#differences feature and accent walls

[interiorergonomics]

Feature Wall vs. Accent Wall: Which One Should You Choose?

When designing a living space, both feature walls and accent walls can add depth, style, and personality. However, choosing between the two depends on your design goals, room layout, and desired visual impact.

1️⃣ What is a Feature Wall?

A feature wall is a bold, eye-catching wall that acts as the main focal point of the room. It often features unique materials, textures, or colors, such as: ✔ Wooden panels for a warm, cozy look. ✔ Stone or marble for a luxurious feel. ✔ Porcelain tiles for a sleek, modern finish. ✔ Bold wallpaper with patterns or murals for artistic expression.

🔹 Best for: Creating a strong statement in the room, especially behind a TV, fireplace, or sofa.

2️⃣ What is an Accent Wall?

An accent wall is a subtle enhancement rather than the main focus. It is designed to add depth and dimension without overwhelming the space. Accent walls usually have: ✔ A different paint color (slightly darker or lighter than the rest of the room). ✔ Subtle textures, such as wainscoting or molding. ✔ Soft wallpaper with a delicate pattern.

🔹 Best for: Adding depth and contrast to the space without overpowering the overall design.

3️⃣ How to Decide?

✔ Go for a Feature Wall if: ✅ You want a bold, dramatic focal point. ✅ Your space feels plain and needs more personality. ✅ You are using high-end materials like stone, wood, or tiles to add luxury.

✔ Go for an Accent Wall if: ✅ You prefer a subtle, balanced design. ✅ You already have other strong décor elements (e.g., statement furniture or artwork). ✅ Your room is small, and a bold feature wall might feel overwhelming.

4️⃣ Can You Have Both?

Yes! A feature wall and accent walls can work together if designed with balance. For example: You can even have a fancy living room design while combining both feature and accent walls for a unique and creative scene.

Read more to understand their differences 👉

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.���

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.

[youngpoetpoe]

The Aespa Experience

Aespa x Male Reader

Buy me a ko-fi.

The MAMA awards had just drawn to a close, the final swell of the crowd’s cheers still lingering in their ears as Aespa navigated the backstage labyrinth, their victory cradled in the form of a gleaming trophy. Karina, Giselle, Winter, and Ningning moved with a blend of weariness and exhilaration, their steps uneven yet purposeful, drawn toward the sanctuary of their private dressing room.

The door clicked shut behind them, a soft sound that severed the clamor of flashing cameras, eager fans, and the relentless hum of the event. Inside, the space unfolded like a refuge: golden light spilled over plush beige carpet, casting warm shadows across sleek furniture—a low, cushioned couch, a vanity strewn with makeup brushes and half-empty water bottles, a wide mirror stretching along one wall to capture their reflections.

Their police-inspired outfits clung to them—black uniform tops tracing their curves, short shorts revealing smooth, pale thighs that shimmered faintly in the dim glow.

The air thrummed with their mingled scents—Karina’s vanilla curling soft and sweet, Giselle’s sharp spice slicing through, Winter’s faint floral whisper drifting, Ningning’s bright citrus twist piercing the haze—blending into an intimate cocoon that enveloped the room.

You stood near the vanity, their trusted confidant and staff member, a steady presence woven into the fabric of their lives. Through late-night rehearsals, rushed schedules, and these rare moments of stillness, you’d become a quiet anchor they leaned into. Tonight, though, the energy simmered differently—raw, electric, a triumph pulsing through them as they shed the weight of expectation, letting it dissolve into the carpet beneath their feet.

Karina broke the silence, her voice warm and laced with a pride that softened her usual composure. “We did it. I still can’t believe it.” Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she turned, her gaze sweeping across her members before settling on you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She stepped to the vanity, setting the trophy down with a gentle clink, her fingers lingering on its cool surface as if to ground herself in the reality of their win.

Giselle crossed the room with a burst of energy, her steps quick and light, the carpet muffling the faint squeak of her soles as she reached you. “The crowd was unreal—you should’ve heard them screaming our names!” She flung her arms around you in a swift, impulsive hug, her breath warm against your neck before she pulled back, her grin wide and unrestrained, her playful nature spilling over like a wave.

Winter lingered a step behind, her fingers grazing the edge of a cap perched atop her head, its tilt adding a jaunty edge to her elegant frame. “It was a good night,” she murmured, her voice soft but threaded with satisfaction as she drifted closer, her presence a quiet pull that drew your gaze without effort.

Ningning bounced on her toes near the couch, her restless energy crackling like static. “We have to celebrate—something huge, something epic!” Her eyes darted around the room, bright with ideas, her quirky charm igniting the air as she flopped onto the cushions, then sprang up again, too wired to stay still.

Karina nodded, a flicker of care softening her features as she turned from the vanity. “You’re right, Ning. Let’s make it ours—just us.” She tilted her head toward you, weaving you into the moment with a subtle gesture, her leadership steady yet unspoken.

Giselle’s eyes glinted with mischief as she sank to her knees on the carpet, the plush fibers yielding beneath her. “How about a game? Keep the vibe alive?” Her accent wove a playful thread through her words, her posture open and inviting as she patted the floor beside her.

Winter tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her gaze as she eased closer. “What kind?” Her tone was even, her frame settling gracefully as she joined the circle taking shape, her movements fluid and unhurried.

“Truth or dare,” Giselle declared, clapping her hands once, the sound sharp and eager in the quiet room. “It’s perfect—fun, maybe a little daring.” She shot you a teasing wink, her energy rippling outward, pulling everyone into its orbit.

Ningning giggled, dropping beside her, knees tucked under as she leaned forward. “I’m in—let’s get wild!” Her laughter bubbled up, infectious and bright, her hands brushing the carpet as she shifted.

Karina hesitated, a flicker of responsibility crossing her face, but a reluctant smile curved her lips as she glanced at Giselle. “Alright, but let’s keep it sane, okay?” Her tone carried a gentle warning, though her eyes betrayed her amusement as she eased down, her presence grounding the group as they gathered around the one-person couch you were sitting on, the air thickening with anticipation.

The circle formed naturally, a loose ring of knees and elbows on the plush floor while you remain seated on your chair, their outfits a stark contrast against the soft beige—black fabric taut against skin, shorts riding high, the mirror behind them catching every shift and glint. Giselle took the lead, her grin fixed on Winter as she leaned forward. “Truth or dare?”

Winter paused, her fingers brushing the cap’s brim, then decided, “Truth,” her legs crossing beneath her, the faint shadow of the cap falling across her eyes.

“What’s your most embarrassing stage moment?” Giselle’s voice brimmed with curiosity, her posture tilting closer, eager for the answer.

Winter’s cheeks warmed, but she smirked, a dry edge cutting through her reserve. “My in-ear slipped out once—had to fake a hair flip to cover it. Looked ridiculous.” Laughter rippled through, soft and unguarded, as she shifted slightly, her frame easing into the moment.

Ningning turned to Karina, eyes gleaming with playful intent. “Unnie, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Karina chose, her posture steady, a quiet confidence in the way she sat, hands resting lightly on her thighs.

“Ever had a crush on another idol?” Ningning’s tone was light, her fingers tapping the carpet in a restless rhythm.

Karina kept her composure, her voice smooth and measured. “I admire plenty of people, but a crush? Not quite.” Her diplomatic sidestep drew a groan from Ningning, who rolled her eyes in mock frustration, her laughter spilling out again.

The game unfurled like a thread, light and playful at first—Giselle belting out a dramatic chorus from one of their songs, her voice cracking into laughter halfway through; Winter swaying through a goofy dance, her cap tilting as she moved, drawing giggles that bounced off the walls. But the dares crept bolder, the air shifting like a tide pulling them deeper, the golden light casting long shadows that danced with their movements.

Giselle turned to you, her smirk sharp and teasing as she leaned closer. “Truth or dare?”

Caught in the current, you chose, “Dare,” your voice steady despite the quickening pulse in your chest.

“Compliment Winter—make it bold,” she challenged, her eyes glinting with expectation.

Winter fidgeted, her thighs brushing together under her shorts, a faint flush creeping up her neck as she ducked her head slightly. You met her gaze, letting the words roll out with quiet conviction. “Winter, your eyes pull me in like nothing else, and those thighs—damn, they’re stunning.” The room erupted in teasing whoops and laughter, Winter’s hand darting to her cap as she murmured a soft, “Thanks,” her shy smile breaking through the reserve, a rare crack in her poised exterior.

The dares grew teeth, each one peeling back another layer of restraint. Ningning dared Giselle to sway through a sultry dance, her movements fluid and deliberate, the faint tap of her heels punctuating the rhythm as she rolled her hips, drawing appreciative whistles. Winter dared Karina to perch on your lap for a round, and Karina complied with a soft laugh, easing onto you with a teasing, “This okay?” Her warmth settled against you, her hair brushing your cheek, a trace of vanilla drifting up as she adjusted, her thighs pressing lightly against yours.

Giselle dared Ningning to brush a quick kiss on your cheek, and she leaned in with a cheeky grin, her lips warm and fleeting, a giggle trailing in her wake as she pulled back. Then Winter fixed you with a daring look, her cap tilted at an angle that sharpened her gaze. “Take off your shirt.”

The air stilled, a heartbeat of silence stretching out. You tugged the fabric free, tossing it aside, the cool air of the room prickling your skin as their gazes swept over you, appreciation flickering in their eyes—Karina’s steady, Giselle’s playful, Winter’s quiet, Ningning’s eager. Karina shifted slightly, her shorts riding up, exposing more of her thighs, the movement subtle but electric.

Ningning’s next dare pushed the edge further, her voice bright with mischief. “Winter, straddle his lap—give him a police inspection.”

Winter rose, her steps deliberate, the carpet muffling her approach as she swung a leg over you, settling in with her thighs framing your hips, her cap lending a playful authority to the moment. “Anything dangerous here, sir?” she teased, her tone light but firm, her hands patting your shoulders and chest, fingers lingering just long enough to spark a shiver down your spine. “All clear,” she whispered, her breath grazing your ear, her lips curling into a smirk as she eased back, leaving the air charged in her wake.

The game crackled with heat now, a spark flaring into something tangible, the golden light casting their shadows in sharp relief against the walls. Giselle broke through the haze, her grin wide and reckless. “Let’s switch—spin the bottle, group twist. We decide the action.”

Karina arched a brow, her posture steady as she leaned back on her hands. “What twist?”

Giselle snatched an empty water bottle from the vanity, spinning it between her fingers before setting it on the carpet. “Spin picks who does what—group calls it.” Her grin promised chaos, and they murmured their assent, tightening the circle as the bottle gleamed in the center, a silent promise of escalation.

Giselle spun first, the bottle wobbling before settling on Ningning. After a quick huddle, their whispers overlapping in a conspiratorial hum, Karina announced, “Ningning, lap dance for him.”

Ningning’s eyes widened, a flash of surprise giving way to a playful confidence as she rose. Someone tapped a phone, and a sultry beat pulsed through the room, low and insistent. She circled you, hips rolling with a fluid grace, her breath teasing your skin as she brushed close, then pulled back with a wink, leaving your pulse hammering in your chest.

The bottle spun again, its neck pointing to Winter. Giselle’s grin sharpened, her voice cutting through the music. “Kiss him—make it real.”

Winter approached, her movements unhurried, straddling you again with a quiet intensity. Her hands cupped your face, her lips meeting yours in a slow, deep press, her tongue brushing yours in a fleeting dance. A soft moan vibrated between you, her thighs warm against your hips, the cap tilting slightly as she pressed closer. She pulled back, eyes dark and breath uneven, the taste of her lingering on your lips.

The spins escalated, tension coiling tighter with each turn. Karina leaned in, her hair brushing your cheek as she whispered something sharp and daring in your ear, her voice a low murmur that sent heat pooling low in your gut. The bottle landed on you next, and Ningning delivered the dare, her tone bright with mischief. “Get her off—hands only.”

You turned to Karina, still perched on your lap, her nod subtle but clear. Your hands slipped beneath her shorts, fingers finding her heat, slick and ready as she gripped your shoulders. Her breaths quickened, soft gasps spilling from her lips as you worked her, circling and pressing with a steady rhythm. Her thighs trembled, her nails digging into your skin as she unraveled, her release coating your fingers in a warm rush. The sight—her flushed face, parted lips, eyes fluttering shut—pushed you over the edge, your own climax hitting hard and sudden, a groan tearing from your throat as you spilled across your lap, hot and messy, your head dipping against her shoulder as the wave crashed through you.

They watched, wide-eyed, the air thick with shared heat, their breaths hitching in unison. Giselle broke the silence, spinning the bottle again, its neck landing on herself. “My turn,” she declared, shedding her shorts with a flick of her wrists, climbing onto you with a wicked grin. Her hand, cold from the bottle, wrapped around your softening length, coaxing it back to life with slow, deliberate strokes. The chill of her touch contrasted the growing warmth, her grip firm as she teased you, her eyes locked on yours. “Not done yet,” she murmured, her voice a low promise.

The game had already unraveled into a haze of instinct, the plush carpet beneath you stained with the faint sheen of sweat and anticipation as the air thickened with the raw, primal scent of their arousal. Karina still perched on your lap, her thighs quivering from her recent orgasm, her slick juices coating your fingers as you slid them free, the musky sweetness of her release lingering on your skin. Her breath came in soft, ragged pants, her chest heaving against the half-unzipped uniform top, her nipples peeking through the fabric, hard and begging for touch. The golden light bathed her flushed face, accentuating the sweat beading along her hairline, a testament to the heat coursing through her.

Giselle knelt beside you, her shorts shoved down to her knees, her hand still wrapped around your cock—soft but twitching from your first climax, the remnants of cum slicking her fingers as she stroked you with slow, deliberate intent. The coldness of her touch, chilled from gripping the water bottle earlier, sent sharp jolts through your shaft, a delicious contrast to the warm, throbbing ache building anew in your balls. Her eyes locked on yours, dark and glinting with a wicked triumph, her lips parting as she murmured, “You’ve got more for us, don’t you?” Her voice was a low, velvet purr, dripping with promise, her thumb circling the tip of your cock, smearing the pre-cum leaking from the slit in a slow, teasing swirl that made your hips twitch involuntarily.

Winter shifted closer, her cap tilted at a jaunty angle, the shadow it cast sharpening the elegant lines of her face. Her thighs brushed together under her shorts, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her pale skin as she knelt beside Giselle, her breath visible in soft, uneven puffs. “Taste him,” she said, her voice a quiet command laced with a hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine, your cock pulsing in Giselle’s grip.

Winter’s suggestion hung in the air, a spark igniting the already smoldering tension, and Giselle didn’t hesitate. She lowered her head, her dark hair spilling over your thighs, tickling your skin as her lips parted wide, taking you in with a slow, deliberate slide. The wet heat of her mouth enveloped your cock, a searing contrast to her cold hand, her tongue curling around the tip to lap at the salty bead of pre-cum before flattening as she sank deeper. Her throat tightened around you, a faint gag vibrating against your shaft as she pushed past her limit, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth and dripping down your length to pool at the base, slick and messy.

Your head tipped back against the couch, a guttural groan tearing from your throat as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing with each pull, her hand pumping the base in a slick, relentless rhythm. The sound—wet, sloppy slurps echoing in the room—mingled with the faint hum of the sultry beat still playing from someone’s phone, a lewd soundtrack to the scene unfolding. Your balls tightened, the pressure building as her tongue swirled, teasing the sensitive underside, her lips stretching around your girth, her breath hot and ragged through her nose.

Ningning crawled closer, her uniform top riding up to expose the smooth curve of her stomach, her fingers threading through Giselle’s hair with a gentle tug. “Harder,” she urged, her voice a playful lilt, her lips brushing Giselle’s neck as she kissed her way up, leaving faint, wet marks on her skin. Giselle obeyed, her mouth working you with a hungry edge, her suction intensifying until the wet heat felt like it was pulling you apart, her spit dripping in thick strands down your cock, coating your balls in a glistening sheen. The sight—her flushed face, eyes watering slightly, lips swollen and stretched around you—sent a fresh surge of heat through your groin, your shaft throbbing harder, your balls aching with the need to spill again.

Karina slid off your lap, her shorts slipping down to her ankles as she knelt beside Winter, her fingers brushing your thigh as she watched, her eyes dark with intent. The air carried her scent—vanilla now laced with the sharp tang of her arousal, a heady mix that clung to your senses. “Your turn,” she murmured to Winter, her voice a quiet directive, her hand sliding to your balls, cupping them gently, rolling them in her palm with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your cock jump in Giselle’s mouth. Winter’s lips twitched into a smirk, and she leaned in, her breath hot against Giselle’s cheek as she kissed her first—a fleeting, messy press of lips, their tongues brushing in a quick, sloppy tangle before she turned to you.

Giselle pulled back with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting her lips to your cockhead, her hand still stroking you as Winter took her place. Winter’s mouth was softer, more teasing, her tongue flicking over the tip in quick, darting licks before she sucked you in, her lips sealing tight around you. The contrast—Giselle’s aggressive hunger, Winter’s playful precision—sent your mind reeling, your hands gripping the couch cushions, the fabric rough against your palms as you fought to hold on. Their tongues met again, sliding over your shaft in a chaotic dance—Giselle licking the length, Winter sucking the tip, their mouths colliding in wet, open kisses around your cock, sharing the taste of your pre-cum with soft, breathy moans that vibrated against your skin.

Ningning’s hands roamed your chest, her nails scraping lightly over your nipples, sending electric jolts straight to your groin, your cock pulsing harder in Winter’s mouth. “You’re trembling,” she teased, her lips brushing your ear, her breath hot and damp as she nipped your lobe, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat there. She slid lower, her kisses trailing down your neck, your collarbone, until her tongue flicked over your thigh, lapping at the salty sheen of sweat as she watched the others devour you. The room spun with sensation—the wet slurp of their mouths, the creak of the couch under your shifting weight, the faint rustle of their clothes as they moved, the air thick with the scent of sex.

Karina’s fingers tightened around your balls, her thumb pressing against the sensitive skin behind them, a slow, coaxing pressure that made your cock throb harder, the tip leaking steadily into Winter’s mouth. “Give it to us,” she whispered, her voice a sultry command, her eyes locked on yours, dark and unyielding. The tension snapped, a white-hot surge roaring through you, your balls drawing tight as the orgasm hit like a freight train. You groaned, loud and raw, your hips bucking as you came, the first thick spurt blasting into Winter’s mouth, flooding her tongue with hot, salty cum. Her eyes squeezed shut, her throat working as she swallowed, a soft gag escaping as the volume overwhelmed her, a trickle escaping the corner of her lips to drip down her chin.

Giselle leaned back just in time, the next shot streaking across her cheek, a pearly line that glistened in the golden light, dripping slow and thick toward her jaw as she laughed, a low, wicked sound that sent a shiver through you. Ningning tilted her head, catching a burst on her lips, her tongue darting out to lap it up, the cum smearing across her mouth as she hummed, greedy and shameless. Karina took the final spurt, tilting her head back as it hit the back of her throat, her eyes fluttering shut as she gulped it down, her throat bobbing with the effort, a faint moan vibrating in her chest as the bitter taste coated her tongue.

They didn’t stop. Giselle lunged at Winter, their lips crashing together in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues swapping your cum in a slick, messy exchange—thick and white, stretching between them in glistening strings as they parted, panting, their breaths mingling in hot gasps. Ningning licked the streak from Giselle’s cheek, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate, sucking it clean with a wet, obscene pop before turning to Karina. Their mouths met in a slow, languid kiss, tongues sliding together, sharing the taste—cum and spit mixing in a lewd, slippery dance, dripping down their chins as they moaned into each other, their hands gripping each other’s hair, pulling tight.

Winter’s hand stayed on your cock, stroking slow and firm, her fingers slick with spit and cum as she milked a final, shuddering drop, the last bead of your release oozing from the tip. She leaned in, her lips wrapping around you, sucking it dry with a teasing flick of her tongue over the slit, the oversensitive head twitching under her touch. Your groan was hoarse, your body trembling as she pulled back, licking her lips, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.

