mocharyc

[mocharyc]

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜 Pt.3! (SMUT)

♡ Spicy time with Mohawk Mark ~ ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Promises to Keep‧ ₊ ˚

⚠YOU CAN READ THIS BY ITSELF OR FOLLOW THE SERIES⚠

((SEMI SLOW LEAD UP TO SMUT))

☆ WC: 10k+ [Pt.3] ☆ TW: SMUT (Sexual intercourse with Mohawk) ☆ Authors note: Hey, so I wrote this very chap VERY descriptive, read it when you have time and wanna get into a hot moment, lol. A lot of details were added, so you can really ENVISION this first-hand.

Anyways, Mohawk has a snarky, sarcastic personality on the outside, but I believe he gets really soft and needy during sexual stuff with his lover... hehe **cooking time turns spicy** ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The walk back to the fortress was filled with comfortable chatter, the group's dynamics having shifted into something remarkably harmonious after their day at the lake. As they approached the towering structure—no longer just a shelter but beginning to feel like home—Y/N found herself falling into step beside Mohawk, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd left the shore.

"Getting ready to admit defeat?" she teased, nudging his arm with her elbow.

Mohawk's eyes lit up at her attention, a slow grin spreading across his face as his gaze swept over her, "Defeat? Princess, I won that bet fair and square. You're the one who needs to prepare for culinary servitude."

"Culinary servitude?" Y/N laughed, the sound echoing through the alien twilight. "I don't remember agreeing to those terms."

"You didn't specify otherwise," he countered, voice dropping so low, it seemed to vibrate through her chest. His fingers brushed against her waist casually as they walked, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "And I distinctly remember someone promising dinner of my choice."

Ahead of them, Omni Mark glanced back, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Y/N gave him a reassuring smile, and something in his gaze softened before he turned his attention back to the path.

"Fine," Y/N conceded with mock exasperation. "But I'll need a sous chef. Those spicy things have tentacles, and I'm not handling those alone."

Mohawk's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Afraid of a little tentacle, princess? Didn't seem to bother you when Sinister spotted that lake creature."

"That was different," she protested. "It wasn't going to be my dinner."

"Fair point." Mohawk's hand brushed against hers, the touch seemingly accidental but lingering just long enough to send warmth spiraling up her arm, "I suppose I could be convinced to help. For a price."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "And what price would that be?"

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again, hunger darkening his brown eyes, "I'll let you know when I decide."

The words hung between them, charged with promise as they continued toward the fortress that loomed against the backdrop of the now-rising moons.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The fortress kitchen had quickly become one of Y/N's favorite places. Unlike the coldly efficient space they'd first discovered, it had transformed under their collective care—herbs from the nearby fields hung drying from rafters, colorful alien fruits filled stone bowls, and the massive hearth radiated welcoming warmth.

"You actually showed up," Mohawk remarked as Y/N entered, his lean frame silhouetted against the cooking fire. He'd changed from his swim attire into loose-fitting black pants that rode low on his hips and nothing else, leaving his broad chest bare. Droplets of water traced tantalizing paths down the defined muscles of his torso, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants, while some water droplets still clung to the ends of his mohawk, suggesting a recent shower.

"I always keep my promises," Y/N replied, leaning against the doorframe. "Unlike someone who promised to help supervise."

"Oh, I'm supervising." The corner of his mouth quirked up as his eyes traveled slowly down her form. 

She'd also showered and changed, opting for a simple tunic-like garment in a soft fabric from her wardrobe. The lavender fabric clung to her curves in all the right places, the material thin enough that her body heat showed through, creating a silhouette that had Mohawk's full attention. 

"Supervising requires more than just standing there looking pretty," Y/N challenged, pushing away from the doorframe and approaching the large stone table where he'd already laid out several ingredients.

"Pretty?" Mohawk snorted, though a pink flush colored his cheeks. "Princess, I'm many things, but pretty isn't one of them."

"I disagree," Y/N replied with deliberate casualness as she examined the spread before her. The spicy tentacled fruits—which No-Mask had tentatively classified as some kind of land-dwelling mollusk/plant hybrid—were indeed present, alongside various herbs and what appeared to be the alien equivalent of root vegetables.

She could feel Mohawk's surprise at her compliment, his momentary silence heavier than any verbal response would have been. When he finally moved, coming to stand beside her at the table, the heat from his body was a boiling presence against her side.

"If you're angling to get out of cooking, flattery won't work," he said with a soft smirk, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

Y/N glanced up at him through her lashes. "Who says I'm angling for anything? Maybe I just like watching you blush."

The red on his cheeks deepened, spreading down his neck to the top of his chest. "I-I don't blush," he growled grumpily, though the evidence clearly contradicted his claim. "I'm physically incapable of it."

"Mmm, my mistake then," Y/N hummed, with a soft roll of her eyes, deliberately brushing against him as she reached for a knife. "Must be the lighting."

Mohawk caught her wrist before her fingers could close around the blade, his grip firm but gentle. "Careful with that," he murmured, his voice dropping to that rumbling register that seemed to reverberate through her bones. "These things are sharper than they look."

The double meaning wasn't lost on her—nor was the way his thumb brushed slowly across her pulse point, tracking its acceleration.

"I can handle sharp things," she countered, making no move to pull away from his touch.

"Can you?" His brown eyes held hers, challenge sparking between them. "Show me."

Y/N held his gaze as she slowly twisted her wrist in his grasp, not breaking free but repositioning until her palm pressed against his. "I'm not afraid of getting cut," she said softly.

Something dark and hungry flashed in Mohawk's brown eyes before he stepped back, releasing her with what seemed like reluctance. "Good to know," he replied, voice rougher than before. "Now about dinner—"

The kitchen door swung open, and Lensless bounded in, vibrating with his usual excess energy. "Hey! What are you guys making? Can I help? I'm really fast at chopping things! One time I diced an entire onion in 0.3 seconds but then I sneezed and it went everywhere and—"

"We're good," Mohawk interrupted, shooting Lensless a deadly glare.

Lensless's eyes darted between them, realization dawning on his face as he tugged on his shorts nervously. "Ohhhh, right, the bet! You two are doing dinner together! That's so cute! Like a date! Is it a date? Should I tell the others not to—"

"Lensless," Y/N interjected gently. "Would you mind letting the others know dinner might be a bit later than usual? We're experimenting with some new ingredients."

"Sure! No problem! Totally get it!" Lensless nodded so rapidly his features blurred. "Private cooking time! I'll make sure nobody bothers you! Except maybe Sinister because he never listens to me but I'll try my best!" With that, he ran out of the kitchen, leaving behind only a faint breeze and the lingering scent of fresh mint from his recent shower.

When the door swung shut behind him, Mohawk let out a breath that was half laugh, half groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. "That kid has the worst timing in any universe."

"Or the best," Y/N countered with a small smile. "Depends on your perspective."

Mohawk's gaze sharpened with interest, the firelight from the hearth casting golden shadows across his chiseled features. His eyes gleamed with unmistakable hunger as they traced the curve of her smile. "And what's your perspective, princess?"

Y/N picked up the knife he'd warned her about earlier, testing its weight in her hand, spinning it with surprising dexterity between her fingers, the metal catching the warm light as it twirled. "That depends on whether you're actually going to help me with dinner or just stand there looking intimidating."

"I can multitask," he replied, his voice dropping to that rumbling baritone that seemed to vibrate through the room as he moved closer until he stood directly behind her, his powerful body radiating heat like a furnace at her back. 

The solid wall of his chest pressed against her shoulder blades, his hips aligned with her backside perfectly, making it impossible to ignore the growing firmness there. "Show me what you want me to do."

Y/N swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of every point where their bodies connected, of how small the kitchen felt with his massive presence filling the space behind her. "You could start by chopping these," she suggested, gesturing to the tentacled fruits with a steadiness she didn't entirely feel.

Instead of moving away to comply, Mohawk reached around her, his chest pressing further against her back as his muscled arm brushed against hers, the unexpected contact sending goosebumps racing across her skin. He picked up a second knife. "Like this?" he asked, his lips mere inches from her ear, his hot breath fanning across her sensitive skin as he sliced through one of the purple fruits. The movement brought his stubbled jaw alongside hers, the rough texture grazing her temple in a touch that felt deliberately provocative.

"That works," she managed, suppressing a visible shiver as warmth bloomed in her cheeks and spread down her neck. She tried to focus on her own preparation despite the distracting heat of him surrounding her, but her body betrayed her with a slight tremor in her hands.

They worked like that for several minutes—Mohawk maintaining their close proximity even when the small kitchen offered plenty of space, finding excuses to reach around her for ingredients or utensils, each touch growing more deliberate with every pass. His large hands would graze her waist, fingers splaying to brush against her hips, occasionally dipping dangerously low before retreating, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, Y/N leaned back into his solid frame. The movement pressed her curves firmly against the hard planes of his body, her backside connecting with the unmistakable evidence of his growing arousal. The contact drew a sharp intake of breath from him, his fingers momentarily tightening on the knife before he set it carefully aside.

"How's the supervision going?" she asked, her voice huskier than intended as she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

"Thoroughly," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear in a touch so feather-light it might have been accidental if not for the way his hands now settled possessively on her hips. "You're doing well. Better than I expected, considering."

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze from mere inches away. "Considering what?"

"Considering how badly your hands are shaking," he observed, a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth as his thumbs traced small circles on her hip bones. "Am I distracting you, princess?"

"You wish," she scoffed, though the breathless quality of her voice and the flush spreading across her cheeks told a different story.

His chuckle was a deep rumble she felt reverberating through her entire body, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched her reaction. "I do wish," he admitted, the unexpected honesty in his voice catching her off guard. "I wish a lot of things when it comes to you."

Y/N turned fully in his arms then, the cooking momentarily forgotten. "Like what?"

Mohawk's expression shifted, the perpetual smirk giving way to something more complex—hunger still, but tempered with an emotion that looked almost vulnerable on his usually hardened features. 

His hands settled on her waist, large enough to nearly span it completely as his thumb traced featherlight patterns against her abdomen through her shirt, the simple touch sending shivers racing up her spine.

"Like having you all to myself for more than five fucking minutes," he replied, his fingers skimmed along her sides. "Like finding out if you taste as sweet as you smell." His hands moved to her hips, gripping the needable flesh. "Like hearing the sounds you'd make if I touched you right."

Heat bloomed across Y/N's cheeks, spreading down her neck and across her chest until her skin felt too tight, too sensitive. Her pulse quickened under his intense gaze, her lips parting slightly as she drew in an unsteady breath.

"Pretty sure our dinner's burning," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the hearth fire, her eyes never leaving his.

"Let it," Mohawk growled, though he made no move to close the remaining distance between them. 

For all his brash words and bold touches, there was a hesitation in his eyes—a silent question, seeking permission despite the confident set of his shoulders.

It was that realization that made her decision. She reached up, threading her fingers through the shorter hair at the sides of his mohawk, feeling the surprising softness against her palms as she pulled his head down to hers, bringing his lips to hers with an urgency that surprised them both.

The kiss was nothing like their previous encounters—not the desperate clash during the war nor the playful peck at the kitchen and lake. This was something entirely new—slow, deliberate heat that built with every passing second. 

Mohawk's initial surprise quickly melted into something primal as his arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him until not even air could pass between their bodies.

His lips overwhelmed hers, surprisingly soft and pliant despite his rough exterior, moving with a practiced confidence that made her knees weak. The contrast between his gentle mouth and the harsh stubble scraping her skin created a delicious friction that made her groan.

When his tongue swept against the seam of her lips, Y/N gasped softly, the small sound swallowed by his mouth as she opened to him without hesitation, surrendering to the intoxicating slide of his tongue against hers. The taste of him—spicy and masculine with hints of something unexpectedly sweet—flooded her senses as she clutched at his shoulders for support. His hands slid down to cup her backside, lifting her slightly to better align their bodies, the hard ridge of his manhood pressing insistently against her stomach, hot even through layers of clothing.

"Fuck," he breathed against her mouth when they finally broke for air, his chest heaving as though he'd run miles rather than just kissed her. "Been wanting to do that properly since the lake."

"Just since the lake?" Y/N teased, delighting in the way his pupils expanded until only a thin ring of brown remained.

"Since I first saw you," he admitted, voice rough with an honesty that seemed to surprise even him. "Standing there in the middle of that battlefield like some kind of avenging angel. Wanted you even then."

The confession sent electricity racing down her spine. This wasn't just attraction or convenience—this was something that had been building since their very first encounter, something that transcended universes.

"Show me," she challenged, going up on her tippy toes to nip gently at his lower lip, drawing a hiss from deep in his throat. "Show me how much you want me."

Something dangerous and thrilling flashed across Mohawk's face—a predatory hunger that should have frightened her but instead sent liquid heat pooling low in her abdomen. In one fluid motion, he lifted her off her feet and deposited her on the edge of the stone table, his movements so swift and effortless that she barely had time to gasp before finding herself seated, several abandoned cooking implements clattering to the floor.

"Careful what you ask for, princess," he warned, his voice dropping low that seemed designed to make her core clench with anticipation. His hands bracketed her hips, holding her in place as he stepped between her parted knees. "I'm not known for my restraint."

Y/N reached for him, her fingers trailing over the impressive expanse of his chest, exploring the ridges and valleys of hard muscle beneath warm skin. The dense mat of hair covering his torso was surprisingly soft against her palms, tickling her fingertips as she explored the ridges of muscle beneath—so different from Omni's smoother torso or Viltrumite's leaner build. "Maybe I don't want restraint," she whispered.

Mohawk half growled, half groaned as he captured her mouth again. The kiss deeper and hungrier than before, his tongue claiming her mouth with possessive strokes, making her whimper against his lips. His hands were all over her—roaming her body with barely contained urgency—sliding up her thighs beneath the tunic, tangling in her hair, cupping her face with surprising tenderness before drifting lower to trace the curve of her breast through the thin fabric.

When his thumb brushed across her nipple, the sudden jolt of pleasure made Y/N gasp into his mouth, her back arching involuntarily as the sensitive peak hardened beneath his touch. Mohawk broke the kiss to watch her reaction, his eyes hooded, focused on her face with an almost scientific interest as he repeated the motion more deliberately.

"Sensitive," he observed, a smug satisfaction coloring his voice as he circled the hardened peak with deliberate strokes. "Wonder if you're this responsive everywhere?"

Before Y/N could formulate a response, he was tugging the tunic upward, his intentions unmistakable as his large hands bunched the fabric at her waist. She raised her arms, allowing him to pull the garment over her head and discard it somewhere behind him. The cool air of the kitchen raised goosebumps across her newly exposed skin, her nipples tightening further under the combination of cold air and Mohawk's burning gaze.

"Fucking perfect," he breathed, his voice filled with such raw appreciation that any self-consciousness she might have felt vanished instantly. His large hands came up to cup her breasts, the gentle weight of them filling his palms as his thumbs traced teasing circles around her areolas, deliberately avoiding the sensitive peaks that ached for his touch. "Even better than I imagined, and believe me, princess—I've imagined plenty."

Y/N felt exposed under his intense scrutiny if not for the unabashed admiration written across his features, the way his eyes darkened with each passing moment as they roved over her naked torso. His thumbs finally brushed across her nipples with teasing pressure, drawing a soft sound from deep in her throat as pleasure radiated from her nipples.

"You're staring," she murmured, unable to hide the tremor in her voice as another wave of sensation washed through her, heat flooding her cheeks.

"Damn right I am," he replied without a hint of apology, his gaze traveled over her form. "Been wanting to see you like this since day one." He leaned down, replacing one thumb with his mouth, the sudden contrast between the cool air and the wet heat of his tongue drawing a shocked gasp from her lips as she arched, eyes widening at the sensation. "Been wanting to taste you everywhere."

Y/N's head fell back on a gasp, exposing the column of her throat as pleasure coursed through her veins like liquid fire. One hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his mohawk as she held him against her breast, while the other gripped his shoulder for support. The soft scrape of his stubble against her sensitive skin created a delicious contrast to the wet heat of his mouth, each gentle bite followed by a soothing lap of his tongue that had her squirming against him, seeking more contact.

He gave one hard bite on her right breast, the sharp sting of pain quickly melting into pleasure as he soothed the mark with his tongue. Pulling back, he smirked and admired his work—she was transformed under his touch, chest heaving with rapid breaths, skin flushed pink with arousal, and eyes half-lidded with desire. Her breasts were flushed red and her nipples were visibly swollen from his attention.

"Still think dinner's the priority?" he asked, voice rough with desire as he smirked.

Unable to form coherent words, Y/N hooked her legs around his waist, strong thighs pressing against his hips as she pulled him closer to the edge of the table where she sat. The movement brought the hard ridge of his bulge directly against her core, drawing a hiss from both of them despite the barriers of clothing still between them.

"I think," she replied, deliberately rocking against him in a slow, teasing motion that had his hands tightening on her thighs, "that I'm more interested in dessert right now."

A wicked grin spread across Mohawk's face, transforming his features with boyish delight despite the hunger in his eyes. "Always knew you had good taste, princess." His hands slid beneath her thighs, gripping the firm muscle there as he adjusted her position slightly before grinding against her with deliberate pressure. The hard length of him manhood pressed perfectly against her core, sending jolts of electricity up her spine that had her gasping. "How long have you been thinking about this? About us?"

The unexpected vulnerability in his question caught Y/N off guard—beneath the confident exterior and bold touches, there was an uncertainty she hadn't anticipated. She cupped his face between her palms, thumbs brushing across the stubble on his cheeks as she forced him to meet her gaze directly.

"Since you kissed me during the war," she admitted honestly. "Maybe even before that. When you looked at me like I was the answer to a question you'd been asking your whole life."

Something raw and unguarded flickered in his eyes, a flash of emotion so intense it almost hurt to witness before he buried it beneath desire once more. He captured her mouth again, the kiss surprisingly gentle despite the tension evident in every corded muscle of his body, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that belied his usual brashness. "Never thought I'd get another chance," he murmured against her lips. "After my Y/N died, I didn't think—" He broke off, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

Y/N ran her fingers through his mohawk, the gesture soothing as she held him close, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against her chest. She traced the soft skin at the nape of his neck, feeling the strong tendons there as he shuddered against her. "I'm here now," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Mohawk lifted his head, his expression so nakedly hopeful it made her heart ache for all he'd lost, for the pain he carried beneath his cavalier exterior. "Promise?"

"Promise," she confirmed, sealing the vow with a kiss that started gentle but quickly blazed into something more.

That single word seemed to break something loose in him—the last threads of his self-control snapping as he claimed her mouth with renewed hunger. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring and claiming as his hands roamed her body with increasing urgency. A low growl rumbled in his chest as she whimpered against him. His hands were everywhere at once—tracing the curve of her waist, palming her breasts, sliding down to grip her hips with bruising intensity as he ground against her.

"Need you," he growled against her mouth. "Feel how much I fucking need you," he added, guiding her hand downward to press against the prominent bulge straining against his pants. The heat of him seared through the fabric, impossibly hard yet somehow silky beneath her palm as she traced his length, drawing a sharp hiss from between his clenched teeth. "Wanted this for so fucking long."

"Then take me," Y/N challenged, deliberately dragging her teeth across his lower lip as she bit down gently. The sharp sting of her teeth had him hissing, his hips bucking involuntarily against her core. "Unless you're all talk, Mohawk~?"

His eyes narrowed, pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the brown of his irises. "Oh, princess," he purred, the dangerous softness in his voice sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine. "You're gonna feel exactly how much I can back up my talk. You're gonna regret that challenge."

In one fluid motion, he lifted her off the table entirely, his hands gripping the undersides of her thighs as her legs automatically wrapped around his waist. The powerful muscles of his arms flexed beneath her grip, his strength effortlessly supporting her weight as if she were nothing. He carried her across the kitchen with confident strides, never breaking eye contact as anticipation built between them. Her back met the cool stone wall beside the hearth, the contrast with Mohawk's burning skin pulling a gasp from her lips.

"Right here?" she asked breathlessly, excitement fluttering in her stomach at the thought of being taken against the wall, their passion too urgent to make it to a bedroom.

"Right here," he confirmed, his grin wolfish in the dancing firelight, shadows accentuating the sharp angles of his face. "Want to watch you come undone against this wall," he growled, rolling his hips against her in a slow, deliberate motion that had her biting her lip to hold back a moan. "Unless you'd prefer somewhere more comfortable?"

Y/N considered for a moment—the private sanctuary of her chambers, perhaps, or even one of the many unused rooms throughout the fortress. But there was something intoxicating about the urgency of this moment, about Mohawk's barely contained desire and the heat of the kitchen fire painting his powerful body in gold and shadow.

"Here is perfect," she decided, tightening her legs around his waist. The adjustment brought his hardness directly against her aching vagina, making her groan and dig her nails into the muscles of his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin.

Mohawk's smile turned predatory, his eyes darkening to nearly black as he gazed down at her. "Good choice." His hands slid to the waistband of her leggings, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric. Tracing teasing circles on her lower belly, making her muscles jump beneath his touch. "These need to go."

Y/N nodded her agreement, her breath catching in her throat as anticipation coiled tight in her stomach. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted on a silent gasp as his fingertips dipped lower with torturous slowness. She unwound her legs from his waist just long enough for him to tug the garment down, leaving her in just the damp panties that clung to her mound. She kicked the leggings aside, now feeling the rough fabric of his pants against her nearly bare lower half, the friction drawing a whimper from her throat. The contrast between the cool air and his burning skin against her exposed thighs made her shiver, her body unconsciously arching toward his heat.

"Look at you," Mohawk breathed, taking a half-step back to admire her near-naked form. His gaze felt like a physical caress, raking over her body with such intensity that heat bloomed everywhere his eyes lingered. His expression held such raw hunger it made her breath hitch, yet beneath the desire was something deeper—a reverence that made her heart flutter wildly against her ribs. He seemed to memorize every curve, every freckle, every scar. "Fucking perfect."

Y/N felt a moment of self-consciousness as his gaze fell to the dark curls visible through her damp underwear. A flush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest, her skin turning a delicate rose that made her nipples stand out even more prominently against her flushed skin.

She realized this was her first time being so exposed in the light. With Sinister in the cave, darkness had hidden her body's natural state, but here in the kitchen's warm glow, nothing was concealed. The vulnerability of being seen—truly seen—by him sent a conflicting wave of anxiety and arousal through her core. She resisted the urge to cover herself, uncertain about her body hair after years in the sterile GDA environment.

Mohawk must have sensed her hesitation, because his eyes grew gentle for a heartbeat, the rare tenderness there making her chest tighten with emotion. "Every inch of you," he murmured, sliding his hands up her thighs with reverent slowness. His large palms covered so much territory, the strength in them carefully controlled as they kneaded the soft flesh beneath. His thumbs traced the edges of her underwear, teasing the sensitive skin there. 

"Perfect." He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to the damp fabric clinging to her mound. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Though it looks like the forest floor got a little… overgrown. Don't worry, princess," he chuckled softly, his voice a low rumble against her ear, the warm puff of his breath sending shivers racing down her spine as he nipped playfully at her earlobe, "I've always enjoyed a bit of exploring in the wilderness."

Y/N's embarrassment vanished, replaced by a burst of unexpected laughter that bubbled from her throat. She playfully kicked at his groin, her foot connecting just firmly enough to draw a surprised groan from him that was part pain, part arousal. His eyes widened momentarily before narrowing with dangerous delight.

"Save that feisty business for the main course, princess," he growled, capturing her ankle in his hand before it could retreat. His thumb traced the delicate bones there, pressing into the arch of her foot in a way that made her toes curl with unexpected pleasure as a laugh rumbled in his chest, the sound warming her from the inside out.

"Your turn," she insisted, reaching for the drawstring of his pants, her confidence returning at his genuine admiration. Her fingers brushed against the hard planes of his lower abdomen, feeling the muscles there contract sharply at her touch.

Mohawk caught her wrists, pressing them gently back against the wall above her head. His grip was firm but careful, large enough that his fingers completely encircled her wrists with room to spare. The tiny wince that crossed her features didn't escape his notice, and he immediately adjusted, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her pulse points, the surprising tenderness at odds with the hunger in his eyes. 

The position made her feel wonderfully vulnerable, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.

"Not yet," he growled, leaning in to nip at the sensitive spot below her ear. The sharp edge of his teeth followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue had her arching against him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. Her body responded instinctively to his touch, straining toward him even as he held her firmly in place. "Been dreaming about tasting you first."

Without releasing her wrists, Mohawk shifted his stance, lowering himself slightly while still keeping her pinned to the wall. The movement showcased the raw power in his thighs as he bent his knees, his free hand sliding between her legs with practiced ease.

His fingers traced up her inner thigh with feather-light touches that left goosebumps in their wake, each caress drawing closer to where she ached for him most. The muscles in her thighs quivered beneath his touch, anticipation making her breath come in short, desperate gasps.

"Been thinking about this since the first time I kissed you," he murmured, his voice husky with desire as his lips traced a burning path along her collarbone.

The rasp of his stubble against her sensitive skin created a delicious contrast to the wetness of his open-mouthed kisses. "The sounds you'd make. How you'd taste on my tongue."

Y/N's head fell back against the wall, surrendering to the sensations as his fingers finally hooked into the waistband of her underwear. He released her wrists to slide the soaked fabric down her legs, his movements deliberately slow as though savoring each new inch of skin revealed.

His eyes never left her body, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. She stepped out of them on trembling legs, now completely bare from the waist down, feeling utterly exposed yet strangely powerful under his hungry gaze.

Mohawk tossed her underwear aside, his eyes darkening to almost black as he took in the sight of her completely bare before him. The raw desire in his expression was unmistakable, his breathing growing heavier as he drank in the view of her glistening folds, already slick with arousal.

"Mark," she whispered, one hand coming down to tangle in his hair. The softness of his mohawk surprised her, the shorter sides velvety against her palm.

He glanced up at her from his slightly lowered position, the firelight catching the hunger in his eyes, turning them to molten amber. "Say it again," he urged, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, dangerously close to her wetness. His tongue darted out to taste the sensitive crease where thigh met her core, making her gasp and tighten her grip on his mohawk. "Want to hear it from your lips when you come apart."

It took Y/N a moment to realize what he meant—not the nickname they all used, but his true name, the one he shared with all the variants despite their divergent paths. "Mark," she whispered again, the sound breathy with want.

The effect was electric. A visible shudder ran through his powerful frame, his hands tightening momentarily on her thighs before he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her fully to his gaze. He looked up at her once more, his expression a mixture of hunger and something almost like neediness, before he leaned forward.

The first broad stroke of his tongue drew a cry from her lips, her fingers tightening reflexively in his hair. The wet heat of his mouth against her folds was unlike anything she'd experienced before, his skilled movements somehow both gentle and demanding at once. Mohawk—Mark—groaned against her in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that had her trembling against the wall.

"So fucking responsive," he murmured, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. He parted her lower lips with his fingers, revealing her swollen bud to his eager mouth. "Can't wait to devour this sweet pussy," he growled before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking with deliberate pressure.

Y/N cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily against his face as pleasure shot through her like lightning. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him against her as he feasted upon her clit like a starved man, determined to taste every drop of her essence, his tongue swirling and flicking against her with expert precision, as if memorizing what made her gasp and moan the loudest.

Within moments, he had her writhing against him, her thighs trembling and clenching around his head as he suckled and licked her relentlessly.

"That's it, princess," he murmured against her heated flesh, his voice vibrating against her clit, "Let me hear how good it feels."

​​Any embarrassment Y/N might have felt at her wet, guttural moans was obliterated by the masterful, filthy work of his tongue—alternating between long, slick strokes that stretched every nerve ending in her cunt and focused, greedy attention on the throbbing bud that had her vision swimming with stars.

Her thighs trembled uncontrollably around his head, slick with her own juices, her fingers alternately clenching and releasing in his hair as wave after wave of pure, raw pleasure slammed through her.

He traced intricate, maddening patterns against her swollen clit, each lick and swirl building upon the last until she was a quivering, whimpering mess plastered against the cold stone, her pussy practically begging for more.

When one thick, calloused finger circled her slick entrance, spreading her dripping lips wide before pressing deliberately inside, a strangled cry tore from her throat, her wet hole already aching for his cock.

"So responsive," Mohawk praised, his voice rough with lust as he looked up at her from between her slick thighs, her juices glistening on his lips and chin like a badge of honor. He slid a second thick finger alongside the first, stretching her wet slit wide as his mouth continued its relentless, greedy assault on her swollen clit.

His thick digits scissored and curled upward, deep within her slick canal, finding that sweet spot that made her vision blur and her legs tremble uncontrollably, her inner walls squeezing him tight. "So fucking perfect for me~"

The combination of his masterful mouth devouring her pussy and the slick, rhythmic invasion of his thick fingers deep inside her wet cunt instantly sent Y/N spiraling toward the precipice. Her breath hitched in short, desperate gasps, her lungs burning as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her core, a screaming knot of sensation demanding release.

Her back arched violently away from the cold stone, her head thrashing back against it as the pressure built to an unbearable crescendo, her inner walls clenching rhythmically, desperately milking his fingers as her shattering climax loomed. "Mark," she choked out, tugging urgently at his hair, a primal warning. "I'm close—I'm going to cum—"

"That's it," he encouraged, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her face contort in the throes of her impending orgasm, his thick fingers curling deep inside her slick cunt, hitting that precise spot that made her vision swim and her body buck.

"Let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers, wanna taste every last drop of your sweet cum." His voice was a rough, panting growl, the filthy words themselves. "Come for me, princess. Wanna feel you fucking shatter on my tongue," he urged against her wet lips, his breath hot and ragged. "Paint my fucking face with your delicious cum."

His filthy words, combined with a particularly clever flick of his tongue against her swollen clit, sent her hurtling over the edge, volcanic waves of pure sensation washing through her with such overwhelming intensity that her knees threatened to buckle had his grip on her hip not been her only anchor.

Her entire body tensed, every muscle clenching before releasing in shuddering spasms, waves of pure pleasure radiating outward from her core.

“M-mark~!” She cried out his name, a raw, primal sound of utter release, as her hips bucked uncontrollably against his face, her juicy cunt spasming around his eager mouth as he relentlessly licked and suckled her sensitive nub, greedily slurping up every drop of her sweet nectar that squirted out in thick, pulsing streams.

When he finally pulled back, his whole lower face glistened with the pearly evidence of her explosive orgasm, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

He licked his lips slowly, deliberately savoring her unique taste like a prized treat, a low, hum rumbling in his chest that sent a shiver of renewed longing through her still-quivering body. "Even sweeter than I ever fucking imagined," he growled, pressing one last, lingering kiss to her swollen clit before rising to his full height.

Mohawk stood up slowly, his hard body pressing intimately against hers as Y/N reached for him, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled his face down to hers. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, letting her taste her own slickness mingled with his raw hunger.

