expression, the stain of wine on his clothes still fresh. “He seems… unaffected. But then, Lord Tyland is not one to betray his emotions easily.”

Criston nods, his voice quiet but thoughtful. “Aye, my queen. Tyland Lannister is clever, careful. He keeps his cards close. But if there is animosity between him and Daemon, it may not remain hidden for long.”

Alicent’s gaze lingers on Tyland, the faintest trace of intrigue in her expression. “It would seem Daemon believes he has reason to make his displeasure known. But what could it be?” She glances back at Criston, her eyes narrowing with consideration. “You’ve watched him closely, Ser Criston. What do you think drives him?”

Criston’s eyes harden, a flicker of disdain for Daemon visible in his gaze. “Daemon is driven by a need for power, for control. And when he finds an obstacle in his path, he… removes it. I would not be surprised if he sees Lord Tyland as a threat or, perhaps, as a rival.”

Alicent’s lips curl in a faint, thoughtful smile, her gaze drifting back to where Tyland now stands with Jasper, a composed, unflinching figure despite the lingering evidence of Daemon’s aggression. “A rival… how curious.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing as though piecing together a delicate puzzle. “And yet, Tyland has not risen above his station. His position is a modest one, politically speaking. Unless…” She trails off, her gaze sharpening with a glint of realization.

“Unless Daemon believes there’s something more personal at play,” Criston supplies, his tone carrying a note of caution. “It could be a matter of… affections. A lady’s favor, perhaps?”

Alicent’s eyes flash with interest, a faint smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, that could explain it.” She glances over her shoulder, ensuring their conversation remains private, before returning her attention to Criston. “And Daemon has never taken well to being denied something he desires.”

Criston’s expression remains stoic, though there’s a shadow of suspicion in his gaze. “If that is the case, then this… conflict may only escalate, Your Grace.”

Alicent sighs, her gaze thoughtful as she watches Tyland for a moment longer. “Indeed. It would do us well to observe. There are few things Daemon covets that he does not find a way to claim.” She pauses, her voice softening, an edge of something almost pitying in her tone. “And yet, he may have found a prize that cannot be won by force.”

She turns her gaze back to Criston, her expression hardening with determination. “Keep an eye on them both, Ser Criston. And if you see anything… noteworthy, I would have you tell me.”

Criston bows his head, a look of quiet loyalty in his eyes. “As you wish, my queen. I shall watch closely.”

Alicent nods, her gaze returning to the mingling crowd, her expression serene, yet her mind is clearly at work, already piecing together the dynamics at play between Daemon and Tyland. In the delicate game of power and influence, every player has their role—and she intends to ensure that, whatever happens, the interests of House Hightower remain firmly protected.

Rhaenyra steps into the Great Hall, her cheeks still slightly flushed from her own secret rendezvous with Harwin, the faintest hint of satisfaction lingering in her gaze as she surveys the room. The murmur of courtiers and the bright flicker of torches greet her, the familiar buzz of courtly life buzzing around her as she moves with practiced grace. Her eyes scan the crowd, and it doesn’t take long for her to spot Daemon, standing near the edge of the hall with a dark expression etched into his face, his posture stiff and brooding.

As soon as he catches sight of her, he strides forward, his steps swift and direct. Without preamble, he grabs her by the arm, his grip firm but not rough, guiding her toward a quiet alcove just out of sight of the prying eyes of court.

“Daemon,” she says sharply, though her voice is low, matching his urgency as she pulls her arm from his grasp. “What is this about?”

Daemon’s gaze burns with anger, his jaw clenched as he looks at her, his tone barely more than a growl. “Did you know?” he demands, his voice laced with accusation.

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest as she meets his gaze with a steady, unimpressed look. “Did I know what?”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, the anger in them dark and intense. “Did you know that it’s Tyland Lannister who holds your sister’s favor?” he hisses, his voice dripping with disdain. “A Lannister, Rhaenyra. She’s wasted on him.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with surprise, though she quickly composes herself, giving Daemon a warning look. “Daemon, keep your voice down,” she murmurs, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one is within earshot. “And yes, I knew. But that is no one’s business but hers.”