The air reeked of sex—sweat, cum, their dripping arousal—a primal haze that clung to your skin, your nostrils flaring as you breathed it in. They slumped together on the carpet, a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths, faces still streaked and glistening, the golden light casting a lewd glow over their flushed, sweat-slicked bodies. Karina crawled closer, her tongue tracing your softening cock, licking you clean with gentle, deliberate laps—her breath hot against your oversensitive skin, her lips brushing the shaft with a tenderness that made you shiver.

Giselle spotted a stray drop on the carpet, swiping it with her finger and sucking it off with a grin, her playful edge undimmed, the taste lingering on her tongue. Ningning nuzzled your thigh, her voice soft and drowsy. “You’re a mess—we’ll take care of it.” Winter pressed a lazy kiss to your chest, her cap askew, murmuring, “Well done,” her tone laced with quiet pride, her breath warm against your skin.

You lay there, spent and boneless, your cock still twitching faintly, your chest heaving as their warmth enveloped you. Karina draped an arm across your chest, her voice a whisper against your skin. “This is just the beginning.” Giselle chuckled, her breath tickling your neck.

The room settled into a hazy stillness, their breathing syncing with yours, the golden light softening the edges of their tangled forms. But the hunger in their eyes burned brighter, a simmering promise of more—far more—yet to come.

The aftermath was a fleeting pause, a deceptive calm before the storm of their insatiable appetites erupted anew. The carpet beneath you was a battlefield—streaked with sweat, spit, and the faint glisten of cum.

Giselle rose first, her grin feral as she wiped her chin, cum still clinging to her lips in a sticky sheen. “We’re nowhere near done,” she said, her voice a low growl, crawling back to straddle your thighs. Her hand wrapped around your cock again, still slick with spit and cum, stroking you with a rough, insistent rhythm that made your shaft throb, the overstimulation a sharp, burning ache that bled into pleasure.

Her fingers—cold and relentless—dug into your flesh, her nails grazing the underside, sending a jolt through your balls that made them tighten against your body. “You’re gonna cum for us again,” she purred, her voice dripping with dark honey, her thumb smearing the fresh pre-cum leaking from your tip across the head, making it glisten in the light.

Karina knelt to your right, her knees planted beside your hip, her torso angled toward you as she yanked her shorts off with a quick tug, tossing them aside. Her pussy gleamed—pink, swollen, her clit peeking out from glistening folds, dripping with arousal that begged to be touched.

She glanced at Winter, who stood near your head, her cap tilted, thighs trembling faintly. “Sit on his face,” Karina ordered, her voice a sharp command, her hand sliding between her own thighs. Her fingers dipped into her wetness, parting her folds with a soft, wet squelch that echoed faintly, her breath catching as she teased herself.

Winter stepped forward, her movements fluid, and swung her right leg over your head, straddling your face. Her smooth, trembling thighs framed your vision, her knees pressing into the carpet on either side of your ears, her pussy hovering just above your mouth.

The scent hit you hard—sweet, musky, thick with need—her juices already dripping as she lowered herself, her folds parting against your lips, smearing hot slickness across your chin. You groaned into her, the vibration making her hips buck as your tongue plunged in, lapping at her clit with desperate, hungry strokes, tasting her tangy flood.

Ningning knelt beside Giselle, her knees tucked between your legs, her head dipping low so her nose nudged the space where your cock met your balls, her breath warm against your sack. Her shorts were tugged down to her thighs, her top rucked up, exposing her stomach as she leaned in close.

She giggled softly, her hands cupping your balls, rolling them with a teasing, featherlight pressure that made your cock twitch harder in Giselle’s grip. “Look at these,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mischief as her tongue flicked out, tracing a wet, sloppy line over your sack, her nose brushing the underside of your shaft as she sucked one ball into her mouth.

The wet, obscene pop sent a shockwave through your groin, her hot mouth and Giselle’s rough stroking blending into a dizzying assault, your hips jerking upward as your balls ached, heavy and tight with another load.

Karina rose from her kneeling position, swinging her left leg over your waist to straddle you, her knees sinking into the carpet on either side of your hips. Her pussy pressed against your stomach, sliding upward in a slick, warm smear as she settled, her unzipped uniform top hanging open, her tits spilling out—full, flushed, nipples hard and grazing your chest.

Her skin was hot, slick with sweat, her weight pinning you as she leaned forward slightly. “Suck them,” she commanded, grabbing your hands from the carpet and pressing them to her breasts, her voice a sultry growl that tightened your gut.

Your fingers sank into her soft, heavy flesh, pinching her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers, rolling them as she moaned—a low, throaty sound that vibrated through her chest. She rocked her hips, grinding her wetness against your abs, leaving a glistening trail, then reached down, her hand brushing Giselle’s for a moment as she took your cock.

Giselle released you with a playful huff, shifting back slightly, her nose still hovering near your base as Karina guided your rock-hard, leaking shaft toward her entrance. She teased the tip against her folds, her juices dripping down your length, coating you in slick heat as she rubbed you there, driving you wild with the wet friction.

Ningning seized the moment, her tongue darting upward from your balls to lick the shaft as Karina hovered, her nose pressed into the space where Karina’s pussy met your cock. She lapped at you both—her tongue flicking over your length, tasting the pre-cum leaking from your tip, then sliding higher to graze Karina’s dripping folds, catching her juices as they trickled down.

Karina sank down, her cunt swallowing you whole, the tight, wet grip of her walls clenching around you, milking your cock as Ningning’s tongue followed, licking the junction where Karina’s pussy stretched around your shaft, her hot, sloppy swipes blending your tastes—salty and tangy—into a filthy mix.

Karina rode you slow and deep, her breath hitching with each thrust, her moans a low, sultry song, while Ningning’s tongue danced between you, her nose nudging Karina’s clit, her breath puffing against your slick skin.

Giselle and Ningning shifted, their mouths converging on your cock as Karina lifted off, her cunt leaving a glistening trail on your stomach. Giselle sucked the tip, her throat working as she took you deep, gagging around your girth, spit pouring from her mouth to coat your shaft in a thick, sloppy sheen.

Ningning licked the base, her tongue swirling over your balls, then up to meet Giselle’s mouth, their tongues tangling in a messy, cum-slicked kiss around your cockhead—spit and pre-cum smearing their lips, dripping down their chins. The sight—two gorgeous mouths fighting over your cock, their faces flushed and filthy—pushed you to the edge, your balls tightening, your shaft throbbing with the need to explode again.

Karina’s voice cut through, sharp and commanding. “Kneel—all of you.” They obeyed instantly, dropping to their knees in a tight semicircle—Karina, Giselle, Winter, Ningning—faces tilted up, mouths open, tongues lolling out like a pack of desperate sluts begging for your load. You stood, legs trembling, cock in hand, stroking yourself as the pressure built to a blinding peak, your balls aching, your shaft pulsing with every pump.

The climax hit like a tidal wave, a roar tearing from your throat as you erupted. The first spurt blasted across Winter’s face, thick and hot, splattering her cheeks and lips, a fat glob landing on her tongue as she moaned, her eyes rolling back, her face scrunching with the bitter taste.

The next shot streaked Giselle’s forehead, a pearly rope dripping into her eyes, coating her lashes as she laughed, licking her lips to catch the runoff, her tongue darting out greedily.

Ningning took a direct hit, cum flooding her mouth, spilling over her chin in a creamy cascade as she gagged, swallowing hard with a wet, needy hum, her throat working to take it all.

Karina caught the final surge, opening wide as it splattered her tongue, pooling there in a thick, white puddle before she gulped it down, her throat bobbing, her face twisting with the sharp, salty sting, a low moan escaping as it slid down.

Winter’s hand found your cock again, stroking you slow and hard, her fingers slick with the mess as she milked a final, weak spurt—barely a dribble—that oozed onto her fingers. She sucked them clean, then leaned in, her lips wrapping around your tip, her tongue probing the slit for every last drop, sucking you dry until your cock twitched painfully, oversensitive and spent as she grinned, triumphant.

---

The girls slumped together on the carpet, a tangle of limbs and heaving breaths, faces streaked and glistening under the golden light, their outfits a wreck—Karina’s top unzipped to her navel, tits spilling out, nipples hard; Giselle’s shorts tangled at her knees, pussy exposed and wet; Winter’s cap askew, shorts shoved aside, thighs slick; Ningning’s top rucked up, shorts pulled low, cunt dripping onto the floor.

Giselle sat up, her voice rough but playful. “Fuck, what a night—better than any award.” She grabbed her top from the couch, tugging it on, cum crusting the fabric, then yanked her shorts up, the stains dark and blatant.

Winter smirked, adjusting her cap, cum flaking from her face. “Dispatch would die for this scoop—‘Aespa’s Dirty Win.’ Worth it.” She pulled her shorts back into place, the mess sticking to her thighs.

Ningning giggled, sprawled on her back, her chest heaving as she wiped a streak of cum from her chin with her finger, popping it into her mouth with a dramatic slurp. “You’re both nasty—I’m the real winner here. Did you see how much I swallowed? I’m basically a pro now!” Her quirky energy bubbled up, her legs kicking playfully as she rolled onto her side, facing Karina. “Unnie, rate me—I deserve a ten, right?”

“Ten for effort, Ning, but your technique needs work—gagging’s cute, but we’re not amateurs.” She shot you a glance, her eyes dark with lingering heat. “He knows what we’re worth, though—don’t you? All those fans out there screaming our names, clueless about how we get used in here.”

The room pulsed with their shared secret, the weight of their idol lives pressing in—a facade of perfection shattered behind closed doors. They were Aespa, untouchable on stage, voices that moved millions, bodies worshipped by fans who’d never suspect the depravity they craved in private. To the world, they were pristine, glittering idols; to you, they were cumrags, personal toilets, begging for every drop, reveling in the filth their adoring public would never imagine.

Giselle sat up, her grin softening into something more conspiratorial as she crawled toward you, her hand brushing your thigh. “They’d lose their minds if they knew,” she murmured, her accent thickening with amusement. “All those girls copying our choreo, buying our albums—meanwhile, we’re in here getting our faces painted like cheap whores.” She laughed, low and wicked, her fingers tracing circles on your skin. “Kinda hot, isn’t it?”

Karina shifted, her leadership kicking in despite the mess streaking her face and chest, her voice steady but laced with a dark thrill. “They’d never believe it anyway. We’re too good at this—smiling for the cameras, waving to the fans, all while we’re dripping with this.” She gestured to the cum splattered across her uniform, her tone a mix of pride and defiance.

She glanced at you, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. “You holding up?”

You managed a shaky laugh, your cock still twitching faintly, oversensitive and sore, your chest heaving as you met her gaze. “Barely hanging on—think you might’ve ruined me for anyone else.” The honesty drew a chorus of soft chuckles, their voices blending in a warm, intimate hum.

Ningning grinned, her quirky charm lighting up as she scrambled to her knees, cum still dripping from her chin onto her chest. “Good! That’s the plan—keep you ours. No one else gets to have this, okay?” She poked your chest playfully, then turned to the others. “Right, girls?

Giselle broke the silence, her grin returning as she crawled toward the couch, grabbing her discarded uniform top. “Speaking of perfect, we’ve got interviews in—what, twenty minutes? Time to dress up, girls.” She held up the black fabric, cum stains splattered across it, and laughed. “Think they’ll notice?”

Winter snorted, sitting up and tugging her shorts back into place, the fabric sticking to her cum-slicked thighs. “Notice? They’d have to be blind—and stupid. But who cares? We’ll smile and wave, and they’ll eat it up like always.” She stood, stretching lazily, her cap still askew.

Ningning clapped, her energy sparking. “Selfie time—peace signs, cum and all! Let’s make it our secret trophy.” She fished her phone from her discarded bag near the couch, the others following suit, pulling theirs from pockets or the vanity. They crowded around you, cum crusting their faces—Winter’s cheeks streaked, Giselle’s forehead matted, Ningning’s lips smeared, Karina’s chin dotted—bodies pressed close, uniforms stained and rumpled.

Peace out, filthy style!” Ningning chirped, snapping a pic, her phone angled to catch their cum-slicked grins and peace signs, your dazed face in the frame. Giselle leaned in, her phone flashing next, capturing the mess of hair and skin. Winter tilted her cap back, her shot framing the group’s raw, unfiltered chaos. Karina went last, her steady hand immortalizing the moment—four idols, cum-drenched and defiant, their secret locked in pixels.

You nodded, still dazed, your body heavy with exhaustion as you watched them dress. They slipped back into their black uniforms—Karina’s top stretched tight over her cum-stained tits, Giselle’s shorts bunched and sticky, Winter’s cap perched atop her cum-crusted face, Ningning’s outfit clinging to her dripping thighs. They didn’t wipe a thing, letting the mess dry in crusty, glistening streaks—on their faces, their hair, their clothes.

Winter smirked, brushing a cum-streaked strand of hair from her face. “Hope you’re ready for round three next time.”

They gathered at the door, a vision of debauchery dressed as perfection—black uniforms stained and sticky, faces painted with dried cum, hair tangled with it, yet their expressions were flawless, practiced, the ideal idols their fans adored. They didn’t wipe a drop, letting it crust and flake as they prepared to step out, the contrast of their pristine image and hidden filth a thrill they savored.

Giselle turned back, blowing you a kiss, her voice a sultry promise. “See you after, VIP—don’t wash up yet.” Ningning giggled, Winter smirked, and Karina gave a final nod, her eyes glinting with control. Then they stepped out, cum-stained and smiling, ready to face the interviewers, the fans, the world—untouchable queens hiding their truth in plain sight.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you alone in the dressing room, the air still thick with their scents, the carpet a testament to their rebellion. Outside, their voices faded into the hum of the venue, their laughter echoing.

---

support me on ko-fi so i can write more :)

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 5✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ The first variant gets the best pickings of her(y/n's) love ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Fever Dreams‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 10k+ [Part 5] ☆ TW: fluff + more~ ☆ Author's Note: This chapter took a long time to get down, I kept re-writing it over and over again. I really wanted the... well, I can't spoil, lol. read and find outttt ♡ ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ ♡This is a long chapter; bear with me pls♡

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Y/N drifted in and out of consciousness, fragments of conversations reaching her through the haze of medication and pain. Each voice filtered through her fevered mind with distinct clarity, bringing with it the unique cadence and emotion of its owner.

"...collar repairs are possible, but without proper calibration..." Emperor's voice, commanding even in hushed tones. His brow furrowed with impatience, the muscle in his jaw twitching beneath his chiseled face as he stared down at the broken technology with disdain. The golden accents of his imperial uniform caught the dim light of the cabin as he moved, his posture rigid with authority.

"...keep her sedated until the fever breaks..." No Mask's voice carried an unusual gentleness. His exposed features—so jarring without the familiar invincible mask—softened with concern as he checked her bandages with practiced efficiency, his fingers trembling slightly when they brushed against her burning skin. The familiar blue and yellow of his costume seemed darker in the cabin's shadows, his face marked with exhaustion.

"...touch her again and I'll tear your arms off..." Mohawk snarled, his threat punctuated by the flash of his teeth. His eyes blazed with protective fury, veins pulsing visibly at his temples as he stood with his fists clenched, knuckles white with restraint. The distinctive ridge of his mohawk cast a jagged shadow across the wall, matching the harsh lines of rage etched into his face.

"...mission parameters are clear, this distraction is illogical..." Omni's razor-sharp logic cut through the tension. His perfectly composed features betrayed him only through the slight clench of his jaw as he fought against his overwhelming desire to rush to her side, to ensure her comfort himself. The blood stained red and white of his uniform seemed to glow in the half-light, pristine despite the chaos surrounding them.

"...she’s your Y/N, she's mine..." Sinister's words dripped with possession, his face gleaming with obsession. His pupils dilated as he stared hungrily at her prone form, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if tasting her vulnerability in the air. His black and yellow suit seemed to absorb the shadows, making him appear more creature than man.

The voices blended and separated, identifiable not just by tone but by the emotions etched into their identical-yet-different faces—Emperor's imperious sneer, the way his nostrils flared when contradicted; Mohawk's snarling defiance, the permanent crease between his brows deepening with each protective glance; Omni's calculated detachment betrayed by the trembling of his lower lip when he thought no one was watching; Viltrumite's cold authority masking deeper anguish visible in the shadows beneath his eyes; Prisoner's raw hatred punctuated by twitches of longing that softened his scarred features momentarily; Phantom's haunted gaze, perpetually searching; Sinister's predatory smile revealing his sharp canines, his eyes never blinking beneath his black lenes when fixed upon her; No Mask's rare flickers of humanity breaking through his professional demeanor like cracks in armor.

They were arguing about her, around her, over her—as if she were a prize to be claimed rather than a person with agency. The realization should have angered her, but in her weakened state, it offered opportunity. Their fracturing alliance, their competing claims—these were vulnerabilities she could exploit if only she could recover enough strength.

The medication pulled her under again, dragging her into dreamless darkness where even these thoughts faded to nothing.

When Y/N next opened her eyes, the cabin was bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight. The pain in her side had dulled to a persistent throb rather than the sharp agony of before, suggesting No Mask's medication was working. Her mind felt clearer, no longer swimming in the fog of fever and infection.

She wasn't alone. A figure sat in a chair beside her bed, silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the broken window. For a moment, fear spiked through her—was it Prisoner, returned to make good on his threats? Sinister, with his disturbing obsession? But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she recognized the distinctive outline of Phantom's mask face, the void-like quality of his presence.

"You're awake," he observed, his voice so quiet it might have been mistaken for the rustling of leaves outside. Beneath the see-through fabric of his mask, his eyes watched her with an intensity that felt different from the others—less possessive, more... haunted. The moonlight cast sharp shadows across his masked features, highlighting the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself apart from her.

Y/N didn't respond immediately, taking stock of her condition. The bandages around her torso felt clean and dry, no longer sodden with blood and infection. Her throat, while still raw from the collar's damage, no longer burned with each breath. The worst of the fever had broken, leaving her weak but coherent. She felt her Viltrumite powers slowly returning.

"Why are you watching me?" she finally asked, her voice stronger than it had been earlier, though still rough around the edges. She pushed herself up slightly on the bed, wincing as the movement pulled at her healing wounds.

Phantom didn't answer directly, his head tilting slightly as he studied her in the moonlight. A muscle in his jaw jumped beneath the edge of his mask, betraying emotion beneath his controlled exterior. "You look like her," he said after a long pause. 

"My mother."

The admission was so unexpected, so far from anything Y/N had anticipated, that she found herself momentarily speechless. 

Of all the possible intimate connections these Mark variants might have formed with her, a maternal one had never crossed her mind. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, lips parting slightly as she processed his words.

"Your mother?" she echoed, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She shifted against the pillows, trying to see his face more clearly in the moonlight.

Phantom leaned forward slightly, the moonlight casting half his masked face in silver while leaving the rest in shadow. For a moment, his eyes glimmered with something that might have been tears under his mask, the wet moisture beneath his lenses catching the light. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, as if steeling himself to continue.

"In my universe," he explained, each word measured as if speaking required conscious effort, "she raised me after my father died. Taught me control. Strength." His gloved fingers curled into a fist on his knee, knuckles white beneath the leather. "Than they came… I was took weak without proper training… When she was killed, there was... nothing left to contain what I became."

Y/N remained silent, sensing that any interruption might end this rare moment of vulnerability. The rawness in Phantom's voice, the slight tremor of his lips beneath his mask—these were cracks in his armor that she hadn't thought possible. She kept her gaze fixed on him, her own face softening with something like understanding.

"The others," he continued after a moment, his eyes darting to the door as if fearing interruption, "they see their lovers, their partners in you. Their Y/Ns." The word seemed to catch in his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. 

"But I see the woman who taught me what compassion meant." His mask turned toward the broken window, moonlight catching damp fabric beneath the eyes of his mask. "Before I forgot."

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken history, with the ghost of a relationship that had shaped this Mark variant into something different from the others. Not better, perhaps—his hands were as blood-stained as theirs—but different in motivation, in drive.

"Is that why you're here?" Y/N asked finally with a raise of her brow, her voice barely above a whisper. "To remember what compassion feels like?"