One large hand slid up her side, cupping the swollen weight of her breast, his thumb kneading the ultrasensitive flesh as he devoured her mouth. He could feel her nipples hardening instantly against his palm, and he pinched and rolled the already erect peaks between his fingers, eliciting a soft moan against his lips.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in ragged gasps as they both tried to catch their breath, "Fuck, that was incredible," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a possessive glint in his heated gaze. "Love yo-mngh, princess.” Y/N giggled, licking his slobbery saliva off her lips, the taste of their mingled juices igniting a fresh wave of heat in her belly. Her hands, slid down his sweat-slicked chest, her fingers already fumbling with the drawstring of his pants like a mischievous little imp.

This time, Mohawk didn't stop her. His breathing quickened visibly, chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes as she eagerly untied the drawstring, pushing the thick fabric down over his powerful thighs. A dark, enticing happy trail of hair led down from his navel to the dense, dark bush that framed his impressive groin.

His magnificent manhood sprang free, a solid eight and a half inches of thick, heavy flesh corded with prominent veins that pulsed with his potent arousal. The sensitive tip was flushed a deep pink and glistened with a generous amount of pre-cum, a slick, eager sheen that had been steadily leaking in anticipation of her touch, like a drooling puppy waiting for a treat. Below, his heavy balls swung low, full and weighty, practically begging for her attention.

"See something you like, you little tease?" he asked, voice rough with desire despite the playful words. A flush had spread across his cheeks.

Y/N smirked, her eyes sparkling with naughty delight as she wrapped her hand around his thick shaft in answer, reveling in the solid weight and radiating heat of him against her palm. Her fingers barely spanned his impressive girth, making her chuckle softly. He moaned softly into her ear, his eyes fluttering briefly closed at her touch. The hard length of him throbbed insistently against her palm, hot and heavy and somehow both impossibly hard and surprisingly velvety soft at once. 

Mohawk's eyes darkened with raw lust as she stroked his aching length, a low, guttural groan rumbling in his chest at her caress. He could feel every delicate curve of her soft hand wrapped around him. The sensation of her thumb spreading his slick pre-cum down his veined shaft sent electric sparks of pure pleasure shooting through his body, his hips rocking slightly, involuntarily, into her teasing touch. 

"Definitely," she replied, stroking him slowly from the thick base to the sensitive, glistening tip. She collected the abundant moisture at his flushed pink head with her thumb, spreading it down his corded shaft as she continued her slow, deliberate, and utterly wicked exploration. "Though I'm not entirely convinced all of this is going to fit... comfortably."

Mohawk's laugh was strained, his abdominal muscles rippling as he struggled to maintain control, his hips jerking slightly into her caressing touch. "Fuck, princess," he groaned, his hips jerking slightly into her hand. "Keep that up and this'll be over before it starts, and I've got a whole night planned to properly worship that sweet pussy of yours." His hands moved to her waist, gripping tightly as though anchoring himself. "We'll make it work," he promised, capturing her mouth in another hungry kiss. "Always do. One way or another, you're going to take every inch of me." 

Mohawk broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked down at her with a possessive hunger blazing in his eyes. He captured her mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep as he ground his hard cock against her slick folds.

He could feel the heat radiating from her soaked vulva, her inner lips glistening and already slick with her own release from where he'd pleasured her earlier, droplets of her cum tracing wet, inviting paths down her thighs. 

"Wrap your legs around me, princess," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "I'm going to fuck you against this wall until you scream." He lifted her again, this time with her full cooperation, her legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed her back against the wall.

The muscles in his arms bulged with the effort, veins standing out prominently beneath his skin. The new position brought the hot, blunt head of his arousal directly against her entrance, the slight pressure there making her gasp in anticipation. The head nudged against her outer lips, hot and insistent but not yet breaching, teasing her. 

"Now… just making sure, are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. A fine sheen of sweat covered his chest, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. 

"We can stop—" Y/N silenced him with a deep kiss, her hands framing his face, thumbs stroking over his rough cheekbones. Then, with deliberate slowness, she began to rock her hips forward, nudging herself against the slick, leaking tip of his cock.

A low moan escaped Mohawk's throat, his powerful body shuddering against hers. He was forced to break the kiss, a glistening strand of saliva connecting their parted lips as he looked down at her, his jaw clenched, every muscle in his body straining with the effort of holding back from simply pounding into her. 

Her movements coated him in her abundant arousal before she finally notched his swollen head at her entrance. The stretch was delicious, her body already slick and ready from his earlier attention. "I've never been more sure of anything," she assured him, hands cradling his face as she stared directly into his eyes. "I want you, Mark. All of you." 

Something vulnerable flashed across his features —a fleeting moment of pure, unguarded emotion that made her heart constrict in her chest—before he nodded, one hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingertips surprisingly gentle against her skin. 

"Hold onto me," he instructed, his voice thick with suppressed desire, waiting until her arms were securely wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in the short, rough strands of his mohawk, before he began to slowly push his hips upward. The initial stretch was intense but not painful, Mohawk's earlier attentions having prepared her body. 

A strangled sound, a mixture of anticipation and slight discomfort, escaped her throat as he filled her inch by exquisite inch, the sensation of such fullness felt both foreign and perfectly right. 

He entered her with agonizing slowness, giving her body time to adjust to his considerable size, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants against her neck as he fought a visible battle for control, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. Mohawk's eyes fluttered shut, his lips pressed into a thin line as he savored the sensation of her tight, slick heat enveloping his cock, her inner walls clenching and fluttering around his throbbing length like a silken vise. 

He could feel every delicate ridge and curve of her canal molding itself around him, could feel the subtle way her body stretched and yielded to accommodate his considerable size. It was a torturously delicious sensation, one that had him gritting his teeth, every nerve ending screaming for release, as he fought to maintain his measured pace. 

"Fuck," he groaned when he was finally seated to the hilt, their bodies connected as intimately as possible. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his entire body trembling with the effort of remaining still. He remained perfectly motionless for a long moment, allowing her canal to fully accommodate his large size, his forehead dropping to rest against hers as he savored the feeling of her tight, wet heat gripping him like a vise. "So fucking tight and perfect, like your cunt was made just for my cock."

Y/N could only nod, overwhelmed by the fullness, by the heat of him stretching her from within. Her walls fluttered around him, adjusting to his presence. When he began to move, drawing out slowly until just the tip remained inside her before carefully pushing back in, she gasped at the exquisite friction, at the way he seemed to find and ignite every sensitive nerve ending within her. 

The wet, slick sounds of their joining filled the small space as he withdrew almost completely, the head of his engorged penis teasing her again and again. Opening before he slammed back in, burying himself to the hilt. Sharp crys tore from Y/N's throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to pound into her willing body with a hard, fast pace that stole her breath.

"Mark," she breathed, the name falling from her lips like a prayer, her head thrown back against the cold stone wall as he took her. Each powerful thrust sent sparks of raw ecstasy through her, her body bouncing against the unyielding surface with the force of his movements. She could feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock dragging along her sensitive inner walls, stretching her in the most delicious way, filling her completely with a sensation so profound it bordered on overwhelming. 

"Mine," he growled, the word rumbling from deep in his chest as his hips snapped forward with renewed purpose, his powerful frame caging her against the unyielding wall. His teeth grazed her shoulder, marking her with a sharp bite. His hands gripped her ass roughly, squeezing the firm flesh as he fucked her harder against the cold stone.

He leaned in, his mouth latching onto one of her nipples, sucking hard as he rammed his thick cock deeper, hitting that exquisite G-spot that sent blinding bursts of light behind her eyelids. "Say it again," he demanded, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that made her vision swim.

"Mark," she repeated, gasping as he increased his pace, one large hand sliding beneath her to adjust the angle for even deeper penetration. His rhythm grew urgent, each powerful thrust driving her closer to the shattering edge.

The new angle allowed his thick member to strike that precise point within her cunt, sending jolts of pure electricity through her trembling body. Her nails raked down his sweat-slicked back, leaving fiery trails in their wake as his thick length plunged even deeper into her tight canal, dragging against those hidden nerves that ignited a fresh wave of intense, almost unbearable pleasure. "Oh god, Mark!"

"Fuck, princess," he groaned, his voice tight with strain and barely restrained desire. "You're so fucking perfect, so tight and hot around my cock. I can feel your pussy squeezing me, milking my fucking dick." The wet slap of skin against skin punctuated his words, the sodden squelch of her intense arousal a visceral soundtrack to his deep thrusts.

His rhythm grew urgent, demanding. Each fuck was a raw, powerful claim, driving him deeper. Sweat slicked his sculpted chest, catching the firelight as the defined muscles bunched and flexed with each forceful movement. His gaze locked on her face, devouring every raw flicker of pleasure that contorted her features.

The sounds of their sex filled the kitchen—the wet smack of their bodies colliding, her sharp, escalating moans, his guttural growls of raw satisfaction as her inner walls clenched convulsively around his invading member.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated deep within her. "Take what you need from me. Use my cock to make yourself feel good. I want to feel you come apart on my dick, want to watch you fucking shatter!" His crude words, thick with a raw, sent a searing jolt of pure sensation flooding her core, her cunt clenching down around him.

Sweat dripped down Mohawk's chiseled chest and abs, highlighting every ridge and valley of muscle as they flexed and bunched with each powerful thrust. The tendons in his neck stood out, corded and taut as he fought to maintain control, his jaw clenched tight as he watched her with a wild, almost feral intensity. Every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face, every breathless moan and gasp that fell from her lips seemed to spur him on, driving him to take her harder, faster, deeper.

Y/N was beyond coherent thought, her body arching instinctively with each brutal thrust, her skin flushed and slick with a sheen of sweat that made her practically glow in the dim light. Her head was thrown back against the unyielding wall, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat which he immediately attacked with hot lips and sharp teeth, lost in the escalating pleasure as Mohawk fucked her with increasingly violent force. 

The dual assault of his mouth at her throat and his thick cock pounding deep within her overwhelmed her senses, pleasure building in relentless, shattering waves. Mohawk's hand snaked between their sweat-slicked bodies, his calloused fingers finding her aching, swollen clit with unerring accuracy.

He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with a pressure and speed that had her seeing stars, her back arching clean off the wall as a scream tore from her throat a second, involuntary orgasm seizing her with shocking intensity.

"That's it," he growled against her throat, his voice hoarse with raw desire as he felt her body begin to convulse around him. "Let go for me, my love. Want to feel you come apart around my cock."

Mohawk growled his approval as her pussy pulsed around him, the rhythmic contractions of her internal muscles drawing a strangled groan from deep within his chest. The sound was primal, deeply satisfied, as his fingers continued their relentless torment on her sensitive nub even as she shuddered and squeezed around his length, drawing out her pleasure until tears stung the corners of her eyes.

Her vision blurred as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her, each one more intense than the last as his skilled fingers refused to relent. 

His thrusting faltered briefly before becoming almost punishing in its precision. "Aggh~ p-perfect," he gasped against her throat. "So fucking tight when y-you come, squeezing my cock like you never want to let go, you love me so much, dont ya baby-? Fuc-k Nnnhg~"

His breath came in harsh pants against her skin, his powerful body trembling with the effort of prolonging her exquisite torment before seeking his own explosive release. His words were crude but reverent, awe evident in every syllable. "So fucking perfect for me."

His thrusts grew erratic, his breathing harsh against her neck as he chased his own imminent climax. The powerful muscles of his back bunched and flexed beneath her slick hands, sweat making his skin even more slippery as he fucked her with increasing urgency, his thick length dragging against her G-spot with each desperate plunge. "Y/N nngh~!" he groaned, the sound of her name torn from his throat with a moan, "Need you, my heart~! Mmm-ahh a-always needed you."

"I'm h-here," she promised, cradling his sweat-slicked face between her trembling palms, forcing him to meet her glazed eyes as his control finally shattered. His eyes were wild with pure, unadulterated pleasure and something deeper, something akin to worship as he stared down at her. "Mppf~! I'm r-right here mark!"

Something breaks in his expression at her words—the last vestiges of his control shattering as he buries his thick cock to the hilt with a hoarse, guttural shout of her name. His entire body shudders violently as he pulses deep within her cunt, the hot, thick rush of his cum triggering an earth-shattering aftershock of pleasure that has her screaming his name.

He roars, his body convulsing above her as he empties his seed into her dripping pussy, each powerful jet painting her insides slick and white with his cum. The raw sensation of him coming undone, his powerful frame shaking with the force of his climax.

Y/n can't help it, she screams his name as she comes, her body convulsing almost violently beneath him in a mind-blowing orgasm. Wave after wave of pure, undiluted ecstasy washes over her, her vision going white as she clings to him, riding out the intense pleasure radiating from her core. She can feel his swollen member still throbbing deep inside her, prolonging her exquisite torment as he continues to flood her tight little hole with his seed, making a wet and sticky mess.

For long moments afterward, they remain locked together, Mohawk's forehead resting against hers as they both fight to draw ragged breaths. His heart hammers against her chest, his powerful arms trembling slightly as they hold her pinned against the wall.

When he finally eases her down, her legs shaking uncontrollably as they take her weight again, she can feel the thick, sticky mixture of their juices beginning to ooze from her slick, fucked pussy, a warm, undeniable testament to their explosive union, leaving a glistening trail down her thighs. 

As he slowly withdraws his cock from her soaked cunt, sliding out with a wet, sighing sound, coated in the glistening blend of their mingled fluids; a thick, viscous string connecting them for a fleeting moment before parting, leaving her feeling deliciously empty and thoroughly used. He keeps her close within the circle of his possessive embrace, his eyes dark with love and satisfaction.

"F-fuck…That was..." he begins, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"Worth the wait?" Y/N suggests, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Mohawk's answering smile is softer than any expression she's shown him before. He traces her lower lip with his thumb, his touch gentle.

"Worth everything," he corrects, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her forehead. "Worth every goddamn minute of waiting. Fucking incredible." He brushes a sweat-dampened strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

He cups her face, his thumb brushing over her plump bottom lip. "Don't think I've ever come that hard in my life," he admits, his voice low and rough, still tinged with the remnants of his intense climax. "The way you came apart in my arms...fuck, it was beautiful. You're beautiful…god I love you, you sticky little mess." The tenderness in his voice, so at odds with his typically brash demeanor, makes something warm bloom in Y/N's chest. She leans into him, savoring the solid strength of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.

"We should probably actually make dinner at some point," she mused after a comfortable silence, reluctant to break the moment but aware that the others would be wondering about their absence.

Mohawk chuckled, the sound rumbling pleasantly through his chest where her head rested. "Probably," he agreed, making no move to release her. Instead, his hand came up to stroke through her hair with surprising gentleness.

His fingers worked through the tangles their activities had created, massaging her scalp in a way that had her practically purring against him. "Though I can think of better ways to work up an appetite. Involving more licking, more fucking, and definitely less cooking."

Y/N tilted her head back to meet his gaze, finding his eyes warm with a mixture of satisfaction and renewed interest, a definite glint of mischief sparking within them. "Is that so?"

"Mmm," he confirmed, bending to brush his lips against hers in a kiss far more tender than she would have expected from him. His tongue traced the seam of her lips without demanding entry, "But maybe somewhere more comfortable this time? My knees aren't what they used to be, princess. Especially after all that kneeling I did to properly worship your sweet pussy."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the warm kitchen air.

"Your chambers or mine?" she asked, delighting in the way his eyes darkened with possessive hunger at the suggestion.

"Mine," he growled possessively, his hand sliding down to squeeze her backside, his thumb digging playfully into the curve of her ass.

"My bed's bigger, and I want plenty of room to spread you out and take my time with you properly. Lick you until you're screaming my name again, princess. And then fuck you every which way until neither of us can see straight." He was already reaching for her discarded clothing. "Because princess, I'm nowhere near done with you yet. Not by a long shot. I've got a whole list of dirty things I still want to do to that tight little cunt of yours."

As they hastily dressed, her legs felt like jelly, completely unwilling to support her weight – Mohawk chuckled, scooping her up into his arms with effortless ease. He carried her from the kitchen, the half-prepared dinner forgotten behind them, a possessive gleam in his eyes as he headed towards his chambers. 

Y/N couldn't help but think that some bets were worth losing—especially when the payoff was so unexpectedly perfect, and promised so much more to come.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

Hours later, when Mohawk finally carried Y/N from his chambers—disheveled and glowing with utter satisfaction, love bites a blatant roadmap of his desire across her neck and whole body, while his bad was littered with raw scratches, a testament to her own passionate grip—they found the common area suspiciously empty save for a platter of neatly arranged food and a note in No-Mask's precise handwriting:

"Since dinner preparations were evidently... thoroughly interrupted, we took the liberty of preparing an alternative meal. Lensless insisted we leave enough for two. Enjoy (and maybe hose down the kitchen floor later?)."

Below that, in a different, more flamboyant script that could only belong to Sinister:

"Do try to keep the noise down next time, dove. Some of us are trying to sleep. Though the walls were certainly vibrating with a new level of... intensity. But let's be honest, we all know who first taught you how to truly scream, don’t we dove~?"

And finally, a hastily scrawled addition in what appeared to be Omni Mark's controlled handwriting:

"Take your time. You've both earned it."

Mohawk read the note over her shoulder, his bark of laughter surprising but welcome against her ear. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her against the solid warmth of his chest as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Look at that," he mused, arms tightening around her waist. "The bastards can be considerate when they want to be. Prickly Sinister aside."

Y/N leaned back against his solid warmth, a deep contentment settling in her bones, a pleasant ache still throbbing between her thighs, making walking a distant memory. "Wonders never cease," she agreed, turning her head to press a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw, her slightly damp hair brushing against his cheek. "Though I'm not sure I want to know how they knew what we were doing."

"Lensless," they said in unison, then dissolved into laughter that echoed through the fortress halls.

As Mohawk settled at the table with Y/N nestled in his lap, sharing the meal their unlikely family had prepared, she couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd all come—from battle-hardened killers to men who would prepare dinner for their missing companions without complaint (or mostly without complaint, in Sinister's case).

"What are you thinking about?" Mohawk asked, his usual gruffness softened in the aftermath of their shared intimacy, his fingers absently stroking the curve of her hip.

Y/N smiled, reaching across the table to tangle her fingers with his. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, the small gesture of affection somehow more intimate than all they had shared before. "That I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

The look he gave her in response—wonder mixed with disbelief, as if he couldn't quite fathom his good fortune—was worth every hardship, every battle, every moment of uncertainty that had led them to this strange new world and the life they were building together.

"Yeah," he agreed, squeezing her hand gently. "We all are."

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Hoped you liked this... I put a lot into writing.. like so much it is not even funny...

I am getting busy again, and prob won't be updating for a long time :( Hope y'all liked the stories I've been writing and posting. It was originally for me, but it's a pleasure to share!

Hopefully, I'll get the motivation to write Omni-Mark Smut one day🙏

Much love ♡

Pt.1

Pt.2

Lead up series!! (Invincible variants x reader 1-10 parts) + Sinister Smut

[mocharyc]

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜 Pt.2!!

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

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ The Lake's Secret‧ ₊ ˚

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

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

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They found the others gathering in the grand entrance hall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

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

A new beginning, indeed.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

Pt.3 (SMUT with Mohawk)

Pt.1 (𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜)

[mocharyc]

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜

♡ Invincible variants x reader ♡

☆ WC: 8k+ [Build off] ☆ TW: fluff (kissing with Mohawk!!)

☆ Authors note: Hello!! This is the spin-off from my main series on Invincible Variants x reader. However, this can be read separately as well :)  The first two chapters are fluff(kissing), then it’ll get spicy with Mohawk and Omni Mark, and maybe a few other variants to your guy's suggestions⸜(˃ᵕ˂)⸝♡

This is mainly cutesy stuff and slow plot build :3

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The alien sun cast long, golden fingers of light across the valley as Y/N stood surrounded by the variants, each a different version of the same man, yet wholly unique in their own right. The fortress in the distance glimmered like a mirage, its spires and walls catching the last rays of sunlight in a display that seemed almost deliberately welcoming.

"Should we explore our new home before nightfall?" Y/N suggested, her voice carrying easily in the pristine air of this untouched world.

Lensless Mark bounced forward, practically vibrating with excitement. "Race you there!" he challenged, eyes bright with mischief. Before anyone could respond, he was off, a blur of motion streaking across the lush field, leaving a trail of flattened grass in his wake.

"Some things never change," Phantom Mark observed, the voice modulator in his mask unable to entirely mask the fondness in his tone. He turned to Y/N, head tilted slightly. "Shall we?"

"Not so fast," Omni Mark interrupted, his gaze fixed on the semi-conscious Angstrom still sprawled on the ground. "We need to decide what to do with him first."

Sinister sauntered over to Angstrom, crouching beside his prone form. The yellow and black of his suit seemed to absorb the golden sunlight, transforming the bright colors into something molten and dangerous. "I have several creative suggestions," he offered, running a finger along Angstrom's mangled jawline with deceptive gentleness.

"No more death," Y/N reminded him, stepping forward to place a restraining hand on Sinister's shoulder. "Not here. Not in our new beginning."

Sinister looked up at her, conflict evident in his eyes—the killer he had been battling with something softer, something that responded to her touch like a plant turning toward sunlight. After a moment, he rose to his feet with fluid grace, capturing her hand before it could fall away from his shoulder.

"As you wish, dove," he murmured, bringing her fingertips to his lips. The kiss was gentle, contradicting everything his reputation suggested. His eyes never left hers as his lips pressed against her skin, warm and surprisingly soft despite the constant smirk that usually occupied them. Before finally releasing her hand with a reductant sigh.

Viltrumite Mark stepped forward, his white suit pristine against the wild backdrop of their new world. His features had softened since the conflict just hours before, "The fortress may have suitable containment facilities," he suggested, voice deep and measured. "I've seen similar designs across many worlds.

"We should contain him," No-Mask Mark suggested, his unprotected face openly displaying his concern. "His powers are too dangerous to leave unchecked."

"The fortress might have something suitable," Omni Mark agreed, stooping to lift Angstrom with ease. "For now, I'll carry him."

They set off across the field, the tall grass brushing against their legs like a caress. The vegetation wasn't quite like Earth's—each blade seemed to shift between emerald and azure depending on how the light hit it, creating rippling waves of color as they moved through the field. Small creatures, resembling something between butterflies and hummingbirds, darted away from their approach, trailing iridescent particles that evaporated into the air like tiny fireworks.

Mohawk fell into step beside Y/N, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed. Each casual contact sent a subtle current through her skin, awareness blooming in unexpected ways. He seemed different here—less coiled with rage, as if the very air of this new world was already beginning to work subtle changes in him.

"You doing okay?" His mohawk caught the breeze, strands dancing slightly as he turned to study her face with unexpected intensity, the brown of his eyes softened with an emotion that made her breath catch.

Y/N nodded, surprised by the genuine peace beginning to settle over her. "Better than okay," she admitted. "I feel... free. Like I can finally breathe."

Mohawk's fingers found hers, tentatively at first, then more confidently when she didn't pull away. His hand engulfed hers, calloused palm warm against her skin, his touch a grounding presence in this strange new reality. "I never thought I'd feel that again," he confessed quietly, the usual harsh edge in his voice softened to something almost vulnerable. "After I lost her—after I lost control—I thought rage was all I had left."

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, letting her thumb trace small circles against his skin. The simple gesture seemed to affect him deeply; she watched as his throat worked with emotion. "And now?"

A smile touched his lips—not his usual feral grin but something genuine that transformed his entire face, erasing years of hardness in an instant, creating dimples she'd never noticed before. "Now I'm thinking maybe there's more to life than breaking shit," he replied, the crude language somehow endearing in its sincerity.

When they reached the base of the hill leading to the fortress, Lensless Mark was already waiting, sprawled dramatically on the ground with arms and legs spread wide as if making an angel in the strange blue-green grass.

"Took you slow-pokes long enough!" he called, jumping to his feet with boundless energy. His enthusiasm was infectious, bringing reluctant smiles even to the most serious faces among them.

The fortress itself was even more impressive up close—neither fully ancient nor modern, its architecture seeming to blend elements from across time and space into something uniquely harmonious. Massive stone blocks formed the foundation, transitioning seamlessly into graceful spires and arches that defied Earth physics. The entire structure gleamed with an inner light, as if the stone itself was somehow luminescent.

"It's beautiful," Y/N breathed as they approached the imposing entrance. Massive doors of some unknown material—not quite metal, not quite wood—stood closed before them, etched with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and change if watched too closely.

"How do we get in?" No-Mask Mark wondered, approaching the doors cautiously.

Before anyone could suggest a solution, the doors began to open inward, sliding silently despite their obvious weight. Light spilled out from within, warm and welcoming.

"It's responding to us," Phantom Mark observed, his masked face tilted in curiosity. "As if it was expecting us."

"Or built for us," Omni Mark added thoughtfully, adjusting his grip on the still-unconscious Angstrom.

They stepped through the massive doorway into a vast entrance hall. The ceiling soared overhead, supported by columns that resembled tree trunks, complete with intricate branch-like protrusions that intertwined to form natural arches. The floor beneath their feet was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the soft amber light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves rather than any visible fixtures.

"This place is fucking amazing," Mohawk breathed, his usual profanity softened by genuine wonder. His wide eyes reflected the amber light, making them appear almost golden as he took in the majesty around them. His grip on Y/N's hand tightened slightly, as if needing to ground himself in the face of such beauty.

Viltrumite Mark ran his palm along one of the columns, his face softening with appreciation. "I've visited a thousand worlds," he murmured, "and never seen craftsmanship like this. Even the Imperial Palace on Viltrum pales in comparison to this architectural harmony."

Lensless Mark was already racing ahead, darting between columns with delight. His laughter echoed through the vast space, untainted by the darkness that had consumed them all for so long. "There are rooms everywhere!" he called back. "Bedrooms, kitchens, libraries—this place has everything!"

"Libraries?" No-Mask perked up, his academic interests immediately piqued.

"Kitchens?" Sinister echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Do we even need to eat here?"

"We should explore systematically," Omni Mark suggested. Despite his logical approach, there was an undercurrent of wonder in his tone, a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there during the war. "First, we need to secure Angstrom, then establish our basic needs."

Y/N stepped further into the hall, drawn by an inexplicable feeling of familiarity. "It's like it knows us," she murmured, running her fingers along one of the columns. The surface was warm beneath her touch, almost responsive, like skin rather than stone. "Like it was designed specifically for us."

"Maybe it was," Phantom Mark suggested, his voice distorted yet thoughtful through his mask. "The multiverse works in ways none of us fully understand."

They found a secure room deep within the fortress—one with walls of the same strange material as the entrance doors and no windows to offer escape. They placed Angstrom inside, still unconscious but breathing steadily, and sealed the door behind them.

"He'll be contained here until we decide what to do with him," Omni Mark stated with quiet authority.

As evening settled over their new world, they gathered in what appeared to be a central living space—a circular room with comfortable seating arranged around a central firepit where blue flames danced without consuming any visible fuel. The twin moons were visible through a domed skylight overhead, casting silvery light that mingled with the blue fire's glow.

Y/N sank onto one of the cushioned seats, suddenly aware of the bone-deep exhaustion that had been held at bay by adrenaline and necessity. The events of the past days—the war, the decisions, the dimensional travel—crashed over her in a wave of delayed reaction.

Omni Mark noticed immediately, settling beside her with quiet concern. His movements were careful, controlled, as if afraid she might shatter if handled too roughly. "You should rest," he murmured, his voice gentle. "It's been... a lot."

She nodded, too tired to argue, yet reluctant to leave this moment—their first peaceful gathering in their new home. "I will. Soon."

Mohawk dropped onto the floor in front of her seat, leaning back against her legs with casual possession that somehow didn't feel presumptuous. The weight of him against her was solid, grounding, his mohawk tickling her knees through the material of her flight suit. He tilted his head back to look up at her, the blue fire casting shadows across the planes of his face, softening his usually harsh features.

One by one, the others settled around the fire—Phantom claiming a high-backed chair that accommodated his rigid posture, No-Mask sprawling on a chaise longue with uncharacteristic relaxation, Lensless perching on the edge of a seat before jumping up again to explore the room's perimeter. Viltrumite Mark chose a seat with a commanding view of the entire room, his posture still regal despite the informal setting. Sinister remained standing for a time, silhouetted against the firelight like a predator assessing new territory, before finally claiming a seat directly across from Y/N, his eyes never leaving her face.

"So," No-Mask broke the comfortable silence, openly displaying his curiosity. "What do we call this place?"

 "Home," Mohawk answered immediately, tilting his head back to catch Y/N's gaze, seeking confirmation. The blue fire reflected in his eyes, transforming them into something ethereal. There was a raw vulnerability in the way he spoke the word, as if he'd never truly understood its meaning until now.

Y/N smiled, her hand dropping almost unconsciously to his shoulder. Her fingers traced small patterns there, feeling the tension in his muscles gradually release under her touch. "Home," she agreed softly.

"Azure Horizons," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his deep voice carrying easily across the circle. When the others looked at him questioningly, a faint smile touched his lips, softening the imperial bearing that had become second nature to him. "For the blue-green fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. For new beginnings that hold infinite possibilities."

The conversation flowed from there—tentative at first, then with increasing ease as they began to explore not just their surroundings but each other. For the first time, they weren't enemies or reluctant allies bound by circumstance, but potential friends—even family—by choice.

Lensless broke into periodic fits of laughter as he recounted his race up the hill, mimicking the surprise of the strange creatures he'd disturbed along the way. His animated gestures and expressive face had even Phantom's shoulders shaking with silent amusement.

"And then this thing—" Lensless mimed something with multiple legs and a fan-like tail, "—it just made this noise like 'PFFFFFT' and shot straight up about twenty feet!" He demonstrated by leaping from his seat, nearly hitting his head on a low-hanging light fixture.

"Careful, you idiot," Mohawk growled, though there was no real heat in the words. A reluctant grin tugged at his lips as he watched Lensless hop around the room, still mimicking the startled creature.

Y/N found herself drifting, the gentle cadence of their voices washing over her like a lullaby, the warmth of the fire and the solid presence of Mohawk against her legs lulling her toward sleep. She fought it for a time, not wanting to miss these precious moments of normalcy, but eventually her eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

She wasn't sure when she slipped from consciousness, only that she became vaguely aware of being lifted, strong arms cradling her against a warm chest. The scent of clean sweat and subtle cologne wrapped around her—Omni Mark, she realized without opening her eyes. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear as he carried her through the fortress corridors.

"I can walk," she mumbled, the words slurred with exhaustion.

"I know," he replied, his voice a gentle rumble she could feel through his chest. "But you don't have to."

He carried her into a room she hadn't seen before—spacious and elegant, dominated by a large bed with covers turned down invitingly. The walls here seemed to glow with a softer light than the main halls, creating an atmosphere of peaceful sanctuary.

Omni Mark set her down on the edge of the bed with extraordinary gentleness, crouching before her to remove her boots. Each movement was careful, respectful, his touch clinical yet somehow tender as he eased her feet free.

"You should probably change," he suggested, nodding toward what appeared to be a wardrobe across the room. "There seem to be clothes here. For all of us."