Daemon lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head as though he can hardly believe it. “No one’s business?” he echoes, his tone mocking. “Your sister sneaks around the Red Keep with that lion, disgracing her Targaryen blood, and you think it’s no one’s business?”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardens, her voice firm as she speaks. “Daemon, she is free to make her own choices. Tyland may be a Lannister, but he has treated her with nothing but respect. And if she has chosen him, then we have no right to interfere.”

Daemon’s mouth twists into a sneer, his eyes flashing with contempt. “Respect? Lannisters know nothing of respect. They are schemers—liers wrapped in gold.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “I could end this now. One dead Lannister wouldn’t be missed, and Y/N would be free of his influence.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen in alarm, and she steps forward, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “Daemon, listen to yourself! You can’t simply… kill him. Do you understand what that would do? It would create a scandal the likes of which we might never recover from. Viserys would see it as nothing short of treason.”

Daemon scoffs, brushing off her warning with a dismissive wave. “Viserys is blind to what’s happening under his own roof. He wouldn’t even notice if Tyland were gone.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardens, her voice low but filled with authority. “You cannot let your jealousy guide you, Daemon. Tyland has done nothing to warrant your anger—other than winning her heart.”

He meets her gaze, his eyes simmering with frustration. “And that should be mine to win,” he mutters darkly, his voice barely audible. “You know I could protect her, Rhaenyra. I could give her something real, something worthy of a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens, though she remains firm, her voice steady. “Daemon… she’s chosen. And it is not you.”

His face tightens, his jaw clenched as he looks away, his pride clearly wounded. “It should have been me.”

Rhaenyra sighs, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you care for her, Daemon, then let her be happy. Killing Tyland will not change her feelings—it will only make her hate you.”

He looks at her, his gaze conflicted, the fury in his eyes tempered by a flicker of doubt. “You’re asking me to do nothing, then? To stand by and watch her throw herself away on a lion?”

“I’m asking you to let her make her own choices,” Rhaenyra replies, her tone firm but compassionate. “And to respect those choices, even if they aren’t what you wanted.”

Daemon exhales, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggles with the warring emotions within him. After a long, strained silence, he finally nods, though his expression remains dark, brooding.

“Fine,” he mutters, though the resentment in his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

Rhaenyra watches him carefully, relieved but cautious. “I wouldn’t expect you to be. But I do expect you to honor your family.”

Daemon casts her a final, frustrated glance before turning on his heel and striding away, leaving her in the shadowed alcove, the weight of his anger lingering in the air. Rhaenyra lets out a quiet sigh, her gaze thoughtful as she watches him go, hoping that, for once, her words will be enough to temper the storm brewing within him.

The moonlight streams through the narrow window of Tyland’s chambers, as you rest together in the quiet aftermath of your reunion. The warmth of his body is a comforting anchor against the cool evening air, and his arm is draped protectively around you, fingers tracing gentle circles on your bare shoulder as you lie entwined in the intimacy of each other’s embrace.

After the long hours of your flight on Belerix, the return to Tyland’s arms feels like coming home. His presence, steady and reassuring, wraps around you, grounding you in the quiet sanctuary of his room, away from the world’s prying eyes. The warmth of your shared moments lingers, your breaths soft and synchronized, an unspoken understanding settling between you.

Tyland shifts slightly, resting his chin atop your head as he speaks, his voice soft but tinged with a faint edge of frustration. “You missed quite the… spectacle in court today,” he murmurs, his fingers continuing their gentle pattern on your skin.

You glance up at him, your eyes searching his face. “Oh? What happened?”