Phantom remained motionless for so long that Y/N wondered if he'd heard her question. When he finally spoke, his voice had returned to its usual emptiness, the momentary vulnerability buried beneath layers of control, his eyes once again shadowed and unreadable behind his mask.

"I'm here because I believe every universe should suffer what I have." The words were recited like a mantra, a truth so fundamental it had become faith. "Angstrom Levy promised us salvation. Promised me..."

"A new Y/n?" she supplied when he trailed off, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone as she rolled her eyes, a hint of defiance returning to her despite her weakened state.

Phantom's head snapped toward her, the movement too quick, too inhuman to be comfortable. The tendons in his neck stood out like cords beneath his skin, his breathing suddenly harsh behind his mask. The moonlight caught the subtle changes in his posture—a coiling of tension, a predatory stillness.

"No," he said, with unexpected vehemence. 

"You can't be replaced. She can't be… None of you can." His voice dropped, becoming almost introspective. "That's what they don't understand. What I'm beginning to fe–..."

He stopped abruptly, rising from the chair with fluid grace. His black and blue uniform absorbed the moonlight, creating a void in the shape of a man, as he moved.

"You should rest," he stated, retreating behind the mask of cool detachment, though his eyes remained fixed on her face with an intensity that belied his tone. "Tomorrow will be... difficult."

Before Y/N could question him further, the cabin door opened, admitting Viltrumite's imposing figure. The moonlight caught the white of his uniform, lending him an almost ethereal quality as he stood framed in the doorway, power and authority radiating from his perfect posture. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, his dark hair swept back immaculately despite the chaos of their mission.

His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked between Phantom and Y/N, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His nostrils flared slightly, as if he could smell the vulnerability that had permeated the room moments before. 

The white of his uniform seemed to glow in the moonlight, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, the strength contained in his frame.

"Your watch is over," he stated, not a question but a command. His gaze lingered on Y/N's face, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Return to bringing destruction to this planet."

Phantom inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, moving toward the door. He paused beside Viltrumite, the two Mark variants presenting a study in contrasts—one all light and imperial presence, the other shadow and restrained power. The tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like electricity.

"She's stronger," Phantom observed quietly, the words meant only for Viltrumite's ears but carrying in the cabin's stillness. "The fever's breaking, clear signs of her Viltumite status returning."

Viltrumite's features remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or satisfaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward momentarily, a fleeting crack in his regal facade.

 "Good, now go," he replied, dismissal evident in his tone. "Join Sinister in the eastern quadrant. The planet still needs to be destroyed."

Phantom disappeared into the night without another word, leaving Y/N alone with Viltrumite. The absence of his presence left the cabin feeling suddenly larger, emptier; a sadness bellowed in her eyes.

The older Mark variant moved into the cabin with measured steps, each movement precise and controlled. In the moonlight, he seemed carved from marble—flawless, ageless, his features set in lines of authority that brooked no defiance. His eyes, though identical to all the Mark's in color, held centuries of experience and the weight of an empire.

"Your condition is improving," he observed, coming to stand beside her bed. Closer she could see his brown eyes clearer, they were cooler than the others' yet somehow more penetrating, cataloging her appearance with clinical assessment. The slightest twitch of his lips betrayed satisfaction at her recovery. "No Mask's intervention was... fortuitous."

Y/N attempted to push herself higher on the pillows, determined to face him from a position less vulnerable than flat on her back. The movement sent a dull throb of pain through her side, but it was manageable—a vast improvement from the searing agony of before. A bead of sweat formed at her temple from the effort, rolling down her cheek.

"Lucky for you," she replied, unable to keep the edge from her voice. "Can't extract much value from a corpse, can you?"

Something shifted in Viltrumite's expression—not quite surprise, but a reassessment. 

His nostrils flared slightly, and the harsh lines of his imperial bearing softened fractionally, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the mantle, his brown eyes studying her with newfound interest, pupils dilating almost imperceptibly. A muscle in his cheek twitched, betraying emotions he kept carefully controlled.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice losing some of its commanding resonance. "Your survival is... significant beyond our new mission parameters."

Y/N laughed, the sound bitter and sharp in the moonlit cabin. "Right. Because I look like her—your Y/N." The words were a challenge, thrown like rocks at his feet.

 Her eyes flashed with defiance, color rising to her cheeks as she held his gaze. "Is that it? I'm a convenient replacement for whatever woman you lost?"

Viltrumite's reaction was unmistakable—a tightening around his eyes, a momentary tension in his jaw that made a muscle jump beneath his skin. For an instant, his perfect composure cracked, revealing raw grief beneath the imperial façade. His fingers trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists at his sides, the veins in his forearms standing out against his skin.

"She was not just..." he began, then stopped, the words seeming to catch in his throat. His eyes appeared suddenly brighter, more vulnerable in the moonlight streaming through the window.

Y/N watched, fascinated, as emotions warred across his face—grief, anger, longing, all quickly suppressed beneath the mask of control. His eyes darkened, his breath coming slightly faster as he fought for composure. The white of his uniform seemed suddenly too bright, too pristine in the darkness of the cabin.

"She was going to be the Empress of Earth," he finally continued, his voice steadier. "My partner in bringing order to chaos. She just lacked the Viltrumite blood." His expression softened minutely, something like nostalgia crossing his features. "But she understood the necessity of strength, of..."

He trailed off, his brown eyes distant, seeing not the cabin but some memory of glory long past. Then, with a visible effort, he refocused on Y/N, his gaze sharpening like a blade being honed. The moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced by the cold calculation she had come to associate with him.

"You are not her," he said, each word precise and deliberate. "But you could be... more."

Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with her fever. The hunger in Viltrumite's eyes was different from Sinister's predatory obsession or Mohawk's possessive rage. It was the hunger of a man who had tasted power and found it addictive, who saw in her not just a lost love but a potential ally in conquest. 

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she met his gaze.

"I'm not interested in being anyone's empress," she said flatly, a puff of her cheeks as she met his gaze without flinching. "Or replacement. Or puppet."

Viltrumite's lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, the expression as cold as winter frost. "You speak as if you have a choice," he observed, his tone almost gentle as he leaned down closer to her. "As if any of us did."

Before Y/N could respond, something unexpected happened. Viltrumite moved closer, his expression shifting from imperial distance to something more human, more vulnerable. In one fluid motion, he reached out and touched her face, his fingers cool against her fever-warm skin. 

As his fingers slid along the side of her soft cheek, a shiver ran through his entire body, barely perceptible but unmistakable.

"You have her spirit," he murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear it. "Her defiance. It's... why I—"

He leaned in closer, his warm breath washing over her face. The scent of him—clean, masculine, with an undercurrent of blood. His eyes, dark and intense, searched her face as if memorizing every detail. The hardness in his expression melted away, replaced by something almost tender, almost reverent.

For a brief moment, Y/N saw not the conquering Viltrumite but a man grieving, a man who had lost something precious and thought he'd found it again. His eyes softened, the harsh lines around his mouth relaxing into something almost tender. The nearness of her, the warmth of her skin against his fingers, seemed to draw him out of himself, out of the imperial persona he wore like armor. His eyes almost fluttered shut, her warm breath fanning over his lips.

He looked into her eyes, noting the flush spreading across her cheeks, her lips parting softly. But he just stared into her eyes, and he remembered why he fell in love with her in his universe. The pale flecks of color in her iris caught the moonlight, bringing him back to another time, another place—where those same eyes had looked at him with adoration rather than defiance.

Then reality crashed back upon him like a wave. His eyes widened with shock, horror flashing across his perfect features as he realized what he was doing. 

A flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks pink, a color that looked alien on his usually controlled face. His jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle twitched violently along his temple.

His hand jerked back as if burned, and he stepped away from the bed, his composure reasserting itself like armor sliding back into place. He was panting softly.

The moment of vulnerability vanished so completely that Y/N might have thought she'd imagined it, if not for the lingering sensation of his touch on her cheek and the haunted look that briefly crossed his features. His shoulders squared, spine straightening as he physically rebuilt his imperial bearing.

"Rest," he ordered, eyes not meeting hers, his tone once again cold and commanding. "Your strength will be required soon."

Biting his lip softly, he turned and strode to the door, his back rigid with tension, shoulders squared as if preparing for battle. The moonlight made the white of his uniform glow almost ethereally, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist—perfect Viltrumite physiology enhanced by years of conquest. ~ Body Teaaa 💅~

"I must ensure the destruction continues as planned," he said without looking back, his voice carefully modulated to betray no emotion. "Another will watch over you."

The door closed behind him as he took off, leaving Y/N alone in the moonlit cabin. The sudden absence of his overwhelming presence left the air feeling lighter, easier to breathe.

Her face flushed as she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her mind racing with the implications of what had just occurred. The cracks in Viltrumite's façade, the momentary tenderness—these were weapons she could use, if she was clever enough. Her fingertips unconsciously traced the path where his hand had touched her cheek, her brow furrowing in thought, Damn that was hot…

She had barely begun to formulate a plan when a sound from outside caught her attention—a distinctive electrical hum that raised the hairs on her arms. It was a sound she knew all too well, one that haunted her nightmares and left her throat constricting with sudden fear.

The sound of a GDA teleportation device.

It happened in seconds, the air around the cabin heating up, molecules vibrating with increasing energy.

 Y/N watched as the atmosphere wavered, becoming distorted like heat rising from hot pavement. The familiar blue glow of the teleportation field began to form in the center of the room, and she knew the process was about to begin—someone was coming, GDA. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat sending fresh pain through her injured side.

Y/N struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain that flared in her side. Panic gave her strength she didn't know she possessed, and she managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed just as the air in the center of the cabin shimmered and distorted. Fresh blood began to seep through her bandages, a dark stain spreading across the white fabric as her sudden movement reopened her wounds.

A figure materialized, tall and imposing in the distinctive uniform of the GDA. The moonlight illuminated his face, revealing hard eyes and a mouth set in a grim line. Cecil Stedman, director of the Global Defense Agency, the man who had authorized the experiments that had made her what she was. His thin face looked ghostly in the blue teleportation glow, the light catching on the eye bags around his eyes.

"Finally you're alone," he said, his voice cold with satisfaction. His eyes narrowed as they took in her weakened state, the bandages visible beneath her torn suit, dark stains of blood seeping through the white fabric. "Did you really think we wouldn't find you? We were just waiting for the moment you alone without those stupid variants glued to you."

Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, fight-or-flight instincts screaming even as her body refused to cooperate. She opened her mouth to respond, but Cecil was already moving, the old man's gaze sweeping the cabin until it landed on something on the kitchen counter. His thin lips pressed into a line of concentration, his movements efficient despite his age.

The broken collar. The pieces had been laid out carefully, presumably by Omni as he assessed whether it could be repaired. The moonlight glinted off the metal components, making them look like fragments of ice rather than the instrument of control they truly were.

"How convenient," Cecil murmured, moving to collect the fragments. A satisfied smile stretched across his thin lips, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. "Can't have alien technology falling into the wrong hands, can we? Especially not these hands."

Y/N tried to stand, her legs trembling with the effort. Sweat beaded on her forehead as pain shot through her side, causing her to wince visibly. Her jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding against the agony that threatened to overwhelm her. The wooden floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet, the room spinning slightly at the edges of her vision.

"You don't understand," she managed, her voice stronger than she expected. Her eyes flashed with defiance despite the pallor of her skin. "They're not just—"

"Variants of Invincible?" Cecil cut her off, his thin lips curling in a humorless smile. His eyes, cold and calculating, narrowed as he studied her. 

"Oh, we understand exactly what they are. The fuckers ripping apart our planet, killing billions!" His voice rose slightly, a vein pulsing at his temple, his carefully maintained composure cracking to reveal genuine fury beneath. "What we don't understand is why our most valuable asset decided to join forces with them."

"I didn't—" Y/N's face contorted with frustration, her eyes widening with the urgency to make him understand. A lock of hair fell across her face as she leaned forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the bed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, metallic and warm on her tongue as she hisses, why am I so weak?!

"Save it," he snapped, pocketing the collar fragments in his suit. The harsh lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned, making him look even older.  "You had one mission, and you failed. You're coming back with me now. The experiments aren't finished, and you're far too valuable to leave in the hands of these... aberrations. Even if our planet if falling apart."

Y/N's fingers curled around the edge of the mattress, searching for stability. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow breaths, each one sending a ripple of pain through her injured side. 

"I can't go back," she said, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. Her eyes darted to the door, then back to Cecil, pupils dilating with fear. "I can't live like that again—controlled, unable to feel, to think outside the parameters they set." Her voice broke slightly at the memory, cracking on the final word. 

"The collar nearly killed me. Another round of experiments will—"

"That's not your decision to make," Cecil interrupted, his voice flat as he pulled out a small device, pressing several buttons. The blue light from the small screen cast eerie shadows across his face, highlighting the cold determination in his eyes. Due to the destruction, normal teleportation has been reduced to remote control.

 "This will only take a moment. Try not to struggle—in your condition, it will only make things worse."

Y/N's mind raced, searching for options. The Mark variants were gone, scattered across the planet on their mission of destruction. She was alone, wounded, barely able to stand. But return to the GDA, to the experiments that made her a Viltumite, to the collar that had nearly killed her? 

That was a fate worse than death. Her eyes darted around the cabin, seeking anything that might serve as a weapon or distraction.

With a desperate surge of strength, she lunged for the door, trying to fly but it didn't work, she was still to weak. Her face contorted with pain and frustration as her legs gave out after just two steps. She crashed to the floor, the impact sending fresh waves of agony through her side. Blood soaked through her bandages, warm and sticky against her skin. She was no Viltrumite if she couldn't take this simple pain.

But the strangled cry escaped her lips as she pressed her hand against the wound, crimson seeping between her fingers, vivid and alarming against her pale skin. The floor beneath her began to stain with dark droplets, her blood pooling on the worn wooden planks.

Cecil sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. His shoulders slumped slightly before he straightened again, "Always the hard way with you, isn't it?" He moved toward her, device in hand. "Don't worry. Soon enough, you won't remember any of this. A new collar will see to that."

Y/N's vision began to blur, darkness creeping in at the edges. A single tear slid down her cheek as she looked up at Cecil, her expression a mixture of defiance and despair. Blood continued to seep through her fingers, each heartbeat pushing more of her life force out onto the cabin floor. Her lips trembled with the effort of staying conscious.

The last thing she saw was Cecil standing over her, the teleportation device counting down to activation to teleport two beings. His thin face set in lines of grim determination, the blue light from the device casting ghostly shadows across his features.

Then, a crash as the cabin door burst open, the sound of splintering wood echoing in the small space.

"Get away from her." The voice was cold, utterly devoid of emotion—and yet, somehow, vibrating with barely contained rage.

Omni stood in the doorway, his red and white uniform splattered with dust and blood. His eyes, usually so calculated and distant, burned with an intensity that made him look almost feral. His hands, normally so steady and controlled, trembled slightly at his sides. The moonlight cast half his face in shadow, highlighting the rigid set of his jaw and the dangerous flash of his teeth.

Cecil froze, his face draining of color as he took in the sight of the Invincible variant. His eyes darted between Omni and Y/N, rapid calculations visible in his expression. The teleportation device beeped insistently in his hand, the countdown continuing, its blue light pulsing with increasing urgency.

"Look- You don't understand what you're interfering with," Cecil said, his voice steady despite the fear evident in his widened eyes. "Even if you're destroying our planet she… She belongs to the GDA. She's government property...Take everything else but her-"

Omni's nostrils flared, "She belongs to no one," he stated, each word precisely enunciated. He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "Especially not to someone who would collar her like an animal."

Y/N, still conscious but barely, watched the exchange through half-lidded eyes. Her breath came in shallow gasps, each one sending fresh spikes of pain through her body. The blood pooling beneath her felt warm, too warm—a stark contrast to the cold that seemed to be creeping through her limbs. Her vision tunneled, focusing on Omni's imposing figure, the red of his uniform seeming to blur and shift in the dim light.

Cecil's face hardened, his mouth a thin line of determination even though he could die at any moment. "I can't leave without her," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. 

"She's too valuable. The work we've done—" He broke off, glancing down at Y/N's prone form, his expression a mixture of scientific detachment and genuine concern. The lines around his eyes deepened, betraying a conflict behind his harsh exterior.

Omni moved with inhuman speed, crossing the room in a blur of motion. Before Cecil could react, Omni's hand closed around his throat, lifting the older man off his feet. The teleportation device clattered to the floor, its countdown still ticking, the blue light casting strange shadows across the cabin walls.

"Your work," Omni said, his voice still eerily calm despite the fury blazing in his eyes, "nearly killed her. The collar you designed—" He stopped, something flickering across his face—a memory, perhaps, of his own Y/N. His grip tightened momentarily before he seemed to regain control, his fingers adjusting with mathematical precision to maintain pressure without crushing Cecil's windpipe. "You will not take her. Not now. Not ever."

Cecil's face reddened as he struggled for breath, his hands clawing ineffectually at Omni's iron grip. "You... don't... understand," he gasped, his voice a raspy whisper. "Without... the collar... she's... unstable."

Y/N's eyes widened at this, a fresh surge of adrenaline clearing some of the fog from her mind. "Liar," she managed, her voice weak but clear. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she pushed herself up on one elbow, her face contorted with the effort. Her skin had taken on an alarming pale, making the blood on her lips stand out like crimson against snow. 

"The collar... was killing me. You knew... and you kept... pushing."

Omni's eyes flicked to Y/N, something softening in his gaze as he took in her bloodied form. The harsh detachment slipped for a moment, revealing raw concern beneath. His perfect posture faltered, a momentary slouch betraying his distress before he straightened again with a huff. 

Then his attention returned to Cecil, his expression hardening once more, eyes cold and calculating beneath the black lenes of his mask covering his eyes.

"I should kill you, slow… and painfuly, just like i’ve killed so many others" he stated, his tone suggesting he was merely making an observation. "It would be... logical. Efficient." His thumb pressed against Cecil's carotid artery with precise pressure, a demonstration of how easily he could end the older man's life with a flick of his thumb.

Cecil's eyes bulged, his face now purple from lack of oxygen. His feet kicked uselessly in the air, his hands still trying to break Omni's grip. The veins in his temples stood out prominently, throbbing with each desperate heartbeat.

Y/N watched, her vision swimming. Part of her—the part that remembered the pain, the experiments, the collar that had nearly killed her—wanted Omni to do it. To end Cecil's life and with it, the threat of returning to that existence. But another part, the part that still clung to some sense of who she had been before all this, couldn't bear to watch. Her eyes, though clouded with pain, retained a spark of humanity that she feared losing.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She coughed, the action sending fresh pain through her side, blood spraying from her lips in a fine mist. "Not... worth it."

Omni's head tilted slightly, considering her words. His grip on Cecil's throat loosened fractionally, allowing the older man to draw in a ragged breath. "He hurt you," Omni said, his voice so quiet only Y/N could hear it. For a moment, the mask of detachment slipped completely, revealing a depth of emotion that shocked her. His eyes, usually so cold, burned with a protective fury that bordered on madness. A muscle in his jaw worked silently, betraying the battle between logic and emotion raging within him.

"I know," Y/N acknowledged, her eyes meeting his beneath his mask. 

She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace, blood staining her teeth. "But I'm... not like him. Not yet." Her eyes pleaded with him, even as her strength began to fade. "Don't... become what he... thinks you are. You can be kind, I know you can."

Omni stood perfectly still for a long moment, his face a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Then, with a movement so sudden it was almost invisible, he hurled Cecil across the room. The older man crashed into the wall with a sickening crack, then slumped to the floor, unconscious but alive. A thin trickle of blood running from his receding hairline down his temple.

The teleportation device continued its countdown, the beeping more insistent now, the blue light pulsing faster.

Omni moved to Y/N's side, kneeling beside her with a grace that belied his power. His large hands, capable of such destruction, were gentle as they carefully lifted her. His face, usually so controlled, showed open concern as he took in the extent of her injuries. The front of her bandages was now completely soaked through with blood, the white fabric stained a deep crimson.

"You're bleeding heavily," he whispered, his voice soft once more, though his eyes betrayed his worry. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he saw the blood soaking through her bandages. "The fall reopened your wound...Y/n."