Y/N blinked, trying to process this information through the fog of fatigue. "How is that possible?"

Omni Mark shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "I don't know. This place... it's like it was waiting for us. Everything we need seems to be here."

He rose to his feet, towering over her for a moment before stepping back to give her space. "Rest now," he said softly. "Tomorrow we can explore properly. Figure out what this place is, what it means."

As he turned to leave, Y/N reached out impulsively, catching his hand. "Stay?" she asked, the single word laden with vulnerability she would never have shown during the chaotic days of the war. "Just... until I fall asleep?"

Omni Mark's expression softened, the permanent crease between his brows easing slightly. Without a word, he settled onto the edge of the bed beside her, still holding her hand in his much larger one. His thumb traced gentle patterns across her knuckles, the simple contact conveying more comfort than words ever could.

Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent that had already become familiar, already begun to register as safety in her mind. "Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?" he asked, voice rumbling through her where their bodies connected.

"For suggesting this. For giving us all a chance at something new."

His free hand came up to stroke her hair, fingers threading through the strands with careful tenderness. "We all deserved it," he replied simply. "Especially you."

They sat in comfortable silence, his hand continuing its gentle ministrations until Y/N's breathing deepened and slowed. Just before sleep claimed her completely, she felt him shift, easing her down onto the pillows with extraordinary care. The covers settled over her with whisper-soft weight, and then the ghost of lips pressed against her forehead—so gentle she might have imagined it.

"Sleep well, Y/N," Omni Mark whispered, the words following her down into dreams. "Tomorrow begins our real story."

Morning arrived with golden light filtering through windows Y/N hadn't noticed the night before—tall, arched openings that revealed a view of the valley below their fortress hill. She stretched languidly, surprised by how deeply she had slept, how refreshed she felt after just one night in this strange new world.

The wardrobe Omni Mark had mentioned stood open now, revealing clothing in various styles and colors—all seemingly her size. She selected simple attire—soft pants and a flowing top in a shade that matched the blue-green grass outside—before making her way back toward the central living area.

The fortress was even more beautiful in daylight, sunlight streaming through cleverly placed skylights and windows to illuminate the intricate architecture. As Y/N wandered the corridors, she noticed details missed in the previous evening's exhaustion—living plants integrated into the design, small fountains creating musical water features at unexpected intervals, artwork depicting landscapes both familiar and alien adorning walls of polished stone.

She found Phantom Mark in what appeared to be a training room—a vast space with weapons mounted on walls and a floor padded for combat practice. He moved through a complex kata with fluid grace, his masked face turned toward the ceiling as if in meditation despite the physical exertion.

He paused when he noticed her watching, body freezing mid-motion before relaxing into a more neutral stance. "Good morning," he greeted, voice slightly mechanical through his mask's filter.

"Morning," she replied, stepping into the room. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Some," he admitted, moving toward her with his characteristic grace. Even in this peaceful setting, there was something predatory about his movements—not threatening, but unmistakably powerful. "The mask makes it... complicated."

Y/N studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders despite his relaxed tone. "You know," she said carefully, "in this new world, you could take it off. If you wanted to."

His hand came up reflexively to touch the edge of his mask, fingers tracing the seam where it met his suit. "Perhaps," he acknowledged, voice softer now. "Someday. When I'm ready."

Without thinking, Y/N reached up to place her hand over his where it rested on his mask. "No rush," she assured him. "We have time now. All the time we need."

Even through his mask and his gloves, she felt the slight tremor that ran through him at her touch. His other hand came up to cover hers, sandwiching her fingers between his in a gentle hold.

"Thank you," he said simply, the words carrying weight beyond their simplicity.

They remained like that for a long moment—connected by touch, by understanding, by the unspoken bond forming between all of them in this strange new world. Then, with gentle precision, Phantom Mark raised her hand to the eye-level of his mask, examining her fingers with apparent fascination.

"So small," he murmured, almost to himself. "So fragile compared to us. Yet so strong in all the ways that truly matter."

Before Y/N could respond, he pressed the lower part of his mask to her knuckles—the closest approximation to a kiss the barrier would allow. The gesture was unexpectedly tender, sending a flutter of warmth through her chest. Despite the unyielding material between them, she could feel the warmth of his breath through the mask's ventilation, the careful pressure of his lips beneath the barrier.

"The others are gathering for breakfast," he said, releasing her hand with apparent reluctance. "Shall we join them?"

They found the rest of the group in a spacious kitchen that opened onto a terrace overlooking the valley. The scene that greeted them was so incongruously domestic that Y/N paused in the doorway, momentarily stunned by the sight.

Mohawk stood at a cooking surface, cursing cheerfully as he flipped something that resembled pancakes with more enthusiasm than skill. He'd abandoned his suit for loose pants and a fitted tank top that revealed the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders, dotted with scars that told stories of countless battles. His mohawk was slightly disheveled from sleep, giving him an oddly endearing appearance.

"Flip, you little bastard!" he growled at a particularly stubborn pancake, brandishing the spatula like a weapon. His brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth as he focused with the same intensity he once reserved for combat. When he finally managed to turn it, revealing a perfectly golden-brown surface, his face lit up,. "Ha! See that? Perfection!"

No-Mask was arranging what appeared to be local fruits in a bowl, his precision suggesting the academic's approach to even the most mundane tasks. He'd exchanged his suit for simple earth-toned clothing that softened his appearance, making him look more like the college professor he might have been in another life. His expressive face revealed every thought—concentration, satisfaction, occasional frustration when a particularly stubborn piece of fruit wouldn't stay where he wanted it.

Viltrumite Mark sat at the head of the table, posture perfect even in this casual setting, peeling what looked like a star-shaped fruit with precise movements. His white suit had been replaced by more casual attire—a simple tunic and pants in pale colors that still managed to convey authority. The centuries of imperial bearing couldn't be completely erased, but there was a relaxed set to his shoulders that hadn't been there before. His brown hair was loose around his head rather than slicked back in its usual severe style.

"The composition of these fruits is fascinating," Viltrumite observed, examining a slice with interest. "The molecular structure must be quite different from Earth's flora to achieve these color-shifting properties."

Lensless bounced between the various food preparation areas, stealing tastes of everything with delight, earning half-hearted swats from Mohawk and exasperated sighs from No-Mask. He'd traded his suit for loose, colorful t-shirt and shorts that perfectly matched his exuberant personality. His hair stuck up at odd angles, giving him a perpetually surprised look that somehow suited him perfectly. His energy seemed boundless even in this peaceful setting, body in constant motion as if stillness was physically impossible for him.

"That's the third piece you've stolen!" No-Mask protested as Lensless snagged another piece of color-shifting fruit. "If you keep eating them all before breakfast, there won't be any left for the rest of us."

"Can't help it," Lensless mumbled through a full mouth, juice dribbling down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, leaving a shimmering streak across his skin that caught the morning light. "They're just so good! Like candy but also kind of minty? But also sort of citrusy?" He gestured wildly with the half-eaten fruit. "It's like a flavor explosion!"

Sinister lounged against a counter, observing the others with amusement while sipping from a steaming mug. Unlike the others, he hadn't fully abandoned his signature colors, wearing a black shirt with subtle yellow accents that emphasized his lean, powerful build. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that suggested careful styling rather than sleep, and his usual predatory grace remained intact even in this domestic setting. His eyes tracked Y/N the moment she entered, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Only Omni Mark was missing, likely still dealing with their prisoner somewhere in the fortress depths. 

"Well, look who finally decided to join us," Mohawk called, spotting Y/N in the doorway. His usual gruffness was tempered by obvious pleasure at seeing her, his entire face transforming when their eyes met. The crease between his brows smoothed momentarily, and that rare genuine smile—the one that created unexpected dimples in his stubbled cheeks—bloomed across his face. "Hope you're hungry. I'm making my famous galaxy-famous pancakes."

"Is that what those are supposed to be?" Sinister drawled, eyebrow arched in mock surprise. He set his mug down with deliberate grace, pushing himself off the counter in one fluid motion that reminded Y/N of a jungle cat stretching. His eyes— like dark chocolate in the morning light rather than their usual predatory gleam—never left her face as he moved, cataloging her expressions with the same intensity he once reserved for tracking prey. "I thought you were developing a new form of building material."

"Fuck off," Mohawk retorted without heat, flipping another pancake. A lopsided grin belied his harsh words, the camaraderie between them something entirely new and unexpected. He brandished the spatula like a weapon, flecks of blue batter splattering across the counter. "At least I'm contributing, pretty boy. What are you doing besides taking up space and looking decorative?"

"Quality control," Sinister replied smoothly, sauntering over to Y/N with predatory grace. His movements were deliberately unhurried, each step calculated to draw attention to the fluid power of his body.

"Good morning, dove," he murmured, leaning in to place a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth. The subtle scent of him enveloped her—something spiced and dangerous that somehow belonged perfectly in this peaceful kitchen. His lips lingered at the corner of her mouth, warm and soft against her skin, leaving a ghost of sensation even after he pulled away.

Behind them, Mohawk's spatula clattered against the cooking surface with unnecessary force. "For fuck's sake, some of us are trying to cook here," he grumbled, though there was more resignation than genuine anger in his tone. His eyes, however, tracked Sinister's every movement with the wariness of a predator recognizing a rival.

"Sleep well?" Sinister asked, seemingly oblivious to the territorial display behind him.

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks at the public display, acutely aware of the others watching with varying degrees of interest. "Yes, thank you," she managed, stepping past him into the kitchen proper.

Viltrumite Mark cleared his throat softly, "Perhaps you might allow Y/N some space to breathe before laying claim as you already tried to do so, Sinister," he suggested, his tone courteous yet leaving no room for argument. His fingers, continued their methodical work with the star-shaped fruit, though his eyes—warm brown with flecks of gold remained fixed on Sinister with quiet warning.

Sinister stepped back with exaggerated deference, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Of course," he conceded.

Lensless immediately waltzs over, practically vibrating with excitement. His movements were so quick he nearly collided with the counter, stopping himself with a theatrical windmilling of arms that seemed designed to make Y/N smile, "Y/N! You have to try these!" he exclaimed, offering something that resembled a cross between a strawberry and a starfruit. His eyes were wide with delight, face animated in a way that was impossible to resist. "They taste like cinnamon and sunshine!"

His enthusiasm was so genuine, his joy so uncomplicated, that Y/N couldn't help but smile. She accepted the strange fruit, taking a tentative bite. Flavor burst across her tongue—sweet and spicy and utterly unlike anything from Earth, yet somehow reminiscent of childhood summers and holiday desserts.

"It's amazing," she agreed, delighted by the way his face lit up at her approval.

"I know, right?" he grinned, bouncing on his toes. "I've already had like seventeen of them. No-Mask says I'm going to make myself sick, but I feel great!"

"Nevertheless," No-Mask interjected, approaching with his artfully arranged fruit platter, "perhaps moderation might be advisable until we understand the full effects of the local food on our physiology." Despite his words, his eyes were kind, his tone gentle in a way that suggested he was growing accustomed to Lensless's exuberance.

"Boring," Lensless declared, though he tempered his bouncing slightly in deference to No-Mask's concern. He reached up to ruffle No-Mask's perfectly combed hair, darting away with a laugh before the other variant could react, "You worry too much, professor! We're practically gods here—what's a little alien fruit gonna do?"

No-Mask smoothed his hair with dignity, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite his attempt at severity. "The term 'practically' is doing considerable heavy lifting in that sentence," he observed dryly, though his eyes crinkled at the corners with unexpected humor.

"Oh guys! I found a lake about two miles east of here. Crystal clear water, pink sand beaches, these awesome floating lily-pad things big enough to sit on. We should all go swimming later!"

"Let's get through breakfast first," Phantom suggested, the dry humor in his tone evident despite his mask's filter. He had positioned himself slightly apart from the group, still uncomfortable with communal activities despite the growing ease between them all.

"A swimming expedition sounds delightful," Viltrumite Mark commented. 

He offered Y/N a slice of the star-shaped fruit he'd been peeling, the gesture courtly despite the informal setting. "The most exquisite of the local fruits, in my assessment," he explained, holding it out with elegant fingers stained slightly purple from the juices. "Its flavor profile changes depending on the ripeness—this one should be at perfect maturity." 

They settled around a large table on the terrace, the spread before them a strange mixture of familiar concepts executed with alien ingredients. Mohawk's "pancakes" were more blue than golden, the fruit No-Mask had arranged shifted colors depending on how the light hit them, and the beverages Sinister poured had a subtle luminescence that would have been concerning on Earth but somehow seemed natural here.

As Y/N reached for a serving utensil, Viltrumite Mark smoothly intercepted it, "Allow me," he murmured, serving her. His fingers brushed hers as he handed her the filled plate, the contact brief yet deliberate. His eyes—ancient yet somehow youthful in the morning light—held hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "I hope everything is to your satisfaction."

The moment was interrupted by Mohawk's gag. "Jesus Christ, your highness, it's breakfast, not a royal coronation," he muttered, though the annoyance in his voice couldn't quite mask the underlying insecurity—the fear that his rugged intensity might pale in comparison to Viltrumite's cultured elegance.

Viltrumite's lips curved into a smile. "Civility costs nothing, Mohawk," he replied smoothly. "Perhaps you might try it sometime."

Before Mohawk could retort, Sinister's low chuckle diffused the building tension. "Children, children," he admonished with mock severity. "Let's not fight at the table. It upsets Mother." he smiled as he glanced between them holding no genuine humor.

Omni Mark joined them moments later, slipping into an empty chair beside Y/N with quiet grace. He'd changed from his suit into simple clothing—a fitted gray shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and dark pants that seemed designed for both comfort and mobility. His hair was slightly damp, curling at the temples in a way that softened his usually severe appearance, suggesting he'd found bathing facilities somewhere in the fortress.

Y/N couldn't help but notice the difference in how he looked without his mask from when she saw him days before without it, must've been the usual attire—more human somehow, the perpetual furrow between his brows less pronounced in the gentle morning light. Their eyes met as he settled beside her, and something warm and private passed between them—a connection forged in those quiet moments when he'd carried her to bed, when he'd sat beside her until she fell asleep, and how he's guided her through everything.

"Angstrom is secure and stable," he reported, reaching for what appeared to be a coffee equivalent. His fingers wrapped around the mug, "He'll need more permanent arrangements eventually, but for now, he's contained."

"We could always just throw him off the highest tower," Sinister suggested with casual menace, spearing a piece of color-shifting fruit with unnecessary precision.

"No more death," Y/N reminded him gently. She reached across the table impulsively, her fingers brushing the back of his hand—feeling the subtle tension there, "We agreed Sinister."

Sinister's eyes widened fractionally at her touch, something vulnerable flickering across his face before the familiar predatory smile slid back into place. He turned his hand beneath hers, capturing her fingers with delicate precision. Sinister's eyes met hers across the table, something dangerous and hungry in their depths. 

"So we did, dove," he conceded, lifting her hand to his lips without breaking eye contact. The press of his mouth against her skin was reverent despite the danger that clung to him like a second skin before he released her hand and brought the fruit to his lips with deliberate sensuality. "For now."

Beside her, Omni Mark went very still, the only indication of his reaction the subtle tightening of his fingers around his mug. The tension in the air was palpable for a heartbeat before Viltrumite Mark intervened.

"We could build a proper containment facility," Viltrumite Mark suggested, cutting through the tension with practiced diplomatic ease. "I've overseen such constructions before. With our combined strength and the resources this world seems to offer, it would be simple enough."

No-Mask leaned forward, scholarly interest sparking in his eyes. "If I might suggest, the southeastern tower seems to contain materials that might serve our purposes. I noticed what appears to be a form of ultra-dense mineral similar to the containment cells the Coalition used on Earth-219."

"I'll help design it," Phantom offered unexpectedly, his voice carrying clearly across the table. "Security systems were my specialty... before."

The meal progressed with surprising ease—conversation flowing naturally between them as they discussed their new world, the fortress, their plans for exploration. There were moments of tension, of course—old rivalries and resentments didn't disappear overnight—but these were tempered by a growing sense of shared purpose, of collective possibility.

Y/N found herself laughing at Lensless's animated retelling of his morning exploration, something warm blooming in her chest as she watched them all—these broken, dangerous men gradually rediscovering parts of themselves long buried beneath violence and trauma. The sunlight catching in Mohawk's wild hair as he gestured emphatically; the subtle softening around Phantom's masked face as he listened; the scholarly interest lighting No-Mask's eyes as he theorized about the local fauna; the quiet contentment in Omni Mark's profile as he watched her laugh; the calculated stillness of Sinister that couldn't quite hide how his eyes softened when they rested on her; the imperial bearing of Viltrumite Mark gentled by something approaching peace.

"You've got a little..." Omni Mark gestured toward Y/N's cheek, where a drop of the luminescent juice had splashed as he reached out, thumb gently wiping away the droplet. The pad of his thumb was surprisingly soft against her skin, tracing an arc that lingered along her cheekbone with exquisite care. The brief touch lingered longer than necessary, his eyes holding hers with unexpected warmth.

"Thank you," Y/N murmured, suddenly aware of the depth of emotion in his gaze—something beyond desire, beyond possession, a tenderness that made her breath catch. For a moment, the bustling breakfast and surrounding variants seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the connection between them—fragile and new yet somehow profound.

Mohawk cleared his throat pointedly from across the table, dragging a hand through his disheveled mohawk with barely concealed irritation, the black spikes standing even more erratically after his fingers disturbed them. "What is this, a romance novel?" he huffed, though his scowl held more amusement than genuine annoyance. "If you're done getting handsy with Y/N's face, Omni, pass the not-exactly-maple syrup."

Omni Mark's expression shifted seamlessly back to its usual composed neutrality, though something warm still lingered in his soft blue eyes as he passed the requested syrup. "Of course," he replied evenly, though Y/N didn't miss the subtle way his knee pressed against hers beneath the table.

Fragments of conversation drifted around her and through it all, she noticed the subtle ways they positioned themselves around her—Omni's protective presence at her side, Mohawk's intense gaze returning to her face between animated gestures, Sinister's calculated angles that always kept her in his sightline, Viltrumite's courtly attentiveness to her needs before she could express them.

"More juice?" Viltrumite offered, already reaching for the pitcher with practiced grace. When she nodded, his eyes warmed when she thanked him. "It is my pleasure," he murmured, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear. "Your happiness here is of paramount importance to all of us, Y/N."

After breakfast, they scattered to explore their new home—Lensless dragging No-Mask off to investigate the lake he'd discovered, Phantom returning to the training room to continue his morning exercises, Sinister disappearing on some mysterious errand of his own, Viltrumite Mark announcing his intention to map the surrounding territory from one of the higher towers.

"Would you care to join me for the aerial survey?" Viltrumite asked Y/N, his invitation formal yet hopeful. "The view from above is quite spectacular, and I would value your perspective on possible expansion areas." His eyes, held genuine interest rather than mere courtesy.

Before Y/N could respond, Mohawk stepped closer, his proximity a clear statement of intent. "She's helping me with dishes," he declared, the challenge in his voice unmistakable despite his casual tone. "Aren't you, Y/N?"

Viltrumite Mark's eyes flickered between them, "Another time, perhaps," he conceded with perfect grace, though something like disappointment briefly shadowed his features. He bowed slightly—a gesture that should have seemed ridiculous in kitchen attire but somehow retained its dignity. "Until later, Y/N."

Y/n sighed, a frown on her face as he turned back, finding Mohawk already at the sink. "You don't have to do that," Y/N told him, trying not to laugh as he managed to get more water on himself than the dishes. A particularly enthusiastic splash had dampened his mohawk, causing water to trickle down his temple in a way that made him look unexpectedly young and carefree.

"I want to," he insisted, vigorously scrubbing a plate with enough force to potentially crack it. His brow furrowed with concentration as if facing a deadly enemy rather than breakfast dishes. "Never had much of a chance for normal shit like this, you know? Before everything went to hell."

The unexpected vulnerability in his admission caught her off guard. Beyond his gruff exterior and violent tendencies, there was something achingly young about him in this moment—a glimpse of the boy he might have been before loss and rage transformed him.

She moved beside him at the sink, their arms brushing as she took over the rinsing. "Well, you have all the time in the world to practice now."

His hands stilled in the soapy water, his gaze fixing on her profile with unexpected intensity. Something shifted in his expression—the perpetual storm in his brown eyes calming momentarily, revealing depths of feeling he usually kept buried beneath anger and bravado. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "Guess I do."

When he leaned in, Y/N expected another of his impulsive, passionate kisses—the kind that had characterized their interactions during the war. Instead, there was a question in his eyes—a hesitation that seemed foreign to his typically impulsive nature. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes, silently seeking permission in a way he'd never bothered with before.

Watching her nod softly his lips met hers with surprising gentleness. The kiss was delicate, a stark contrast to the desperate, claiming kisses he'd given her during the war when every moment might have been their last. This kiss held something new: patience, tenderness, the luxury of time. His hands remained in the sink, not reaching for her, giving her the space to pull away if she chose.

But she didn't choose to pull away. Instead, she leaned into the kiss, tasting the sweet-spicy flavor of alien fruit on his lips, feeling the slight scratch of stubble against her skin. She lifted one hand to his cheek, fingers tracing the sharp angle of his jawline, feeling the subtle tremble that ran through him at her touch. For all his bravado and violence, he responded to gentle affection like a starving man offered water—with disbelief and desperate gratitude.

When they parted, his eyes remained closed for a moment, as if savoring the sensation.

"That was nice," he murmured, with vulnerability in his voice she'd never heard before. His forehead rested against hers, breath mingling with her own in the small space between them. This close, she could see flecks of lighter brown in his irises, the softness of his lips still slightly parted. "Different."

"Different good?" she asked, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw with soapy fingers, leaving a trail of iridescent bubbles against his skin.

His eyes opened, meeting hers with startling clarity. The raw emotion there took her breath away—hope and fear and longing all tangled together, unfiltered and exposed in a way he'd never allowed before. 

"Different perfect," he corrected, turning his head slightly to press a kiss against her palm. "Like I don't have to rush. Like we might actually have a tomorrow." 

"We do have tomorrow," she whispered, brushing another gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth. "And all the days after that."

Something suspiciously like moisture gathered in his eyes before he blinked it away, replacing vulnerability with a crooked smile that couldn't quite hide the depth of his feeling. "Fuck, Y/N," he murmured, voice rougher than usual. "You're gonna make me go soft here."

She laughed softly, pressing her forehead against his again. "I won't tell anyone."

"Damn right you won't," he growled playfully, the familiar bravado settling back over him like armor—though thinner now, more transparent than before.

A throat cleared behind them, breaking the moment. They turned to find Omni Mark standing in the kitchen doorway, his expression carefully neutral despite the subtle tension in his jaw and the way his fingers flexed once before settling at his sides.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, gaze sliding away from their proximity with deliberate courtesy. Y/N didn't miss the flash of emotion in his eyes—not anger but something more complex, a mixture of resignation and longing carefully contained behind his usual composure. "I thought you might like to see the library we discovered on the east wing. There are texts there—some in languages I've never encountered before, but others perfectly readable. They might tell us more about this place, its history."

Y/N stepped back from Mohawk, feeling a slight flush rise to her cheeks though she wasn't sure why. There were no established boundaries here, no expectations except those they created themselves. "That sounds fascinating," she agreed, drying her hands on a nearby cloth.

Mohawk seemed about to protest, then visibly checked himself. His fists clenched briefly at his sides before relaxing, jaw working as he swallowed whatever instinctive challenge had risen to his lips. The self-restraint was so unlike his usual impulsive nature that Y/N found herself studying him with newfound appreciation.

"Go ahead," he said, gesturing magnanimously with soap-covered hands. "I'll finish up here." His gaze shifted to Omni Mark, something unspoken passing between them—not quite challenge, not quite acceptance, but perhaps the beginning of understanding. 

"Just because I'm trying this whole 'sharing' concept doesn't mean I like it, Omni," he added, the familiar aggression in his tone undermined by the grudging respect in his eyes. "Just don't keep her all day. Some of us want to show her the cool shit we've found too."

Omni Mark's posture relaxed fractionally, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Understandable," he replied, the simple acknowledgment carrying weight between them—recognition of feelings too complex for either to fully articulate.

As they left the kitchen, Y/N glanced back to see Mohawk return to the dishes with determined focus, his profile outlined against the morning light streaming through the windows. There was something achingly vulnerable in the set of his shoulders, the careful way he handled the dishes now—as if practicing gentleness was a skill he desperately wanted to master.

As Y/N followed Omni through the fortress corridors, she was struck by the surreal normality of what had just transpired—domestic chores, a sweet kiss, gentle teasing between potential rivals. After the chaos and violence that had defined their relationship until now, these simple human interactions felt almost miraculous in their ordinariness.

"Are you alright?" Omni asked quietly as they walked, his stride measured to match hers perfectly. His perceptive gaze studied her face with gentle concern. "This is... a lot to adjust to. For all of us, but especially for you."

Y/N considered the question thoughtfully. "I think I am," she admitted. "It's strange, but not in a bad way. Just... unexpected. Seeing all of you like this, without the constant threat of violence—it's like meeting you all for the first time."

Something soft crossed his features, a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "In some ways, perhaps you are," he murmured. "We're discovering pieces of ourselves long buried—who we might have been without the tragedies that shaped us." His hand brushed hers as they walked, fingers tangling briefly before releasing—a fleeting connection that somehow conveyed more than words could express.

The library, when they reached it, took her breath away. Vast and circular, its walls lined with shelves that stretched from floor to domed ceiling, accessible by a system of graceful spiral staircases and floating platforms that somehow remained stable without visible support. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows high above, casting rainbow patterns across the polished floor and illuminating countless volumes bound in materials both familiar and alien.

"It's incredible," Y/N breathed, turning slowly to take in the full grandeur of the space. "How many books do you think are here?"

"Thousands," Omni Mark replied, moving to a reading table where several volumes already lay open. His fingers traced reverently over the ancient bindings, scholarly fascination lighting his features in a way that made him look younger, unburdened. "Perhaps tens of thousands. And not just books—there are scrolls, tablets, data crystals that seem designed to interface with machinery we haven't fully explored yet."

Y/N approached the table, drawn by the obvious excitement in his usually composed voice. The open books displayed text and illustrations of breathtaking complexity—star charts of unfamiliar constellations, anatomical diagrams of creatures she'd never seen, mathematical equations that seemed to extend beyond the three dimensions she was familiar with.

"Can you read any of it?" she asked, tracing her finger along a line of elegant script that seemed to shimmer beneath her touch.

"Some," he admitted, moving to stand beside her. Unlike their breakfast proximity, which had been dictated by seating arrangements, this closeness was deliberate—chosen rather than circumstantial. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the clean scent that was uniquely his beneath the alien soap they'd all discovered. "Enough to understand that this fortress wasn't built by random chance. It was designed as a nexus point—a place where different realities could touch without collapsing into each other."

Y/N looked up at him sharply. "You mean like Angstrom's portals?"

"Similar principle, different execution," he explained, turning a page to reveal diagrams that reminded her of quantum field equations. His fingers moved over the complex illustrations with impressive dexterity, tracing patterns within patterns as he spoke. "His method tears reality. This place... it's more like a gentle fold, a place where the membrane between worlds is naturally thinner."

"So us being here—"

"Isn't coincidence," he confirmed, his expression softening with something like wonder, a rare unguarded moment that revealed the man beneath the leader—curious, brilliant, capable of genuine awe despite all he'd seen across realities. "Whether by design or cosmic chance, we were drawn to a place that could accommodate us—multiple versions of the same quantum signature existing simultaneously without causing universal collapse."

The implications were staggering. Y/N sank into a nearby chair, trying to process what this meant for them. "So we're not just lucky survivors," she murmured. "We're... meant to be here?"

Omni Mark's expression grew thoughtful as he settled into the chair beside hers. "I don't know if I'd go that far," he said carefully. "I've never been much for predetermined destiny. But there's a certain... elegance to how events unfolded. A pattern that suggests more than random chance."

He reached across the table, not for her hand but for a book bound in something that resembled leather but shifted colors like oil on water. "Look at this," he said, opening it to a marked page.

The illustration spread across both pages showed a circular structure remarkably similar to their fortress, surrounded by figures that, while stylized, clearly represented humanoid beings with extraordinary abilities. Above the scene, twin moons hung in a sky painted with pigments that still shimmered with lifelike luminescence despite their obvious age.

"It's us," Y/N whispered, fingers hovering over the image without quite touching the fragile page. "Or... people like us. Here, in this place."

"A prophecy? A historical record?" Omni Mark shrugged, the gesture surprisingly human coming from his usually controlled demeanor. The movement caused a lock of dark hair to fall across his forehead, softening his appearance further. Without thinking, Y/N reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against his temple. His breath caught audibly at the casual intimacy of the gesture, eyes widening slightly before his expression melted into something soft and vulnerable. "I can't translate enough to be certain. But it suggests we're not the first to find sanctuary here."

Y/N studied the illustration more closely, noting details she'd missed at first glance—the varied appearances of the figures, the peaceful integration with the environment around them, the sense of community evident in their positioning. "They look... happy," she observed. "At peace."

"Yes," Omni agreed softly, his gaze shifting from the book to her face. His hand moved to cover hers where it still rested near his temple, gently drawing it down to rest between them on the table, his thumb tracing small circles against her palm. He'd removed his dark lenses, revealing soft blue eyes that contained a depth of thoughtfulness uniquely his own. Without the barrier between them, his gaze was startlingly direct—intelligent, perceptive, and unexpectedly vulnerable.

"Do you think that's possible?" she asked quietly. "For us? After everything we've—everything you've all done?"

His hand moved across the table, not grabbing hers but settling palm-up between them—an invitation rather than a demand. His eyes never left hers, honest in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. "I think," he said carefully, each word chosen with deliberate precision, "that peace isn't something you find. It's something you build, choice by choice, day by day."

Y/N placed her hand in his, feeling the strength in his fingers as they closed gently around hers. The contrast was striking—hands capable of devastating destruction holding hers with such exquisite care, as if she were made of the most delicate glass; offering connection without overwhelming, support without possession.

"Then we'll build it," she decided, unexpected certainty blooming in her chest. "Together. All of us."

The smile that touched his lips transformed his usually serious face, lines of worry smoothing away to reveal glimpses of the man he might have been in another life—one untouched by the weight of impossible choices and devastating losses. The smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners and lighting them from within.

"Together," he agreed, thumb tracing a gentle pattern across her knuckles. "One day at a time."

They remained like that for a long moment—connected by touch, by understanding, by the shared wonder of this strange new beginning they'd been granted. Then, with gentle reluctance, Omni released her hand and rose to his feet.

"Mohawk will be looking for you soon," he observed, a hint of dry humor in his tone. "And if I'm not mistaken, Lensless should be returning from the lake about now, bursting to show you his discoveries."