He lets out a small sigh, his lips curving into a wry smile as he recounts the day’s events. “Our dear Prince Daemon made his entrance in a manner only he could manage. It seems his temper was… particularly sharp today.” Tyland pauses, his tone turning more serious as he looks down at you. “He took it upon himself to remind me of his displeasure—rather forcefully, I might add.”

You frown, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face as your fingers linger on his cheek. “What do you mean? Did he say something?”

Tyland gives a small shake of his head, though his eyes darken slightly as he recalls the encounter. “Not with words. Daemon has a… unique way of making his point without needing to say anything.” He gives a soft, humorless chuckle. “He decided to shoulder me in passing. I’d nearly forgotten how aggressive he can be when he feels slighted.”

Your hand tightens gently on his, a flicker of anger stirring within you at the thought of Daemon’s actions. “I’m so sorry, Tyland. Daemon can be… relentless when he thinks he’s been wronged.” You shake your head, exhaling softly. “I didn’t think he would confront you like that.”

Tyland’s lips curve into a small, reassuring smile as he strokes your hair. “I knew the risks, my love. And I would endure far more than a bump in passing for you.” His gaze softens as he continues, “But I don’t think he’s content to leave it at that. I saw the look in his eyes… it was as if he’s made it his mission to drive a wedge between us.”

You sigh, nestling closer to him, the familiar scent of his skin grounding you as you process his words. “Daemon doesn’t take kindly to being denied something he believes he deserves,” you murmur, frustration evident in your voice. “But he has no right to interfere with my choices. Or with you.”

Tyland’s fingers brush over your shoulder, his touch warm and soothing as he pulls you closer. “It’s you I worry for, more than myself. Daemon’s anger is… dangerous. If he can’t reach me directly, he might try to turn his schemes against you.” He pauses, a shadow crossing his face as he looks at you with quiet determination. “I would sooner face his ire than see you put in any kind of danger.”

Your heart aches at his words, a mixture of gratitude and frustration rising within you. “I hate that it’s come to this. That we have to hide, that you have to bear the brunt of his anger because of me.” You reach up, your fingers tracing the lines of his face with a tenderness that conveys all the words you can’t quite find. “But I won’t let him dictate my life, Tyland. No matter what he believes, my heart is my own, and it belongs to you.”

He gazes down at you, a warmth flickering in his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And I would have it no other way, even if it means facing Daemon’s wrath. You are worth every risk, every moment of uncertainty.”

You settle against him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—a comforting sound that fills the quiet of the room, each beat grounding you in this rare, precious moment. For a time, neither of you speaks, content to let the peace of the night wrap around you like a protective shroud. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, you sense the weight of Tyland’s thoughts, the subtle tension lingering in his body, the unspoken fears woven into the silence.

Finally, he breaks the quiet, his voice a soft murmur. “I only wish we could live without these shadows hanging over us… without the need to look over our shoulders.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, your fingers tracing small, soothing circles on his chest. “Tomorrow,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell my father. The petitions for my hand have gone on long enough—enough to satisfy any House that was rejected.” You offer a faint, reassuring smile. “And I believe he will understand. He’s always encouraged me to follow my heart, even when the path is difficult.”

Tyland’s expression softens, relief and hope flickering in his eyes as he holds your gaze. A small, tender smile curves his lips. “Then I’ll be here, however long it takes. And if it must be in the shadows for a little longer, so be it. I’ll stand by you.”

You reach up, drawing him down to you, and your lips meet in a kiss filled with quiet promises, shared dreams, and a bond that feels as unbreakable as it is forbidden. The world outside may be filled with judgments and rivalries, but here, in the warmth of Tyland’s arms, you find a love untouched by Daemon’s anger or the court’s scrutiny.

As the night deepens, you lie together in silence, your shared resolve as strong as the connection between you. And with tomorrow’s promise hanging gently between you, you feel a glimmer of peace, knowing that, soon, the truth will no longer be hidden in the shadows.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x reader #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #to win a princess

111 notes · View notes