Y/N tried to respond, but the words wouldn't come. The room was spinning now, darkness encroaching on the edges of her vision. She felt Omni's arms around her, solid and warm, as he lifted her from the floor. His heartbeat, steady and strong against her cheek, was oddly comforting. He partially melted into her touch, cradling her with a tenderness that belied his fearsome reputation. He would keep her safe—this certainty radiated from him, wrapping around her like a protective shield.

"Stay with me," Omni commanded, his voice taking on a note of urgency that broke through his usual detachment. His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her breath catch. The black lenses of his mask couldn't hide the desperation in his gaze as he leaned closer, the harsh lines of his jaw tightening with concern. "Y/N, focus on my voice. Stay conscious."

Y/N tried to obey, but the darkness was too inviting, the pain too overwhelming. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, fluttering closed despite her best efforts. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, painting a crimson trail down her ashen cheek. The warmth of it contrasted sharply with the coldness creeping through her limbs.

The last thing she heard before unconsciousness claimed her was the urgent beeping of the teleportation device and Omni's voice, suddenly clear and filled with raw emotion, "I won't lose you. Not again." His large gloved hand cupped her cheek with surprising tenderness, thumb carefully wiping blood from her parted lips. The gesture was so gentle, so unlike the calculated precision with which he typically moved, that had she been conscious, it would have stunned her.

As darkness engulfed her senses, Y/N's mind spiraled into fever dreams. She felt herself being lifted, placed back on the old bed, the springs creaking beneath their combined weight. Through the haze of unconsciousness, she imagined Omni's voice, broken and desperate, "Stay with me Y/N... feel me... God, I—"

She felt his large hands guiding her legs around his hips as he leaned over her, his powerful frame encompassing her own. The heat from his body seeped through her clothes, warming her chilled skin. His presence was overwhelming, consuming her senses entirely.

"Stop me... Y/n, tell me to stop..." The words were a plea, not a command. His voice, usually so controlled, now ragged with need. A strangled groan escaped him as his head came to rest on her chest, between the valley of her breasts, his rough hair brushing against her suit. The friction sent unexpected sparks of pleasure coursing through her body.

He nuzzled closer, allowing her to feel the unmistakable hardness pressing between her legs. His hips rolled against hers with exquisite restraint, the motion so gentle yet devastating in its effect. Her body responded with an intensity that shocked her, a sensation she had never experienced before.

Y/N awoke with a startled gasp, her eyes flying open, heart hammering against her ribcage. Sunlight was barely peeking through the broken window, bathing the cabin in the golden light of sunrise. The dream's vividness left her disoriented, unsure of what was real and what wasn't.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, a flush spreading down her neck to her collarbone. Her mouth was dry, yet she felt an unfamiliar wetness between her legs, a persistent throb that confused her. As an experiment, these sensations were entirely new territory—her body responding in ways she didn't understand. She panted heavily, trying to calm her racing heart as she pushed the vivid images from her mind, focusing instead on the dull ache in her side.

When Y/N fully regained consciousness, the cabin was illuminated by the soft glow of dawn. Her side throbbed with a persistent ache, but the searing pain had subsided. She was back in the bed, fresh bandages wrapped tightly around her torso. The coppery taste of blood lingered in her mouth, but she felt stronger than before.

She wasn't alone. Omni sat in a chair beside the bed, his posture perfect even in repose. His uniform was still stained with dust and blood, suggesting he hadn't left her side since the confrontation with Cecil. He leaned over the bed, his arm on the edge, hands curled around each other as he pressed his forehead to his palms. His eyes were closed beneath his mask, but she could tell from the tension in his jaw that he wasn't sleeping. The muscles around his mouth twitched occasionally, betraying that his mind was far from restful. He had remained vigilant all night, watching over her with an intensity that spoke of something beyond mere duty.

"You stayed," she said, her voice raspy but stronger than it had been the night before.

Omni's eyes snapped open beneath the lenses, instantly alert. He straightened in the chair, shoulders squaring as if caught in a moment of weakness. He leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking beneath the shift in weight. His gaze swept over her with clinical precision, cataloging every detail of her condition. Something flickered across his face—relief, unmistakable and profound—before his features settled back into their usual controlled mask. The momentary softening around his eyes disappeared so quickly she might have imagined it.

His nose twitched slightly, nostrils flaring as he caught a scent. His eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch behind his mask, his head dipping to glance at her midsection then back to her face, a fleeting expression of surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features once more.

"It was the logical course of action," he stated, his voice neutral, though a slight tremor betrayed him. "Your condition was... unstable."

Y/N's lips curved into a small smile, her eyes softening as she looked at him. A stray lock of hair fell across her forehead, and she made no move to brush it away. "You can show me emotions," she hummed softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet cabin. "It's just you and me."

Something in her chest tightened as she realized she was beginning to feel drawn to this red and gray suited Invincible variant. Among all of them, he had been consistently the most protective, the most considerate of her wellbeing. Even now, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, as if restraining himself from reaching for her, spoke of a care that went beyond his calculated exterior.

Y/N tried to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured side. Fresh beads of sweat formed at her hairline from the effort, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she suppressed a groan. Omni's hand shot out, steadying her with surprising gentleness. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, his fingers warm against her skin.

He brushed his fingertips over her face, almost reverently, as if memorizing every feature. The pad of his thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone, his breathing noticeably changing—becoming deeper, more measured, as if he was fighting for control. When he finally pulled away, it seemed to require conscious effort, his hand retreating reluctantly.

"Cecil?" she asked, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what had happened after she lost consciousness. Her brow furrowed with concern, a vertical crease forming between her eyebrows.

Omni's expression darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The perfect line of his mouth tightened, eyes hardening behind his mask. "Gone," he said simply. "The teleportation device activated before I could disable it. He escaped with the collar fragments."

Y/N exhaled slowly, relief and dread mingling in her chest. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, pushing it away from her face. Her fingers trembled slightly with the lingering weakness from blood loss. "He'll be back," she said, her voice steady despite the fear churning in her stomach. Her pupils dilated slightly, the only visible sign of her anxiety.

"Yes," Omni agreed, his tone matter-of-fact. "That is the most probable outcome."

Y/N studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands. Despite his clinical demeanor, something about him seemed... different. Fractured, somehow. The perfect control he maintained seemed to be costing him more effort than usual.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, her eyes searching his face. "Why not let him take me? It would have been... logical." She used his own word deliberately, watching for his reaction, her head tilting slightly to one side.

Omni's eyes met hers, and for a moment, his mask slipped completely. The raw emotion in his gaze—grief, longing, determination—took her breath away. His perfect composure cracked, revealing the man beneath the calculated exterior. With deliberate movements, he reached up and removed the mask covering his eyes. The black lenses that had hidden his expression were gone, allowing Y/N to see the full intensity of his gaze.

His eyes were a startling blue, unlike the others; deep and clear as mountain lakes after a storm. They were red-rimmed from exhaustion, the skin beneath them slightly darkened, but they burned with an emotion that made her heart skip a beat. Long lashes framed those expressive eyes, a stark contrast to the hardness of his other features; his angular jawline, the straight nose, the firm set of his lips all softened by the naked emotion in his gaze.

"Because I watched you die once," he said, his voice low and intense, vibrating with suppressed emotion. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he continued, a muscle jumping beneath the skin as he stared at his hands. "I will not do so again."

The control that had been his hallmark was visibly slipping. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling more rapidly as emotions he'd kept buried threatened to surface. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking with the tension.

Y/N's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. The color drained from her face as understanding dawned.

"Your Y/N," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I only know from what Sinister said… But I want to hear from you, what happened to her?"

Omni's gaze dropped to his hands, which had curled into fists on his knees. The knuckles whitened with pressure, veins standing out prominently. When he looked up again, his expression was carefully controlled once more, though his eyes still burned with that same intensity.

"She had cancer," he said finally, each word seeming to cost him. "A human weakness I couldn't fight. I tried everything—" his voice caught, Adam's apple bobbing visibly as he swallowed. "Every treatment, every experimental procedure. I exhausted every resource at my disposal, but it wasn't enough."

His breathing quickened slightly, nostrils flaring with the effort of maintaining control. "My father... Omni-Man... he saw her as a distraction. A weakness. Because I spent more time with her than training. Learning." His eyes darkened with remembered rage, pupils contracting to pinpoints. "So he killed her."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. "Then I killed him," he finished quietly, his voice devoid of emotion once more. "And then... I became something else."

Y/N reached out, her hand covering his fist. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, and she felt him tense at the contact before slowly relaxing. The hard lines of his knuckles softened beneath her touch.

"I'm sorry," she said simply, her voice soft with genuine sympathy. Her eyes, though tired, were clear and compassionate as they met his. The skin around them crinkled slightly with the sincerity of her expression.

Omni looked at her hand on his, an expression of confusion and wonder crossing his face. His eyebrows drew together slightly, creating a small crease between them. "You are... different from her," he observed, his voice quiet. "More... resilient. Adaptable." His gaze returned to her face, studying her with newfound curiosity. The intensity in his eyes softened to something almost like admiration. "She was gentler. Less... combative."

Y/N smiled slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at her split lip. A small bead of blood welled up where the skin had cracked. She absently ran her tongue over the injury, tasting copper. "I'm not her," she said gently but firmly, her eyes never leaving his that were drawn to her lips. "Just as you're not my Mark... cause I don't have one."

Omni blinked, nodded slowly, accepting the truth of her words. "I am aware," he said, his voice regaining some of its clinical detachment, though his eyes remained unguarded. "Yet the similarities are... significant." The corner of his mouth twitched, almost forming a smile. "I- I want…Perhaps I could be... a new Mark in your life? Only yours."

Despite his dominant demeanor and controlled exterior, there was something vulnerable in the way he leaned toward her now, something almost submissive in his posture. As if beneath the calculating facade, he was desperate for her approval, her acceptance. His eyes, now unshielded by his mask, couldn't hide the truth—if she asked kindly, he would do anything she requested. He couldn't help but lean in closer, drawn to her by a need that transcended logic or reason.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she recognized the shift in his demeanor. This powerful being—capable of such destruction, so clinical and detached—was looking at her with a vulnerability that made her heart ache. The juxtaposition was striking, his imposing physique and the gentle way he now regarded her, like a fierce predator suddenly revealing its softer nature. She had no future with GDA anymore, these variants were about to become her only world.

"I'd like that," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet cabin. Her eyes dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before returning to meet his gaze, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

Something in Omni's expression changed—the last threads of his restraint visibly snapping. In one fluid motion, he moved from the chair to the edge of the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip. His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the outline of her bottom lip with exquisite gentleness.

"May I?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion, eyes searching hers for permission.

Y/N nodded, her lips parting slightly in anticipation. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a sensation both terrifying and exhilarating.

Omni's lips met hers with surprising tenderness. The contrast was striking—his lips soft and warm against her chapped ones. He kissed her as if she might shatter, his large frame hovering over her smaller one, careful not to put weight on her injured body. The scent of him filled her senses—clean sweat, leather from his uniform, and something distinctly male that made her head swim.

The kiss deepened slowly, his mouth moving against hers with careful precision. His tongue gently traced the seam of her lips, requesting entry rather than demanding it. When she parted them, he explored her mouth with the same methodical attention he brought to everything—learning what made her breath hitch, what drew small sounds from her throat.

His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, supporting her as their connection intensified. He tasted her split lip carefully, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the sweetness of their kiss. Y/N felt his chest rumble with a suppressed groan as she tentatively met his tongue with her own, her inexperience evident but her eagerness making up for it.

The controlled precision that defined his every movement was still present, but now channeled into something else entirely—each touch calculated to bring her pleasure without pain. His massive frame dwarfed hers as he moved closer, the bed creaking beneath their combined weight.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Omni immediately rested his forehead against hers. His usually stern face was transformed by a softness Y/N had never seen before. His lips were reddened and slightly swollen from their kiss, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded with a mixture of desire and wonder. A faint flush colored his high cheekbones, spreading down to disappear beneath the collar of his uniform.

"I never thought I'd feel this again," he whispered, his warm breath fanning across her face. "After she died, I locked everything away. Became... cold. Analytical." The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, self-deprecating smile that transformed his usually severe features. "Efficient."

Y/N's own face was flushed, her pupils dilated, lips parted and tingling from his attention. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath, the sensation of his kiss still lingering like an imprint on her skin.

"I noticed something earlier," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Your scent changed." His pupils dilated as he spoke, nearly eclipsing the blue of his irises. A slight crease appeared between his brows, his expression a mixture of scientific curiosity and unmistakable desire. "It was... intriguing."

Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion, her lips still tingling from his kiss. Her cheeks burned hotter, the flush spreading down her neck to the tops of her breasts visible above her torn clothing. "My scent?"

A small, genuine smile curved his lips—perhaps the first real smile she'd seen from him. It transformed his face completely, softening the hard angles and revealing a glimpse of who he might have been in another life, one with less pain and loss. The skin around his eyes crinkled, small lines appearing that spoke of smiles long forgotten.

"You were dreaming," he explained, his voice taking on a note of tender amusement. His thumb traced small circles against the nape of her neck, the sensation sending pleasant shivers down her spine. "Your body responded... physically."

Understanding dawned, and Y/N's face flamed with embarrassment. She tried to look away, but Omni gently cupped her cheek, guiding her face back to his. His palm was warm against her skin, his touch reverent.

"Don't be ashamed," he said softly, his expression earnest and open. His eyes, so startlingly blue, held no judgment—only fascination and something deeper, more primal. The hard line of his jaw had softened, his perpetual frown replaced by parted lips and gentle eyes. "It's natural. Beautiful, even." His eyes darkened with something like sadness, the corners turning down slightly. "They never let you experience this, did they? The GDA. They kept you from feeling... everything."

Y/N shook her head, her throat tight with emotion. "The collar suppressed everything," she whispered. "Emotions, sensations... they said it was necessary to control the Viltrumite abilities. To keep me stable."

Anger flashed in Omni's eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His nostrils flared, lips pressing into a thin line as his face hardened momentarily. "They lied," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "They feared what you might become if you were allowed to feel. To be whole."

His expression softened as he looked at her, the hard lines of anger melting away. The severe set of his mouth relaxed, his eyes warming from icy rage to tender concern. With careful movements, mindful of her injuries, he shifted to sit beside her on the bed, his back against the headboard. The mattress dipped under his considerable weight, the old springs protesting.

Gently, he slid one arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. He settled her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, his powerful arms creating a protective circle around her smaller frame. The warmth of his body seeped into hers, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her ear.

"Let me show you," he murmured against her hair, his lips brushing the top of her head. "Let me show you what it means to feel. Not just... physically." His voice dropped lower, the words rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. "Though I would very much like to explore that aspect as well, when you're healed."

Y/N relaxed against him, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear comforting. His fingers traced patterns on her arm, each touch sending small sparks of pleasure along her skin. The sensation was new, overwhelming in its intensity—without the collar, every nerve ending seemed hypersensitive.

"I'd like that," she whispered, turning her face up to his. Her eyes were bright despite her exhaustion, her lips curved in a small, shy smile. The pallor of her skin had given way to a healthier flush, color returning to her cheeks.

Omni's smile was gentle as he bent to press his lips to her forehead. His eyes closed briefly, thick lashes fanning against his cheeks as he savored the contact. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to touch anyone with tenderness, to feel anything beyond cold calculation and rage. The muscles in his face, usually so rigid with control, relaxed into an expression of profound relief.

"First, you must heal," he said, clinical pragmatism returning to his voice, though his eyes remained soft. "Your body needs time to recover."

But even as he spoke, his lips moved from her forehead to her temple, then down to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Y/N's breath hitched as he placed feather-light kisses along the column of her throat, each one sending a new wave of sensation through her body. His hot breath ghosted over her skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. The contrast between his clinical words and his tender actions drew a small, breathless laugh from her.

"Although," he murmured against her skin, his lips vibrating against her pulse point, "there are ways I can help you explore these new sensations without compromising your recovery."

His hand moved to cup her face, tilting it up so he could claim her lips once more. His large palm engulfed the side of her face, fingers threading into her hair as he pulled her closer. Their lips met with more urgency this time, his control slipping as he responded to her eager reciprocation. The kiss was deeper than before, more assured—his tongue sliding against hers in a dance that left her dizzy and wanting. His teeth gently captured her bottom lip, tugging slightly before releasing it to soothe the sting with his tongue.

Y/N's inexperienced movements were awkward at first, but she quickly learned to follow his lead, mimicking his actions. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into the taut muscle beneath his uniform. A small whimper escaped her throat as he angled her head to deepen the kiss further, his expertise evident in every calculated movement.

When they broke apart again, both flushed and breathing heavily, Omni's eyes had darkened to stormy blue. His carefully controlled exterior had cracked completely, revealing the raw need beneath. His hand trembled slightly as he brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear with surprising tenderness.

"Your Y/N," she began, her voice rough with emotion. "She never experienced this? With you?"

Omni's expression turned somber, a shadow passing over his features. The light in his eyes dimmed, his mouth turning down at the corners as painful memories resurfaced. His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the skin.

"No," he admitted quietly. "She wanted to wait. And I respected her wishes." His jaw tightened, grief and anger momentarily darkening his gaze. The veins in his temple became more prominent as his face hardened with suppressed rage. "Then my father killed her, and I lost my chance to show her how much I treasured her."

His eyes met Y/N's, fierce with a new determination. The blue of his irises seemed to glow with intensity, his gaze burning into hers. "I won't make that mistake again," he vowed. "If you'll allow it, I'll show you everything they denied you. Every sensation, every emotion. I'll help you discover what it means to truly live. Soon… I swear my dove."

The intensity of his gaze made Y/N's heart race. She reached up, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "I'm not her," she reminded him gently. "I can't replace what you lost."

"I know," he said, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. His lips lingered on her skin, warm and soft. "You're not a replacement. You're something new. Something... unexpected." His eyes softened as they studied her face, taking in every detail—the curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips, the flecks of color in her eyes. "Something precious. I want to move on, to start something new with you."

With careful movements, mindful of her injuries, Omni gently placed her back on the bed, moving to hover over her. His massive frame blocked out the light from the window as he positioned himself above her, his knees on either side of her hips, his weight supported on his forearms on either side of her head to avoid putting pressure on her wounded body. The bed creaked beneath them, protesting the shift in weight.

He began to explore her body with gentle touches. His lips traced a path from her mouth to her jaw, then down the sensitive skin of her neck. Each kiss was reverent, worshipful, as if he was mapping terrain he had dreamed of but never expected to discover. His stubble scraped lightly against her soft skin, the slight roughness a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

Y/N gasped as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his uniform. The sensations were overwhelming, unlike anything she had experienced before—without the collar suppressing her responses, her body reacted with an intensity that left her breathless.

"Beautiful," Omni murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating against her pulse point. His large body completely encompassed her smaller one, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room from her view. The size difference between them was stark—his hand alone could almost span her entire waist, his thigh thicker than both of hers combined. Yet there was no fear in her response to him, only wonder at the gentleness such strength could display.

"So responsive. So alive." His hand moved to rest at her waist, careful to avoid her bandaged wound. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin material of her clothing, branding her skin. "Tell me if anything hurts, if you want me to stop."

Y/N could only nod, words beyond her as his exploration continued. His hand skimmed up her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the outline of her ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, a touch so light it might have been accidental if not for the intent focus in his eyes as he gauged her reaction. Her breath caught, back arching slightly into his touch without conscious thought.

Omni watched her reactions with fascination, adjusting his approach based on the smallest change in her breathing or the subtle tensing of her muscles. His eyes, normally so cold and analytical, now burned with heat as he cataloged every gasp, every flutter of her eyelids, every unconscious movement of her body seeking more contact.

"They stole this from you," he whispered, his voice tight with anger as he looked up at her flushed face. A vein pulsed in his temple, his jaw clenching momentarily before he visibly forced himself to relax. "They denied you the most basic human experiences. The right to feel pleasure, to connect with another person… But it saved you for me, my dove."