Y/N stood as well, touched by his consideration for the others' feelings despite whatever he might want for himself. "Will you come with me?" she asked impulsively. "To the lake? It might be nice to spend time together—all of us—without crisis driving every interaction."

Something soft and surprised flickered across his features before he nodded. "I'd like that," he admitted. "Though I should warn you—I haven't gone swimming purely for pleasure since... well, for longer than I care to remember."

"Then it's definitely time," she declared, taking his hand once more to tug him gently toward the door. "Consider it your first official lesson in rebuilding peace."

As they made their way through the sunlit corridors of their new home, Y/N felt something unfamiliar settling within her chest. For the first time since finding herself caught in the variants' chaotic orbit, Y/N felt truly hopeful about the future. Not because any single person had promised to protect her or cherish her, but because they were all choosing to build something new together—something that honored what they had lost without being defined by it.

They were broken, all of them. Damaged by loss, by violence, by choices they couldn't unmake. 

But here, in this strange new world that seemed designed precisely for them, perhaps they could finally heal—not by forgetting the past, but by building a future worthy of remembering. 

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Hope you guys liked it <3

One more fluff chap, then I'm writing the smut y'all been asking for🙏

Who do you guys want first for smut?

Omni mark

or

Mohawk Mark

PT 2!!

PT.3 (smut with Mohawk)

Main series (✩ ‧ ₊ ˚)

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Final ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

The choice is yours ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Shattered Reflections‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 8k+ [Final Part] ☆ TW: fluff ☆ Author's Note: I figured I couldn't drag this series out forever, and everything must come to an end; but, I like happy endings(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

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The interrogation room housing Angstrom Levy resembled a surgical theater designed by someone with a fondness for medieval torture.

Clinical steel surfaces reflected the harsh, pulsing light that cast everything in a sickly pallor, transforming even the smallest droplets of blood into obsidian pools against the metallic backdrop. The air tasted of copper and ozone—a potent cocktail of bodily fluids and dimensional energy that clung to the back of Y/N's throat like a physical presence.

Y/N stood in the doorway, hair still damp from her shower, wearing a spare flight suit she'd found in the quarters. The material felt foreign against her skin—too tight in some places, too loose in others, as if her body had somehow been fundamentally altered by recent events. Perhaps it had been. The fabric caught on the tender marks Sinister had left behind, each small pain a reminder of choices made and boundaries crossed.

Nine pairs of eyes turned toward her as she entered—Nine identical faces bearing the unmistakable features of Mark Grayson yet transformed by circumstance and tragedy into something distinctly other. Eight variations of the same man, each carrying the ghost of a woman who wore her face but wasn't her. The weight of their collective gaze pressed against her like a physical force, threatening to crush her renewed resolve before it had fully formed.

Angstrom Levy hung suspended in the center of the room, dimensional energy crackling around the restraints that had been fashioned from components of his own machinery. His body was a ruined testament to the variants' interrogation methods—limbs hanging at unnatural angles, one arm nearly detached at the shoulder, the other missing entirely. His legs were little more than mangled flesh held together by hastily applied medical equipment. Tubes and wires penetrated his torso at multiple points, machinery pumping fluids into what remained of his body, the only thing keeping him alive. His face was swollen beyond recognition, blood dripping steadily from his bloodshot eyes, the tissue bruised and swollen from whatever methods the variants had employed to extract information. 

Despite his obvious suffering, his eyes gleamed with malevolent intelligence as they fixed on Y/N—knowing, calculating, as if he alone understood some cosmic joke at their expense. "The guest of honor arrives," he rasped, voice scraping like sandpaper across raw nerves. Blood dripped from his bloodshot eyes, tracing the contour of his chin before dropping to join the constellation of similar stains on the floor beneath him. "How was your... dimensional detour?"

Mohawk Mark lunged forward, the fluorescent lights catching on the blue accents of his suit as his muscled form coiled with violent intent. "Shut your fucking mouth before I tear out what's left of your tongue," he snarled.

"Unnecessary," Omni Mark interjected, his eyes, only partially hidden behind dark lenses, never left Y/N's face. "He's already told us what we need to know."

Y/N stepped fully into the room, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of their attention. The spare flight suit whispered against her skin as she moved, the sound almost deafening in the sudden silence. "And what exactly is that?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Viltrumite Mark moved toward her, his white suit was somehow untouched by the brutality evident throughout the room. When he stood before her, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze—a reminder of her physical vulnerability despite the Viltrumite strength flowing through her veins.

"You're not what you think you are," he said, his voice softer than expected. Something in his expression shifted—the imperious mask slipping for the briefest moment to reveal an emotion too complex to name. He raised a hand to her face, the immaculate white of his glove a stark contrast against her skin as he brushed a stray droplet of water from her temple.

The touch was feather-light, yet Y/N felt it reverberate through her entire being. Her breath caught in her throat, heart skipping traitorously at the tenderness so at odds with the violence permeating the air around them.

"What are you talking about?" she managed, fighting to maintain her composure beneath the warmth of his palm.

A wet chuckle from Angstrom drew their attention back to the center of the room. "Tell her," he urged, eyes gleaming with malicious delight despite his battered condition. "Tell her what makes her so special. Why every version of Mark Grayson across the multiverse seems destined to orbit her like moths around a flame."

Phantom Mark stepped forward, the same expressionless mask hiding whatever emotions might be playing across his features."You're not just a human injected with Viltrumite DNA," he said, his voice distorted yet somehow gentle through the mask's filter. "You're a constant."

"A what?" Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion.

Emperor Mark's lip curled with disdain as he gestured toward Angstrom. "According to our friend here, certain elements repeat across the multiverse—fixed points around which reality organizes itself." 

"You are one such element."

"In every universe," Lensless Mark contributed, his voice pitchingin an octave higher, with the dried blood flaking from his knuckles, "there exists a version of you. And in every universe—" His voice faltered, a shadow passing across his youthful features.

"In every universe, you die," Prisoner Mark finished bluntly, the scarred tissue of his face pulling tight as he spoke. "Horribly. Tragically. Usually because of him." He jerked his burned chin toward Mohawk Mark, who flinched as if physically struck.

"Not just because of me," Mohawk growled, the aggression in his voice barely masking something more vulnerable beneath. His mohawk seemed to droop slightly, as if the weight of accumulated guilt had physical mass. "Because of all of us. Because of what we are..."

"What are you?" Y/N challenged, her voice stronger now, fed by the confusion and frustration bubbling beneath her surface.

"Destroyers," Sinister Mark's voice slithered from the shadows. He leaned against a far wall, his yellow and black suit now mostly intact thanks to hasty repairs. Though his face showed evidence of the beating he'd received—a purpling bruise along his jaw, split lip still glistening with fresh blood—his customary smirk remained firmly in place. 

"It's what we do best, dove. We break things. Sometimes planets. Sometimes people." His eyes glinted behind his cracked lenses. "Sometimes hearts."

Y/N refused to look away from his knowing gaze, refused to acknowledge the heat that crept up her neck at the memory. "I don't believe in destiny," she stated firmly. "Or cosmic constants. I make my own choices."

"Do you?" No-Mask Mark asked quietly, his unprotected face revealing every nuance of his skepticism. "When we found you, you were under GDA mind control. When we released you, you fell into our orbit. When separated from us, you immediately formed a connection with—" He stopped himself, unable to voice the obvious conclusion.

"With me," Sinister finished for him, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Face it, dove. You're drawn to us. All versions of us. It's written into the fabric of reality itself."

"That's enough," Omni Mark commanded, his quiet authority somehow more compelling than Mohawk's explosive rage or Emperor's imperious demands. He moved to stand between Y/N and Sinister, his tall frame effectively blocking her view of the yellow-suited variant. "What matters isn't why Y/N exists in every universe. What matters is what happens next."

Y/N looked up at him, struck by the intensity burning behind his composed exterior. Of all the variants, Omni Mark remained the most enigmatic—his emotions controlled yet somehow more authentic for their restraint. When he looked at her, she felt seen in a way that transcended the physical—as if those eyes behind dark lenses could perceive every layer of her being and found value in each one.

"Angstrom has given us the means to travel between dimensions," he continued, his gaze never leaving her face. "Each of us must choose our path forward."

Viltrumite Mark's hand, still resting against her cheek, dropped to her shoulder. The touch remained gentle despite the strength she knew those fingers possessed—strength enough to crush diamonds, to tear steel like paper, to break bones with the slightest pressure. Yet against her skin, they were nothing but warmth and comfort.

"Some of us have already chosen," he said softly, his thumb tracing a small circle against the fabric covering her collarbone. The simple gesture sent shivers cascading down her spine, her body responding to his touch with embarrassing immediacy.

From his suspended position, Angstrom laughed—a wet, gurgling sound that sprayed fine droplets of blood into the air around him. "So noble," he mocked. "So self-sacrificing. Tell me, Viltrumite, will you share that choice with her? Or will you let her believe the lie a little longer?"

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, disdain replacing the tenderness that had softened his features moments before. "Silence," he commanded.

Y/N stepped back from his touch, sudden suspicion clouding her features. "What is he talking about? What choice?"

The variants exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them that excluded her despite being its subject. The air in the room grew heavier, charged with unspoken truths and fragile alliances on the verge of shattering.

"Tell her," Sinister urged from his position against the wall, his voice thick with something that might have been concern if it came from anyone else. "Or I will."

Omni Mark sighed, a sound so human and vulnerable that it momentarily stripped away his aura of controlled power. "The portals Angstrom creates aren't stable," he explained, turning to face Y/N fully. "Moving between dimensions fractures reality—tears at the fabric holding the multiverse together." (guys, this is real shit here 😎).

"With each jump," Phantom Mark continued, his masked face tilted slightly as if sharing a regrettable truth, "the damage compounds. Eventually, the barriers between worlds will collapse entirely."

"Universal annihilation," Emperor Mark concluded. "Not just our worlds. All worlds. Everything."

Y/N's mind struggled to process the magnitude of what they were describing. "But you've been jumping between dimensions this entire time," she said, her voice faint with realization. "The Invincible War—all those portals—"

"Have already caused incalculable damage," Viltrumite Mark confirmed, his imperial bearing now tinged with genuine regret. "We didn't know. Not until we forced Angstrom to explain why the portals were becoming increasingly unstable."

"There's only one solution," Omni Mark said quietly. His hand reached for hers, enveloping her smaller fingers in a gentle grip that offered support without demanding reciprocation. "We must return to our original dimensions and seal the pathways behind us. Permanently."

The implications crashed over Y/N like a physical wave. "You're leaving," she whispered, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. Despite everything—despite the chaos and violence they had brought into her life, despite Sinister's betrayal and the conflicting emotions they all evoked—the thought of losing them carved a hollow space beneath her ribs.

"Not all of us," Mohawk Mark interjected, stepping forward with hesitation. The blue accents of his suit seemed dimmer somehow, as if reflecting his subdued mood. "Someone has to stay in this dimension. To..." He faltered, searching for words that wouldn't sound like abandonment.

"To close the door behind us," Prisoner Mark finished for him, scarred hands flexing at his sides as if already preparing for combat. "Someone has to ensure Angstrom never opens another portal. Ever."

Understanding dawned like a cold sunrise. "You're going to kill him," Y/N stated flatly.

"Not immediately," Emperor Mark clarified, examining his immaculate gloves with studied nonchalance. "First, he'll send each of us home. Then..." He shrugged, the regal gesture somehow making the implied violence more disturbing.

"And one of you will stay behind," Y/N concluded, eyes scanning their faces—identical yet uniquely marked by their individual journeys through pain and power. "In this dimension. With me."

The silence that followed carried the weight of worlds. These men—these variations of Mark Grayson—had fought across dimensions for her, had shattered realities to find her, had nearly killed each other over her. And now, all but one would vanish back into the multiverse, leaving her with a single version of the man who had become the center of her existence whether she wished it or not.

"The question is," Sinister pushed away from the wall, moving with predatory grace despite his injuries, "which one stays and which ones go?" His smile was all teeth and challenge as his gaze swept the assembled variants before landing on Y/N. "Care to choose, dove? Or shall we fight it out the old-fashioned way?"

Before anyone could respond, the entire structure shuddered around them. Lights flickered erratically, casting the room in strobing patterns of illumination and shadow. A distant boom resonated through the metal flooring, vibrating up through Y/N's feet and into her bones.

Lensless Mark darted to a console, fingers flying over blood-spattered keys. "Perimeter breach," he announced, childlike enthusiasm returning as he read the scrolling data, “Angstroms base has been discovered.”

"The GDA found us," No-Mask Mark concluded grimly. "They're coming for you, Y/N. For all of us."

"How appropriate," Angstrom wheezed from his suspended position, eyes gleaming with malevolent delight despite his battered condition. "Your time runs out just as reality itself begins to fracture. Poetic, wouldn't you say?"

Omni Mark's grip on Y/N's hand tightened fractionally—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground her in the moment. When she looked up at him, she found his normally composed features animated with an urgency that sent her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

"We need to move," he stated, voice calm despite the chaos erupting around them. "This facility won't withstand a concentrated GDA assault."

"Let them come," Mohawk snarled, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, veins bulging along his forearms as his more volatile nature reasserted itself. "I'll tear them apart molecule by fucking molecule."

"And risk Y/N in the process?" Viltrumite Mark challenged, stepping protectively closer to her, "Think beyond your rage for once."

Another explosion rocked the structure, this one closer than the last. Dust filtered down from overhead conduits, dancing in the irregular light like microscopic snowflakes. Somewhere in the distance, alarms began to wail—a mechanical banshee heralding approaching doom.

Y/N pulled her hand from Omni Mark's grasp, a new determination hardening inside her. "I need answers," she insisted, turning toward Angstrom with purpose in her stride. "Before this place comes down around us. Before any of you leave."

Angstrom regarded her with amused disdain, his mangled body twitching slightly as he struggled to maintain consciousness through the pain. "What would you like to know, my dear? How many versions of you I've seen die? How many versions of him—" he jerked his chin toward the assembled variants, "—I've watched break apart in grief?"

Y/N stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated by his mockery. "Why me? Why do I exist in every universe? What makes me a constant?"

Angstrom's lips stretched into a smile that held no warmth. "Haven't you guessed? It's not you that's the constant—it's what you represent." His eyes gleamed with malicious intelligence. "Loss. Grief. The catalyst that transforms heroes into monsters."

Behind her, Y/N heard one of the variants inhale sharply—a sound like pain given voice. She didn't turn to see which one. Her focus remained locked on Angstrom's bruised face, searching for truth among his calculated cruelties.

"In every universe," Angstrom continued, clearly relishing his role as narrator of their tragic tale, "Mark Grayson loves you. And in every universe, he loses you. Sometimes to violence. Sometimes to disease. Sometimes—" his gaze flicked briefly to the variants, "—because of their own failure to protect what they claims to cherish."

The room fell silent save for the distant alarms and the creaking of the structure around them. Y/N's mind raced, trying to process the implications of what Angstrom was suggesting. If she truly was destined to die in every universe—if her loss was the fixed point around which these men's descent into darkness orbited—then what hope did any of them have for a different outcome?

"You're lying," she whispered, but uncertainty colored her voice.

Angstrom's laugh was wet and hollow. "Am I? Ask them. Ask them what happened to their Y/N. Ask them if they could have saved her, if only they'd been faster, stronger, smarter." His eyes glittered with malevolent delight. "Ask them if they still hear her screams when they close their eyes at night."

A hand settled on Y/N's shoulder—warm, solid, grounding her before she could spiral further into the abyss Angstrom was crafting with his words. She didn't need to look to know it was Omni Mark; something in the gentle strength of his touch was unmistakably his.

"Enough," he said, not to her but to Angstrom. The single word carried such authority that even Angstrom's mocking smile faltered momentarily. "You've had your fun. Now you'll send us home, one by one, as promised."

"And if I refuse?" Angstrom challenged, though his bravado seemed thinner now, worn away by pain and the inexorable approach of GDA forces.

"Then you die now instead of later," Sinister stated simply, stepping forward with deadly grace. The yellow and black of his suit seemed to absorb and reflect the flickering lights simultaneously, creating an almost hypnotic effect as he moved. "And we take our chances with the collapsing multiverse."

Another explosion rocked the facility, close enough now that Y/N could feel the heat of it against her skin. The lights failed completely for several seconds before emergency systems kicked in, bathing everything in a blood-red glow that transformed the interrogation room into something from a nightmare—all harsh shadows and crimson highlights that made even familiar faces seem suddenly alien.

"It seems our time grows short," Emperor Mark observed with aristocratic calm that belied the urgency of their situation. He turned to Y/N, his bearing momentarily softening as he regarded her. "We must make our decisions now. There is no more time for deliberation."

Y/N looked around at the assembled variants—these different versions of the same man, each shaped by tragedy and power into something unique yet fundamentally connected. In the red emergency lighting, they appeared more similar than ever despite their different suits and facial features—united by a singular focus that both terrified and thrilled her.

"How do we decide?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos erupting around them. "Who stays and who goes?"

"I stay," Mohawk insisted immediately, stepping forward. The blue accents of his suit appeared almost black in the crimson light, his mohawk casting a jagged shadow across his determined features. "In my world, I couldn't save her. I won't fail again."

He moved closer to Y/N, his usual aggression melting into something more vulnerable as he reached for her. His fingers, adorned with the faint traces of dried blood that no amount of washing seemed able to remove, hesitated in the air between them—as if uncertain of his right to touch her after his earlier failures. When Y/N didn't pull away, he gently cupped her face, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone with surprising tenderness.

"I watched her die," he confessed, voice so low that only Y/N could hear the words. "I was foolish, careless not paying attention when she pushed me out of the way of the bullet, taking my placce—" His voice cracked, adam's apple bobbing violently as he swallowed back the memory. "I won't leave you. Not again. Not ever."

Before Y/N could respond, Viltrumite Mark stepped forward, his white suit now stained crimson by the emergency lights, transforming his regal appearance into something more sinister. "Your impulsiveness is what got your Y/N killed," he stated coldly. "I have the discipline and strength to protect her properly."

He moved with grace to stand at Y/N's other side, his hand coming to rest at the small of her back—a gesture that nonetheless sent warmth cascading through her nervous system. The heat of his palm penetrated the flight suit material as if it weren't there, his touch both protective and possessive in a way that made her breath catch.

"In my world," he said, leaning down to speak near her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple, "I could have saved her if I hadn't been away securing the empire's borders. I've built a world where she would want for nothing, where her safety would be guaranteed by my command." His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke, not quite a kiss but something equally intimate. "Let me give you that world, Y/N. Let me give you everything I couldn't give her."

"You have a fucking empire to run," Prisoner Mark sneered, the scarred tissue of his face appearing even more grotesque in the red glow. "You'll take her back to your world and make her another ornament in your collection."

"I've already tasted what she offers," Sinister interjected, tongue darting out to moisten his split lip in a gesture that sent unwelcome heat spiraling through Y/N's core despite her best intentions. "The choice is obvious."

The argument might have descended into violence then—tension crackling between the variants like physical electricity—if not for a soft sound that cut through their posturing with startling effectiveness. It took Y/N a moment to realize the sound had come from her own throat—a small, broken laugh that contained equal parts hysteria and clarity.

"You're still doing it," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Even now, with reality literally crumbling around us, you're fighting over me like I'm a prize to be won. Like I don't have any say in my own fate."

The variants fell silent, varying degrees of shame and defiance playing across their identical-yet-different features. In the red glow of emergency lighting, they seemed almost like apparitions—blood-stained specters of a man she had never truly known but somehow felt connected to on a cellular level.

"You're right," Omni Mark acknowledged, his composure slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable beneath. In the crimson light, the gray portions of his suit appeared almost black, the red accents blending seamlessly with the emergency illumination as if he were dissolving into the bloodied atmosphere. "The choice should be yours. It has always been yours."

He stepped forward, but unlike the others, he maintained a respectful distance, offering his presence without demanding her attention. It was this—this quiet recognition of her autonomy—that drew Y/N's gaze to him more powerfully than any possessive touch or passionate declaration could have.

He removed his dark lenses, revealing eyes so filled with grief and tenderness that Y/N felt her own vision blur in response. "I learned then that love isn't possession or protection. It's presence. It's choosing to stay even when there's nothing you can do but witness." His gaze never wavered from hers, unwavering in its gentle intensity. "Whatever you decide, Y/N, I will honor it. Because that's what I couldn't do for her—give her the freedom to choose her own path, even at the end."

Y/N looked at him—really looked at him—and something shifted inside her chest. Of all the variants, Omni Mark alone had never tried to claim her, had never spoken of ownership or destiny. He had been there when she needed healing, offering soft kisses and gentle touches during those fragile moments after the war began, never taking more than she offered, never demanding what she couldn't give. He had offered support without demanding reciprocation, protection without requiring submission. He had seen her not as a replacement for someone lost but as herself—flawed, confused, but ultimately her own person.

Before she could voice this realization, the entire structure shuddered violently. The sound of groaning metal filled the air as support beams began to give way under repeated assault. Through the walls, they could hear the distinctive whine of GDA energy weapons powering up—the sound heralding imminent destruction.

"No more time," Phantom Mark stated, his masked face turning toward Angstrom. "Begin the transfers. Now."

Angstrom's body convulsed slightly as he channeled what remained of his power, dimensional energy crackling around him as he focused his power. "As you wish," he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. "Who's first to abandon her?"

The question hung in the air, loaded with implications that made Y/N's heart constrict painfully in her chest. Despite everything—despite the chaos and danger these men had brought into her life—the thought of watching them disappear one by one into the multiverse carved a hollow space beneath her ribs.

"I'll go," Emperor Mark stated, stepping forward with dignity. He turned to Y/N, regal bearing momentarily softening as he regarded her. "In another life, perhaps..." He didn't finish the thought, merely inclined his head in a gesture that somehow conveyed more genuine respect than any of his previous interactions.

Angstrom's eyes gleamed with concentration as dimensional energy coalesced around his suspended form. A portal began to form—not the violent tear they had witnessed before, but something more controlled, its edges defined and stable. Through its swirling depths, Y/N caught glimpses of a world both familiar and alien—Earth, but an Earth where Viltrumite banners flew from every building and the Imperial sigil adorned every surface.

Emperor Mark moved toward it without hesitation, his stride confident despite the decision's finality. At the portal's threshold, he paused, turning back one last time. "He was right, you know," he said, gaze fixed on Y/N. "About us hearing your screams at night. About failing you in every universe." A muscle twitched beneath his left eye—the only betrayal of emotion on his otherwise composed features. "Do better this time. Both of you."

With that, he stepped through, the portal closing behind him with a sound like reality sighing in relief.

"Next," Angstrom prompted, dimensional energy already gathering for another portal.

 Prisoner Mark approached Y/N before his departure, the scarred tissue of his face pulling taut as he struggled with words that didn't come easily to him. "I was in prison when she died," he said gruffly, hands curling into fists at his sides as if physically restraining himself from reaching for her. "Gang violence, and torture. I could have stopped it if I'd been there." His eyes, the only part of him untouched by whatever fire had claimed the rest, burned with intensity. "Don't let them cage you, Y/N. Not with walls. Not with expectations. Not even with love." 

He left with a bitter laugh, his scarred form dissolving into the swirling vortex of his home dimension. 

Each departure felt like a physical weight lifted from Y/N's chest, yet simultaneously created a new hollowness inside her. These men—these variations of Mark Grayson—had become the center of her existence whether she wished it or not. Watching them vanish was like witnessing pieces of herself dissolve into the multiverse. 

The structure continued to crumble around them, GDA forces drawing ever closer. Heat from external explosions began to seep through the walls, turning the air thick and difficult to breathe. The red emergency lighting flickered erratically, casting their remaining figures in strobing patterns of illumination and shadow.

 Phantom Mark walked to the edge of his designated portal, his body silhouetted against the emerald swirl. He stopped, looking back at Y/N, his form visibly trembling. Then, with what seemed like immense effort, he shook his head and stepped away from the portal, moving to stand against the wall. He clutched at his masked face with both hands, his shoulders shaking with silent emotion. "I need a moment to breathe before I go," he mumbled, his voice altered by the mask but unmistakably filled with tears. 

Now only six variants remained besides Angstrom—No-Mask Mark, Lensless Mark, and Phantom Mark stood together to one side, talking quietly among themselves as if debating whether to leave at all—Mohawk Mark with his barely contained fury, Viltrumite Mark with his imperial bearing, Omni Mark with his quiet strength, and Sinister leaning against a far wall with studied nonchalance despite the destruction raining down around them. The yellow and black of his suit seemed to absorb the red emergency lighting, transforming the bright colors into something murkier and more dangerous. 

He hadn't stepped forward for departure, hadn't volunteered to return to his dimension. His eyes remained fixed on Y/N, gaze heavy with implications that sent unwelcome heat coursing through her veins despite everything that had transpired between them.

"Time grows short," Viltrumite Mark observed as another explosion rocked the facility. Part of the ceiling collapsed in the corridor outside, sending clouds of dust billowing into the room. The sound of GDA tactical teams grew closer, the rhythmic thud of armored boots against metal flooring like a countdown to their imminent discovery. "We must decide."

Y/N looked between the remaining variants, chest tight with the weight of what was being asked of her. How could she choose? How could she select one version of this man to remain with her while condemning the others to return to worlds where they had already lost her once?

Mohawk Mark stalked toward her, "All my life," he growled, voice tight with barely contained feeling, "I've destroyed. I've hurt people. I've broken things." He stopped before her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the minute tremor in his hands as he fought to control himself. "But with you, I want to build. I want to create something that doesn't end in blood and fire."

His hand reached for hers, hesitating just above her skin as if waiting for permission. When she didn't pull away, his fingers intertwined with hers, the contact sending electric currents of awareness up her arm. "Choose me," he whispered, the plea so at odds with his usual aggression that it took Y/N's breath away. "Let me show you I can be more than the monster I became after I lost her."

Before she could respond, Viltrumite Mark was at her other side, his presence demanding attention without a word being spoken. He didn't touch her, yet his proximity was a physical force—a gravitational pull that made her aware of every inch of space between them. 

"I can give you worlds," he said quietly, the promise in his voice both thrilling and terrifying. "I can place galaxies at your feet. I can ensure that no harm ever comes to you again." His eyes, so like the others yet distinct in their certainty, held hers with hypnotic intensity. The depths of those eyes contained the vastness of conquered space—stars and systems that had bowed before him, now offered as tributes to her. "In my universe, I rule. What is yours by choice here would be yours by right there."

"Choice," Omni Mark echoed from where he stood, still maintaining that respectful distance. The single word carried a weight that seemed to settle in the room, creating a counterbalance to Viltrumite Mark's overwhelming presence. "That's what matters, isn't it? Not gifts or protection or promises." He stepped forward, movements deliberate yet unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world despite the chaos erupting around them. His footsteps were measured, each one a conscious decision rather than an impulsive action. "You've never truly had a choice, Y/N. Not since the GDA experimented on you. Not since we found you. Not since—" his gaze flicked briefly toward Sinister, "—certain events transpired."

He stopped before her, not crowding her like the others but simply offering his presence. The space between them felt sacred somehow, a deliberate gap that spoke of respect rather than distance. "I would give you that choice. Every day. In everything." The sincerity in his voice was a tangible thing, wrapping around Y/N like a shield against the uncertainty crashing through her. It resonated in her chest like a forgotten melody—familiar though she'd never heard it before, comforting though she'd never known such comfort.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, centering herself amid the chaos. The world narrowed to the rhythm of her own heartbeat, to the warmth of multiple gazes upon her skin, to the weight of a decision that would reshape not just one universe but many. When she opened them again, her gaze fell on Omni Mark—on the quiet strength of his bearing, on the patience with which he awaited her decision.

"I choose—" she began, but her words were drowned out by a deafening explosion directly overhead.

The ceiling gave way in a catastrophic cascade of metal and composite materials, chunks of debris raining down with deadly force. The air filled with a dissonant symphony of groaning metal and shattering concrete, dust particles catching the red emergency light to create a hellish, swirling mist. 

Through the chaos, Y/N felt herself being swept aside, strong arms encircling her waist and pulling her clear of danger with superhuman speed. The world blurred momentarily, her senses overwhelmed by the scent of ozone and dust and something uniquely masculine—a combination of clean sweat and subtle cologne that she'd come to associate with safety despite everything.

When her vision cleared, she found herself pressed against Viltrumite Mark's chest, the pristine white of his suit now finally marred by dust and debris. The imperfection transformed the uniform from something untouchable to something real—humanizing him in ways that all his power never could. Flecks of concrete clung to the royal insignia, the imperfection somehow making him appear more human, more approachable than his usual perfection allowed.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, concern evident in the slight furrow of his brow as he scanned her for injuries. The question carried none of his usual command—just raw, unfiltered worry that stripped away centuries of royal conditioning. His arms around her were steel bands of protection, yet his touch remained gentle despite the strength she knew those limbs possessed. One hand moved to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair with a tenderness that contradicted his royal bearing.

The gentle pressure of his fingertips against her scalp sent subtle waves of comfort through her body, each small circle erasing another fragment of the chaos surrounding them. The gentle circles his thumb traced against her scalp sent electric currents down her spine, awareness blooming across her skin like wildfire. His eyes—so familiar yet distinct in their intensity—searched hers with unexpected vulnerability, as if her well-being mattered more than the chaos erupting around them, more than the multiverse itself.

"You could have been—" he started, then stopped, his tongue failing him at the mere thought of her injury. Instead, his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in her hair, drawing her closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar voice called from overhead—amplified by GDA comm systems yet unmistakable in its conviction.

"This is Cecil Stedman of the Global Defense Agency. The facility is surrounded. Release Y/N immediately and surrender yourselves, or we will employ lethal force against all occupants."

Through the gaping hole in the ceiling, Y/N could see GDA operatives in tactical gear rappelling down on carbon-fiber lines, their movements precise and practiced. Like mechanical spiders descending on gossamer threads, they moved with synchronized precision that spoke of countless drills and absolute dedication to their mission. Their energy weapons hummed with charged particles, the air around their barrels wavering with heat distortion as they took aim at the variants below. Armored vehicles had surrounded the perimeter, their cannons already glowing with primed energy, bathing the crumbling structure in an eerie blue light that cut through the red emergency illumination, creating purple shadows in the corners where rubble had collected.

In the center of it all stood Cecil Stedman himself—diminutive yet commanding, his posture radiating authority despite his slight stature. His frame might have been small, but his presence filled the space with the weight of government authority and personal determination. The grim set of his mouth revealed everything about his determination. His hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed the scene below with clinical detachment, like a chess master contemplating his final, devastating move.

"Well," Sinister drawled, wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand. The crimson smear across his yellow glove. "This complicates matters."

Mohawk Mark's response was immediate and predictable—blue energy crackling around his clenched fists as his more volatile nature reasserted itself. The energy danced across his knuckles, illuminating the dried blood that no amount of washing seemed able to remove completely. His mohawk seemed to stand straighter with his anger, as if electrified by his rage.

"Let them come," he snarled, muscles coiling beneath his suit like springs wound too tight. Each tensed muscle created ripples beneath the fabric of his suit, the material straining to contain the raw, physical manifestation of his rage as his jaw clenched so tight that Y/N could almost hear his teeth grinding together. "I'll kill each one of them."

"No," Y/N said firmly, extracting herself from Viltrumite Mark's protective embrace, instantly feeling the chill of separation rush across her skin where his warmth had been moments before. She stood straight, shoulders back, finding strength she didn't know she possessed. 

"No more destruction. No more death."

She looked between the remaining variants, each face identical yet utterly unique in the emotions they displayed. Her chest tightened with the weight of what needed to be done. "You have to go. All of you. Now, before more people die because of us."

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, disdain replacing the concern that had softened his features moments before. A muscle twitched beneath his left eye—the only betrayal of emotion on his otherwise composed features.

"I will not abandon you to them," he stated, the words carrying the weight of royal decree. His voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear. "Not when I've only just found you."

"You must," Y/N insisted, reaching up to touch his face with gentle fingertips. The simple contact seemed to surprise him, his eyes widening fractionally at her boldness. His skin was warm beneath her touch, the slight stubble along his jaw creating a pleasant friction against her fingertips.

"In another life," she whispered, allowing her fingers to trace the strong line of his jaw, memorizing the texture of him, "perhaps we could have built your empire together." The confession cost her something, a possibility she was willingly sacrificing for what needed to be done. "Your world needs its emperor. And I..." She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue past the lump forming in her throat. "I need to find out who I am without all of you defining me."

Something flickered across Viltrumite Mark's features—an emotion too complex to name, too brief to analyze. For the briefest moment, the mask of control slipped completely, revealing the raw core of a man who had lost everything once before and now stood to lose it again. 

For a moment, Y/N thought he might refuse, might choose violence over acceptance.

Then, with dignity that belied the turmoil evident in his eyes, he caught her hand in his, turning it to press a soft kiss against her palm. The touch of his lips was feather-light yet searing, branding her skin with a promise as his lips lingered, warm breath caressing her skin in a silent promise.

"As you wish," he said softly, the formal words somehow conveying depths of feeling his bearing wouldn't allow him to express directly.

Time seemed to slow as he gently placed her hand against his chest, allowing her to feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart. "Know this," he murmured, his voice a caress against her senses. "In every universe, across all dimensions, some version of me will always find his way back to you."

With visible reluctance, he stepped back, turning toward Angstrom who hung suspended in the center of the room. "Open my portal. Send me home."

Angstrom focused his power as dimensional energy coalesced around his suspended form.  A portal began to take shape—edges defined and stable, swirling depths revealing glimpses of a world where Viltrumite banners flew from gleaming spires and the Imperial sigil adorned every surface.

Viltrumite Mark moved toward it with measured steps, imperial bearing intact despite the destruction raining down around them. At the portal's threshold, he paused, turning back to Y/N one final time. What passed between them in that moment needed no words—a connection beyond language, beyond the boundaries of separate dimensions.

Without warning, another explosion rocked the facility. The entire structure shuddered like a wounded beast, metal supports screaming in protest as concrete disintegrated around them. A massive support beam directly above the portal groaned ominously before giving way completely, crashing down through the swirling dimensional gateway. It fell in agonizing slow motion, its massive weight cleaving through the delicate energies of the portal like a blade through silk. The portal collapsed with a sound like glass shattering, emerald energy dissipating in crackling arcs across the rubble.

Viltrumite Mark stepped back just in time, narrowly avoiding being crushed. His reflexes saved him, body moving with fluid grace that somehow maintained dignity even in retreat. His usually composed features darkened with anger as he turned to Angstrom, covering the distance between them in a blur of movement.

"What happened?" he demanded, voice low and dangerous as his hand closed around Angstrom's throat.

"Not... my doing," Angstrom wheezed, eyes wide with genuine surprise. His body convulsed slightly as he struggled against Viltrumite Mark's grip, dimensional energy crackling erratically across his skin in response to his distress. "Structural... failure. The building... can't withstand... continued assault."

Y/N turned to Mohawk Mark with a sigh, her initial determination wavering in the face of their increasingly desperate situation. His explosive rage had dimmed to something quieter but no less intense. The blue accents of his suit seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, the glow reflecting in the unshed tears that made his eyes shine with dangerous brilliance.

"No," he growled, the single word containing multitudes of refusal. "Not again. I won't leave you again."

He closed the distance between them in three quick strides, his movements carrying the barely restrained energy of a predator. When he reached her, however, his touch was unexpectedly gentle as he cradled her face between calloused hands.

"These hands," he whispered, his rough fingertips ghosting along her cheekbones with reverent delicacy, "have broken so many things. Have hurt so many people." His voice cracked, "But with you, they remember how to be gentle."

"Listen to me," he said, voice rough with emotion. "In my world, I watched her die because she pushed me out of the way and took a bullet to the heart for me." His voice cracked, adam's apple bobbing violently as he swallowed back the memory. The muscles in his throat worked visibly against the tide of grief that threatened to drown his words. 

"Every night since then, I've heard her voice calling my name. Every fucking night." His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones with reverent tenderness that contradicted the harshness of his words. "I won't go back to that emptiness. I can't."

Above them, Cecil's voice rang out again. "This is your final warning. Surrender now or we open fire."

GDA operatives had fully descended into the chamber now, their weapons trained on the variants with deadly precision. The air crackled with tension and primed energy weapons, the situation balanced on a knife's edge of imminent violence.

"We can't stay here," Omni Mark observed quietly, his composed voice cutting through the chaos with remarkable clarity. He moved to stand beside Y/N, not touching her but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "But perhaps..."

His gaze met hers, something thoughtful and hopeful glimmering behind his dark lenses. For a moment, the lenses seemed less like barriers and more like windows, allowing her a glimpse of the mind working behind them—analytical yet passionate, calculating yet kind. "Perhaps we don't all have to return to our original dimensions."

Sinister pushed away from the wall where he'd been observing, his yellow and black suit almost glowing in the emergency lighting. The distinctive colors seemed to absorb and reflect the chaos around them, transforming the emergency lighting into something almost festive on his frame. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, interest evident in the tilt of his head, the predatory alertness in his stance.

"A new universe," Y/N breathed, the idea forming in her mind even as Omni Mark nodded confirmation. The possibilities expanded in her consciousness like a blossoming flower, each petal a different potential future. "Somewhere none of you have been before. Somewhere we could..." She hesitated, hardly daring to voice the thought.

"Start again," Omni Mark finished for her, his usually controlled voice carrying an undercurrent of something that might have been hope. "Together."

Omni Mark moved closer to Y/N, his hand finding hers with unerring precision despite the chaos around them. His fingers intertwined with hers, the simple contact grounding yet electrifying. "No legacies to uphold," he murmured, his thumb tracing small circles against her palm. 

"No mistakes to atone for. No ghosts haunting our steps." His voice dropped lower, meant only for her despite the others' enhanced hearing. "Just us, discovering who we might become when we're free to choose."

The idea hung in the air between them, tantalizing in its simplicity yet revolutionary in its implications. A universe where they weren't defined by past failures, by tragedies that had shaped them into monsters. A universe where they could choose who they wanted to be.

"Angstrom," Mohawk Mark growled, turning toward their prisoner with renewed purpose. "Can you do it? Can you send us somewhere new?"

Angstrom's lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "Anywhere in the multiverse," he confirmed, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "But the damage to reality remains. Each portal weakens the barriers between dimensions."

"Then we make this the last jump," Omni Mark decided, his quiet authority somehow more compelling than Cecil's amplified commands or Emperor's royal decrees had been. "One final portal to a dimension where we can begin again. After that, we ensure no more portals are opened." His gaze fixed on Angstrom with deadly intent. "Ever."

Another explosion rocked the facility, closer than the previous one. The shockwave rippled through the floor beneath their feet, concrete cracking in spider-web patterns that spread with alarming speed. Concrete dust rained down from what remained of the ceiling, coating their hair and shoulders in a fine gray powder that resembled premature aging.

"Decide quickly," Sinister urged, eyes fixed on the GDA operatives who were beginning to encircle them. "Our window of opportunity is closing."

Y/N looked between the three remaining variants—Mohawk with his barely contained emotions, Omni with his quiet strength, and Sinister with his dangerous allure. Each represented a different path, a different kind of future—passionate chaos, thoughtful stability, or dangerous excitement. In the shadows across the room, she noticed No-Mask Mark, Lensless Mark, and Phantom Mark quietly conferring, their expressions grave as they discussed their options.

"Who else stays?" she asked, voice stronger now, fed by the certainty growing within her,n"Who goes?"

Phantom Mark approached Y/N, his masked face turning to the corner where he had withdrawn. His movements were fluid and graceful despite the rigid material of his mask, body language conveying emotions his covered face couldn't express. He stood silently for a moment, form trembling slightly as he reached up to touch the edge of his mask. His gloved fingers traced the seam where mask met suit, hovering over the clasp that could reveal what lay beneath. Taking a deep breath that was audible even through the mask's filter, he looked back at the portal forming behind him, then shook his head decisively. 

"I've hidden behind this mask for so long," he said, voice distorted yet somehow more vulnerable through the filter. "In my world, hiding was the only way to survive after losing her." His hands fell to his sides, clenching briefly before relaxing. "But maybe in a new world, I can learn to show my face again. To feel the sun without this barrier between me and life."

He moved to stand beside Y/N, his presence solid and reassuring without making demands. Though his face remained hidden, something in his posture conveyed a quiet hope that spoke louder than words ever could. Something about his quiet resolve reminded her of Omni Mark, though his masked features made him more enigmatic, more difficult to read.

No-Mask Mark stepped forward, his unprotected face openly displaying the conflict within. Without the barrier of a mask, every emotion played across his features with startling clarity—grief, determination, and fragile hope battling for dominance. His eyes, identical to the others yet somehow uniquely pained, searched Y/N's face with a mixture of grief and determination.

"I'll stay too," he said, surprising even himself with the decision. The words emerged tentatively at first, then gained strength as he committed to them fully. "I've lost too much already. William..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. His eyes glazed with unshed tears at the name, the loss clearly still raw despite whatever time had passed. "Maybe this time, things can be different. Maybe this time, I can protect what matters."

Lensless Mark bounced on his toes, childlike energy barely contained despite the gravity of the situation. His movements were perpetual, fingers drumming against his thighs, weight shifting from foot to foot—a physical manifestation of his inability to remain still even in crisis. "I'm staying too!" he declared, grinning despite the dried blood flaking from his knuckles. His smile transformed his entire face, erasing the shadow of the killer he had become. "Always wanted a big family anyway."

Above them, Cecil's patience had clearly run out. "Fire warning shots," his voice commanded, followed immediately by the high-pitched whine of energy weapons discharging.

Beams of concentrated energy sliced through the air around them, deliberately missing but close enough to feel the heat against exposed skin. The air crackled and sizzled where the energy passed, leaving behind the acrid scent of ionized particles and the lingering taste of ozone. The message was clear: the next volley wouldn't be a warning.

"Now or never," Mohawk growled, positioning himself protectively between Y/N and the GDA forces. 

Y/N turned to Angstrom, determination hardening her resolve. Something shifted in her stance, in her expression.  "Do it. Open a portal to somewhere new. Somewhere safe."

Angstrom focused his power, dimensional energy gathering around him like a storm. The air around him began to distort, reality itself bending and warping as emerald light crackled across his suspended form in increasingly complex patterns. 

"As you wish," he wheezed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth as he concentrated. "One last journey."

A portal began to form—larger than the previous ones, its edges shimmering with untapped potential. Unlike the violent tears they had witnessed before, this portal coalesced with almost musical precision, emerald energy flowing like liquid light to create a perfect circular gateway. 

Through its swirling depths, Y/N caught glimpses of a world bathed in golden sunlight. Rolling hills covered in lush vegetation stretched toward a horizon where twin moons hung in the sky, their pale surfaces visible even in daylight. A massive structure stood in the middle distance—part castle, part modern fortress, its architecture unlike anything on Earth yet somehow reminiscent of home.

"Perfect," Sinister murmured, appreciation evident in his tone. "Uninhabited but hospitable. No indigenous sentient species to complicate matters."

"How can you tell all that from just a glimpse?" Y/N asked, momentarily distracted by his apparent knowledge.

Sinister's smirk was all teeth and dangerous charm. "I've destroyed thousands of worlds, dove. You learn to assess a planet quickly." He winked, the gesture somehow making the casual mention of genocide even more disturbing. "Useful skill for picking vacation spots too."

Another barrage of energy blasts cut through the air, this one closer than the last. The heat from the blasts washed over them in uncomfortable waves, leaving skin tingling and hairs standing on end. The GDA was done with warnings.

"Go!" Omni Mark urged, his hand finding the small of Y/N's back—not pushing, just guiding, always respecting her autonomy even in crisis. The warmth of his palm radiated through the material of her flight suit, gentle yet urgent. "I'll ensure Angstrom follows and seal the doorway behind us."

Mohawk didn't wait for further discussion. With a feral grin that promised violence to anyone who tried to stop them, he swept Y/N into his arms and leaped toward the portal. His movements were fluid and powerful, muscles bunching beneath her as he carried her weight with effortless strength. Just before they passed through, he paused, looking down at her with unexpected vulnerability.

"Together?" he asked, the single word carrying the weight of promise and question and hope all at once. 

Y/N's hand came up to rest against his cheek, thumb tracing the strong line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath her touch, the slight stubble creating a pleasant friction against the pad of her thumb. "Together," she confirmed, something warm unfurling in her chest at the brilliant smile that transformed his usually fierce expression.

The smile that broke across his features was transformative—years of rage and anguish momentarily washed away, revealing glimpses of who he might have been before tragedy shaped him into a weapon. In that unguarded moment, Y/N saw not the killer he had become but the hero he might yet be.

Then they were through, the world dissolving around them in a kaleidoscope of color and sensation. Reality itself seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, conventional physics surrendering to the impossible mathematics of multidimensional travel. 

Y/N felt Mohawk's arms tighten protectively around her as reality itself seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, the experience both terrifying and exhilarating.

When solid ground reformed beneath them, they stood on a grassy knoll overlooking a valley bathed in golden light. The ground beneath their feet felt somehow more vibrant than Earth's soil—as if the very molecules contained more energy, more potential. The air tasted sweeter than Earth's, with subtle notes of unfamiliar blossoms and mineral-rich soil. Each breath filled her lungs with intoxicating freshness, oxygen seemingly more potent, more invigorating than what she was accustomed to. The twin moons hung in the sky like watchful guardians, their surfaces etched with patterns different from Luna's familiar face.

One by one, the others followed—Phantom Mark stepping through with characteristic grace, No-Mask arriving with quiet determination in his unprotected features, Lensless bouncing through with childlike enthusiasm, Sinister sauntering through as if dimensional travel was nothing more extraordinary than crossing a street. Last came Omni Mark, dragging a semi-conscious Angstrom with him.

"It's done," Omni Mark stated, releasing Angstrom who collapsed to the grass with a pained groan. He dusted his hands off, "The portal is sealed. No one can follow."

Y/N stood in the circle of these men—these variations of Mark Grayson who had turned their grief into rage and their rage into destruction. Men who had crossed dimensions to find her, who had chosen to stay with her despite the cost. Men who now looked at her not as a replacement for someone lost but as herself—flawed, confused, but ultimately her own person.

"What now?" she asked, the question encompassing far more than their immediate future.

Omni Mark stepped forward, removing his dark lenses to reveal eyes filled with quiet determination. Without the barrier of tinted glass, his blue eye gaze was startlingly direct—intelligent, perceptive, and unexpectedly gentle. "Now we build something new," he said simply, offering his hand to her—not demanding, just inviting.

"Not an empire," he continued, his gaze briefly flicking toward Viltrumite Mark with understanding rather than judgment. 

"Not a fortress," another glance toward Mohawk. 

"Just... a life. Together."

When she took it, his fingers closed gently around hers, the touch grounding and elevating her simultaneously. His skin was warm against hers, with his free hand, he gestured toward the fortress in the distance. "There's our new home. A place where we can be whoever we choose to be."

"A fresh start," Phantom added, his masked face tilted toward the twin moons as if contemplating their significance. The alien light reflected off his mask, creating patterns that seemed to dance across the surface like living things.

"A family," Lensless contributed, already bouncing on his toes with excitement at exploring their new world. His energy was infectious, bringing a lightness to the moment that balanced the gravity of their decision.

"A kingdom," came Sinister's smooth addition, his yellow and black suit glowing almost gold in the alien sunlight. 

"No," Mohawk corrected, his usual aggression softened by something more tender as he gazed at Y/N. The permanent furrow between his brows eased slightly, aggressive posture relaxing into something that better matched the gentleness in his voice. "A home. Just a home."

Y/N looked between them—these men from across the multiverse, each bearing the face of Mark Grayson yet transformed by circumstance and choice into something distinctly other. Men who had been monsters but might choose to be more. Men who had lost her once and found her again.

"A choice," she whispered, understanding blooming inside her chest like a flower seeking sunshine.

"For all of us." Her gaze traveled between them, seeing not just what they had been but what they might become. "Not versions of the same person, but individuals with the freedom to grow in different directions."

As the alien sun began its descent toward an unfamiliar horizon, casting their shadows long across virgin soil, Y/N felt something unfurl within her chest—not quite peace, not quite certainty, but perhaps the beginning of both. Whatever came next, whatever they built in this new world, it would be their choice—not fate, not destiny, not cosmic constants.

Just choice.

And for now, that was enough.

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Wow, I can't believe it's over... !!UNLESS!! ☆ If y'all want separate individual chapters dedicated to the Marks in their new universe with Y/n :) Fluff Ansgt Smut you name it (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

Following Fluff/Smut series!! 𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 9✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

Heated tensions turn raw...

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Fractures in the Multiverse‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 6k+ [Part 9] ☆ TW: angst/fluff ☆ Author's Note: I'm so confused... I write stories and read other. Seeing chapters being more popular than others enrages me; authors are always changing important things or storylines just to appeal to consumption?! Ugh, burh I'm stupid and sad, so angst chap coming up.

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The cave pulsed with an unnatural, emerald luminescence, the portal's sickly glow casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the damp, jagged walls like phantoms.

Moisture dripped from stalactites overhead, each droplet catching the eerie light before shattering against the stone floor, their rhythm a discordant counterpoint to the low hum of dimensional energy that vibrated through bone.

Sinister Mark's laughter—deep, guttural, and triumphant—echoed through the cavern, bouncing off wet stone surfaces until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

He stood with defiant arrogance, holding Y/N possessively against his chest, his powerful arms wrapped around her like living restraints.

The tattered remnants of his yellow and black suit hung from his muscular frame in strategic shreds, barely preserving modesty while flaunting evidence of what had transpired. Where fabric had been torn away, glimpses of Y/N's flushed skin beneath told a story more damning than words.

"Too late, boys~" he purred, each syllable dripping with venomous satisfaction. His black eyes gleamed predatory and victorious.

"As you can see, she's made her choice."

Y/N's heart hammered violently against her ribcage, the sound deafening in her own ears. Heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck in crimson waves, a visceral mixture of lingering passion and crushing humiliation.

She couldn't bear to meet the eyes of the variants who had searched for her—couldn't face their judgment, their hurt, their rage. Instead, she buried her face against Sinister's neck, inhaling his scent of leather, blood, and something uniquely him.

Mohawk Mark was the first to break the suffocating silence. His entire body convulsed with barely contained fury—veins bulging at his temples like blue ropes beneath his skin, the distinctive blue and black of his suit seeming to vibrate with his rage.

His mohawk bristled as though electrified, adding inches to his already imposing height. When he moved, it was with explosive violence, muscles coiling beneath his suit like springs wound too tight.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" The words tore from his throat with such force that spittle flew from his lips, glistening in the emerald light.

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, knuckles white beneath his gloves. "We agreed! We fucking agreed she wasn't going to be—" The words choked off, as if the magnitude of Sinister's betrayal had physically strangled him.

Behind him, the other variants formed a semicircle of frozen fury and shock, each face—so similar yet distinctly different—displaying its own shade of devastation and rage.

Omni Mark stepped forward, his movement smooth and controlled, a stark contrast to Mohawk's explosive anger. His red and gray suit absorbed the portal's light, making him appear like a shadow given form. Unlike the others, his face remained eerily composed, but a muscle twitched almost imperceptibly at his jaw—the only outward sign of the calculated violence brewing beneath his calm exterior. His eyes, partially hidden behind dark lenses, assessed the situation with precision.

"Put. Her. Down." Each word fell from his lips like a shard of ice, precise and deadly. Though his voice was quiet, it cut through the tension with razor-sharpness that made even Sinister's smile falter for a fraction of a second.

Viltrumite Mark stood slightly apart from the others, his pristine white suit gleaming unnaturally in the portal's glow. The imperial symbol on his chest seemed to pulse with its own light, casting strange patterns across his face.

Out of all the variants now, he appeared the most composed, but his eyes—cold and commanding—burned with a mixture of concern and barely contained fury.

"Y/N," he called, his voice gentler than the others, though no less intense. "Are you harmed? Did he force you?" The question hung in the air, loaded with implications that made Y/N's stomach twist into knots.

Sinister chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into Y/N's body where they remained intimately joined. The subtle movement drew a small, involuntary gasp from her lips—a sound that seemed to echo through the cavern, condemning her more effectively than any confession.

"Force her?" Sinister's mouth curved into a predatory smile, teeth gleaming white against his shadowed face. "Why don't you ask her yourself? Tell them, dove. Tell them how you begged for it."

Y/N's head snapped up, mortification washing over her in a scalding wave. "I—I didn't—" she stammered, her voice small and fragile in the vast, echoing space. But the words died on her lips as she met the hurt and fury warring across the variants' faces.

Phantom Mark moved forward, his fully masked face hiding his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. His shoulders hunched as if bearing a physical weight, hands trembling slightly at his sides. "Y/N," he said, his voice raw with emotion even through the mask's filter. "We searched for you. We tortured Angstrom until he opened the portal. We thought you were in danger."

Each word struck Y/N like a physical blow. Behind Phantom, she could see Emperor Mark's regal bearing, his posture rigid with disdain as he assessed the scene. Beside him, No-Mask Mark's unmasked face displayed every emotion with painful clarity—hurt, betrayal, disappointment cycling across features so familiar yet uniquely his own.

From the back of the group, Prisoner Mark gave a harsh bark of laughter, the sound grating against the stone walls. The scarred tissue of his burned face caught the light in strange ways, making his sneer appear even more grotesque. "Should've known," he muttered, his voice like gravel. "Always the same, no matter the universe. Never faithful, never true."

Y/N flinched as if slapped. "That's not—I'm not—" she tried to defend herself, but what could she say? What explanation could possibly justify being caught in such an intimate embrace with Sinister while the others had fought and bled to find her?

"ENOUGH!" Mohawk Mark's voice cracked like thunder, cutting through her stammered defense. Blue energy crackled around his clenched fists, casting his rage-contorted face in eerie azure light. "Get your filthy hands off her, Sinister, or I swear I'll—"

"You'll what?" Sinister's voice was silk over steel, deadly in its softness. He shifted Y/N slightly in his arms, causing her to gasp again as she felt him still inside her. Heat flooded her cheeks anew as she realized the others could see—could hear—the evidence of their coupling. "Attack me while I'm holding her? Risk harming the very woman you claim to care so much about?"

The cave fell silent again, the air thick with unspoken threats and barely contained violence. Y/N could feel Sinister's heart beating against her chest, steady and strong, while her own thrummed like a hummingbird's wings. Every sense seemed heightened by adrenaline and shame—the musky scent of their coupling hanging in the damp air, the heat of his skin against hers, the metallic taste of fear on her tongue.

Omni Mark hadn't moved, hadn't raised his voice, but something in his stillness was more terrifying than Mohawk's explosive rage. His gaze hadn't left Y/N's face, those familiar-yet-strange eyes boring into her as if trying to read her very soul. When he spoke again, her name was a gentle command on his lips.

"Y/N," he said softly. "Come here."

Sinister's arms tightened possessively around her, powerful muscles flexing beneath torn fabric. "She's not going anywhere," he growled, all traces of playfulness gone from his voice. His tone dropped to something darker, more primal. "She's mine now."

"She belongs to no one," Viltrumite Mark interjected, his authoritative tone echoing off the stone walls. He took another step forward, white suit gleaming like a beacon in the darkness. "Least of all you, Sinister."

Y/N found her voice at last, forcing herself to meet the gazes of the men who had, in their own ways, fought to find her. "Please," she whispered, the single word cracking with emotion. "Just... give me a moment."

To her surprise, she felt Sinister's grip loosen slightly. She placed her palms against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips. "Let me down," she requested quietly, her eyes meeting his. Something flickered across his face—an emotion too complex to name, too brief to analyze.

"Don't do this, sweetheart," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. There was something in his voice she'd never heard before—a vulnerability that cut through his usual arrogance. "You know what's happening between us is real. You felt it too."

The unexpected softness in his tone sent a pang through her chest. She needed to stand on her own, to face this impossible situation with whatever dignity she could salvage.

"Please," she repeated, more firmly this time.

With a barely audible sigh, Sinister slowly, almost reluctantly, lifted her off his length, the wet muscle sliding against her entrance until finally he pulled free, his softened length thumping softly against his thigh. The wet sound of their bodies separating seemed deafening in the tense silence of the cave, drawing a visible wince from several of the variants.

He then lowered her to the ground. As their bodies separated, Y/N had to bite back a gasp at the sudden emptiness, the evidence of their passion trickling down her inner thighs. She quickly pulled the remnants of her suit together, trying to cover herself as best she could. Sinister kept his cape around her, tightening it around her shoulders to keep her covered.

The moment her feet touched the cold stone floor, Mohawk Mark lunged forward again, only to be restrained by Viltrumite Mark's iron grip on his shoulder.

"Not now," Viltrumite Mark hissed, his white-gloved hand a stark contrast against the blue and black of Mohawk's suit. "Not here."

Y/N stood on shaky legs, acutely aware of every pair of eyes fixed upon her. The weight of their collective gaze was almost crushing—some filled with hurt, others with rage, one with possessive triumph, all with a hunger that made her skin prickle with awareness. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her tattered clothing—laid bare emotionally, every vulnerability on display.

"I..." she began, but what could she possibly say? How could she explain something she barely understood herself? The intensity, the connection she'd felt with Sinister in those desperate moments—was it real, or merely a product of adrenaline and fear and need?

Phantom Mark stepped forward, his masked face tilted slightly as if in concern. "Are you hurt?" The simple question held layers of meaning, and Y/N felt a rush of gratitude for his understated compassion.

"No," she answered truthfully, finding her voice at last. "I'm not hurt."

"Then it's true?" Mohawk Mark's voice was raw, scraped thin by emotion. "You wanted this? Wanted him?" He spat the last word like poison, his gaze darting to Sinister with naked hatred.

Sinister remained unnaturally still, his yellow and black suit torn but his posture defiant, almost regal in its arrogance. He watched the exchange with hooded eyes, his satisfaction at the discord he'd sown evident in the slight curl of his lips.

Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself. "What happened between us was... complicated." She chose her words carefully, acutely aware of the thin ice she was treading. "I was confused, scared... alone." 

"You weren't alone!" Mohawk Mark exploded, breaking free of Viltrumite Mark's restraining grip. "We were coming for you! We tore Angstrom apart to find you!"

"I didn't know that!" Y/N shot back, surprise at her own vehemence momentarily overriding her embarrassment. "I thought I was stranded here! I thought—" She broke off, the enormity of the situation crashing down on her anew.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the lingering heat of passion still thrumming through her veins. She felt torn between worlds—between the variants who had searched for her, who had worried for her, and the one who had claimed her so thoroughly.

Omni Mark's voice broke the silence, calm and measured but with an underlying current of steel. "We're leaving. All of us." His gaze swept over the assembled variants, lingering significantly on Sinister. "We have unfinished business with Angstrom."

Sinister's lip curled into a sneer. "By all means," he drawled, gesturing toward the portal with mock courtesy. "Don't let me keep you."

"You're coming too," Viltrumite Mark stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Unless you want to be trapped in this dimension forever."

A flicker of calculation passed over Sinister's face before his features settled back into smug confidence. "As entertaining as this little pocket dimension has been," he said, his gaze sliding meaningfully to Y/N, "I suppose all good things must come to an end."

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks again, but before she could respond, Omni Mark was beside her. With surprisingly gentle hands, he wrapped his cape around her shoulders, covering her torn suit. His touch was light, almost tender—a stark contrast to the cold fury still evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.

"Let's go," he said softly, his eyes holding hers for a moment before he glanced back at the others. "The portal won't stay stable forever."

As if on cue, the edges of the swirling vortex flickered, casting jagged shadows across the cave walls. The emerald light pulsed once, twice, a warning of its impending collapse.

Y/N stepped toward it, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to find Sinister Mark standing close—too close—his eyes burning with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"This isn't over," he murmured, his voice for her ears alone. "What we shared? That was real, Y/N. More real than anything these pale imitations could offer you." His gaze flicked dismissively toward the other variants before returning to her face. "Remember that when they try to make you forget."

Before she could respond, Mohawk Mark was there, physically inserting himself between them. "Back off," he snarled, nose to nose with Sinister. "You've done enough damage."

Sinister's laugh was soft and knowing. "Have I?" he asked, eyes still locked on Y/N over Mohawk's shoulder. "Or have I merely shown her what she truly wants?"

Mohawk's fist shot out with blinding speed, but Sinister was faster, catching it mid-swing with casual ease. The impact created a small shockwave that stirred the dust around them. "Careful now," he warned, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of her, would you?"

The tension between them was a living thing, coiling and snapping in the space between their bodies. Y/N could almost taste the violence brewing, metallic and sharp on her tongue.

"Stop it," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Both of you. This isn't helping."

To her surprise, Mohawk immediately backed down, though his eyes still burned with barely contained rage. Sinister released his fist with a mocking little pat.

"After you," Sinister gestured toward the portal, his smile all teeth and challenge.

One by one, they stepped through the swirling vortex—Phantom Mark first, then Emperor and No-Mask Mark, followed by Prisoner Mark with his perpetual scowl. Viltrumite Mark hesitated, looking back at Y/N with an unreadable expression before disappearing into the emerald light.

Omni Mark guided Y/N forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. The contact was minimal yet somehow anchoring, his presence steady and reassuring amid the chaos. As they approached the portal, Y/N felt a strange reluctance, as if crossing this threshold would force her to face realities she wasn't ready to confront.

"It'll be alright," Omni Mark murmured, seeming to sense her hesitation. His red and gray suit gleamed in the pulsing light, his expression unexpectedly gentle. "We'll figure this out. Together."

Y/N nodded, gathering her courage. She stepped into the portal, feeling the strange, electric sensation wash over her skin. The last thing she saw before the alien world dissolved around her was Mohawk Mark and Sinister Mark locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to turn their back on the other.