Y/N caught his face between her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright with determination, her cheeks flushed with color that had nothing to do with her injuries. "Then help me reclaim it," she said, her voice stronger than it had been since her injury. Her eyes burned with determination, a new spark of life that had been missing before. "Help me discover what they took from me."

Something like awe crossed Omni's face as he looked at her. His eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise at her boldness. "You truly are remarkable," he said softly. "So different from her, yet just as captivating. Perhaps more so–No you are more."

He leaned in to kiss her again, this time with a passion that left no doubt of his intentions. His hand slid up her side, carefully avoiding her injury, coming to rest just below her breast. He paused there, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes. His red mask lay discarded at the edge of the bed—every emotion visible in his expressive eyes, the tense line of his jaw, the slight tremble of his lips.

Omni was on his hands and knees above her now, Y/N's body cradled between his powerful limbs. His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the window, casting his face in shadow except for the startling blue of his eyes. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, creating a cocoon that held just the two of them, separate from the world outside.

"May I?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. His hand hovering just below her breast, waiting for permission to continue. He wouldnt touch her out permission.

Y/N nodded, her lips parted in anticipation, eyes never leaving his. She reached up to touch his face, fingers tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, the stubble along his jaw. His skin was hot beneath her fingertips, flushed with desire. She couldn’t believe this was real.

Omni's hand moved higher, palm cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her top. His touch was gentle but assured, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak in a way that drew a gasp from her lips. His eyes darkened at the sound, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remained.

His other hand slid along her thigh, fingers tracing patterns on the fabric covering her leg. The heat of his palm seeped through the material, warming her skin. His touch was purposeful yet hesitant, as if fighting against his own desires to ensure he didn't hurt her.

Just as his hand began to move higher up her thigh, the cabin door burst open with a splintering crack. Wood fragments scattered across the floor as the door nearly ripped from its hinges. The silhouette of the form panting, hissing with anger.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD OMNI–!”

––––––––––

☆ Hehe~ Cliffhanger (∩˃o˂∩)

☆ If you couldn't tell, I might have a favorite variant... hehe well, I have 3, but it's so hard to incorporate all of them equally. Omni seemed the wisest choice to be y/n's first kiss (ㅅ´ ˘ `) my boi was desperate for his Pookie

☆ Sad to say, I won't be posting for a while, I need a break after this grind, lol !!Pt.6!!

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

[acapelladitty]

I need Cooper Howard leaving bruises and marks on a partner for reasons. Marking up his girl all pretty like~

Mornings Echo

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

(tw for: rough handling, grinding, biting, threats of violence, skin marking, groping, filthy talk, mild nipple play, jealousy, possessive behaviour) [1.6k words]

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Crashing through the thin wooden door of the shed, a splintering noise squealed free of the old planks as Cooper kicked them shut with an aggressiveness that made your heart flutter. Random tools lined the wall opposite you, the wall to your back completely clear of debris, and a cheeky comment about his actions died in your throat as you quickly found yourself slammed against that same wall with a single fluid shove.

Stars dancing before your eyes as a surprised gasp fills the small area, your body remains stunned for a moment as Cooper stands before you, his hand still pressing harshly into your shoulder as he stares down at you with most of his features hidden by the shadows of his hat. You wrap a hand around his wrist, fingers clawing into the leather coat as you grip at him with equal aggression.

"Fucking ouch." You hiss, attempting to stamp at his foot with the ball of your own as petty revenge guides your movements. "The hell was that for?"

"Ain't sensible to tease a man like that." His eyes ablaze, the anger in Cooper's features is different to his usual rage as something much more muted yet complicated touches at the way his eyes narrow and his face tilts. "It'll get you into the kinda trouble I don't think you're ready to handle."

Tease?

A confused look furrows your brow.

Fresh off an exchange of caps for meds, you hadn't actively payed him enough attention during the transaction to tease him. All you had done was-

Oh.

Ah.

The trader, a lecherous old fuck with jerky fingers and a face that vaguely resembled rotten jelly, had shown an obvious interest in you that hadn't went unnoticed by yourself or, apparently, Cooper.

Never one to pass up the chance for a better deal, your rejections of his advances had been much less violent than you would have liked; but the resulting tolerance of the lingering touches he delivered with his disgusting hands has ensured an extra few capsules tossed in to the exchange.

So no, this wasn't anger that was pinning you to the wall.

This was jealousy.

"You're jealous." You accuse, never one to back down from the truth as his mouth visibly tightens in irritation at the words. "You didn't like me letting that filthy motherfucker think he had a chance! Damn, Cooper, didn't think it was that serious."

"You're free to do what you like and I don't pay your intentions no never mind. But what I can't abide is folks touching things that ain't theirs."

"I ain't anyone's." You reply, matching his tone and accented words with a mocking quality as your free hand shifts up to poke rudely at his chest. "So you can shove that possessive shit right up your ass until it comes pouring out of your jealous mouth."

He's on you in a flash, his quick movements catching you unaware as you squeak out your surprise once more. His mouth is hot against your own, forcing your lips open to claim his prize and steal a filthy kiss which he didn't deserve. A fact you make him more than aware of as you bite down on his lower lip with enough pressure to make him pull away, hissing violently and cursing you out as he does.

"You sure you ain't feral, darling? Biting like a rabid bitch? Better check to make sure."

His gloved hand forces itself within your shirt, accidentally ripping the top button free as it bounces along the floor to disappear under some dusty shelves. It does nothing to deter him though as his fingers drop enough to grope roughly at your left tit, pulling it free of your shirt as your feeble protests die in your throat - heated arousal making any denials difficult.

Fuck- you loved him like this. All business and action, decisive and determined. It was an attitude that had left you screaming louder than the wild dogs which roamed the abandoned wastelands.

Cowboy hat still lovingly perched atop his head, his face dips to your chest to replace his hand and blunted teeth roll across your nipple, the nub quickly peaking due to the cruel attention. His other hand still on your shoulder, both of your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him closer as he steals the breath from your throat.

Wordlessly panting, a low grunt escapes you as his teeth sink in to the flesh just to the side of your nipple - the skin there feeling sensitive and raw as he sucks it into his mouth, his intent to leave a livid mark in its wake clear. It's an uncomfortable sensation but hot as hell as you rub your thighs together, feeling the growing moisture there with a lightheaded frenzy making your thoughts fuzzy.

"Fuck, Cooper. You're gonna tear a chunk from me."

"A mighty fine idea. Maybe I will." He mutters into your breast before righting himself, looming to his full height once more. "I bet you'd taste just fine, all raw and bloody. Wouldn't even need to season you like all the others."

Grimacing at his cannibalistic tendencies, a facet of his personality that you didn't indulge in with quite as much enthusiasm, you glance down at the red mark on your chest - the imprint of his teeth visibly denting into the abused skin as Cooper continued.

"I'm sure I also saw that chunky son of a bitch eyeing up your neck so let's see if I can leave an impression there too."

Again moving too quickly for you to protest, Cooper presses his body into your own in such a way that you are utterly unable to move; trapped beneath his heated frame and the definite scent of leather and coppery blood which never seemed to leave him. He wasn't a jealous man typically but you were eager and more than interested in seeing how far this little game would go.

His roughened tongue licks across your pulse point, tasting the accrued sweat and grime which coats your skin and the wet sensation forces a shudder to run down your spine. He could say what he liked, but when it came to being a tease, he would always be the offending party. He seemed to delight in pushing your buttons with casual, lewd comments and finding particular ways of brushing his body against your own - regardless of who was around to witness it.

Tilting your neck to allow him easier access, he accepts the small boon with enthusiasm as his teeth join his tongue in marking up your skin. Soft kisses are interspersed with savage, quick snaps of his teeth and the dual sensations of pain and pleasure are almost enough to drive you insane as you writhe against him. Taking the hint, he pushes his knee between your legs and you instantly start to grind against his thigh - the stimulation enough to allow you to endure the rough treatment of your neck.

Your hand drops to his groin, cupping his hardened length through his trousers as he growls his appreciation into your skin.

"I think I like you when you're jealous." You taunt. "Maybe I should- fuck, Coop!" You cut off as he bites you once more, this time over the sensitive juncture where your neck meets the shoulder. "Maybe I should make you jealous more often."

"Dangerous game, sweetie." He rumbles in response, running his teeth along your earlobe. "I'm being Mr. Nice at the moment and marking up my property just a little bit, but there's always other ways to get the same results."

"Mmm, and what are you going to do, cowboy? Pulling at his head until he was facing you once more, the jealousy in his eyes is replaced by a burning arousal which you knew meant you were in for a solid ride. "Gonna rustle me up in that lasso of yours? Ride off with me in tow."

"Lasso's too nice for one as fiesty and spirited as you. Won't do shit. Any good rancher knows that a quick brand," his hand drops to your chest once more as his fingers poke at the sensitive mark he had suckled into the skin earlier, "would be best at reminding you who you belong to."

Already littered with scars and markings which showcased your journey through the wastelands better than any story could, the thought of a brand wasn't as off-putting as you might have thought and you rub as his cock with renewed vigour through his trousers as you give a contemplative hum.

"Sounds hot. Maybe if you're good and fuck me til I forgive that little shove into the wall," you lean into him and run your own teeth against his ear, "I'll even think about it, handsome."

[xsister-serpent]

The Offer

Summary: Y/N, a Kryptonian, encounters Conquest, a Viltrumite warrior, on a earth. They engage in a tense exchange, testing each other’s mental strength and resolve. Despite their differences, an unexpected bond forms between them, leading to a new alliance.

Warnings: Cursing/ MDNI 18+/

Info: Words 2,554 / Author's Note at end /

Y/N had felt it before she had seen it. A ripple in the air. Not like a Kryptonian. Not like anything from this planet.

As the figure slowed, its silhouette took shape—a man, clad in white armor with deep gray accents, the sigil on his chest foreign but unmistakably worn with pride. A Viltrumite.

Y/N brow furrowed. She had read about them, heard whispers from her own people patrolling deep space. A warrior race, a civilization built on conquest. Y/N had fought many powerful beings before, but this was different. The moment their eyes met, she understood.

This man wasn’t powered by the sun. He wasn’t drawing from an external source. The strength, the durability, the sheer presence—it was all just him.

The Viltrumite hovered, analyzing her with the same intensity. A smirk tugged at the stranger’s lips, as if he had come to the same realization.

"You’re not human," the Viltrumite finally said, voice rich with confidence.

You glanced up at the older viltrumite and taking a stance.

“Neither are you.”

You could see his dead eye lock onto you with a sort of curiousness.

He chuckles to himself as he hovers around inspecting you.

"You really do have guts don’t you? Most aliens would be shaking in their shoes just being in the presence of a Viltrumite." He circles you around inspecting your body language and physique, the way you stood, the way you talked.

"So, what’s your name?” He asks in a mocking, condescending tone. His eyebrow raised as he continues to circle around you like he’s trying to find a weak spot.

You exhaled slowly and rose up to met him, his face looked a bit shocked to say the least.

“I’m not human..” You answered him meeting his steel gaze with your own, “It’s..Y/N.”

His eyes go wide as he takes a closer look at you, your body, your facial features, everything. His steel gray eyes lock into your own gaze.

"You’re an alien aren’t you?" He asks, his tone serious and mocking to say the least, his thick white mustache moving as he does so. “What is it? Martian? No..” He circles around you again, his eyes narrowing as he studies you.

You allowed him to observe me but you watched him closely, your eyes going to his partially missing arm.

“Kryptonian,” You answered him, “Our..people go way back.”

He raised an eyebrow, his mocking and condescending tone gone now as he studied you closely. "Kryptonian?" He says with a scoff, "I have to admit, you’re the first one I’ve met."

He circles around once more observing your Kryptonian physique and your powerful stance, his eyes landing on your clenched fist.

"I’ve heard of your kind." He says, his tone slightly changing as he does so. "Powerful… indestructible."

“That I am,” You replied watching him more intently now, “And what is your name?”

He stops in front of you, his feet hovering just above the ground. "My name’s Conquest." He says, his tone now slightly different than before.

He looks you up and down one more time, his furrowed eyebrow now relaxed as he observes you even closer.

Your walls didn’t go down but there was a sort of..stillness between the pair of you.

“Conquest,” You replied back.

That wasn’t a name. Your eyes went to his flesh scared face his one white eye and other brown shining almost curiously under the sky.

He stood there just staring at you intently, the stillness in between the two of you almost deafening.

The way you said his name sent a shiver down his spine, he was used to people being afraid of him, scared of him, running from him…

But you.

You weren’t like that. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something different about you. Conquest’s face hardens but his gaze relaxes as his eyes meet yours.

You notice it was only him here..

A lone soldier..

“They only sent one??” You questioned him, “There’s usually more..”

He smirks to himself as he folds his arms across his wide barrel chest. "You’re a smart one aren’t you?" He say with a scoff, his smirk still on his face.

He looks around the area, taking in your surroundings as his smirk fades. "It’s just me. They didn’t think they needed anyone else… but now I’m not so sure." He says with a chuckle.

You rose a brow, folding yours arms as seeing him smirk??

“Huh,” You mused hovering in mid air, “I can’t harm you, you know that right? The truce between your people and mine.”

It was a royal decree of sorts since the first war. Killing two powerful races with mindless bloodshed was a waste.

He rolls his eyes as his smirk fades away, his expression turning serious.

"Of course I know." He says with a scoff and a sigh, "It’s a mutual feeling I’m sure every Viltrumite has when they find out that a Kryptonian is around."

His eyes scan you top to bottom once again, "You’re different though, I’ll give you that much."

You tilted your head with a slight grin.

“Careful sounds like you’re trying to woo me there, Conquest.”

His face stiffens as his eyes widen slightly, he didn’t expect that.

"Woo you?" He asks with a scoff, "I’m not trying to ‘woo’ anyone. Especially not a Kryptonian."

He folds his arms across his chest, but his expression softens slightly as he looks at you.

"Don’t get any funny ideas."

You zoned on your hearing however as his heart was beating A bit quicker.

“And yet..your heart is beat a bit more faster.”

You watched him again as your gaze at his white eye once more.

He looks a bit flustered as you mention his heartbeat. He never expected anyone, let alone a Kryptonian, to be able to pick up on that.

He composes himself as his expression hardens once more, "I have no idea what you’re talking about." He says defensively, but his face gives away a hint of a blush.

He sees you looking at his white eye and averts his gaze for a moment. "What’s with you anyways? Why are you staring at my eye like that?“

“I’m curious about you, I’ve only seen two viltrumites in my years here. One being Nolan and the other his son..but you..” You paused as your curiosity peak again.

Why was taking a curious to this one..this older man..

He stands there in slight confusion as you say that. He doesn’t expect you to be curious about him of all people.

He feels a slight rush of pride, knowing that you’re taking a curiosity to him, but he keeps his guard up nonetheless.

"You’re taking a curiosity to me?" He asks with a scoff, "Why exactly? I’m just another Viltrumite. There’s nothing special about me. "

“No, your scars say different..” You spoke softly..a bit more softly than intended to.

He’s taken aback for a moment, he didn’t expect that sort of reply from you. He stands there for a moment, his expression softening slightly, before hardening once more.

"My scars?” He repeats, his voice a bit more quieter than usual. “You’re curious about my scars?”

He doesn’t know what exactly, but there was something about the way you said it. He’s felt…seen.

"Why? They’re just scars." He says, trying to brush it off, but his tone betraying him.

You wanted to take a small pace forward. But he looked, skittish now. Like a wounded animal. You cleared your throat and looked at him once more.

“A testimony,” You replied.

Your attention the went to your home feeling a sort of sadness, “You mean to destroy this planet?"

His face hardens once more, he sees the sadness in your face as you say that last sentence.

"I do what must be done." He says with confidence, but at the same time, a certain melancholy to his voice now.

He sees you looking at the house and understands what’s going through your mind right now, a memory resurfacing in his own mind.

"...for my people." He says, this time with a much more resolute tone

A tightness came over your chest as you looked at your house once more. Sure You didn't have emotional ties to this planet, in fact it was all going to hell sooner than later.

"I..I have no where else to go," You admitted looking away.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, his expression remains stone cold as he tries his best not to let his curiosity take the best of him.

He turns his stare away as a flash of guilt washes over him for a split second, but he quickly shakes it off.

"Why do you care so much about this planet?" He asks with a cold tone in his voice, "What does this waste of a planet have to offer?"

A light scoff left you as you furrowed your brow.

"I don't have emotional ties to this planet, I just finally settled into a home."

It's not like You were the last kryptonian in the universe but you kept yourself hidden, You managed to keep up the walls around yourself and now here was this viltrumite, destroying the foundation.

"It gets..tiresome starting again," You mumbled.

He looks at you for a moment, the emotion evident in your expression as you speak.

"You're tired, aren't you?" He asks with a stern tone, but his eyes are much softer than his voice.

"I can relate to that." He continues, this time a more empathetic tone to his voice, "But I have a duty to my people."

He steps back a bit, giving you some space.

"I can give you a choice. You can join me, or you can stay here and let this planet die."

My face collapsed in almost a shock. Conquest did not hold back, his attitude and stature matched that much.

"You let join you?" You asked him, "As what? A pet, a slave???"

It was suspicious enough that a viltrumite would even offer Kryptonian this.

He lets out a small chuckle as you say that, a bit of humor in his tone as he speaks.

"A slave?" He asks with a scoff, "No, not a slave. A mate."

He continues, "You've proven yourself to be worthy of my attention. I don't often offer this choice to people, but I am offering it to you. It's a great honor to be given this choice, not many get it."

It had clicked as you understood what he meant. He wanted..you, as companion..or in his words. A mate..

"You certainly are forward aren't you?" You replied as you looked at your home once more then to him.

He nods slowly, his expression now a bit softer as he sees you considering his offer.

"I am a Viltrumite, I am direct and to the point. I know what I want and I try to get it as quickly as possible. And what I want right now, is you."

He folds his arms, waiting for you to consider your options. It’s obvious he’s serious about this, a rare thing for a Viltrumite to be sure.

"I see," You answered as he hovered a bit closer to you.

With a exhale you held out your hand, "Very well."

His smirk turns into a small smile as he sees you hold out your hand. He hovers down a bit closer to you, his own hand out to grab yours.

He takes your hand in his own, his grip firm but not too tight. There’s a sense of gentleness in his touch.

“Deal.” He says with a nod, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity you haven’t seen before.

It was almost uncharacteristic feeling his touch over my hand, but it quickly left. You composed yourself, "Do you mind if I leave the planet so you can..do what you do?"

He let out a scoff and a chuckle as he let go of your hand, his hand dropping to his side.

"No, I don’t mind if you leave the planet." He said with a smirk, "I’ll be done here soon enough, then I’ll come find you."

With a nod as you flew a paces back.

"See you up there."

With a sonic boom you shot up into the atmosphere feeling your clothes burn in through the layer until you were only in a bra and black boxers briefs.

"Shit," You sighed in annoyance looking at your pale skin. You watched stoically as the planet below being..well..desolated. Soon enough you saw a figure appear, it was Conquest. His face red and bloodied. That wasn't his blood..not in slightest.

Conquest flew up into space, his white Viltrumite armor stained crimson and his face bloody. He saw you waiting for him, his intense gaze fixated on you.

A sense of relief washed over him as he spotted you, his tense shoulders relaxing a bit. He took a deep breath and hovered over to you, his eyes boring into yours.

"You actually stayed, hm?" He said with a scoff, a smirk appearing on his face. "I thought you'd leave and I'd have to chase you down."

You made your lips into a fine line and glanced at him, "I'm not really in the mood to be chased. Especially like this. Do you have a cape I can wear? My human clothes burned up.."

He looks you up and down, noticing the absence of your clothes. He let out a scoff and a chuckle, amused at your current state.

"A cape?" He repeats, his smirk widening as he hovers in front of you. "Sure, I have a cape you can wear."

He takes off his now bloodied stained Viltrumite cape, now only wearing his white spandex suit. He hands it over to you, his gaze still on you.

You took the battle worn cape fastening the cape over your shoulders.

"Thanks."

You glanced at the now desolated planet with a soft sigh. You knew where you would follow him next. It was a place that wouldn't entirely welcomed you but not entirely shunned you. Planet Viltrum.

He watched you wrap the cape around yourself, his gaze still fixed on you. There was a strange feeling in his chest as he looked at you.

He followed your gaze to planet Viltrum and let out a scoff.

"You know where we’re going, don’t you?" He asked, his tone slightly different than before. He knew it was his home, but he didn't know how you'd feel about it.

You nodded as clutched onto the cape seeing that planet in the far off distance. You inhaled a breath of courage.

"You promise to not let them break the treaty?" You questioned him, searching for any hint of dishonesty.

He turns his gaze to you, his eyes locking onto yours. There's a seriousness and a sense of determination in his gaze.

"I promise I won't let them break the treaty," He says firmly and without hesitation. "You have my word."

He hovers closer to you, his white spandex suit almost touching the white Viltrumite cape wrapped around you.

With a exhale of unease you followed his lead, keeping yourself close to him as we flew toward planet viltrum.

You landed on the cold steel. The planet was beautiful not doubt, clean, untouched, but cold..unfeeling. A group of viltrumites gathered their cold gazes landing on you then Conquest. Like a part of the sea all the viltrumites parting making a path for Conquest. Not just out of respect but of..fear.

A.N: Well You guys asked for this and here it is. I know everyone wanted to have this. Maybe smut for a possible part 2? Photos I found on google and gif found on here.

Banner by: bernardsbendystraws

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I know you? Part 2

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: Jason, not Red Hood, “checks” on you. Cue the shortest/ longest conversation you have had with the man.

Or in other words, is this flirting?

Notes: There is no planned plot for this if anyone can tell. Just running on vibes.

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Masterlist

Your presumption of a long night was regrettably accurate. The annoyance of it all makes you want to chuck your alarm against the wall. But alas, being an adult mattered more and you need money, so work it is. You pray for it to be a busy day so you can forget your embarrassment from the night before.

Clocking into work makes you confident in the fact that it will be busy. You slide into your routine as a waitress at Jackie’s Books and Coffee, greeting customers and delivering drinks and pastries to them. You chat with a few of the regulars as they come in, and you listen as they yap about their lives. As you make another round, you greet another regular.

His name was Jason and that’s all you really knew. He wasn’t like many of the other customers who liked to talk about anything and everything to you. He usually only got coffee and read a book. The one time he did actually talk to you was when you mentioned you had never read a Jane Austen book. It was like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He ranted at you for 15 minutes about it and you didn’t have the heart to step away. He was cute when he was passionate.

He sat down at his usual table and pulled out a book. You went to work with his order, he always got the same thing. You sat the cup in front of him and asked, “What’s the book for the day?”

You try to glance at the cover but find the front cover blank, a fancy hardcover. Not finding the answer there you meet his gaze to wait for his response. You're startled for a moment by the familiarity of his features. Of course, his features were familiar to you, he was a regular but there was something different this time around. A scar on his lip and his cheek-

“Dracula” your thoughts are cut off by his voice, suddenly strangely familiar too, and you focus in on the conversation.

You smile, “I actually have read that one.”

You are half tempted to add, might be better than Jane Austen, but you decided you still want to work for the next half hour. You settle on, “Hollywood definitely got that one wrong, so much for the undead being sexy.” You joke.

His laugh comes out a little startled and you’re proud of the accomplishment. He usually looks so sullen in his corner booth, although that might just be because he’s so focused on his book.

“I don’t know, Hollywood might be onto something.” He says it like it’s an inside joke, but you feel like you missed the punchline.

“Maybe,” you say with a polite laugh, “Did you want anything else?” you ask.

He shakes his head. Not a huge shocker, he never wants anything but his drink and his book.

“Just let me know if you do.” You walk away slowly as you try to push down the weird familiar feeling you’re having all of a sudden. You check in with a few customers and, with a lull in commotion you settle into a chair next to the register. Bless Jackie for having one, your feet slowly starting to ache as the end of your shift draws near. Darla, one of the other waitresses comes to stand close to you. She leans in with a conspiratory look.

“So, you get his number?” she questions, her Gothamite accent heavy. Your head whips to look at her and you almost knock noses.

“What?” you try to keep your tone neutral, but your tone pitches up. Her lips twist into a grin and you’d think it evil if you didn’t already know her. Darla was nearly 50 years old, and she reminded you of a self-proclaimed “Fun Aunt” who liked to be in on all the gossip and had no sense of personal space. She had been goading you to date someone, anyone, just so she could be all up in your business. Because according to her, you were the most boring person she’d ever met.

“The hottie, did you get his number?” she asks again as she pulls out a compact mirror to brush some fly-aways from her face.

“First of all, I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” You do but that’s neither here nor there. “Second, you can’t just call customer’s Hotties, Darla, that weird.”

She scoffs and snaps her compact closed. “All right, Scarface over there. Did you get his number?”

You practically jump at her to cover her mouth. “Darla!”

She pushes your hand away with a grin. “Don’t worry Baby doll. It makes him look hot in a rugged way.”

“Darla, I swear-“you're cut off by a throat clearing. You turn to see a college student awkwardly waiting at the register. Your face flushes and you drop your hands from Darla and through on a customer service smile.

“Hi, sorry about that. How can I help you?” You manage to stay away from Darla for the rest of your shift, checking on customers probably more than necessary.  It's 5 o’clock when your shift finally ends. You brush by Darla to clock out and she follows you.

“You gonna answer my question or not?” Ever persistent for an older woman.

“No, Darla, I did not get Jason’s number” You pointedly use his name, so she won’t use Scarface or Hottie again.

“Oh, First name basis.” She teases.

You roll your eyes and pull off your apron to hang it up. You turn and look at her.

“Goodbye Darla,” you say sweetly with a too cheesy smile. It's her turn to roll her eyes as she goes back to work. You collect your purse and jacket and head for the front door of the shop. The early fall weather not having kicked in yet, you carry your jacket on your arm. Focused on pulling your purse over your head, you nearly run into a mass.

“Oh Sorry,” you say as you take a step back.

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have bullied my way in front of you.” A deep voice speaks. You look up and meet blue-green eyes. Jason.

“I hardly think someone so passionate about Jane Austen could do any Bullying” You see Jason flush a little at the comment but don’t say anything. He holds the front door open for you. You thank him as you hurriedly shuffle through the open door. He follows you out onto the warm sidewalk. Assuming your conversation is done you head down the sidewalk with your arms crossed in front of you holding your jacket. As you walk you become very conscious of the man next to you. You glance at him curiously but don’t comment.

You take your time walking with him silently. You're not in a rush to get home, darkness still a few hours away. You should be worried. You’re not though. Jason has never struck you as a bad guy. Call it energy or vibe or what have you (ranting about Jane Austen). He just wasn’t bad. Intimidating? Yes, but not bad. As you walk you give some subtle side glances. He was very… Large. You didn’t know how else to describe him. Nearly a whole head taller than you and muscular. Yeah, he could definitely pick you up and carry you. You flush, not that that mattered. Your eyes get drawn back to his face. You know those scars; you swear up and down that it's not just because he’s a regular. They’ve never stuck out to you like this, and you can’t figure out why. In your (not so) subtle side-eye, you meet his gaze. He’s already smiling at you, but you don’t linger on it dropping your gaze to the concrete.

“Heading home?” He asks, tilting his head toward you.

You look up to meet his gaze, intense in the stare and unsure if he's just like that or dissecting you. This is the longest amount of time you’ve spent actually near him without tending to customers.

“Uh, yeah?” you ask yourself. Of course, you're going home; where else would you go? But why would you tell him that? You don’t think Jason would do anything bad to you; he is still, at most, an acquaintance, and you don’t really know him. (Not that it matters considering you let a literal stranger into your home the night before.) If he senses your hesitation and worry, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I wish I was.” He admits but quickly adds on, “Going to my home, not yours. That would be weird, I don’t really know you.” His voice drops quieter as he trails off. He rubs at the back of his neck, a light flush on his cheeks. The man in a flustered state must give you some courage.

“Yeah, that would be weird,” you tease, “Although maybe not a bad thing.” You quiet for a moment and think is this good flirting?

“If you're not going home, then where are you going?” You ask both curious about the answer and if it’ll explain why he's still walking with you.

His flush darkens and he mumbles for a moment and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Leather Jacket…

“Family required dinner,” he says it like it’s the worst thing in the entire world, sitting next to nuclear weapons and climate change.

“That sounds fun” You try to keep a neutral tone because a family dinner does sound fun, to you, but he, apparently, thinks otherwise.

“Oh, loads of it,” he says with a scowl.

You decide a variety of things at that moment. First, he was unfairly attractive. Scowling should not look that good. Second, you want to stop him from scowling, a sadness sitting just behind his eyes. Thirdly, Darla was, unfortunately, correct. You should get this guy's number.

“at least tell me there's dessert.” You ask teasingly. Your inquiry is enough to chase away the scowl and you smile at the fact.

“Only the best homemade cookies in existence” he responds with a smile.

“At least there's something good.” You slow your walk as you come to the corner where your apartment building sits. You don’t want to give away that you live here, but you don’t want to start wandering around the streets of Gotham with him either. As it turns out, your overthinking is unnecessary.

“This is me.” He states as he walks to a parked motorcycle right in front of the building. You can't help but stare.

“Will you make it home safe all alone?” he asks like he already knows the answer. It takes you a moment to answer, distracted as he pulls a helmet out of the back seat of the bike, preparing to put it on. The leather made more sense now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, it'll be no problem. I don’t live far.” You gesture further down the street, where you definitely did not live. He nods and smiles knowingly as he slips the helmet on.

“Okay see you later, sweetheart.” He says as he slings a leg over the bike, starting. You stare, again, at the denim of his jeans stretching over his legs nicely. He gives you a wave before taking off down the street, turning a corner. You stand and stare at the spot he had just been for much longer than you should have. You let a quiet “Bye” leave your lips despite him being long gone.

You finally turn around to your apartment building. How convenient that was. You pet one of the stray cats that sit on the steps as you climb them and enter the building, thinking Am I missing something?

Other Note: Thank you for all the love for the first part. It inspired me to keep going. I hope this makes some kind of sense.

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (4)

Transforming your bathroom into a luxurious retreat doesn't have to be daunting, especially with the timeless elegance of black marble. The deep, rich tones of black marble not only exude sophistication but also create a striking contrast that can elevate any space. In this blog post, we will explore the allure of a black marble bathroom, highlighting how this dramatic feature can infuse modern elegance into your home.

Black Marble Bathroom

The black marble bathroom is a stunning choice for those looking to create a sophisticated and luxurious space. This bold design element can transform an ordinary bathroom into an exquisite sanctuary. The rich tones and unique veining of black marble bring an air of elegance and style that is both timeless and contemporary.

When incorporating black marble into your bathroom, consider options such as black marble countertops, vanity tops, and even accent walls. The contrast against lighter colors can create a striking and dramatic effect, making your space feel more expansive and well-defined.

One of the key benefits of a black marble bathroom is its versatility. It pairs beautifully with a variety of materials, such as brushed gold or chrome fixtures, and complements different color palettes, from soft whites to vibrant jewel tones. This adaptability allows homeowners to personalize their space while maintaining a cohesive look.

There are various finishes available for black marble, each offering a unique aesthetic. A polished finish provides a sleek, glossy surface that reflects light beautifully, while a honed finish delivers a more understated, matte look that can soften the overall appearance of the bathroom.

Lighting plays a crucial role in showcasing the beauty of a black marble bathroom. Consider installing ambient lighting to highlight the natural veins and texture of the black marble. Additionally, task lighting around mirrors can enhance visibility and add warmth to the space.

To add depth and interest, incorporate other design elements that create contrast and texture. For example, pairing black marble with wooden accents can create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Textiles such as plush towels and bath mats in lighter shades can also soften the overall look.

With its rich aesthetic and timeless appeal, a black marble bathroom is more than just a design choice; it’s an opportunity to create a luxurious retreat in your home. Whether you’re planning a complete renovation or simply looking to refresh your existing space, integrating black marble can elevate your bathroom to new heights.

Modern Marble Bathroom

When it comes to designing a modern marble bathroom, the emphasis is on clean lines, minimalistic features, and the striking appeal of marble. This luxurious stone, often associated with opulence, can elevate your bathroom space into a sanctuary of relaxation.

One of the defining characteristics of a modern marble bathroom is the color palette. While many opt for classic whites and creams, darker shades like black or gray marble create a bold statement. Black marble, with its rich depth and unique veining, can transform traditional notions of bathroom design, making it a chic and contemporary choice.

A key feature in a modern marble bathroom is the seamless integration of marble into various elements, from countertops to flooring. Large format tiles have become increasingly popular, creating a sense of space and continuity. Pairing these tiles with elegant fixtures and understated accessories enhances the overall aesthetic without detracting from the beauty of the marble.

Vanities in a modern marble bathroom often showcase the stone’s natural patterns, turning functional furniture into a visual centerpiece. Choosing sleek hardware and soft-close drawers can maintain a streamlined look, while integrated lighting adds warmth and sophistication.

For those seeking to add a touch of personality, consider incorporating wood elements or contrasting materials like glass. These choices balance the heaviness of marble with lightness, making the bathroom feel both inviting and serene.

Incorporating plants or greenery can breathe life into the cool, polished surfaces of a modern marble bathroom. Strategic placement of greenery not only adds color but also promotes a calming environment.

Lastly, don’t forget about the practicality of maintaining your modern marble bathroom. While marble is undeniably glamorous, it requires regular sealing and care to keep it in pristine condition. Choosing the right products for cleaning and maintenance will ensure your marble retains its beauty for years to come.

Bathroom Marble Design

When it comes to creating a luxurious and sophisticated space, bathroom marble design stands out as an exceptional choice. Marble is known for its timeless beauty, variety, and ability to elevate the overall aesthetic of any bathroom. In this section, we will explore some key elements and ideas related to bathroom marble design.

Choosing the Right Marble

One of the first steps in bathroom marble design is selecting the right type of marble. From classic white Carrara to striking black marquina, the options are abundant. Each type of marble comes with its unique veining and color variations, allowing you to match the marble to your personal style. Consider how different marbles will interact with your bathroom's lighting and the overall color scheme to create the desired atmosphere.

Incorporating Patterns

Another exciting aspect of bathroom marble design is the ability to incorporate patterns. Marble can be cut and laid out in various patterns like herringbone, checkerboard, or even geometric shapes. These designs can add depth and interest to your bathroom, making it feel more dynamic and stylish.

Combining with Other Materials

To enhance your bathroom marble design, consider combining marble with other materials. Pairing marble with warm woods, sleek metals, or even vibrant tiles can create an intriguing contrast and elevate the space further. This combination can help to soften the look of marble, making it feel more inviting and less formal.

Accent Features

Incorporating marble accent features like vanity tops, shower surrounds, or even marble sinks can transform a standard bathroom into a luxurious retreat. These elements become focal points in the design, drawing attention and admiration. For a truly unique touch, consider custom marble pieces that reflect your style.

Maintenance and Care

While the beauty of marble is undeniable, it's important to consider its maintenance. Proper care, including regular sealing and careful cleaning, will keep your bathroom marble design looking pristine. Avoid harsh chemicals that can damage the stone, and always use coasters or mats to prevent stains and scratches.

In summary, bathroom marble design offers a wealth of possibilities to create a stunning and elegant space. With the right choices and careful planning, you can achieve a bathroom that embodies luxury and style.

[alternate-real-ities]

I'd love to see what alternate versions of this guy there are.

Sure buddy. It wasn't easy tuning my machine this time, but I think I've found some interesting realities out there! Hope you like them :)

In an alternate reality not so different from our own, this bearish hunk has taken on a more muscular, less chubby form - transformed into a behemoth. Here, he's not just any old gym rat; he's a world-famous powerlifter and internet celebrity whose influence knows no bounds.

Young men from all corners of the globe look up to him as their idol, their motivation, their reason for living - especially when it comes to getting swole. They follow his every post, eagerly absorbing each tip on training and nutrition like gospel from a fitness prophet. And why not? With a physique like his, who wouldn't want to emulate perfection?

His pecs are massive, each one a study in taut, rippling muscle that defies the laws of physics. His arms bulge with thickness, as if carved from granite by some mythical sculptor. His thighs are tree trunks, powerful and unyielding, while his calves are chiseled masterpieces of human anatomy.

But his influence extends far beyond the gym walls. In this world, a new wave of ripped teens has become the norm, thanks largely to their idolization of this muscular beast. Gone are the days of skinny, awkward youth; now, every boy from puberty onwards is driven to get big and buff in order to measure up.

Parents worry about the health implications, but who can blame them for wanting their sons to grow up strong and confident like this fitness icon? And as for the young men themselves, they'd follow him anywhere - even into the depths of steroid abuse if it means achieving that perfect, chiseled physique.

In this world, there's no escaping his shadow - nor would anyone want to. For in the presence of such unadulterated muscle majesty, all other men are but mere mortals, forever relegated to the sidelines while he reigns supreme as the ultimate embodiment of human potential.

In another reality, our bearish hunk has been reborn as a towering Latin stud, the kind of papi that makes hearts race and loins stir across every continent. Hailing from Colombia, he grew up in a world where machismo is king, and his rugged good looks and powerful physique were destined for greatness.

Here, he's known as Papi Leche, a towering figure of masculine perfection with a body that could make even the most devout Catholic priests weep with lust. His skin is a rich, burnished brown that glistens with the sheen of oil and sweat after a long day at the gym.

But it's not just his physique that sets this Latino daddy apart - it's his legendary cum, renowned throughout the land for its unparalleled potency and addictive quality. Gringos from all over the world can't resist the allure of his Latin leche, once they've tasted its salty, intoxicating flavor.

He takes great pleasure in breaking them down, both physically and mentally, until they're nothing more than obedient little cumsluts desperate for another taste of his golden nectar. And he always delivers, pumping load after massive load into their eager mouths and throats until they're drowning in Latin dick juice.

And it's not just a physical addiction. They gradually change the more leche they drink. Their skin darkens, their features soften, and their accents change until they're speaking in perfect, melodic Spanish.

Before long, this Latino daddy has an entourage of half-Latino, half-gringo chicos who worship him and vie for his attention - all of them hooked on his leche like junkies on a fix.

So if you ever find yourself in Colombia, make sure to keep an eye out for this hulking bear of a man - but be warned: once you've caught sight of him, there's no escaping his gravitational pull. You'll be drawn in like a moth to a flame, helpless to resist the allure of his latin leche until you're nothing more than a mindless, cum-addicted shell of your former self.

Finally, in yet another reality, our bearish hunk has been reborn as a cocky, wealthy young Arab stud - the epitome of Dubai's high-flying elite and a player in every sense of the word.

Here, he's the king of the scene, with a body that's equally at home on the beach or in the boardroom. His skin is a flawless, golden brown, his features chiseled like marble from the hands of a skilled sculptor.

As a member of Dubai's elite social circle, he moves through life like a prince among paupers - except instead of a crown, he wears a gold-plated watch on each wrist. He cruises the city in his gleaming black Lamborghini, with a string of adoring twink boys piled into the backseat for good measure.

These young men are just playthings for him to use and discard, their tight little holes and eager mouths mere receptacles for his boundless sexual appetite. He'll fuck them raw, pump them full of cum, and then toss them aside like yesterday's trash - all while smirking in satisfaction at the knowledge that he's left another broken little twink in his wake.

But it's not just about the physical act for this Arab stud; it's about the power dynamic. He loves nothing more than to humiliate his conquests, reducing them to quivering, tear-streaked messes as he lectures them on their place in the world - namely, at his feet, servicing his every whim.

And when he lets loose with that massive, cut Arab cock, it's a sight to behold - thick, veiny, and heavy as a horse's head, with a bulbous, slit-tipped crown that glistens with precum. It's the kind of dick that can stretch even the most well-fucked hole to its limits, leaving its recipients gasping in awe at his sheer size and potency.

And yet, despite all the degradation and abuse, these twinks can't get enough of him. They're addicted to the thrill of being used by such a powerful, dominant figure; they crave the taste of his cum on their tongues and the feeling of his thick, veiny cock splitting them open.