Then the world twisted, stretched, compressed, and she was falling through emerald infinity, Omni Mark's solid presence beside her the only anchor in the void.

As the portal whisked them back to the Main Universe, Y/N couldn't help but wonder: What would happen now? What would she return to? And more importantly—how could she face eight variations of the same man, all of whom now looked at her differently—some with hurt, others with betrayal, one with possessive triumph, and all with a hunger that threatened to consume her whole?

The multiverse had fractured around her, and she was caught in the cracks—pulled in too many directions at once. And somewhere deep inside, past the confusion and shame and uncertainty, a tiny voice whispered a truth she wasn't ready to acknowledge: she had enjoyed every moment of her time with Sinister Mark, and part of her—a wild, reckless part she barely recognized—longed for more.(Greedy ahh🧟‍♀️)

As the emerald light engulfed her completely, she closed her eyes against that dangerous truth and surrendered to the portal's pull, letting it carry her back to face whatever waited on the other side.

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The portal spat them out into Angstrom's laboratory with a violent surge of emerald energy, scorching the air with the acrid scent of dimensional displacement. Y/N stumbled forward, her vision swimming with ghostly afterimages, the world tilting dangerously beneath her feet. Where the alien cave had been primal and raw, Angstrom's base assaulted her senses with clinical sterility—recycled air that tasted like metal shavings against her tongue, harsh lights that burned her retinas after the dim cavern.

Lensless Mark stood frozen at the control panel, his fingers suspended over bloodied keys. Crimson droplets fell with rhythmic precision onto the console below, each one leaving a perfect circle of accusation. The mask that framed his face without the characteristic goggles made his expression more visible—his eyes widened fractionally as the group materialized, pupils contracting to pinpoints when they locked onto Y/N's disheveled form.

"Fuck, you actually found her," he said, a smile tugging his lips despite the brutality evident in his surroundings.

Around him lay the aftermath of systematic destruction—security drones dismantled with surgical precision, their components arranged in almost artistic patterns across the floor. Circuitry still occasionally sparked with dying electricity, brief flashes that illuminated the darker corners of the chamber.

The reinforced interrogation chair at the center stood as testament to their methods—metal warped from superhuman force, restraints torn clean from their moorings, trailing like severed arteries. Dark splatter patterns decorated the walls and floor. Angstrom's recent suffering painted in biological abstracts that would make a forensic analyst weep.

Mohawk Mark shouldered his way through the group, a rolling wave of barely contained violence. His face transformed with each step—veins pulsing beneath his skin like living things seeking escape, jaw muscles bulging as if trying to crack through bone, eyes so bloodshot they appeared to be bleeding from within.

"You fucking piece of—" The words dissolved into something primal, something that predated language altogether, as he lunged toward Sinister Mark who just walked through.

Viltrumite Mark's arm shot out with precision, catching Mohawk across the chest before he could complete his charge. "Not here," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of imperial decree.

The pristine white of his suit remained untouched by the surrounding carnage, as if blood itself feared to stain such perfection. A single muscle twitched beneath his left eye—the only betrayal of the emotions raging beneath his composed exterior.

Y/N couldn't tear her gaze from Sinister as he materialized last, walking through peacefully despite Mohawk's comment, the portal closing behind him with a sound like reality tearing.

His yellow and black suit hung from his powerful frame in calculated shreds, the fabric somehow enhancing rather than diminishing his presence. He'd recovered his signature black lenses from somewhere, the opaque darkness hiding his eyes while doing nothing to mask the triumphant curl of his lips. Most jarring was the deliberate display of his exposed manhood—a trophy of conquest, a calculated provocation that sent fresh heat rushing to Y/N's cheeks.

Her body's traitorous response was immediate—memory flooding her with sense impressions of his skin against hers, his weight, his scent, the way he had filled her so completely.

She clutched Omni Mark's cape tighter around herself, suddenly hyperaware of how the fabric caught against the tender places where Sinister's passion had marked her.

Omni Mark's arm remained steady around her waist, his calm presence a stark contrast to the chaos erupting around them. Unlike the others, his face remained a mask of perfect composure, only his eyes behind those dark lenses betraying the storm within—possessive rage tempered by genuine concern, calculating intelligence shadowed by something deeper, something almost tender when his gaze fell on her.

"You need to rest," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. His fingers tightened slightly at her waist, steadying her when her legs threatened to give way.

Phantom Mark stepped toward Sinister, movements fluid and deliberate. He tore a piece of fabric from a fallen drone's banner and thrust it toward him. "Cover yourself," he ordered, voice distorted through his mask yet vibrating with barely contained violence. "Or I remove it permanently."

Sinister's laugh echoed off the metal walls, a sound like broken glass being ground underfoot. "Jealous?" he taunted, making no move to cover himself. "Or afraid she'll make comparisons none of you will survive?"

Mohawk Mark's control shattered like thin ice beneath a hammer blow. He broke free of Viltrumite's restraint with an explosive surge of strength, launching himself across the room with a bestial roar that seemed to vibrate the very molecules of the air. His body collided with Sinister's with force enough to dent the reinforced metal wall. The impact knocked Sinister's head back with a crack that should have been fatal to any normal being, blood spraying in a fine crimson mist from his split lip.

Yet even as rivulets of scarlet traveled down his chin, staining the yellow of his suit dark orange, Sinister's smile only widened, revealing teeth smeared red.

"There he is," Sinister purred, voice thick with blood yet somehow more alive because of it. "The animal hiding behind the hero. Show her what you really are, Mohawk. Show her the monster that got your Y/N killed."

The words struck with precision, finding Mohawk's deepest wound and twisting. His fist connected with Sinister's jaw—not in blind rage but with calculated force meant to shatter bone. The sound reverberated through the chamber like a gunshot. Sinister's head snapped sideways, but instead of breaking, he absorbed the blow with unnatural resilience, his equal strength matching Mohawk's fury.

"ENOUGH!" Viltrumite Mark's voice cracked like thunder, the air itself seeming to compress under the sound. He moved with impossible speed, one hand clamping around Mohawk's throat while the other seized Sinister's shoulder with force that would have pulverized normal bone. "One more word," he hissed at Sinister, his composed façade finally fracturing to reveal something ancient and terrible beneath, "and I tear out your tongue."

Sinister's only response was to spit a mouthful of blood directly at Viltrumite's immaculate white suit. The scarlet droplets bloomed like grotesque flowers against the pristine fabric, each one a declaration of war.

Y/N's legs finally surrendered beneath the weight of exhaustion and trauma. She swayed dangerously, the sterile room spinning around her in nauseating circles. Omni Mark's grip tightened instantly, his support unwavering.

Unlike the others whose emotions exploded outward in violence, Omni's rage burned cold and precise. His face remained eerily composed, but his eyes behind those black lenses contained universes of complex emotion—calculating intelligence overlaying a possessive fury that bordered on madness, genuine concern that seemed almost foreign on features so similar to Sinister's, and beneath it all, a depth of feeling that made her breath catch.

"You need to clean up and rest," he murmured again, his voice a velvet rumble against her ear. The gentleness of his touch contrasted so starkly with the violence saturating the air that it nearly broke her.

Y/N nodded weakly, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating testosterone, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the lingering musk of sex still clinging to her skin. "I need to shower," she whispered, the simple request utterly inadequate against the magnitude of what had happened.

Lensless Mark jerked his blood-spattered chin toward a corridor branching from the main chamber. "Quarters down there. Showers too." His voice carried a strange duality—childlike enthusiasm wrapped around sadistic knowledge, his eyes never leaving her face as if memorizing her dishevelment. Unlike when they'd first met, when he'd tried to kill her seeing only a ghost of his lost love, now his gaze held something more complex—a reluctant recognition of her as someone distinct, someone real.

Phantom Mark stepped forward, his masked form interposing itself between Y/N and the others. "I'll show her," he said, the modulator in his mask unable to disguise the protective edge in his voice. His shoulders formed a living barrier, his stance a silent promise of violence should anyone object.

Emperor Mark, who had been observing the unfolding drama with regal detachment, finally spoke. His imperial sigil caught the harsh light as he moved, casting knife-edged shadows across his face. "And leave her alone with another variant?" His lip curled with aristocratic disdain. "Haven't we learned that lesson already?"

Phantom's hands curled into fists at his sides, tension radiating from him in almost visible waves. "Unlike some," he replied, cold fury evident even through the mask's filter, "I remember what honor means."

Before the situation could escalate further, Prisoner Mark spat on the floor with deliberate aim, the glob landing with perfect precision near Sinister's bare foot. The scarred tissue of his face pulled tight across his skull as he sneered, burn tissue twisting into a grotesque parody of expression. His eyes, set deep in pockets of scar tissue, gleamed with malevolent intelligence.

"Honor? With these animals?" He gestured at Sinister with contempt, flakes of dead skin drifting from his movement like macabre confetti. "We ripped Angstrom apart piece by fucking piece to find her, and he was busy ripping apart something else entirely."

The crude comment sent another wave of shame washing over Y/N. She pulled away from Omni Mark's supportive arm, drawing whatever shreds of dignity remained around her like armor. The cape felt suddenly heavy, burdened with too many implications.

"I don't need an escort," she stated, voice stronger than she felt. "Just tell me where to go."

No-Mask Mark stepped forward, his exposed face—so like Mark's yet hollowed from within by grief—meeting her gaze directly. Where the others wore variations of masks with lenses to hide themselves, his naked features revealed everything—the raw pain, the longing for something irretrievably lost, the flicker of hope her existence had rekindled.

"Third door on the left," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "The facilities are basic, but private."

Gratitude washed through her. "Thank you," she whispered, the simple courtesy a lifeline amid the chaos.

As she turned to leave, Sinister's voice slithered after her, wet with blood yet still dripping with smug satisfaction. "Running away so soon, dove? Don't you want to tell them how good it felt?" He finally reached for the scrap of fabric Phantom had offered, wrapping it around his exposed member with deliberate slowness, his movements a mockery of modesty.

"How you screamed my name when you came?"

The silence that followed was absolute, heavy with the promise of violence. Y/N couldn't bear to turn around, couldn't face the expressions that would be carved into faces so similar yet so different. Instead, she moved forward on unsteady legs, clutching Omni Mark's cape around her like a shield.

Behind her, she heard a sickening crunch followed by a wet gurgle. She didn't look back to see which variant had landed the blow, didn't pause to witness the fresh spray of crimson. She simply kept walking, one foot in front of the other, until the corridor swallowed her and the sounds of conflict faded into muted echoes.

The hallway stretched before her, utilitarian and cold. Overhead lights buzzed with intermittent electricity, casting her shadow in broken fragments against the metal floor. Each step sent painful reminders through her body—muscles used in ways both violent and intimate, skin still bearing the ghost of Sinister's grip, the core of her aching with a confusion of shame and lingering pleasure.

The door marked 'Q-3' slid open at her approach with a pneumatic hiss that reminded her of a predator's exhalation. Inside, a spartan room greeted her—narrow bed with military corners, metal desk bolted to the floor, a single chair that would offer no comfort. A doorway to the side revealed glimpses of a compact bathroom. It wasn't luxury, but it was sanctuary—a momentary respite from the storm of masculine rage and desire swirling outside.

Y/N let Omni Mark's cape fall to the floor, the heavy fabric pooling around her feet like spilled blood. She stared down at herself—at the tattered remnants of her suit, at the purpling marks forming on her skin where Sinister's fingers had dug into her flesh, at the dried evidence of their coupling still visible on her inner thighs. The sight sent fresh waves of conflicting emotion crashing through her—shame and lingering arousal battling for dominance, confusion and a terrible clarity warring in her mind.

She moved to the bathroom on unsteady legs, unable to bear her own skin a moment longer. The light flickered on automatically, harsh and unforgiving, revealing her reflection in the small mirror above the sink. A stranger stared back—hair wild and tangled, eyes huge and haunted in her pale face, lips swollen from brutal kisses. Whisker burn reddened her neck and chest, mapping the trail of Sinister's mouth across her body like a crimson road map of their shared depravity.

Y/N turned away from her reflection, unable to face the evidence of what she'd become—or perhaps, more terrifyingly, what she'd always been beneath the surface. The shower sputtered to life with reluctant obedience, lukewarm water at best, but she stepped under the spray without complaint. She watched as the physical reminders of Sinister washed away, swirling down the drain in pale rivulets tinged with pink where his rough handling had broken skin.

As steam rose around her, Y/N finally surrendered to the storm inside her. A sob tore from her throat, the sound bouncing off the tile walls before being swallowed by the running water. It was followed by another, and another, until she was on her knees in the shower stall, arms wrapped around herself as if she might physically hold the broken pieces together.

Outside in the corridor, Phantom Mark had followed and stood silent sentinel, his masked face betraying nothing of the anguish within. He heard each sob through the thin walls, each one cutting deeper than any physical wound. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the only outward sign of his inner turmoil. He had failed her—they all had. But while the others fought over her like wolves over prey, he would stand guard, offering what little protection he could in a world gone mad.

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Chaos had erupted. Mohawk Mark had Sinister pinned against the wall, one hand at his throat while the other formed a fist streaming with his own blood—evidence of knuckles split open from repeated impact against Sinister's unyielding form. Despite the ferocity of the assault, Sinister remained largely intact, his enhanced durability matching Mohawk's rage. His face showed signs of the battle—split lip, darkening bruise along his jaw, a trickle of blood from his nostril—but his smile remained, a deliberate provocation.

"Is this..." Sinister taunted, voice thick with contempt despite Mohawk's crushing grip on his throat, "...the best...you can do?"

Mohawk screamed—a primal sound of pure rage—and slammed his fist into Sinister's face again. Though the blow would have collapsed the skull of a normal human, Sinister merely took it, his head snapping back before returning to position, that infuriating smile still in place.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Mohawk roared, spittle flying from his lips as he drew back for another blow. "I'LL FUCKING TEAR YOU APART!"

Viltrumite Mark moved with blinding speed, wrapping his arms around Mohawk from behind in a restraining bear hug. "Enough!" he commanded, muscles straining as he struggled to contain Mohawk's berserk strength. "This solves nothing!"

"LET ME GO!" Mohawk thrashed in Viltrumite's grip, head thrown back in animal fury. "HE TOUCHED HER! HE PUT HIS FUCKING HANDS ON HER!"

"And killing him will change that?" Emperor Mark asked coldly from where he stood, arms crossed over his chest, eyes calculating. "Will it erase what happened? Will it make her choose you instead?"

Mohawk's struggles slowed, his breathing ragged as Emperor's words penetrated his rage. "She was mine," he whispered, voice breaking. "In my world, she was always mine."

"She's not your Y/N," No-Mask Mark said quietly, his unmasked features twisted with a pain that echoed Mohawk's own. "None of them were ever ours. Not really."

Prisoner Mark laughed bitterly, the sound scraping like metal on stone. He ran a hand over his burned scalp, flakes of dead skin drifting to the floor. "Keep telling yourself that," he muttered. "Keep pretending we're not all just trying to replace what we've lost."

Sinister, still pinned to the wall but no longer being actively beaten, managed to grin through blood-stained teeth. "At least I'm honest," he said, voice rich with satisfaction. "I wanted her. I took her. No pretending she's someone else."

Omni Mark, who had been eerily silent throughout the exchange, finally moved. With deliberate slowness, he approached Sinister, his steps measured, his face a mask of calm that didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes—they burned with something ancient and terrible, a controlled fury that made even Mohawk's berserker rage seem childish in comparison.

"Do you love her?" Omni asked, voice so quiet it forced everyone to still their breathing to hear him.

Sinister stared back, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his cracked lenses. Blood touched the corner of his mouth as he tried to speak, then thought better of it, settling for a mocking half-shrug instead.

Omni nodded as if the non-answer confirmed something. "I thought not."

Without warning, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Sinister's throat where Mohawk's had been moments before. With surgical precision, he began to squeeze, watching dispassionately as Sinister's breathing became labored.

"You took something precious," Omni continued conversationally as if they were discussing the weather rather than committing murder. "Something irreplaceable. Not from us—from her." His fingers tightened incrementally, the tendons in his forearm standing out like cables beneath his skin. "Her trust. Her sense of safety. Her ability to choose freely."

For the first time, Sinister's smugness faltered. His hands gripped Omni's wrist, genuine effort showing as he fought against the only variant whose strength truly matched his own. Behind his cracked lenses, something flashed in his eyes—not fear, exactly, but perhaps the first glimmer of respect.

"I should kill you for that alone," Omni mused, his voice still terrifyingly calm. "But death would be too merciful." With a soft grunt he released his grip, stepping back as Sinister sagged slightly, his breathing harsh but controlled.

"We need him," Lensless Mark pointed out. Blood spattered his face in an almost artistic pattern, his eyes wide and gleaming with dangerous curiosity. "At least until we figure out how to navigate the multiverse without Angstrom."

"Speaking of," Viltrumite Mark interjected, finally releasing his hold on Mohawk, who stood trembling with suppressed rage but no longer actively violent. "We have unfinished business with our portal-creating friend."

Emperor Mark's lip curled with disdain as he gazed down at Sinister's somewhat disheveled form. "Get him cleaned up," he ordered, as if commanding royal servants rather than dangerous interdimensional variants of himself. "And for god's sake, find him pants that stay closed."

No-Mask Mark moved reluctantly to help Sinister to his feet, his unmasked face a study in conflicted disgust. "Come on," he muttered, hauling Sinister's arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you patched up before we deal with Angstrom."

Sinister's laugh was dark and knowing as he allowed himself to be supported. "Such... gentlemen," he mocked, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "No wonder... she preferred... a real man."

Mohawk lunged forward again with a snarl, but Viltrumite was faster, stepping between them with arms outstretched. "Enough," he commanded, voice laced with deadly promise. "Save your strength for what matters."

"And what exactly matters?" Prisoner Mark asked bitterly, his scarred face contorted in a sneer. "Getting home to worlds we've already destroyed? Finding new dimensions to ruin? Fighting over a woman who isn't ours to claim?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications none of them wanted to face. They stood frozen in tableau—bloody and broken and lost, versions of the same man twisted by grief and rage and power, united only by their shared obsession with a woman who carried the face of their greatest loss.

Omni Mark broke the tension, his voice cutting through the weighted silence. "What matters is what comes next," he stated simply, his natural authority drawing all eyes to him. "And to determine that, we need information only Angstrom has."

Emperor Mark nodded in agreement, his regal bearing reasserting itself as he moved toward the corridor leading to Angstrom's holding cell. "To Angstrom, then," he declared.

"And afterward..." His gaze swept over the assembled variants, lingering on each face. "Afterward, we decide what we truly want—and what we're willing to sacrifice to get it."

As they moved toward Angstrom's cell, the air between them vibrated with unspoken threats and fragile alliances.

They walked like warlords entering enemy territory—cautious, alert, bound by circumstance rather than trust. But the true battlefield wasn't against Angstrom or any external force. It was the emotional chasm between them, charged with jealousy, possession, grief, and desire. And at the center of that battlefield stood Y/N—catalyst, prize, and potential destroyer of their fragile equilibrium.

In her shower, as lukewarm water washed away the physical evidence of her encounter with Sinister, Y/N finally stopped crying. She rose to her feet, legs still trembling but stronger now, and turned off the water with a decisive twist. Her reflection in the small mirror was clearer now—still battered, still haunted, but somehow more her own.

She was no longer just a human experimented on by the GDA, no longer just manufactured Viltrumite muscle and bone. She was a woman with choices—terrible, difficult choices, perhaps, but hers to make nonetheless. And as she toweled her body dry, wincing at the tender spots where Sinister's passion had left its mark, Y/N made her first real choice since being thrust into this interdimensional nightmare.

She would not be their prize. She would not be their redemption. She would not be the ghost of women long dead, wearing her face and carrying her name.

She would be Y/N—survivor, fighter, and architect of her own fate.

With newfound resolve hardening inside her like crystal, she began to prepare herself to face the variants again. In Angstrom's holding cell, revelations awaited that would shatter everything she thought she knew about herself, about the variants, and about the precarious threads binding the multiverse together.

The game was changing. The players were wounded, dangerous, and desperate.

And Y/N was no longer just a piece on the board—she was a player with her own moves to make.

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Dang, I'm tired... (っ- ‸ - ς)

Hope yall are getting 8 hours of sleep, every night <3

The next chapter is going to be heavy fluff and lots of kissing.

Final: Part 10!!

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 8✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

Stuck in a cave with Sinister~ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Surrender to Sinister‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 13k+ [Part 8] ☆ TW: (slow burn) SMUT!! ☆ Author's Note: First time writing smut. It was extremely hard; however, I believe I did alright ദ്ദി(˵•̀ ᴗ -) enjoy pookies~

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His boots sent dust clouds billowing as they landed at the entrance. The cave mouth yawned before them, promising shelter from both the roaming creatures and the oppressive alien sky.

"Home sweet home," Sinister quipped, carrying her inside. His voice bounced off the stone walls as he ventured deeper, the light from outside growing dimmer with each step.

The cave extended deeper than it appeared, the ceiling high enough for him to stand without stooping. Darkness enveloped them as they moved further from the entrance, their enhanced vision allowing them to navigate the space.

He set Y/N down against the far wall, the rock cool against her back. Her breath hitched as her injuries made contact with the rough surface. Stepping away with a dramatic swirl of his tattered cape, he scanned their surroundings, muscles coiled beneath his armor, his posture alert despite his casual tone.

"Cozy," he declared, arms spread wide in mock hospitality. His teeth flashed in the dimness, the yellow of his cape catching what little light filtered into the cave. "Can't offer refreshments. The local cuisine fights back too much."

Y/N leaned against the wall, exhaustion washing over her in waves. Blood continued seeping from her wounds, though her enhanced healing struggled to repair the damage. Her eyelids grew heavy, tempting her to surrender to unconsciousness. Her head drooped forward, chin touching her chest.

"Hey!" Sinister's voice cracked like a whip. His hand shot out, gripping her uninjured shoulder, giving her a rough shake. His face thrust close to hers, the muscles of his forehead creating visible ridges above his lenses. "No sleeping until I've checked those wounds."

Despite his harsh tone, his gloved fingers moved with surprising gentleness as he examined her injuries. He probed the edges of the acid burn, his head tilting as he assessed the damage. His lips pressed together, the manic grin momentarily replaced by a focused expression.

"Beautiful work," he commented, something like appreciation coloring his voice. His fingers traced the outline of the burn, barely making contact. "Bet that stings like a bitch."

Without warning, he tore a strip from his yellow cape, the sound echoing through the cave. Folding the fabric into a makeshift bandage, he pressed it against her worst wound. His movements were precise, economical, at odds with the chaotic energy that seemed to radiate from him.

"Hold this," he ordered, guiding her hand to the bandage. Their fingers brushed, an unexpected current passing between them. His hand lingered, head tilting as though he'd noticed it too. For a moment, his perpetual grin faltered.

"Cape's getting shredded," he laughed, tearing another strip for her back wounds. The sound bounced off the cave walls, a manic edge to it. "Always thought it was too much anyway. Original me had no sense of style."

His hands worked with surprising efficiency, binding her wounds and cleaning others with the limited resources available. His fingers danced across her skin, applying just enough pressure to be effective without causing unnecessary pain. All the while, his voice filled the cave with observations that ranged from darkly humorous to intensely personal.

"You should've seen Angstrom's face when we turned on him," he said, fingers tracing the edge of a gash on her side. His teeth gleamed as he grinned, clearly relishing the memory. "Almost as good as yours when you realized you were falling into his trap."

Y/N winced as he applied another bandage. Her eyes flashed up to meet his lenses. "You didn't exactly rush to help."

His laugh echoed off the cave walls. He threw his head back, shoulders shaking with genuine amusement. "Had front-row seats to the show." His shoulders tensed momentarily, hands stilling on her wound. "Wasn't planning to jump in until that pathetic excuse for a Mark tried playing hero."

Finishing his work, he sat back on his heels, surveying her with an uncharacteristic stillness, the manic energy momentarily subdued. His head cocked to one side, the perpetual grin softening just slightly.

"You'll live," he pronounced, absently wiping blood from his gloves onto his thighs. "Healing factor's already working. Better than the Y/N I knew."

The mention of "his" Y/N hung between them, loaded with unspoken history. The air in the cave seemed to grow heavier.

"What was she like?" Y/N asked softly. "Your Y/N."

Sinister went rigid, gloved hands curling into fists. The tendons in his neck stood out, jaw clenching visibly beneath his mask. Just when Y/N thought he might lash out, his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

"Beautiful," he whispered. His voice hardened immediately afterward, the momentary vulnerability vanishing like it had never existed. "And vicious. A killer who loved her work."

He leaned forward suddenly, closing the distance between them. One hand braced beside her head, the other tracing her jaw with surprising gentleness. His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling more rapidly.

"We painted cities red together," he continued, voice dropping to a vibration she felt more than heard. His fingers traced a path from her jaw to her throat. "Every hero who crossed our path ended up dead." His fingers trailed to her pulse point, lingering there as if counting heartbeats. "Until one didn't."

Y/N remained still, heart hammering against her ribs as his thumb stroked the vulnerable skin of her throat. She swallowed, the movement pressing her neck against his touch.

"You're not her," he said flatly. His lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them. "But you're here now. And I've decided that means you're mine."

Before she could respond, Sinister moved with inhuman speed. His hand slid to her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her forward. His lips crashed against hers with bruising intensity, demanding and possessive. His teeth caught her lower lip, the brief sting followed by the metallic taste of her own blood.

Y/N's hands flew up instinctively, one pressing against his chest, the other closing around his wrist. Her fingers dug into the material of his suit, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Rational thought warned her of the danger he represented, of the violence she'd witnessed him inflict with casual pleasure. But another part—darker and more primal—responded to his intensity, to the raw need evident in every point of contact between them.

Sinister broke the kiss, a breathless laugh escaping as he pulled back just enough to observe her. His grin was predatory, her blood staining his lips crimson. His chest heaved against her palm, heart racing beneath her fingertips.

"Been wanting to do that since I first saw you," he admitted, voice rough with desire. His tongue flicked out, tasting her blood on his lips. "The look on Mohawk's face when he kissed you? Priceless. But he doesn't know how to handle you. None of them do."

His hand slid from her hair to her shoulder, fingers trailing down her arm in a deliberately slow caress. His touch left goosebumps in its wake, despite the heat radiating from his body. "I do." The words emerged as both promise and threat, his grin widening. "I know exactly what you need."

A sound from deeper in the cave drew their attention—soft scratching, like claws against stone, followed by a low, guttural hiss that raised the hairs on Y/N's neck. Sinister's head snapped up, body shifting from seductive to predatory in an instant. He rose to his feet, positioning himself between Y/N and whatever lurked in the darkness.

"Stay behind me," he ordered, voice dropping to a whisper. His hands curled into fists, shoulders squared beneath his torn cape. His entire posture changed, the playful malice replaced by lethal focus.

The sound came again—soft scratching, like claws against stone, followed by a low, guttural hiss that raised the hairs on Y/N's neck.

Sinister's laugh cut through the tension, genuine in its delight. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the confined space. "Dinner just delivered itself," he said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Stay put, sweetheart. I'll handle this."

He stepped into the darkness, yellow cape swirling around his ankles. The black and yellow of his suit disappeared into the shadows, only occasional flashes of movement visible. His laughter echoed off the walls, the sound growing more manic with each passing second.

"Well, well," his voice drifted back. "Aren't you an ugly little fucker?"

His laughter echoed off the walls, followed by wet impacts and high-pitched screeches that grew progressively weaker until silence fell once more. The sounds of combat were punctuated by his gleeful exclamations, clearly enjoying the violence he was inflicting.

"You can stop looking so worried," he called, words preceded by another laugh. "I'm fine. Can't say the same for our roommate."

He emerged from the shadows, something dark and viscous dripping from his gloved hands. His lenses gleamed in the dim light, his grin wide and satisfied—a predator returning from a successful hunt. Blood spattered across his face and chest, none of it his own. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the blood rather than cleaning it.

"Cave's clear," he announced, wiping his hands against his thighs. His chest rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline still coursing through his system. "Just something with too many eyes and not enough sense to stay away."

He dropped beside Y/N again, movements fluid despite the brutality he'd just unleashed. His blood-smeared glove brushed a strand of hair from her face, leaving a dark streak across her cheek. His breathing gradually slowed, the frantic energy of combat fading but never fully disappearing.

"Where were we?" he asked, voice dropping to that intimate register again. His head tilted, lenses reflecting her face—pale, battered, marked with the evidence of his touch. His lips curled into a smile that was almost gentle. "Oh, right. I was telling you how much better you are than all the other Y/Ns."

His hand moved to her neck, fingers splaying across her pulse. The leather of his glove was warm against her skin, sticky with alien blood. "You're stronger. Faster. More durable." His thumb traced her jaw, leaving another streak in its wake. His teeth flashed in a grin. "Perfect for someone like me."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, a surge of defiance cutting through pain and exhaustion. She gripped his wrist, applying just enough pressure to make her point. Her eyes locked onto his lenses, searching for the eyes hidden behind them.

"I'm not yours," she said precisely. "And I'm not a killer—not like you."

Sinister's laugh was sharp and immediate, his free hand covering hers. His fingers wrapped around her smaller hand, holding it against his wrist. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. I've seen the bodies you've left behind."

His fingers interlaced with hers, the gesture almost tender. "But we've got plenty of time to work on your self-awareness." He gestured around them with their joined hands, taking in the cave and the alien world beyond. "Because it looks like we're both fucking stuck here."

A bubble of laughter escaped Y/N's throat, surprising them both. Her lips curved into a smile despite everything. "Is that the best you've got?" she asked, an unexpected spark of humor lighting her eyes.

Sinister's head tilted curiously. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing off the cave walls—almost genuine, almost human. His shoulders shook with the force of it, the tension in his body momentarily released.

"You're right," he admitted, squeezing her hand with controlled strength. His thumb traced circles on her palm. "I can do better. Give me time." His voice dropped lower, taking on that dangerous edge again. "We've got plenty of it now."

He shifted to sit beside her against the cave wall, maneuvering her onto his lap so her back rested against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. His arms encircled her waist with careful attention to her injuries, his body heat seeping into her through their suits.

"Rest," he ordered, arms encircling her waist with careful attention to her injuries. "You're no good to either of us dead from blood loss."

Y/N tensed at the unexpected intimacy, but exhaustion and blood loss were taking their toll. Her muscles gradually relaxed against him, her weight settling more fully into his embrace. Sinister's body radiated heat against her back, his heartbeat steady and strong.

"Don't trust you," she murmured, words slurring as consciousness began to slip away. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering as she fought to stay awake.

Sinister's laugh vibrated through both their bodies, his arms tightening fractionally around her waist. His lips brushed against her ear, breath warm against her skin. "Smart girl," he whispered. "But right now, I'm all you've got."

Y/N drifted into a fitful sleep, aware even in semiconsciousness of Sinister Mark's vigilant presence. His hands remained on her, one at her waist, the other absently stroking her hair. Hours passed this way, the alien moons shifting position outside the cave entrance, casting new shadows across the stone floor.

***WARNING SLOW SEX***(ima tease)

She awoke to the sensation of movement—subtle at first, then unmistakable. Warmth enveloped her, not just from Sinister's body heat, but from his touch as his gloved fingertips traced patterns along her thigh and lower back. The leather of his yellow gloves caught slightly against her skin, sending goosebumps rippling in their wake. His hard chest pressed against her back, rising and falling with increasingly rapid breaths.

Against her lower back, something firm and insistent pressed through the fabric of their suits. Sinister's breathing changed, growing heavier beside her ear, hot puffs of air stirring the hair at her temple. His chest expanded more rapidly now, the thundering of his heart reverberating through her own body.

Sinister's face hovered mere inches from hers, his nose buried in her hair. His eyes fluttered closed behind the black lenses, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. The sharp line of his jaw tensed, a muscle jumping beneath pale skin as his lips parted slightly. That familiar savage grin spread across his face, teeth gleaming white in the dim bluish glow that filtered through the cave entrance.

"Finally awake?" The words rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her back. His voice carried a raspy, husky quality it hadn't possessed before, each syllable caressing her ear as his lips brushed against the sensitive shell. The yellow-gloved fingers at her waist flexed suddenly, digging into the soft flesh beneath the torn fabric of her suit. "Was getting bored watching you sleep."

Y/N shifted, suddenly hyper aware of their position—her body nestled between his powerful thighs, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against her lower back. Her enhanced healing had worked its magic during her rest; the sharp, stabbing pain from before had subsided to a dull throb, allowing other sensations to take center stage.

She adjusted her position slightly, drawing a sharp hiss from between Sinister's teeth. His pupils dilated behind the dark lenses, jaw clenching as his hands shot to her hips, gripping them with barely restrained force. The yellow of his gloves stood out starkly against the darkness of her suit, his fingers spreading wide to encompass as much of her as possible.

"Careful," he warned, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sent shivers racing down her spine. His head dipped lower, lips parting as a barely suppressed groan rumbled through his chest. His large hands slid to her thighs, fingers splaying across them.

The pressure of his fingertips increased, pulling her legs slightly apart as his hips shifted beneath her. The movement nudged his hardness, positioning it just above her ass, trying to slide between her thighs. "Don't start something you aren't prepared to finish."

His breathing grew labored against her neck, the warmth of each exhale sending cascades of goosebumps across her skin. The pressure against her intensified, no longer a vague hardness but the unmistakable outline of his cock, thick and insistent through the fabric of his suit.

Sinister's hips twitched beneath her in small, controlled motions. His expression shifted continuously—eyebrows drawing together in concentration one moment, lips parting in pleasure the next. His jaw clenched rhythmically, the tendons in his neck standing out as he fought to maintain control.

You feel that?" he asked, voice low and intimate as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. A wild laugh bubbled under the surface of his words, that manic edge dancing between desire and madness. "That's what you do to me. Just by existing."

His gloved hand traveled upward along her side, following the curve of her ribs. Fingertips skimmed just beneath the swell of her breast, causing her breath to catch audibly in her throat. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting behind his lenses at her reaction.

"Healing nicely," he murmured, the clinical observation belied by the raw hunger lacing his tone. Behind his lenses, his pupils had expanded, nearly swallowing the iris. A feral intensity radiated from him even through the black barrier. "Though I should probably check thoroughly."

His other hand remained firm on her inner thigh, large fingers gripping the muscle with barely restrained strength. The bright yellow of his glove created a stark contrast against her suit, drawing her eyes to the possessive grip. He shifted beneath her again, breathing hitching as his hips lifted slightly, pressing his hardened length between her thighs, nudging just below the curve of her ass, searching for that sweet spot between her legs.

A small gasp escaped her lips before she could trap it, her body responding instinctively to the contact. His chest vibrated with dark laughter, the sound rippling through her back where she pressed against him.

"Something wrong?" he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence, lips curving into that infuriatingly confident smirk. His hand continued its exploration, trailing across her stomach, dipping lower to trace the waistband of her suit.

His fingers danced along the edge of the fabric, teasing, not quite daring to slip beneath. His yellow-gloved fingers drummed a playful rhythm against her hip bone. "Just making sure everything's..." His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, gaze dropping to where his fingers played. "...functioning properly."

Y/N turned her head, intending to confront him, only to find herself mere inches from his face. His lips parted slightly, the corner of his mouth lifted in that perpetual smirk. Though his lenses obscured his eyes, she felt the intensity of his gaze boring through them, hungry and intent. A single bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple, disappearing beneath the edge of his mask—the only indication that his control wasn't as absolute as he pretended.

"What are you doing?" she managed, voice steadier than she expected. Heat bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down her neck as her pulse thundered beneath her skin. Her lips parted slightly with each quickened breath, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his own.

His smile widened, revealing those perfect teeth, flashing white in the dim light—a predator's grin. "What does it feel like I'm doing?" He rolled his hips again, more deliberately this time, grinding himself against her with undisguised intent. His eyes never left hers, watching her reaction with rapt attention. "I thought that was obvious." His laugh echoed off the cave walls, genuine amusement dancing in the sound.

Strong fingers suddenly gripped her hips, holding her immobile as he ground upward with a low groan that seemed torn from deep in his chest. The hard outline of his cock beneath his suit rubbed deliciously between her legs, catching against the seam of her suit directly over her center. The friction pulled a strangled sound from her throat, somewhere between protest and pleasure. Her fingers flew to his forearms, nails digging into the material of his suit as he continued his torturous movements, each roll of his hips sending jolts of heat through both their bodies.

His free hand moved to her chin, tilting her face toward his. The touch was gentle but unyielding, allowing no resistance. "You know what I realized while you were sleeping?" His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and somehow more dangerous for it. His lips nearly brushed hers as he spoke, each word a caress against her skin. "I don't need to find my way back to those other idiots. Don't need to find another Y/N."

His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing gently where he'd split it earlier with his kiss. The yellow of his glove created a stark contrast against her flushed skin. His breathing quickened visibly, chest rising and falling more rapidly as he watched the motion of his own thumb against her mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening in the dim blue light filtering through the cave entrance.

"You're better than she ever was. Stronger. More...resilient." The word carried layers of meaning, his body shifting beneath her again, pressing his hardness more firmly against her. His voice dropped even lower, almost vulnerable in its intensity. "From now on, there is no more past Y/N. Only you. I fucking love you."

He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in another kiss—less violent than before but no less demanding. His hand slid from her chin to the back of her neck, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. His other hand tightened on her waist, pulling her more firmly against him.

The kiss was nothing like Omni-Mark's gentle exploration or Mohawk's desperate pleading. Sinister kissed like a man possessed, all consuming heat and barely restrained violence. His teeth caught her lower lip, tugging just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain radiating through her body. His tongue swept inside, claiming every corner of her mouth, demanding a response.

Y/N found herself responding despite every rational thought screaming caution. Her lips parted, allowing him access, her body arching unconsciously into his touch. A small sound escaped her throat, something between a whimper and a moan. Her fingers tangled in the material of his suit, holding onto him as though he were an anchor in a storm.

Sinister broke the kiss with a triumphant laugh, shoulders shaking with manic glee. His chest heaved against hers, breath coming in quick gasps. His eyes gleamed behind his lenses, pupils blown wide with desire. "That's it," he encouraged, voice rough with need. "Stop fighting what you want."

His hands roamed more boldly now, exploring her body with possessive intent. His gloved fingers traced patterns across her skin, each touch lighting fires in their wake. "You've been surrounded by those pale imitations, those broken versions of me," he murmured against her skin, lips trailing down her neck. His teeth grazed her collarbone, tongue darting out to taste her skin. "But none of them understand what you really need."

Y/N's head fell back against his shoulder, rational thought becoming increasingly difficult as his hands and lips worked their magic. Her breath came in quick gasps, body responding to his touch despite her mind's reservations.

"And what's that?" she managed as his teeth grazed her pulse point, sending shivers of pleasure-pain radiating through her.

"Someone who sees you for what you are," he answered, one hand sliding beneath the torn fabric of her suit. His fingers brushed against bare skin, tracing patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. His yellow cape rustled as he shifted, wrapping around them both like a cocoon. "Not what they want you to be."

"Someone who isn't afraid of the darkness in you." His teeth nipped at her earlobe, drawing another gasp from her lips. The tip of his tongue traced the shell of her ear, hot and wet against the sensitive skin. "Someone who'll help you embrace it."

He could feel her heart racing beneath his fingertips, could hear the hitch in her breath as his touch ignited sparks across her skin. It thrilled him, this effect he had on her, the way her body responded to his even as her mind tried to resist. A grin spread across his face, predatory and triumphant. He had her where none of the other variants did! Not even fucking Omni...

His hand slid higher, cupping the soft swell of her breast through the tattered fabric of her suit. The weight of it filled his palm perfectly, her nipple hardening beneath his touch. His thumb circled the sensitive peak, drawing a soft moan from her lips as she arched against him, her back bowing, pressing more firmly into his touch.

"You need someone who understands the darkness inside you," he murmured, his voice a low growl against her ear. "Someone who can match it. Feed it."

He shifted her in his lap, turning her to face him. His hands gripped her hips, positioning her so she straddled him, bringing them face to face. The new position pressed them together intimately, his arousal evident against her core. His hands moved to frame her face, gently cupping her cheeks. His thumbs massaged the soft flushed skin beneath them, eyes drinking in every detail of her expression, from the slight parting of her lips to the dilation of her pupils. "God, you're beautiful," he mumbled, voice tinged with genuine awe beneath the hunger.

Y/N's face was flushed, a rosy hue spreading from her cheeks down her neck. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, plump and inviting. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath, the torn fabric of her suit revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin beneath.

"Tell me, Y/N," he breathed, his lips hovering just above hers. "Tell me you need me. Tell me you want me to help you embrace the darkness inside you."

His hand slid down her back, cool leather tracing the delicate curve before settling, firm and definite, cupping the swell of her ass through the thin suit. He squeezed, a deliberate pressure that wasn't gentle, pulling her hips flush against his, molding her soft curves to the hard lines of his body. She felt irrevocably caught, like a moon pulled into a planet's inescapable gravity field.

His hips began to move against hers, a slow, deliberate rocking. Each insistent grind sent a shockwave radiating through her core, a silent promise etched in motion that made her stomach clench. His breathing roughened, the sound loud and ragged in the close air between their faces. A faint sheen of sweat slicked his temples, catching the dim, alien light pulsing around them. His jaw tightened, muscles flexing visibly beneath the pale skin as he fought a battle for control his body was already losing.

The friction ignited a firestorm within Y/N. Every point of contact became a spark threatening to consume her. A broken sound tore from her lips, a moan she barely recognized as her own – raw, untamed. Sinister's erection, already thick and hard beneath the layers of their suits, pressed insistently against her center. The unyielding ridge was a tantalizing torment against her sensitive flesh. Each subtle shift of his hips sent waves of sheer pleasure radiating outward, building an unbearable pressure deep inside her, a desperate, aching need erupting within. Her thighs trembled, a desperate counterpoint to his steady rhythm. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging, seeking anchor, seeking more of the exquisite torment.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through his chest into hers, sinking deep into her bones. "Say you're mine, Y/N. Say you'll let me show you... the truth of who you really are."

He captured her mouth again, teeth nipping sharply at her swollen lower lip before his tongue swept inside. It wasn't a gentle exploration; it was an invasion, hot and slick and demanding. He tasted her arousal, the faint metallic tang where his teeth had grazed her lip, and it fueled him. His tongue muscle, thick and agile, moved against hers, stroking, tangling, plunging deep in a rhythm that mimicked a more intimate act. He consumed her answering moan whole, pressing his advantage, mapping the wet heat of her mouth as if claiming territory.

Y/N pulled back just enough to speak, needing air, their breaths mingling, hot and heavy. Her hands, shaking slightly, rose to his face. Her fingers traced the sharp, unfamiliar edge of his lenses. "Take this off," she whispered, her voice husky with burgeoning desire, a plea and a command tangled together. "I want to see your eyes... when you look at me."

Sinister froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid against hers, taut as wire. For a heartbeat, he seemed suspended, caught between ingrained defiance and a startling urge to surrender to her demand. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his hands rose. Gloved fingers curled around the dark edges, hesitating for a fraction of a second that stretched into an eternity, before he pulled them away.

His eyes were revealed. Stark. Startling. Twin pools of absolute blackness that seemed to burn with a primal, almost feral hunger aimed directly at her. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing any color, reflecting only the flickering alien light and the inferno of his need back at her. Without the usual barrier, the raw, unfiltered intensity pouring from him was almost overwhelming, a physical force pressing against her. Framed by thick, dark lashes casting long shadows on his high cheekbones, those eyes stood out against his pale skin. They held none of Omni-Mark's accessible warmth, none of Viltrumite Mark's conflicted turmoil – only pure, unadulterated, consuming desire, narrowed solely on her.

His gaze never wavered, never left hers for an instant, as he tossed the lenses aside. The faint clatter against the cold stone of the cave floor echoed loudly in the sudden silence.

"Happy now?" he asked, his voice rough-edged, scraping with a raw emotion that bordered on vulnerability. "This is what you do to me, Y/N. This is what you've always done to me."

His hands clamped back onto her hips, gripping her more firmly now, anchoring her to him as he ground against her with renewed intensity.

His hips bucked upward, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing, rubbing, insisting against her core. The friction drew a symphony of gasps from both of them. His gloved fingers dug into her flesh, claiming her, leaving deepening red marks that would bloom like dark flowers by morning. A sharp, predatory grin stretched his lips, all angles and hunger, as he watched her face contort with the pleasure washing over her. Dark satisfaction gleamed naked in his uncovered eyes.

"Now," he growled, the sound vibrating through her body as he pulled her harder against him, the fabric of his yellow cape rustling beneath them like dry autumn leaves caught in a storm. "Where were we?"

Y/N's fingers traced the contours of his face, exploring the sharp angles and planes she'd only glimpsed before. Without the concealing lenses, his expression held a flicker of something startlingly open beneath the hard surface.

His dark eyes followed her every movement, hungry and attentive. His breath hitched when her thumb brushed across the sensitive skin of his lower lip. The cave's dim light carved dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the fierce heat simmering in his gaze.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, the words surprising them both, a truth spoken aloud into the charged air.

Something flickered across Sinister's face—shock? Pleasure? Confusion?—before his usual smirk snapped back into place, a familiar mask settling. A single dark eyebrow arched, a sardonic twist lifting one corner of his lips as his chest rumbled with a low, dark laugh that vibrated against her breasts. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. "Flatterer," he purred, the playful word a stark contrast to the possessive fire still burning in his eyes. "Trying to distract me?"

His lips found hers again. This kiss was different – slower, more deliberate, yet stripping nothing away from the intensity. His tongue swept into her mouth with deliberate leisure this time, tasting her thoroughly, stroking against hers, a wet, slick friction that sent shivers down her spine.

His hands tangled in her hair, cradling her head with an unexpected firmness, holding her captive for his exploration. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, the sound loud in the cave, a visible haze rising between them in the cool air.

"My Y/N was a killer," he murmured against her lips, eyes half-closed, his dark lashes casting spider-leg shadows on his high cheekbones. "We painted cities red together. Not an ounce of remorse between us."

His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, the rough leather of his gloves a startling caress against her skin. His black eyes studied her with laser focus, his thumb brushing over the exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath her ear, making her tremble. "But you... there's something in you that's still... pure. Untouched." His lips twisted in a smile that held a strange, almost wistful quality, a rare glimpse beneath the armor. "I hate it. I love it. I want to corrupt it and protect it all at once."

He shifted beneath her, the subtle movement sending electric currents racing through her already overloaded nerves. His hands slid down to her hips again, gripping her, guiding her body into a slow, deliberate rotation against his hardness. The stark black of his suit was a sharp contrast against the paler tones of her torn clothing, against her skin flushed hot and bright in the dim, flickering light.

"You've already had a taste of Omni, haven't you?" The question emerged as a low growl, raw jealousy flashing in his eyes like heat lightning. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the pale skin. "Did he show you what you really need? Did he satisfy the hunger I see burning in your eyes, practically licking at the cage?"

Y/N's hands clenched on his shoulders, fingers digging into the unfamiliar material of his suit as she instinctively moved against him, needing friction, needing something. Her hips rolled in a slow, sinuous motion, grinding her aching center against the rigid length of him. It felt like an answer, like a silent plea. Her breathing quickened, her head falling back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. The muscles there worked as she swallowed hard, fighting for some semblance of composure. Her hair cascaded down her back, a dark river catching the sparse light, wild and untamed against her skin.

"He didn't—" she started, but the words choked off on a sharp gasp as Sinister's teeth grazed her pulse point. The brief sting, the implied violence of it, drew a shiver from somewhere deep inside her.

"Didn't what?" Sinister laughed, the sound a deep purr vibrating against her skin, laced with dark thrill. His eyes gleamed, mischief and something far more primal swirling in their black depths. "Didn't fuck you properly? Didn't show you what it feels like to just... let go?" His hand slid beneath the torn fabric of her suit, fingers trailing with agonizing slowness up her ribs. Goosebumps erupted in their wake. Each point of contact was a tiny explosion. "Their loss. My gain."

His fingers trailed higher, cupping the soft swell of her breast through the thin material. His touch was both gentle and insistent, thumb grazing with deliberate pressure across her nipple. It peaked instantly, painfully hard beneath his touch, and a soft moan escaped her lips, a sound that visibly fueled the hunger blazing in his eyes. Her eyelids fluttered, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of her natural eye color remained around the black. Her gaze fixed on his, trapped in a vortex of fear and undeniable, overwhelming desire.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his hot breath fanning against her ear, making the tiny hairs there stand on end. "Tell me you want me."

Y/N's eyes locked with his. She saw none of the mechanical coldness she might have expected—only a burning heat, a primal hunger, and something else... something that looked terrifyingly like desperation, a vulnerability that mirrored the panic and helpless need churning inside her. The veins stood out along his neck, his pulse a frantic, visible rhythm beneath the pale skin, racing as fast as her own heart hammered against her ribs. Her hands lifted again, framing his face, thumbs stroking across his sharp cheekbones, feeling the faint roughness of stubble beneath the warm skin.

"I want you," she admitted, the words barely a breath, almost swallowed by the charged stillness of the cave.

Sinister's triumphant laugh echoed off the cold stone walls, bouncing back at them. His arms tightened around her like iron bands, crushing her against him. His head fell back, exposing the strong column of his throat as the sound bubbled up from deep in his chest, dark and thrilling and utterly consuming. "Mine," he growled, the word vibrating with raw satisfaction, a primal claim hammered into the air, into her. His eyes, when they snapped back to hers, were nearly solid black, feral with desire. "Fuck, Y/N. You're all mine."

His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing across her flushed cheeks. Her skin felt fever-hot beneath his touch, soft and burning against the cool leather of his gloves. His dark eyes searched hers, raw lust warring with that flicker of vulnerability he kept revealing, a desperate need laid bare. "What do you want from me, Y/N?" he asked, his voice rough, thick with desire, a plea hidden within the demand. "Tell me what you need. Anything, sweetheart. I'll give you anything."

Y/N's hand slid around to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his short, dark hair. It was surprisingly soft against her skin, strands slipping like cool silk between her fingers, a dizzying contrast to the rough leather of his suit, the hard planes of his body. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heartbeat a frantic flutter visible in the hollow of her throat.

"You," she whispered, the admission torn from her. "Just you."

Something wild ignited in his eyes—triumph, possession, and that raw, almost desperate need all surging together, a dangerously intoxicating cocktail. His grin stretched wide, savage joy and hunger warring for dominance, his teeth gleaming sharp and white in the dim light. In one fluid, powerful motion, he surged to his feet, lifting her effortlessly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he crossed the cave floor in a few long strides, the muscles in his arms flexing visibly beneath the black suit.

"Then you'll have me," he promised, his voice thick, pressing her back against the cool, unforgivingly rough stone wall. His body caged her in, the hard planes of his chest flush against her softer curves, trapping her between rock and sheer force. His hands gripped her thighs, hitching them higher around his waist, fingers digging into the supple flesh beneath her suit, anchoring her, claiming her. "All of me."

His lips crashed down on hers again, devouring her mouth in a kiss that left no room for thought, for hesitation, only pure reaction. His tongue swept past her lips, plunging deep, tangling with hers in a wet, urgent dance of dominance and surrender. His hips rolled against hers, the relentless friction drawing simultaneous moans from both their throats, the sounds echoing, amplifying, in the confined space. Each deliberate thrust pressed the unyielding hardness of his erection against her core, building that unbearable tension tighter and tighter, coiling deep in her belly.

"Sinister," she gasped, her head falling back against the cold stone, the sudden chill a shock against her heated skin. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a searing trail of fire in their wake. Her eyes squeezed shut, lashes dark crescents against her cheeks, her mouth parted on a silent cry of escalating pleasure.

His laugh vibrated against her skin, a dark, thrilling tremor that sent shivers cascading down her spine. The hot rush of his breath grazed the sensitive hollow where her neck met her shoulder. His teeth scraped lightly, a bite that claimed rather than wounded, sending sparks down her nerves.

"Say it again," he commanded, the words a low growl against her collarbone, each syllable a spark. His gloved hands tightened on her thighs, pulling her impossibly harder against him, the friction of their suits a rough, rasping counterpoint to the rising, slick heat between her legs. "Say my name." His voice dropped then, softened, a vulnerable undercurrent beneath the demand, his forehead resting briefly, heavily against hers. "Mark... your Mark."

Her eyes, wide and swimming, traced the harsh lines of his face, the stark angles and deep shadows cast by the dim, pulsing alien light. One gloved hand, strong and purposeful, reached down between her thighs.

Fingers clenched around the fabric of her suit. Then, with a single, powerful motion, he tore a gaping hole. The sound ripped through the charged silence, sharp and final, leaving her completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His breath hitched, a sharp, audible inhale. His eyes widened, darkening further as they devoured the sight of her bared flesh, her glistening wet heat shimmering in the gloom.

"Beautiful," he breathed, the word stripped bare of any mockery, raw, almost reverent. His gloved fingers traced the ragged edge of the torn fabric. The light brush of leather against her exposed skin sent convulsive shivers across her belly, down her thighs. Each touch was a spark igniting a wildfire she couldn't control. His eyes burned into hers, dark and consuming. "Perfect."

Sinister groaned, a guttural sound ripped from deep in his chest, pure lust given voice, as he leaned down, his gaze fixed on her glistening folds. He could see her slickness, see how wet she was for him, the clear juices shimmering, already coating her inner thighs.

The musky, intoxicating scent of her arousal rose, sharp and distinct, filling his nostrils, making his head spin with a hunger that clawed, demanding satisfaction. He fought the urge to bury his face between her legs right then, to lap at her, taste her, devour her until she screamed his name, until her throat was raw and her body shook apart under his mouth.

His lips crashed down on hers again, a fierce, demanding kiss, his tongue delving deep, almost stealing her breath with its intensity. His hips ground more insistently against her now exposed center.

The rough material of his suit created an exquisite, maddening friction against her hypersensitive flesh, drawing broken moans from her lips that only fueled his relentless desire. Her fingers tangled desperately in his hair, pulling him closer, surrendering completely to the storm of sensation he orchestrated within her.

His hands roamed over her body, touching, claiming, marking. Each caress left a trail of fire, building that unbearable knot of tension low, low in her belly. His lips left hers, trailing down her neck again, teeth nipping sharply at the sensitive skin, drawing sharp gasps and soft whimpers from her throat.

Y/N's head lolled back against the cold stone wall, eyes fluttering closed as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her, threatening to pull her under. "Please," she gasped, the word barely audible, shredded by sheer need. "Mark, please."

His laugh was dark, triumphant, his eyes flashing with predatory hunger in the gloom. "Please what?" he teased, his fingers trailing with agonizing slowness along the inside of her thigh, brushing the outer edge of her curls, so close to where she desperately needed him, but not quite touching. "Use your words, sweetheart."

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his with a surge of unexpected defiance. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his face closer until their lips were mere millimeters apart again. "Touch me," she demanded, her voice stronger than she expected, cutting through the haze of pleasure. "Fucking make me yours."

Something wild and dangerous flared across Sinister's face. His grin stretched wide, all predatory satisfaction, teeth gleaming sharp and white in the dim light. "With pleasure, my dear Y/N," he growled, the words a low rumble that vibrated against her skin, through her bones.

His hand shot down, ripping away the last flimsy barrier of fabric between her legs with a harsh tug that left nothing hidden. The cool cave air hit her heated flesh, making her gasp sharply, but then his thick fingers were there. He didn't hesitate, pushing one digit firmly past her outer folds, then another, stroking surely into her slick heat.

Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily around the invasion. He felt the immediate, silken wetness engulfing his fingers, felt the staggering heat radiating from her core. She moaned aloud as he let out a low groan, the sensation of her tight, wet heat almost shocking in its intensity. His own cock throbbed painfully, thick and heavy against the confines of his suit.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, circling her clit with a firm, knowing thumb through the slickness, watching her face contort, her hips twitching against the wall. "So fucking wet for me already. Dripping. Knew you wanted this just as much as I did."

He leaned in, capturing her lips again, kissing her deeply, punishingly, as his fingers began to move. He withdrew them slightly, then pushed back in, establishing a rhythm.

His other hand slid under her back, pressing her harder against the unforgiving stone, pinning her for his ministrations. He felt her body trembling violently now, heard the desperate sounds tumbling from her lips, swallowed by his mouth. It spurred him on, urged him to take her harder, faster, until she was screaming his name into the echoing dark.

Sinister's fingers delved deeper, two thick digits pumping relentlessly in and out of her tight channel. He felt the incredible heat, the slick glide as her juices coated his leather gloves.

He felt the velvety texture of her inner walls, felt the powerful rings of muscle clenching and pulsing around his fingers with each thrust, trying desperately to pull him in further, milking him. He angled his fingers just right, rubbing firmly against that hidden inner nub, the g-spot, that made her see stars.

The slick, wet sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of her filled the small cave, obscene and incredibly arousing, mingling with her ragged gasps. Her copious fluids coated his fingers, dripped down onto his glove, the rhythmic squelching a dark symphony. Her face was flushed crimson, contorted in helpless pleasure, pure, unadulterated need etched across her features.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice a low rumble against her skin, urging her on, pushing her higher. "Don't hold back. Let me feel you come apart for me." His eyes, dark and fiercely intense, were fixated on her face, watching the way her lips parted with each gasp, watching her abandon herself completely to his skilled touch. His brow furrowed in dark concentration, a stark intensity as he focused solely on her pleasure, on making her unravel.

He pushed his fingers deeper still, stretching her wider, curling them precisely, hitting that spot again and again. She cried out, her hips bucking uncontrollably against his hand, a primal, helpless response he reveled in.

He set a hard, fast pace then, fucking her relentlessly with his fingers while his thumb rubbed tight, merciless circles around her swollen clit. His other hand slid up her body to roughly palm her breast, squeezing the soft mound, rolling the hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger until she whimpered.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," he growled, his voice strained, thick with barely suppressed lust, a guttural command. "Don't hold back, Y/N. I want to hear every sound you make, every scream. I want this whole fucking alien planet to know who you belong to." His face was a mask of dark desire, eyes narrowed to slits, lips pulled back from his teeth in a predatory grimace of concentration and imminent release.

He captured her mouth again, swallowing her frantic cries as he kissed her hard and deep, his tongue invading, claiming, conquering. He tasted her desperation, felt the way her body strained against his, seeking more, always more.

He felt his own massive erection pulsing urgently against his stomach, hot and hard through the ripped fabric of his suit, demanding attention, the heavy weight of his full balls aching. It was a primal, hammering need radiating from him. But he ignored it, his focus solely, terrifyingly on pushing Y/N over the edge first. He wanted to witness her shatter, wanted to feel her climax clenching around his fingers, wanted to hear her scream his name as she came undone in his arms.

His thumb pressed hard, punishingly against her clit, rubbing quicksilver circles around the hypersensitive nub. Simultaneously, he scissored his fingers inside her, stretching her wider, preparing her for the thickness that was inevitably to come.

He felt her getting closer, sensed the orgasm building deep in her core like a gathering tidal wave, felt the frantic fluttering of her inner muscles against his knuckles. Her slick folds were glistening, open and exposed, trembling around his invading hand, a dark, wet invitation he couldn't resist.

"Come on, Y/N," he urged, his breath hot and demanding against her ear, a seductive litany driving her insane. "Give yourself to me. Let go and fucking come for me."

With a final, hard thrust of his fingers coupled with a sharp, deliberate pinch to her clit that felt like electrocution, he sent her flying over the edge. A strangled scream ripped from her throat, echoing off the stone walls.

Her body convulsed violently against his, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically, spasming uncontrollably around his invading fingers as she came apart. He felt the powerful, rippling contractions gripping his digits, milking him helplessly. The wet, slick sounds of her climax intensified, loud and undeniable against the cold stone.

Sinister's eyes darkened further, pupils consuming everything as he watched her come undone, felt her climax pulsing around his hand. Her juices coated his fingers completely, dripped hotly down his wrist.

The sight of her lost in ecstasy, the sound of his name falling brokenly from her lips, the feel of her tight heat gripping him – it was almost enough to make him lose control right then and there. But he wanted more. He needed to be inside her when he finally let go, needed to feel her tight channel clenching around his thick cock as he filled her completely. Her slick, wet folds pulsed around his fingers, a dark, glistening flower that had bloomed just for him.

He slowly withdrew his soaked fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean one by one, his eyes never leaving hers. He groaned, a low, appreciative sound thick with lust, at the potent taste of her arousal.

The explosion of flavor was intoxicating, a dark, musky sweetness that made his entire body shudder.

"Fuck," he groaned again, his voice thick, barely coherent. "Almost just came with you, sweetheart~" He chuckled softly, his own face tight with a mixture of pleasure and iron restraint. His other hand gripped her hip, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough he knew it would leave dark fingerprints, a tangible mark of his claim.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he promised darkly, his voice a low, dangerous rumble near her ear, sending fresh shivers down her spine despite the heat consuming her. "I'm going to take this big thick cock and fuck you until you can't walk straight. Until the only thing you remember is the feel of me buried deep inside you. Until you scream my name and beg me never to stop."

She moaned, a fresh wave of slickness weeping from her as the aftershocks of her orgasm continued to ripple through her body. Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, watched him reach down. The sound of his suit tearing, louder this time, echoed like a gunshot in the enclosed space.

"MMUGH~! M-Mark please... i-" She didn't know what she wanted – gentle, rough, slow, fast. This was all uncharted territory, terrifying and exhilarating. Instead, her legs instinctively wrapped tighter around his waist, her arms clinging to his neck, a desperate, anchoring hold.