But despite all of this, this Arab boy has a soft spot for romance. He adores showering his favorite twink with expensive gifts and lavish dates - taking him to the finest restaurants and clubs, then whisking him away to his private villa for a night of passionate lovemaking under the stars.

So if you ever find yourself in this version of Dubai, keep an eye out for this hunky Arab stud. Just be prepared to worship him... and pray that he deigns to notice your pathetic little existence.

And so, once again, we have explored the possibilities that the multiverse provides. Which version of our friend here do you think is the most appealing? Or perhaps you have your own alternate version in mind? Who knows, the possibilities are endless...

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Another case of "you never know what's going on inside a house." This 1957 ranch style home in Lakewood, CO has 4bds, 2.5ba, 2,494 sq ft. It started out at $895k and during the course of 204 days on the market, was reduced to $850k. When it didn't sell, the owners just let the listing contract run out. In all that time, the listing received only 5 "Favorites" and 3 shares. Maybe we can determine what is turning buyers off.

Entering the front door directly into the living room, the first thing we see is that the owners did some DIY decorating. Wow, that's a big framed ceiling medallion without a chandelier. Then, we have some wallpaper, black trim, and blue tile.

Across the way there's a dining area with a tract of lighting on the ceiling that appears to be connected to a black power box. On the accent wall there's gold tile.

I'm confused by all the random ceiling medallions.

In the kitchen, the formerly dated oak cabinetry was treated to, not only a gray paint job, new knobs, and counters, but they also embellished the upper doors with decorative wood appliques. The walls are covered in tile and there's another ceiling medallion w/o a light fixture.

Tract lighting illuminates the focal point of the room, a mirror-mosaic skinny steer head. Plus, more medallions and some metal ribbon molding.

In the hall there's wood, tile, wallpaper, and medallions.

The bath was nicely remodeled.

This home is a sensory experience of texture. In this room there are 2 different tiles plus wallpaper.

The primary bedroom also has the tiles and wallpaper, plus a dinky little fan and another steer head.

Even this smaller bedroom features tile and wallpaper plus a hypnotic clock and a very modern light fixture.

Bath #2 is a very nice shower room remodel.

Stairs leading down to the finished basement.

In the basement we find many different textures. This looks like a den.

And, then there's a bar with a rec room area. (Note the ceiling medallion.)

Nice place to entertain.

This must be some sort of plastic stick-on wall. It would look great in a mid-century modern setting. Quite a large spare room that's either an extra bedroom or a guest space.

Also down here, there's a guest powder room.

In the back of the house there's a large covered patio.

A yard, garden, and a cute little shed on an 8,930 Sq Ft Lot.

https://www.homes.com/property/105-dudley-st-lakewood-co/wp79knfegw6r6/

[simdertalia]

🎍 ACNH Harmonious Set 🌺

Sims 4, Base game compatible | 55 items

Type “ACNH Harmonious” into the search query in build mode to find  quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy!

Set contains: Buy: -Azumaya Gazebo | 4 swatches | 9302 poly -Bamboo 1 (sprouts) | 2 swatches | 986 poly -Bamboo 2 (trees) | 2 swatches | 2932 poly -Bamboo Basket | 3 swatches | 1109 poly -Bamboo Bathmat | 3 swatches | 324 poly -Bamboo Candle | 3 swatches | 992 poly -Bamboo Deer Scare | 6 swatches | 1194 poly -Bamboo Divider | 3 swatches | 1028 poly -Bamboo Drum | 3 swatches | 1186 poly -Bamboo Grass Tanabata | 1 swatch | 1202 poly -Bamboo Lamp | 3 swatches | 1146 poly -Bamboo Lunch | 3 swatches | 1202 poly -Bamboo Noodle Slide | 1 swatch | 3484 poly -Bamboo Shelf (decluttered/liberated) | 3 swatches | 1706 poly -Bamboo Shoot Lamp | 2 swatches | 1036 poly -Bamboo Vase | 3 swatches | 1197 poly -Bamboo Wall Decor | 4 swatches | 1217 poly -Beanstalk | 5 swatches | 4784 poly -Flower Vase (liberated from shelf) | 3 swatches | 399 poly -Glow Moss Ceiling Decor | 16 swatches | 1198 poly -Glow Moss Jars 1-6 (6 items liberated from shelf) | 8 swatches each | low poly -Glow Moss Pond | 6 swatches | 9418 poly -Glow Moss Shelf (decluttered/liberated) | 8 swatches | 2046 poly -Glow Moss Wreath | 16 swatches | 612 poly -Gong | 2 swatches | 2400 poly -Japanese Coffee Table | 6 swatches | 1216 poly -Jar of Bamboo Shoots | 1 swatch | 602 poly -Kadomatsu | 2 swatches | 1194 poly -Kagami Mochi | 1 swatch | 1194 poly -Katana Display | 5 swatches | 2270 poly -Kimono Stand | 4 swatches | 2342 poly -Kimono Stand Fancy | 5 swatches | 2176 poly -Moss Accent Table | 16 swatches | 1924 poly -Moss Rugs (round & rectangle) | 6 swatches each | 340 & 465 poly -Moss Seat | 16 swatches | 1178 poly -Peacock Chair | 7 swatches | 1234 poly -Plate Decor (liberated from shelf) | 3 swatches | 338 poly -Sakura Vase | 1 swatch | 2699 poly -Samurai Statue | 6 swatches | 2551 poly -Sanrio Bridge | 1 swatch | 4732 poly -Stone Bowl | 4 swatches | 673 poly -Stone Bowl w/ Sakura Petals | 4 swatches | 693 poly -Surichwitteok | 1 swatch | 934 poly -Tanuki Statue | 1 swatch | 1205 poly -Tatami | 2 swatches | 140 poly -Vine Hat Decor | 5 swatches | 858 poly -Vine Rug | 4 swatches | 543 poly -Vine Stone Seat | 5 swatches | 1201 poly

Build: -Moss Brick Wall | 1 swatch

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on November 28th, 2023

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets will be early access from now on. If you like my work, please consider supporting me:

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[everythingspokenfor]

𝓜𝓻. 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵

Pairing: Bakugou x reader. All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI. ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏Summary: Maybe you should have looked up what your boss looked like...

Thinking about foreign!reader who comes to Japan as a support tech engineer and having an eventful first meeting with Bakugou

Bakugou hates airports, especially around this time of the year, too crowded, too loud, bustling with people. If he had a choice he wouldn't have come, send in a driver and cozied up in his bed but, his mom had different plans, she had called him the night before, specifically told him to pick her up from the airport. So, here he was, waiting for her plane to land, 3:45 am in the morning, a rapidly cooling coffee in his hand.

He was growing agitated at the whispering around him, it's easy for him to get recognised, blond hair and striking red eyes not easily forgettable. He sharply turns to leave the waiting room, not necessarily paying attention when his hand, the one that was holding cold coffee slams into someone and boom now he is staring at the aftermath.

You are staring start ahead, breathing deeply, you turn your head towards the jerk that slipped coffee all over you. Cold seeped through your shirt, the chill almost chilling your bones. You could feel the coffee seeping into your shirt, then inner wear and then your bra.

"Are you going to apologise or what?" You scowl at him, the coffee seeping through your shirt, the wet cloth irritating you further.

Bakugou continues to stare at you, anger evident on your features, he assumes you aren't Japanese from the lack of accent in your english. Before he could apologise you speak again.

"At least have the courtesy to apologise, asshole" you spit out at him, before throwing him the nastiest little glare.

Bakugou is surprised that you don't him, maybe it's his ego but again he is the top hero maybe not his rankings but he is famous and infamous for reasons. Everyone knows him, even people outside of Japan.

"Do you not know who I am?" He finally speaks, not the smartest response but a response nonetheless.

"Am I supposed to know you?" You look at him incredulously, anger subsiding and confusion settling in.

"you know what, don't answer that, i don't care and I am tired, all I know is you are a jerk and I really wish to never run into you again!" You semi-yell at him and leave the waiting room.

He almost chased after you but he phone started ringing, his mother's contact displayed on the screen, informing him of her arrival.

He looked back at the direction you had gone, but you already disappeared. Sighing he left to pick his mother from the arrival gate. And he leaves, slightly bummed that he didn't get to apologise.

-------

"-nd like he walked straight into me and didn't bother apologising." You waved your hands around, trying to emphasize your impromptu collision with Mr. Brick wall, to your new housemate and colleague.

Not necessarily a good think, shit talking on first day of work, but you had to kinda explain why you were doing laundry in the middle of the night.

"That's rude, could've at least apologised.". Mari agreed, both of you walked down the hallway as she was showing you around the agency building.

"Well, hopefully no further mishaps occur." She had stopped in front of a large laboratory, you could already spot your stuff on one of the tables.

"Yeah, hopefully." You mumbled mindlessly, eyes admiring the lab, it was the largest you had seen, with more advanced equipments as well. Mari left you alone at your destination, already going back to her work.

You also got to work, looking into boxes of broken and damaged support equipments, you had already read about them, their functions and materials used to build.

It was an easy job to repair the items, folding your sleeves you got to work, one by one you repaired majority of the items the only thing left where, chunky, hefty, gauntlets.

You knew the belonged to Pro-Hero Dynamight, read about him in passing, already aware of the architecture of the Gauntlets, it didn't take long for you to fix them up, even being generous enough to replace parts with your tech.

Assuming your work was done you called Mari.

"You still need to see if the function alright." She paused before looking at her laptop screen," Pro hero Dynamight is already in the building, you should give him the equipment and see if it works properly."

Even tho, you were slightly peeved, cause of course it works, you just fixed it, you still took the hefty box to 12th floor of the building.

You entered the office without knocking, hands busy holding the box, barely even looking at the people standings there you deposit the box on the table next to the couch.

"Here, it's for Dynamight, fixed it, they should work top notch." You gasp out, breath slightly rapid due to carrying all that weight.

You turn around and spot 2 people in the room, one was Pro-Hero Red Riot, whom you recognised because he has least amount of support equipments listed and the other was Mr. Brick wall.

"You little shit, what are you doing here?" You blurt out without thinking, finger accusingly pointing at him. Not yet aware that the Pro-Hero you were looking for is right there, at the end of your accusatory finger.

Kirishima stared at you in amusement, before speaking," You must be the new tech, Welcome to the agency, I am Kirishima Eijirou." He stood up and extended his hand for a shake, you politely took his hand and uttered your name. Before looking over his shoulder at Bakugou.

"Don't mind me, but what did lil' shit over there do?" Kirishima semi-whispered in your ear, thumb pointing back, at where Bakugou stood.

"I spilled coffee on me, and then stared at me like it was my fault." You stated, arms folded, glaring at him, Bakugou stared back at you, hands shoved in his pocket as he leaned against the table.

"It was an accident, you scurried away before I could apologise." He finally spoke, Kirishima nodded his head, like accepting the explanation.

"NO, I waited and Mr. Brick Wall didn't apologise." You yelled, looking at Kirishima to back you up.

"That's not cool," Kirishima looked at you, shit eating grin on his face, you grinned back, feeling confident that Pro hero Red Riot was on your side, he continued,"You should apologise, Dynamight."

The gratification of getting the apology didn't last long when you registered his last word.

"Dyna-dynamight??" You spluttered," As in Pro Hero?" You looked dumbfounded between the two heros, face flushing in embarrassment, before you turned to Bakugou, who was looking at you bemused.

"I didn't kno- I am sorry, it was my fault." You uttered desperately, the fear of getting fired on your first day making you forget your past grudges. You haphazardness making Kirishima giggle, and Bakugou sigh.

"Oi, it was my fault, should have seen where I was going" Bakugou said calmly, moving to smack the back of Kirishima's head, who promptly shit up.

"You don't have t-." Bakugou shushes you before you could speak," The mistake was mine, me being a hero doesn't change that."

You stared at him, hoping for him to dismiss you soon, so you could sob in the corner of your big, beautiful lab.

"How about this, I get you a coffee, as an apology." He asked, Kirishima let out a snort, before Bakugou glared at him.

"You don't have to, it's not an issue anymore, Mr. Bri-Dynamight." You looked sheepishly at him, hoping he didn't change on the nickname you had given him.

"Let me, I'll get you a coffee, you'll need it after working here for a while."

"Fine then, we can get it sometimes." You accept his proposal (?),before looking at him, awkwardly trying to gesture at the door.

Bakugou furrowed his eyebrows, watching you flare your arms towards the door, before Kirishima spoke," You can leave now, I am sure the gauntlets would work just fine."

At the dismissal you scurried out the door, running zig zag avoiding the few people present in the hallway.

"So, that's the 'fireworks' you were talking about, Mr. Brick wall." Kirishima queried, head resting against his palm, as a smug expression formed on his face.

"Don't fucking push it." Bakugou gritted out, trying to think of how he could fix his image in your eyes.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Brick wall." Kirishima chimed.

[goldsainz]

# CL16 — SOUS LES ÉTOILES DE NOËL !

MASTERLIST !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ charles organizes a romantic christmas getaway at his place in the alps.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ none, just fluff!

003. NOTE !

✯ how are you guys liking the christmas specials so far? i’d love to receive some feedback 🫶

word count : 1,8k

The season had been long and grueling, with endless laps around the world’s most challenging circuits. For Charles, the weight of the year lingered in his weary smile as he sent the invitation—a simple text: "Come spend Christmas with me. I have a place in the Alps. Quiet, just us."

The idea of escaping to a secluded chalet in the French Alps was irresistible. You imagined the snowy peaks, the crackle of a fire, and Charles—a vision of peace and charm, unburdened by the pressures of his career. When you finally arrived, the chalet did not disappoint.

Nestled among towering pines, the wooden chalet exudes warmth. Its dark timber beams were wrapped in twinkling lights, and a wreath adorned the door. Inside, a crackling fire bathed the room in golden light. The air smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, as if Christmas itself had taken residence here.

“Bienvenue,” he said softly when you arrived at the chalet, the rich timbre of his accent making the word feel like a gift in itself.

The interior of the chalet was just as inviting as its perfect exterior. Wood-paneled walls gave the space a rustic charm, while the roaring fire in the stone hearth filled the room with both warmth and a golden glow. Cozy blankets were draped over a large, overstuffed sofa, their textures inviting and soft. Pillows in festive patterns—reds, greens, and snowy whites—added a touch of holiday cheer. In the corner, a Christmas tree stood proudly, its branches adorned with ornaments that shimmered in the firelight.

The decorations were simple but thoughtful: glass baubles, wooden stars, and tiny bells that jingled faintly when you brushed past them. At the base, a few gifts wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine added an understated charm.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with quiet awe as you took it all in.

“Not yet,” Charles replied, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “We haven’t had dinner.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and easy. The world outside felt distant, muffled by the thick snow blanketing the mountains and the quiet that seemed to envelop the chalet. The air inside was tinged with the faintest hints of cinnamon and pine, as if Christmas itself had settled into the space. It was as if time had slowed, and for the first time in months, you felt your shoulders relax, your worries dissipating in the tranquil beauty of it all.

The warmth of the chalet wrapped around you both like a cocoon, and Charles seemed just as content. His energy was different here—softer, more at ease. He moved through the space as though he belonged to it, a calm confidence replacing the quick, determined strides you were so used to seeing.

When dinner was ready, it was as comforting as the setting. Charles had gone all out, planning a classic réveillon feast; a French tradition that celebrated indulgence and connection. The dining table, positioned near a wide window overlooking the snowy expanse, was set simply but elegantly. A garland of evergreen branches ran down the center, interspersed with pinecones and tiny white candles in glass holders.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Charles teased, pouring you a glass of red wine, the deep ruby liquid catching the flickering candlelight.

“Starving,” you replied, watching the way the firelight danced in his green eyes.

The first course was a decadent foie gras served with freshly baked baguette, the crust still warm. Charles explained the best way to enjoy it, his enthusiasm lighting up his features.

Next came the main courses—a perfectly roasted goose surrounded by caramelized chestnuts, a creamy potato gratin with just the right amount of nutmeg, and a small mountain of buttered green beans. Each dish was presented with care, and Charles took the time to describe them, his voice filled with pride.

“And these cheeses,” he said as he placed a platter between you, “are from a local farm. The chèvre is incredible, but this one”—he pointed to a soft, creamy wheel—“is my favorite.”

Course after course appeared, each one somehow better than the last. Between bites, you watched Charles relax further, the lines of exhaustion on his face softening with each sip of wine, each shared laugh. He leaned back in his chair at times, his grin easy and boyish as he recounted a particularly funny story from his last race.

By the time dessert arrived—a slightly lopsided bûche de Noël—he was clearly pleased with himself.

“I helped with this one,” he said proudly as he set the chocolate yule log in the center of the table.

“Helped?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your tone skeptical but amused.

“Well,” he admitted, his cheeks turning pink in the firelight, “I might’ve just added the powdered sugar. But still.”

You couldn’t stop smiling as you took a bite, the rich chocolate melting on your tongue. “It’s perfect,” you said, savoring the sweetness.

“Not as perfect as this,” he murmured, his gaze softening as it lingered on you.

The moment held a quiet intensity, the kind that didn’t need words to fill the silence. His subtle grin carried something deeper—gratitude, affection, and perhaps a touch of awe. The world outside the chalet seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the two of you surrounded by warmth, laughter, and the gentle glow of Christmas.  

When the clock neared midnight, Charles stood and reached out his hand. “Come with me,” he said, his tone filled with an almost childlike excitement. “I want to show you something.”  

Intrigued, you slid your hand into his, the comforting strength of his grasp sending a rush of warmth through you. Together, you bundled into your coats and scarves, the wool soft against your skin. His touch lingered as he adjusted your scarf, his fingertips brushing your cheek. “There,” he said, satisfied, as if preparing you for a magical adventure.  

The crisp night air embraced you as you stepped outside. Snowflakes fell gently, blanketing the world in white, their crystalline forms catching the faint light of the chalet behind you. The snow crunched beneath your boots with each step, the sound punctuating the serene quiet of the forest.  

Charles led the way through the towering pines, their branches heavy with snow and glistening faintly under the starlight. The air was so still that every sound—the gentle whisper of the wind, the distant hoot of an owl, and the soft rhythm of his steps beside you—felt amplified, like a symphony composed solely for the two of you.  

The clearing appeared almost suddenly, a wide expanse where the snow glittered like diamonds under the infinite sky. Above, the stars stretched endlessly, their brilliance untouched by city lights, casting a serene glow over the scene.  

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if anything louder would disturb the sanctity of the moment.  

“It is,” Charles replied, though his eyes weren’t on the stars. They were fixed on you.  

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small. The item, a leather notebook with edges slightly worn from use, looked humble yet meaningful in his hands. He extended it toward you, his expression a mixture of shyness and vulnerability, as though he were baring a part of his soul.  

“What’s this?” you asked softly, running your fingers over the smooth, weathered cover before flipping it open.  

“It’s something I’ve been working on,” he said, his voice a touch unsteady but sincere.  

The first page held a date, neatly written, and a memory. As you flipped through the notebook, you realized it was filled with moments—days spent laughing over coffee, late nights talking about your dreams, even quiet instances when words weren’t necessary. Each entry was written in his handwriting, neat yet personal, and infused with a warmth that made your chest ache.  

“I started writing these when I realized how much they mattered to me,” Charles said, his gaze dropping momentarily to the snow at his feet. “Sometimes, it’s hard to say everything out loud. But I didn’t want to forget any of it. And I wanted you to know.”  

Your breath hitched as you turned the pages, each one revealing more of his heart, his care, his love. The notebook wasn’t just a collection of memories; it was a testament to how deeply he cherished your time together.  

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of emotion.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, stepping closer until his warmth enveloped you. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The snow fell softly around him, clinging to his dark hair and framing his face in a way that made him seem ethereal under the starlight. His green eyes held yours, filled with an intensity that stole the words from your lips.  

When he kissed you, it was unhurried and tender, as if time itself had paused to witness the moment. The world around you disappeared, leaving only the sensation of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the silent promise written in the stars above.  

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath mingled with yours in the cold air, and his voice, thick with emotion, broke the silence. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his words carrying the weight of everything he felt.  

“Merry Christmas,” you replied, your heart so full it felt as if it might burst.  

Hand in hand, you made your way back to the chalet, the notebook clutched tightly to your chest. The fire had dwindled into glowing embers, casting a soft, golden light across the room as you both settled onto the sofa. Charles wrapped a blanket around you, his arm pulling you close to his side.  

The notebook rested in your lap, its pages heavy with meaning. You ran your fingers over the edges, the leather warm from your touch. “I can’t believe you did this,” you said, your voice soft with wonder.  

He tilted his head to look at you, his expression unguarded and tender. “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. Even when I’m far away, you’re always here,” he said, his hand brushing lightly over your heart.  

As the flames crackled softly and the scent of pine lingered in the air, you leaned into his embrace, feeling a peace you hadn’t known in months. The world beyond the mountains felt distant, insignificant compared to the quiet perfection of this moment.  

The snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the chalet in serenity. Under the stars of Christmas, everything felt complete, as though the universe itself had conspired to create this magical evening just for the two of you.

[owuwi]

➤ ava starr x fem!reader

.ᐣ surprising her in the training room.

⤷ cw: smut, scent kink, abs riding, semi public sex, brief breath play, not proof read + maybe a bit rushed.

──────────────────────

ava was really fucking lean.

she often teased you about it—stretching high enough so the hem of whatever shirt she was wearing would ride up and reveal those hard-rock abs of hers, flexing her arms 'subtly' while pretending you weren't drooling in front of her, or even commenting about how defined certain muscles were getting and offering if you wanted to feel them—and you always let her get away with it because you couldn't deny how much you loved it when she did so.

she adored seeing your flushed face and awkward behavior—the way you always tried to brush off your sudden change of mood never failed to make her chuckle—, and the teasing got easier when you moved in with her at the tower.

ever since you decided to bless the thunderbolts with your daily presence, ava spent every morning in the training room. why, you may ask? just to see your face when you were met with her sweaty, exhausted figure.

and today was no different. expect for one little detail.

she hadn't expected company that early morning, yet the set of heavy breathing filling the room quickly got her attention. when she turned around, her green eyes widened just for a mere moment at the sight of you standing against the wall, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"oh?" was all she asked—accent heavy, voice rougher than usual—, using the sleeve of her black compression shirt to wipe away the sweat clinging to her forehead.

fuck.

it took all the self control you had in your body to not moan at that ridiculously simple reaction coming from your girlfriend. "w-what?" you definitely didn't mean to sound so... needy, but it was just natural.

the british girl only scoffed and lightly shook her head before walking over to you, placing her warm hands on your hips. "nothing..." she murmured some moments later, her sharp yet still surprisingly tender eyes roaming over the beautiful features of your face.

she smelled... fuck, so damn good. the musky scent from her sweat invaded your nostrils in seconds and you weren't complaining—was it weird? probably. did you care? no, you loved every single thing about ava.

she didn't expect you to pull her in for a hot, messy, desperate kiss but she wasn't complaining; she quickly kissed you back, slipping her tongue inside your mouth, and pressed you against her body.

one of your hands wandered down and tentatively pressed flat against her abdomen, an involuntary whine escaping your throat at the feel of the tensed muscles—the sound getting trapped against ava's mouth. you could feel that signature smirk of hers forming at both your move and reaction, and oh did she truly loved it.

you broke the kiss and looked at her, though your gaze quickly fell down to her torso and kept moving until it reached her stomach.

you felt that familiar flutter in your belly at the sight of your girlfriend's abs through the compression shirt she was currently wearing, and you wanted nothing more but rip the fabric apart and get a better view of them.

"i hate you..." you puffed out, licking your lips before rising your eyes to meet hers.

"really, now?" ava asked you and tilted her head slightly to the side, her words dripping with that cocky tone you had already gotten used to—yet it still managed to turn your brain into mush, and she knew it.

in a matter of seconds, your lips were on hers once again and you had pushed her down onto the matted floor, your hands firm on her shoulders as you straddled her lap.

ava's hands roughly kneaded the fat of your ass while she hungrily kissed you, her teeth lightly bitting down onto your lip—not applying enough pressure for it to hurt, just to make your body tingle with pleasure; and she knew she had succeeded one she felt your nails digging into her shoulders—.

she didn't care about the fact that the two of you were in the middle of the training room where anyone could walk in at any moment, especially not when your hips started bucking against hers.

the kiss came to an end once again, this time, it was ava's time to break it. she started trailing a path to your jaw and down your sensitive neck, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses all over your skin.

your hands quickly slipped beneath the fabric of her compression shirt, a soft whimper leaving your swollen lips as the tip of your digits ghosted over the defined ridges of the muscle.

it was just too much for you to handle—having your girlfriend under you as she kissed your neck with such precision, feeling her sweaty and warm body—and your panties were beyond ruined.

obviously, she knew.

"is there something you need?" she whispered lazily yet clearly amused, breath grazing against your ear before she pressed a slow kiss to your lobe. "just you... please?" the question left your mouth before you could even register them, yet they were nothing but the truth.

usually, she would've made you beg a bit more, but she needed you so fucking badly, too—she had to admit, the possibility of getting caught was heightening her own arousal—.

"oh, you poor girl..." she cooed—pretending to feel sorry for you—, giving your ass a quick slap letting out one of those raspy laughs of hers. "well, who am i to deny you..." she then added, trying her best to hide how desperate she was as well.

you didn't waste a single second more. you tugged at her shirt just enough, your mouth nearly watering at the reveal of her rubescent, sweat-slick abs.

the british girl helped you remove your shorts and panties, bitting back a groan as you finally ground your glistening pussy on her stomach—her muscles tensing at the feeling of your sticky folds against her flushed skin—.

she slid her hands up and took your shirt off, mindlessly throwing the piece of clothing somewhere across the room, before resting her hands on your hips—keeping you in place despite knowing you had no intentions of moving away.

ava felt herself getting weaker and weaker and the sight of your naked body on top of her wasn't helping at all. you looked beautiful all the time but fuck, there was something different in that moment.

she got snapped from her thoughts as your thighs clenched around her waist, a low groan finally leaving her lips as you dragged your soaked cunt against her stomach.

the pleasure shooting across your body had all type of noises falling from your parted lips—whispers of her name, breathy curses, and the softest mewls ava had ever heard—.

your hands braced on her chest for leverage, your gaze glued to the mess you were leaving behind on her flesh—though not for long. your head fell backwards as your reddened clit rolled against her abs, your skin shivering like crazy.

she took advantage of your exposed neck and wrapped her veiny hand around your throat, fingertips pressing down with the necessary pressure to have you gasping and arching your back.

"fucking hell..." she murmured—not a single hint of that previous cockiness present in her tone. her voice was low, rough, and so fucking hungry. she used her hand on your throat to guide you whilst providing you even more pleasure, eyes focused on the way your breasts bounced with the force of your movements.

her eyes fluttered shut for a second before she forced them open. she needed to see you, needed to watch your every motion.

her abs flexed beneath you, subconsciously responding to the heat of your cunt sliding over them, and she nearly lost all the self control she was supposed to have. with the way you were writhing on top of her, so fucking dreamy, your pretty mouth parted as you struggled to breathe, you were breaking her.

"fuck... look at you..." she murmured, momentarily squeezing your throat before loosening her grip—fingers twitching against your pulse points—. "who knew you'd be so filthy?" she then commented in a low, almost ruined voice, acting with disbelieve and as if she wasn't ten times worst.

you were breathless, body shuddering as you chased your orgasm. "a-ava i—... 'm so close.." you whined out, digging your nails onto her chest as you rode her abs and smeared your juices all over her stomach.

she noticed how your movements got sloppier, messier, almost lazier, and she knew you were really close. "keep going... fuck..." she muttered—throwing her cool facade out the window and crumbling down completely—, tightening her grip on your neck once again.

you nearly sobbed at her words, at the subtle permission to release she had offered you, though kept moving.

suddenly, it hit you. the sound of her name teared from your throat as you came, your hands gripping her chest in a borderline painful manner while you kept humping her abs—your whole body twitching at the stimulation your puffy, already-overstimulated pussy was receiving—.

she helped you ride out the pleasure with her hand on your throat and with the one on your hip, repeatedly whispering all sort of praises as your sticky cum pooled in her abdomen.

ava leaned in and captured one of your sensitive nipples into her mouth, suckling on it and groaning against it. she let go of your bud once your motions stalled and your whines got louder, not wanting to push you too harsh.

the sight of your girlfriend's lower torso covered in a mix of sweat and your juices made your sopping cunt throb, and you bit down on your bottom lip as your gaze raised and noticed the way she was looking at you—pupils blown out, lips parted, eyebrows lightly furrowed, and overall staring at you as if you were a fucking goddess—.

"you're going to kill me one of these days..." you managed to pick up her grave voice through the ringing in your ears, her statement causing a weak laugh to slip past your lips.

you leaned down and buried your face in her neck, leaving little kisses all over her warm, glistening skin—unabashedly taking in her fragrant smell.

"i-i could say the same thing..." you murmured before sucking down on her pulse point, whimpering ever so slightly at her salty taste.

the green eyed girl moved her hand from your throat to cup your chin, guiding you to face her. you ran your shaky fingers through her damp hair before leaning down and placing an eager kiss to her lips, smiling against her mouth as you felt her letting out a small moan.

"what a way to start the day..." she whispered between the kiss.

[kirlicues]

Rockwell Drive | Sims 2 Residential Lot Download

The Rockwell Drive house features quoining accents to give interest to the large swaths of red brick. It's built on a 3x3 lot and has 3 bedrooms and 3 baths.

It also has beautiful garden spaces, as well as a pool because swimming to gain body skill is so much more fun than running on the treadmill for 10 hours. Let's take a short tour and I'll tell you more about how this lot came about because you have nothing better to do with your time. Jump to the bottom of this post if you want to download it into your game. 😊

Here's what the backyard looks like:

Several years BC (before children) I found it entertaining to set up a household of Sims (Sims 1 was the only game out at the time) and just watch them interact without interfering. It was quite funny, until the kitchen caught on fire, and then it wasn't. 😧 I hate letting my sims have bad experiences, especially when I could intervene and stop them (now if only that could be the case with real life kids as they grow up)!

I decided to try this again with the Sims 2, but armed with several hacks that make the characters a little smarter when it comes to fires and a little more motivated to go to work (further reducing the chance of fires). It was much more successful and other than the sims hogging the computer (until I removed it) didn't give me near as many grey hairs. 😂

This was the house that that family lived in.

Back then it looked a bit different, but it's been freshly remodeled inside, and given some colorful wall treatments to make up for the seas of red brick on the exterior. Please feel free to redecorate it to fit your sim family's needs though.

Here's what the floor plan looks like:

1st Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: garage, sin room, downstairs family room, stairwell, kitchen, dining room, living room, entry, bathroom, and laundry room.

2nd Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: kids bedroom 1, kids bedroom 2, laundry room, upstairs family room, master bedroom, bathroom, walk-in closet, hall way, and kids bathroom.

Rockwell Drive: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home has only 2 pieces of CC, which you may already have in your game. These can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want them though.

CC List (Included): -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims -Functional Washer and Dryer by mustluvcats at ModtheSims

CC Not included: -Maxis Match Chimney recolors from Mod The Sims (I'm not sure which one I used at the moment so grab them both if you don't already have them!) -Lost & Found BENNO Coffee table from the Ikea Stuff Pack

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some "Lost & Found" Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[voxslays]

“Howdy, Striker!”

Featuring >>> Striker x Reader; In which, Reader catches Striker in the middle of a murder, and things escalate from there.

Warnings; Smut, Possibly Dub-Con, Striker is Striker.

A/N: Sorry for posting my latest part of Haztober so late, here is a special little gift for being so patient with me. I just watched episodes 3-7 of season 2…but 4 and 6…STRIKER!

It was a fine fall day out in the wrath ring. Still very hot, but starting to cool down as it got later into October. You were visiting for the Harvest Moon Festival, hoping to see one of your close friends compete. You were taking a shortcut by walking down an alleyway when suddenly you saw two imps fighting. As you got closer you realized who one of them was—Striker—A famous assassin and cowboy among wrath. “Give up vermin.” He growled at the other demon as he dealt one last blow to the head with his angelic knife. He watched as the imp bled, then turned towards you. “Hello there little one..” Striker grinned, showing his gold tooth. You quickly backed up. “Woah, Woah, Woah there cowboy…I was just leaving-!” You say, clearly panicking. Striker's grin widens, a dark amusement playing in his eyes. He takes a step closer, his heavy boots thudding against the ground. "Going so soon? You just got here. Besides, I haven't even had a chance to,” He pauses as he looks you up and down. He reaches out, his large, calloused hand wrapping around your wrist. His grip is firm, unyielding. He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your face. "…Ask you your name." He purrs, his voice low and menacing.

Your breathing grows heavier. ​​"Now, now, why are you breathing like that? Am I that intimidating, hmm?" He chuckles, his gold tooth glinting in the dim light. "Relax, I don't bite...Hard." He grins, his eyes glinting with a wicked amusement. He leans in closer, his nose brushing against your neck. He inhales deeply, his voice rumbling against your skin. "You smell... different.” He says, his southern accent ringing through the air. “Like flowers, not like the usual stench of this place. Intriguing..." He pulls back, his gaze meeting yours.

“I'm not from here.” You say as your breath hitches. "Clearly." He smirks, his thumb tracing circles on your wrist. "And what brings a sweet little thing like you to this godforsaken place, hmm?"  His eyes narrow slightly, suspicion flickering in them. “I’m just here to watch one of my friends compete in the festival.” Striker laughs. "The Harvest Moon Festival, eh?" He releases your wrist, taking a step back. "Well, ain't that just precious. Coming all this way to watch your little friend play pretend." He shakes his head, another harsh laugh escaping his lips. "You know, I was invited too. But me? In a festival? Might as well invite a wolf to a lamb convention." He chuckles darkly, his gaze returning to you. "But now that you're here, maybe my time won't be entirely wasted." He says, his voice filled with lust. 

You suddenly feel a deep blush coat your already rosy red cheeks. "Mmm, you're blushing. Cute." He grins, taking a step closer. His hand reaches up, his calloused fingers gently caressing your cheek. "Look at me like that again and I might just take you right here." Your blush deepens. His eyes darken with desire as he notices your even redder cheeks and quickened breath. In one swift motion, he pushes you against the nearest wall, his muscular body pinning you in place. His other hand grips your hip possessively.

You gasp in surprise, feeling an army of butterflies in your stomach. *His face hovers inches from yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Shh, just breathe," he whispers, his voice laced with dominant undertones. "I promise, I won't bite...yet." His hands begin to explore your body, slowly, tauntingly. His touch is firm, yet gentle, contradictions that send shivers down your spine. His voice drops to a low purr. "You're so responsive... It's intoxicating..." His southern drawl becoming more evident. His hands slip under your shirt, his calloused palms brushing against your bare skin. You can feel his erection pressing against you, a testament to his arousal. "See what you do to me?" he growls, nuzzling your neck.

His kisses become more urgent as you let out a few gasps and moans, his hands tightening on your hips. He grinds against you, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "You taste like honey," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. "I bet you'd taste even sweeter elsewhere." His strong hands hoist you up, carrying you over to a nearby abandoned shack. He kicks the door open, carrying you inside. He lays you down on a pile of hay in the corner.  His eyes glint wickedly as he looks down at you.  "Now, where was I?"

He crawls over you, his hands pushing your skirt up. His fingers brush against your thighs, slowly parting them. "So innocent..." He kneels down between your parted thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them further apart. He flashes you a roguish grin before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your core. "I think I'll start here." 

His tongue flicks out, tasting you. He growls in approval, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them open. He buries his face between your thighs, feasting on you like a man starved. His touch is rough, intense, mirroring his personality. "So good..." You cry out in pleasure. He doubles his efforts at your cry, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at your essence. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as he holds you in place, not letting you escape his relentless assault on your senses. He suckles your sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. 

He laps at you more insistently, drinking in your essence. His tongue delves deep inside, stroking your walls. He sucks hard on your clit, determined to make you fall apart. "That's it, scream for me," he growls against your sensitive flesh. He continues his onslaught, drawing out your release. As you come down from your high, he straightens up. His face is glistening with your juices, his eyes wild. He quickly begins to unbuckle his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. The leather hisses as it's pulled through the loops of his pants. He doubles it over, the ends dangling ominously. "You've been a good girl so far... But maybe it's time for a little..."

He leans down, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. He wraps the belt around your wrists, securing you to the wooden beam above. He smirks at you, his face a mask of dark intent. "Now, where were we?" He drops to his knees, burying his face once more between your thighs. He ravishes you with his mouth, his tongue plunging deep inside. But this time, he brings his hand into play, his fingers joining his tongue. He pumps them in and out, scissoring them to stretch you. ​​He continues his relentless assault on your most intimate area. His fingers curl inside you, stroking your G-spot as his tongue lashes your clit. He can feel you tightening around him. Knowing you're close, he doubles his efforts, determined to push you over the edge into ecstasy. 

He feels your walls clenching around his fingers, your body trembling on the edge. He doubles his efforts, sucking your clit hard as he curls his fingers to stroke that special spot inside. He wants to feel you come undone, to hear you scream his name as pleasure overtakes you. He feels your body convulse, your inner walls gripping his fingers like a vice as you come undone. He doesn't let up, continuing his relentless assault until he's wrung every last drop of pleasure from you. Only then does he slowly withdraw, licking his lips with a satisfied grin. “Stiker!” You scream out. 

He stands up, his eyes burning with a dark hunger. He reaches for the belt still binding your wrists, undoing it and tossing it aside. He lifts you up, his strong arms supporting your weight. He carries you over to the table, setting you down on the surface with a thud. He steps between your legs, forcing them apart. His hands grip your backside, lifting you up and pulling you forward. He grinds against you, his hardness rubbing against your slick folds. "Look at me," he demands, his voice gruff with desire. You immediately look into his golden eyes. 

His eyes bore into yours, his gaze intense and possessive. He reaches down and spreads your lips open, revealing your dripping wet pussy to his hungry gaze. "So fuckin’ pretty," He growls, his voice now filled with lust and his classic southern accent. He lines himself up, the head of his dick pressing against your entrance. He slowly pushes inside, his eyes never leaving yours. He wants you to see who's taking you, possessing you completely. He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he starts to move. He pulls out slowly, only to thrust back in harder, setting a steady, powerful rhythm.

His thrusts become more forceful, almost violent in their intensity. The table creaks beneath you as he pounds into you. "Take it," He snarls, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take every fuckin’ inch of my cock." He leans down, his chest pressing against yours as he continues to pound into you. He captures your lips in a rough, dominating kiss. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, claiming you utterly. He swallows your moans and cries, drinking in your pleasure like a true cowboy. He breaks the kiss, panting harshly. His hips never stop moving, driving into you with increasing force and speed. The room fills with the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and your moans. "Take it," He snarls greedily. 

He lifts you up, holding you aloft as he drives into you from below. He grins wickedly as he watches his length disappear inside you, over and over. He leans back slightly, changing the angle and making you gasp. "Oh, you like that? Good." He slams into you, finding that spot inside that makes your vision whiten. He sets a brutal pace, driving into you deep and hard. He watches where he's joined to you, his eyes glued to the point where he disappears into your heat. "You feel so good~” His face contorts with pleasure and concentration as he chases his release. His arms tighten around you, his hands clutching your bottom possessively. His breathing grows heavier, his movements more erratic. He's close. He leans forward, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He bites down, the sharp pain pushing you both over the edge. He roars his release, burying his face against your neck as he spurts into you with one final thrust. 

He collapses forward, pinning you beneath his heavy, sweat-slicked body. He pants against your neck, his hips still twitching slightly with the aftershocks. After a long moment, he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes dark and sated. "Mmm..." Striker groans. He slowly pulls out of you, his softening length slipping free with a wet sound. He rolls to the side, pulling you with him so you end up draped across his broad chest. His large hand finds your back, stroking up and down possessively. "You did well.” He smirks cockily. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, an unusual sign of tenderness from him. He wraps both arms around you, his hold tightening protectively. "Rest now," Striker murmurs, his voice low and soothing.