"T-this is all new to me.. i-i... please.." she mumbled, her cheeks burning hot, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

Suddenly, through the haze of lust radiating from him, he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the raw vulnerability beneath the surface. He remembered – GDA experiments, isolation, her complete lack of experience. The realization hit him, shifting something vital in his perspective.

"Shhh, it's okay, sweetheart," he soothed, his voice dropping to a low rumble, surprisingly gentle against her ear. 

"I know this is new. I'll guide you. I'll make it good for you, I promise." He reached down again, finishing the job of ripping his suit open with a final, harsh tear. His cock sprang free, thick and impressively hard, the flared, deep burgundy head glistening with a bead of precum. The seven-inch length was formidable, a dark and heavily veined shaft rising from a nest of thick, dark curls that trailed upwards in a faint, enticing line before disappearing above the ragged edges of the torn suit.

He gripped the thick base of his engorged cock, stroking the heavy, pulsing length once, twice, his own groan low and guttural at the slick friction. The weight of his balls, swollen and heavy with seed, felt tight and demanding against his straining groin. Then he was positioning the thick, slick head of his magnificent weapon at her dripping entrance, nudging those wet, eager folds apart with deliberate intent.

He rolled his hips, letting the hard, purple head of his cock slide against her soaked pussy, coating himself in her abundant, slick juices like a prized offering. Her breath hitched in a sharp gasp, and she whimpered, her fingernails digging desperate new crescents into the hard muscle of his shoulders.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat at the exquisite sensation, his eyes fluttering closed for a fleeting beat as he battled the overwhelming urge to just slam his thick, throbbing length into her welcoming, wet heat. Her face, a captivating mask of mingled terror and burgeoning, undeniable desire, was a potent aphrodisiac. His lips parted slightly as he leaned down, his own ragged groan muffled against her parted mouth.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her wet depths in a slow, deliberate exploration, greedily tasting her arousal, claiming her mouth as a prelude to claiming her tight little body. One gloved hand fisted gently but firmly in her hair, tilting her head back against the rough stone, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck, while the other slid down to grip her slick ass cheek, squeezing the soft, trembling flesh, pulling her relentlessly harder against his rock-hard erection.

"Tell me what you need, Y/N," he breathed against her swollen lips, his voice a low, seductive rasp that vibrated against her skin. "Do you want me gentle? Want me to worship this tight little body until you're trembling apart, until every inch of your soft skin is singing for my touch, begging for my cock? Or," his voice roughened, thickened with primal intent, "do you want me rough? Want me to take this hard dick and fuck you hard and fast against this cold wall until you can't see straight, until your world dissolves into nothing but blinding sensation and me filling your sweet pussy?" He punctuated the question with a sharp, deliberate thrust of his hips, the blunt, wet head of his purple cock pressing insistently at her slick entrance, stretching her eager folds wider, teasing the virgin tightness within.

"Because I can give you either, sweetheart. Anything you fucking want. You just have to tell me." The harsh lines of his jaw, the predatory curve of his lips, seemed momentarily softened by the almost tender intensity burning in his black eyes as he gazed down at her, waiting for her trembling surrender.

"I-fuck, I don't know~!" Her voice was a broken whine, laced with desperate uncertainty, a raw confession torn from her tight throat. She bit her lip hard, tasting the faint coppery tang of blood as the delicate skin broke under the pressure of her teeth. Her back arched instinctively, trying futilely to meet his insistent pressure, her wet cunt throbbing, but he held her hips firmly pinned against the wall, controlling every agonizing inch of their imminent joining.

"I-i.. Mmugh.. m-Mark, i-i just... please..." Her eyes, luminous and bright with unshed tears, searched his, a silent, desperate plea for him to take charge, to make the decision, to finally end this exquisite torment by burying himself deep inside her. Her soft face was flushed crimson, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, her pussy aching for his invasion.

"I trust you."

The weight of her trust, the unexpected, precious gift of her virginity, struck him deep, a potent blow that resonated in his very core. It stirred something fierce and tender, an overwhelming urge to protect and cherish this woman even as the primal need to claim her, to brand her irrevocably as his, pulsed with brutal intensity through his veins.

He brushed a surprisingly tender kiss against her tear-stained cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the glistening moisture. "Shhh, don't cry, sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble against her delicate skin. 

"I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. I promise." His touch was almost reverent, a stark, dizzying contrast to the raw, untamed power coiled tightly within him, aching to be unleashed and buried deep inside her tight little cunt.

He gripped her hips tighter again, his calloused hands molding to her curves, holding her steady as he meticulously lined the thick, hard head of his cock up with her entrance. He could feel the intense heat radiating off her trembling body in palpable waves, could see the fine tremors running through her delicate limbs. 

He wanted to savor this sacred moment, to burn it into his memory forever – the image of her trusting, needy face tilted up towards his as he prepared to finally, fully breach her untouched depths, to make her his in the most primal way.

"Going to start slow," he promised again, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrated deep within her pussy. "Want to feel every tight inch of you stretching around this thick cock. Want to watch your face as I fill you, see the pure pleasure bloom in those gorgeous, wide eyes. But if you need more... if you need it rough... you just say the fucking word. I'm yours to command tonight, ready to pound that sweet cunt until you scream my name." His gaze swept over her flushed body, a slow, possessive caress that felt almost physical, branding her as his.

With that promise, he began to push forward. The thick, blunt head of his burgundy cock parted her slick, virgin folds, nudging slowly, then sinking deliberately into her incredibly tight, wet heat. She gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound that shot straight through him, fueling his possessive desire.

He groaned, the sound low, guttural, ripped from his chest by the intense, overwhelming pleasure and relief of finally, finally being buried inside her virgin warmth. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his jaw clenched brutally tight as he fought the consuming urge shuddering through him – the urge to simply slam his full, thick length into her welcoming, unbelievably tight heat in one swift, conquering motion, to claim her completely with a brutal fuck.

Instead, he forced himself to move with agonizing slowness. Inch by excruciating inch. He made her feel every thick throb, every straining ridge of his hard flesh as it stretched her wider, fuller than she'd ever fucking imagined possible, her virgin walls gripping him like a vise.

He felt her inner muscles clenching desperately around his invading cock, her virgin body instinctively trying to adjust, to accommodate the shocking invasion, but he persevered, his movements agonizingly deliberate and controlled, savoring the feel of her virgin tightness. 

His knuckles were white where his hands gripped her trembling hips, his face a mask of intense concentration as he focused entirely on entering her slowly, meticulously, claiming her virginity with excruciating care.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice strained with the effort, a husky whisper against her ear, driving her wild with anticipation and a touch of delicious pain. "Take me, Y/N. Take all of my cock. Let me feel you take my dick deep inside your tight little cunt. So fucking tight... god, so hot... your virgin pussy is made for me." 

He leaned down, capturing her mouth again, fucking her lips with his, swallowing her soft cries and whimpers as he slowly, steadily pushed his thick length deeper and deeper inside her virgin tunnel. Each hard-won inch felt like a brutal victory against his own roaring need to simply bury himself and explode. 

He watched her face intently, mapping the play of raw emotions across her features – the initial sharp sting of discomfort quickly melting into burgeoning heat, then finally, into complete, helpless surrender as he filled her completely with his throbbing meat. 

Until finally, with a last, harsh thrust that stole her breath and made them both gasp sharply, he was fully seated inside her. His entire impressive length buried to the hilt, the thick ridge of his pubic bone grinding tight against hers, sealing them together in a primal embrace. The feeling was almost overwhelming for both of them – the searing heat of their joined flesh, the incredible tightness stretching around his engorged cock, the sheer, visceral completeness of being utterly, irrevocably joined. 

He shuddered violently against her, his breath coming in ragged, harsh pants against her ear, his forehead resting heavily against hers, slick with their mingled sweat. He felt... anchored deep within her. Connected to her very core. Whole, in a way he hadn't felt since... since that other time, now a distant echo. 

The cave seemed to hold its breath around them, anticipating the storm to come. The only sounds were their ragged breathing, mingling in the supercharged air, and the slick, wet noises of their joined bodies shifting against the unforgiving stone. His eyes, when he finally dragged them open, were dark, blazing pools of pure possessive lust, burning into hers with an intensity that stole her breath all over again. He looked utterly primal, a brutal claim staked deep within her pussy. 

"Mine," he growled, the word vibrating low and possessive against her sternum, a raw, undeniable claim. "You're mine now, Y/N. Forget everything else. There's only you. Only us, fucking like animals in this dark hole." He moved his hips slightly, a small, testing grind that sent a jolt of pure, exquisite pleasure-pain through both of them, making her gasp against his lips. He lifted her slightly, his hands clamped firmly on her waist, then slammed her back down fully onto his thick cock, making her take his full weight, his full length even deeper, stretching her virgin walls to their limit as she screamed.

He watched her face, saw her eyes widen with shock and burgeoning pleasure, heard the sharp intake of breath as she accommodated his impressive size. He was controlling this first time, drawing out the exquisite torment, making it last, making her truly feel him.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he commanded softly, his voice firm but gentle, impossible to disobey. The possessive edge in his tone sent a delicious shiver of anticipation down her spine, a raw mix of dominance and desperate desire. "Look at me and tell me you feel this. Tell me you feel what's fucking happening between us." 

His eyes searched hers, demanding honesty, but beneath the raw demand, she saw that fleeting sliver of vulnerability again, stark and exposed. He needed this confirmation. Needed to know this staggering, primal connection wasn't just his desperate fantasy. That she felt the same all-consuming need clawing inside her virgin depths, the same brutal hunger that threatened to consume them both. 

He needed her to acknowledge the raw bond forging between them in the heat and the darkness and the slick slide of his thick cock fucking her virgin body, stretching her, claiming her as his own in the most fundamental, carnal way. 

Y/N's eyes, filled with a desperate, pleading haze, locked onto his. They were dilated, shimmering with unshed tears and raw, untamed desire. A silent, whimpering plea escaped her swollen lips, her breath hitching as she anticipated his next move. Her body trembled violently, every nerve ending on screaming high alert. 

Sinister 's gaze softened, a flicker of something akin to tenderness amidst the burning, possessive lust. A slow, predatory smirk curved his lips as he registered her utter surrender, a primal satisfaction evident in his dark, demanding eyes. He pulled out, the thick, wet head of his cock sliding almost completely free from her tight cunt, the slickness creating a wet, sighing sound that echoed in the small space. 

Y/N whimpered, her back arching instinctively, her pussy aching for his return. Sinister watched her, his eyes burning with possessive heat, before drawing back even further, the very tip of his engorged member teasing her swollen, virgin opening, the slick pre-cum painting a glistening trail. 

The air crackled with unspoken tension, the moment stretched taut with unbearable anticipationThen, with a guttural moan that seemed torn from the depths of his being, he lunged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. The sound was a deep, wet thwack, the fleshy impact echoing through the cave.

Y/N's cry was a mixture of pain and ecstasy, a high-pitched keening that vibrated against the stone walls. She felt him stretch her tight little cunt to its absolute limit, every thick inch of his cock filling her untouched depths, the sensation both overwhelming and exquisitely intense. 

A shudder ran through her as she registered the fullness, the sheer girth of him, now lodged deep inside her slick channel. The wet, sucking sounds filled the confined cave as he began to fuck her slowly in and out. Y/N arched her back, her small gasp turning into a soft, whimpering moan of mingled discomfort and burgeoning pleasure. 

Her hands gripped his broad shoulders, her fingers digging into his hard muscles as she desperately tried to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensations flooding her uninitiated body. Her head fell back against the cold stone, her neck exposed and vulnerable, her pulse throbbing visibly at the base. 

Sinister watched her face intently, his own expression a mask of intense concentration and raw, possessive hunger. His jaw clenched with the effort of maintaining a semblance of control, the thick muscles in his neck corded with strain. He could feel her incredibly tight heat enveloping his engorged cock, the slick, desperate grip of her maiden walls milking him with each heavy, deliberate thrust, the sensation driving him wild with each inch he took. With each powerful fuck, Y/N's body bounced against the cold stone, her breasts jiggling enticingly before Sinister's burning gaze. 

He watched, mesmerized by the erotic sway, the sight fueling his primal desire, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his own control. He could feel her inner muscles clenching and releasing, desperately trying to accommodate his size, milking his hard shaft with each involuntary spasm, the sensation a pure, unadulterated torment of pleasure. 

"M-Mark~!" Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a desperate vise, a possessive embrace that stole his breath and ignited a wildfire in his blood. The sensation was exquisite, almost unbearable - her silken walls rippling and pulsing around his throbbing length, milking him dry, drawing him deeper, trying to steal his very essence with each frantic squeeze. 

Sinister let out a feral growl that echoed off the stone walls as he felt her come undone, her scream of his name a raw, primal sound of utter release. He could barely thrust into her now, his hips stuttering and jerking uncontrollably as he fought to maintain any semblance of control, his own violent orgasm surging closer with every frantic pulse of her contracting cunt. 

Each desperate clench was a delicious torment, a tightening grip that threatened to shatter his carefully constructed control and send him spiraling into oblivion with her. He leaned down to capture her swollen mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss, swallowing her cries of ecstasy, greedily tasting the sweetness of her primal pleasure on his tongue. 

His hands gripped her slick ass hard enough to leave bruises, pulling her relentlessly into every erratic, desperate thrust, grinding his pelvis against hers as she rode out the shattering waves of her first climax. He could feel her fingernails digging into his back, her head thrashing wildly against the unforgiving stone as she surrendered completely to the overwhelming, raw sensations. 

The guttural sounds of their bodies merging - the wet, slick slide of his thick cock plowing in and out of her tight pussy, the soft, desperate thud of sweat-slicked flesh against flesh, the ragged gasps of their mingled breath echoing in the confined space - filled the ancient cave. "Fuck, yes!" he snarled as he finally broke the brutal kiss, his voice ragged and raw with the force of his own impending release.

 His breath hitched, hot and heavy, mingling with hers in the supercharged air. "Scream for me, Y/N! Let this whole fucking alien world hear who's claiming your tight little cunt!" His black eyes burned into hers, possessive and demanding, urging her to let go completely, to surrender to the raw, untamed passion that consumed them both.

 Y/N's head lolled against the cold stone, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm, her core throbbing pleasantly around his still-thrusting length. She could feel the possessive hunger in his burning gaze as he watched her, the dark, primal satisfaction in his predatory smirk. Her skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, her tangled hair plastered to her flushed temples, a perfect picture of exhausted bliss and utter, complete surrender. 

"Mmmph~," she moaned softly, her voice thick and languid with lingering arousal. "Mark..." Her eyelids fluttered, heavy and glazed with post-orgasmic contentment, as she tried to focus on his face. Her lips were swollen and kiss-reddened, parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of her slick, wet mouth, a silent, utterly irresistible invitation that sent a fresh, violent wave of lust crashing through his already teetering control. 

The sensation of her tight pussy clenching and milking his hard cock was almost too much to bear, and he could feel his own violent release barreling towards him like a runaway train. His control was fracturing, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate, driven by a primal need to brand her with his cum, to possess her utterly.

"That's my good girl," he growled against her swollen lips, his hands gripping her slick hips, holding her still as he fucked her again and again, deeper and harder. His thighs burned with the effort, the muscles in his arms straining as he supported his weight, every fiber of his being focused on the exquisite torment of being buried deep inside her hot cunt.

"Take it all, sweetheart. Take every. fucking. inch of my meat." His voice was a harsh, guttural command, filled with a raw possessiveness that both thrilled and terrified her, a primal claiming.

He could feel his own release building to an unbearable crescendo, the heat in his gut a raging inferno. His cock throbbed violently, pulsing with desperate need, slick with her pussy juice, the engorged head swollen and incredibly sensitive. Every instinct screamed at him to unload his seed deep inside her, to paint her insides white with his essence, to mark her as his in the most primal, possessive way imaginable, claiming her from the inside out.

The muscles in his back coiled like a tightly wound spring, his breath hitching in his throat as he fought against the overwhelming urge to just let go and explode inside her. He wanted to fuck her harder, faster, to drive himself deeper until he was buried to the hilt, until he felt her shudder and convulse around him, taking him completely into her tight embrace.

With a guttural roar of her name, Sinister slammed into her one last time, burying his thick cock to the hilt as his violent orgasm crashed over him. "Y/N!" His cock jerked and twitched uncontrollably deep within her cunt as he pumped her full of his hot, thick cum, painting her insides slick and white with his potent seed. The force of his release was almost brutal, shaking them both in its intensity, a primal claiming that marked her as his and his alone.

"Fuck, take it all!" he growled, grinding his hips against hers as spurt after spurt of his hot, viscous cum flooded her channel. The thick fluid filled her completely, stretching her sensitive walls, making her feel heavy, swollen, gloriously, utterly claimed by his seed.

"Take my fucking cum, Y/N. Fucking take it all, you're MINE!" His balls, tight and heavy, slapped rhythmically against her slick ass with each forceful thrust, a primal rhythm that echoed the frantic pounding of his possessive heart.

Y/N gasped, her back arching further off the cold stone as she felt him fill her completely, the sensation both overwhelming and intoxicating, a primal sense of being utterly claimed. Her own answering pulses tightened fiercely around his throbbing cock, milking him dry, drawing every last drop of his potent essence deep into her core.

"Fuck, Y/N," Sinister growled, his voice rough and low, a possessive rumble against her ear. His breath hitched, hot and ragged, mingling with hers in the confined space.

 You took every fucking drop like a good little cumslut. Such a perfect little cock sheath for me." The words were possessive, a dark praise that sent shivers of heat through her core, a primal claiming that branded her as his. He rolled his hips lazily, stirring the thick mixture of their fuck juices deep inside her tight cunt, savoring the slick, intimate feeling of his cum sloshing around her inner walls. 

The sensation was incredibly raw, a merging of their bodies and their very essence, a primal connection forged in sweat and cum, transcending the mere physical. He knew he should withdraw his hard cock, give her some space to breathe, but he couldn't bring himself to separate from her just yet. 

He wanted to remain buried deep inside her warmth, prolonging the possessive feeling of being utterly connected, of being one flesh, a primal need that bordered on obsessive. Y/N's hands, still trembling slightly from her powerful orgasm, came up to cup his face, her touch surprisingly firm despite her post-coital languor. 

Her eyes, half-lidded with contentment and a dazed adoration, met his intense, possessive gaze. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy hue, her lips swollen and parted like a ripe fruit, a sight that captivated him completely, igniting a fresh wave of possessive lust. 

"Sinister," she murmured, her voice a soft, breathy sigh that caressed his name. The sound of it on her lips, husky and filled with a lingering longing, sent a fresh wave of possessive heat surging through his loins. 

He stilled his lazy movements, his hips halting as he looked down at her, his expression softening into something gentler, almost reverent. The harsh lines of his face eased, replaced by a look of unguarded adoration, a vulnerability that both touched and deeply aroused her. His eyes, still dark and smoldering with lust, held a tenderness that belied his usual cocky, dominant demeanor. 

"Yes, my sweet fucktoy?" he purred, his voice a low, velvety rumble that vibrated against her slick skin. He couldn't resist a little tease, his hips giving a subtle, slow grind that made her arch slightly beneath him, her pussy clenching reflexively around his buried cock, a possessive little squeeze that both thrilled and terrified him with its raw intimacy. The thick head of his meat, still buried deep inside her wet warmth, rubbed against her most sensitive spot, drawing a soft, involuntary moan from her swollen lips. 

"Mmmgh," she whined softly, her nails digging lightly into his broad shoulders, a silent, desperate plea for him to stop the exquisite torment of their joined state. She needed a moment to gather her scattered thoughts, to articulate the overwhelming emotions that were swirling inside her, the conflicting desires and lingering fears that warred within her soul. 

"Sinister... please..." Her gaze flickered down to their intimately joined bodies, the undeniable sight of his thick cock still buried deep inside her slick cunt, the glistening sheen of their mingled fuck fluids splattered all over his taut pelvis. 

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest, but he relented, his body stilling completely, his intense gaze fixed on hers, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. He could feel the delicate tremors that still ran through her exhausted body, the lingering aftershocks of her earth-shattering orgasm, and the possessive knowledge that he had been the one to take her there, that he had been the one to unlock her primal pleasure, filled him with a fierce, possessive pride, a primal satisfaction that bordered on arrogant dominance. 

"Sinister... Mark..." she began again, her voice stronger now, filled with a raw honesty that laid her soul bare before him. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling against his, the intimate contact sending a jolt of pure electricity through his possessive core. 

"I love you. I love you more than—"

Her words were abruptly cut off as a swirling vortex of green energy erupted behind them, the sudden disturbance of the air causing the stone dust to swirl around them.

It was Angstrom Levy's portal, crackling with unstable energy, a tear in the fabric of reality itself, a harsh intrusion that shattered the fragile intimacy of the moment.

Y/N's eyes widened in alarm, her heart leaping into her throat. The sudden appearance of the portal, the chaotic energy that crackled around it sent a shiver down her spine.

Before she could even process the intrusion, Sinister reacted,

With a swift, possessive movement, he scooped her up into his arms, refusing to break their connection even as he rose. His powerful legs propelled him upwards, putting himself between her and the anomaly, a barrier against whatever horrors might emerge.

His grip on her was possessive, his arms like bands of steel, holding her close, claiming her as his own. Using the tattered remnants of his cape, he flared the yellow material out, creating a makeshift barrier that shielded her slick, vulnerable body from the sight of anyone emerging from the portal.

The portal stabilized, the swirling green energy coalescing into a more defined shape, and figures began to emerge.

Y/N, pressed her face against Sinister's neck, could only see glimpses of them: grotesque figures, twisted mockeries of human anatomy, their forms shifting and contorting in ways that defied the natural world, a glimpse into a nightmarish reality that made her stomach churn.

And then... the unmistakable, hulking silhouette of Viltrumite Mark, his eyes burning with a cold, furious intensity. Mohawk Mark stepped through, his expression twisted with rage and jealousy, his gaze locking onto Y/N with a possessive fury that mirrored Sinister's own. Omni-Man loomed behind them, his face a mask of grim determination, his eyes narrowed with a predatory focus.

The tension in the cave shifted, becoming thick and suffocating, charged with jealousy and rage. They had come for her, after Angstrom's treachery.

"I- um.." Y/N stammered, her voice trembling slightly, the fear and confusion evident in her tone, a stark contrast to the raw desire that had consumed her moments before.

"Aw, man, NOW WHAT THE FUCK-?!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, his eyes bulging with disbelief and fury. His fists clenched at his sides, his entire body trembling with the effort of containing his anger.

His eyes darted between Sinister and Y/N, his gaze lingering on their joined bodies, the possessive way Sinister held her, the evidence of their heated encounter, a violation that fueled his rage.

Sinister laughed, the sound low and dangerous, a rumble in his chest that vibrated against Y/N, a mixture of defiance and dark amusement. His body shook softly with the force of his laughter, making her bite back a whimper as his cock moved subtly inside her, the slick, wet sound drawing the three variants' attention to the interlocked point between her and Sinister.

The three faces contorted in a grotesque tableau of shock and rage. Their eyes widened in disbelief, their mouths agape in silent fury. Veins pulsed in their necks, and their expressions shifted rapidly between fury, disgust, and a visceral sense of violation.

It was a sight that Sinister found immensely satisfying.

"Too late, boys~" Sinister purred, his voice a silken caress that dripped with arrogance and triumph. His eyes glittered with a predatory satisfaction as he watched the expressions on the faces of his counterparts, the dawning realization of what they had interrupted, the possessive claim he had staked on Y/N.

A victory that tasted sweeter than any orgasm.

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☆ Someone got caughtttt~ ☆ Lol, I think I portray Sinister well here, it was extremely hard for never writing smut before; but, I think I did okay? ☆ What do you guys think? ☆ Should I do more smut, or build on the story plot?

☆ next part ~ Pt.9

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 7✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A heart can beat, even for the hated one...♡ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Unbound Tensions‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 7] ☆ TW: fluff (mainly Lensless Mark) ☆ Author's Note: I wrote 22,072 words for this chapter. YES, you heard me. Why? Because, I wanted to include smut!!! AH, I talked with a lot of people, and everyone said I should split it (╥﹏╥) so here's the lead-up to the smut chapter, pleaseee give it some love <3 I worked really hard on this...

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The silence was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket woven from the threads of destruction.

Not the peaceful hush of a forest at dawn, but the hollow stillness that follows a storm's brutal rampage. Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows. Their ethereal ballet cast long, skeletal shadows across the room's battered floor.

Y/N lay on the remnants of a broken bed frame, springs jutting out like the ribcage of some forgotten beast, the torn mattress a testament to the room's violent history.

Distant explosions, muffled thunder in the ruined landscape, vibrated through the weathered walls of the abandoned house. Smoke, thick and ashen, billowed against a sky the color of a bruised plum, visible through a jagged crack in the half-drawn curtains.

Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and forgotten, overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, a symphony of throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of the raw, blazing power that had erupted from her, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath, a broken sigh, shattered the oppressive quiet. Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze snapping to the source of the sound. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the dim light, and her heart clenched.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. Heavy, industrial-grade chains, thick as her wrist, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents, binding him from shoulders to ankles. Each link, precision-welded, gleamed with a cold, surgical intensity. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

His luchador-style mask, usually a symbol of his arrogant swagger, was askew, revealing a landscape of mottled bruises blooming across his cheekbones like dark, grotesque flowers. One eye was swollen shut, the skin around it a bruised purple-black, a testament to the brutal beating he'd endured. A trail of dried blood, like a macabre paint stroke, ran from his split lip to his chin. His single visible eye, however, burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position. A fresh bruise, a dark purple blossom, marred his jawline—a souvenir from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles coiled, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists, ready to unleash the power that still hummed beneath her skin. But Lensless Mark wasn't lunging. He wasn't attacking. He was simply watching, his gaze a silent, smoldering question.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, that single eye glinting with a mix of sardonic humor and barely contained rage. "Sleeping beauty finally graces me with her presence."

His nostrils flared slightly, his upper lip curling into a brief, almost involuntary sneer. "Wonderful performance back there, by the way. Real fuckin' heroic."

The sarcasm dripped from his words, but beneath it, Y/N detected an undercurrent of something else—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a grudging respect. The chains rattled softly as he shifted, a metallic whisper in the oppressive quiet.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. His voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Bunch of overprotective bastards."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "You tried to kill me."

"Fair point." A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped him, a sound that was part genuine amusement, part something darker, almost feral. "But where's the fun in killing you quickly?"

Ignoring him, she traced the intricate pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings; they were a statement, a message from the other variants: You are not to be trusted. Each link, custom-forged and precision-engineered, spoke of a desperate need to contain someone with superhuman strength. A Viltrumite's handiwork.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice raspier than she expected, her throat dry and raw.

Lensless Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head back to expose the bruised column of his throat. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'five-star accommodation' like being chained up by my multiversal doppelgängers."

Despite the humor, tension radiated from him like heat. His unrestrained eye darted around the room, assessing, calculating. The trademark cocky swagger of his personality, usually a roaring fire, was now a smoldering ember, struggling beneath a glass dome.

"They could have killed me," he said suddenly, his shoulders pulling against the chains as he leaned forward. "But no. Chained me up like some... pet." The last word dripped with contempt, his teeth bared in a brief, almost involuntary snarl.

Y/N shifted, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through her side. The memory of her recent power surge, of the blinding moment of self-healing, was still vivid. She could feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that spoke of untapped potential.

"Why didn't you try to escape?" she asked, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Lensless Mark's lips curled—part smirk, part snarl. "And go where, exactly? I'm stuck in THIS universe. THIS world!" His good eye widened with emphasis, veins standing out on his neck as anger flashed across his face.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Y/N's fingers traced absent patterns on the worn fabric of her partially torn suit, a nervous habit honed through years of survival.

Her eyes continued to study Lensless Mark, searching for something beyond the surface bravado.

"You want to know about the GDA," she said, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.

Lensless Mark's eyebrow arched, a micro-expression of surprise quickly masked by his characteristic smirk. "Well, aren't you a mind reader?"

A humorless laugh escaped her, a dry, brittle sound. "Trust me. If I could read minds, I'd have escaped that hellhole years ago."

Her gaze grew distant, her eyes unfocusing as they fixed on a point beyond the room's peeling wallpaper. The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to fade into background noise as memories surfaced—sharp, jagged things that cut like broken glass.

"They didn't just experiment," Y/N began, her voice taking on a clinical detachment that spoke of practiced self-preservation. "Experimenting implies scientific method. What they did? That was torture disguised as research."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on her face.

Her fingers unconsciously traced a thin, barely visible scar along her forearm—one of many hidden beneath her suit. "Viltrumite physiology is... complex. Unpredictable. The GDA wanted to understand its potential. To create something controllable. Something they could weaponize and use."

Her jaw clenched tight, a vein pulsing at her temple. The chains nearby seemed to vibrate with her rising emotion, though whether from residual power or pure psychological intensity was unclear.

"They'd inject me with different variants of Viltrumite blood," she continued. "Mark Grayson... Nolan Grayson... and they watched how my body responded. Rejected. Adapted. Died. And then brought back." Her laugh this time was closer to a sob, her eyes glistening briefly before she blinked the moisture away. "Regeneration was both a blessing and their favorite torture method."

Lensless Mark's eye had lost its sardonic gleam. Something darker moved behind it—recognition, perhaps. A flicker of something that might have been empathy, quickly buried beneath his trademark cynicism.

"Sounds fun," he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite, his gaze dropping momentarily to the floor.

Y/N's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air between them seem to shimmer. "Fun? You think this was fun?"

The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Not from his movement—he remained perfectly still—but from the charged energy suddenly filling the room.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had unleashed that devastating energy against Lensless earlier. The same hands that had survived countless GDA experiments.

"I'm not looking for your pity," she said quietly, her chin raised, her eyes hard as flint. "I'm telling you so you understand. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor... And the only one who lived out of every one of their goddamn experiments."

A long moment passed. The dust motes continued their silent dance. Outside, the world remained in total destruction—unaware of the complex drama unfolding in this forgotten room.

Finally, with a heavy grunt of pain, Y/N pushed herself up from the broken bedframe. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, muscles quivering with the effort of supporting her still-recovering body. Each step toward Lensless Mark sent shockwaves of pain through her healing tissues, but she refused to show weakness, her face a mask of determination.

Lensless Mark raised a brow as she approached, his one good eye tracking her movement with predatory attention. The dark swelling around his other eye had begun to recede slightly—the accelerated Viltrumite healing already at work.

Her fingers hovered near the industrial-grade chains, tracing their intricate welding without touching. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light, each link casting its own small shadow. She could feel the energy signature of the other variants on them—their anger, their protective fury encoded in each precision weld.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No… It just looks like you lost a fight with a garbage disposal," Y/N's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement in the dim light. "I've seen cleaner dumpsters."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

Their banter, sharp and laced with unspoken tension, filled the room. Outside, the world burned, a stark counterpoint to their delicate dance of words. Each jab, each retort, was a subtle negotiation, a drawing of invisible lines in the dust-laden air.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a clinical curiosity drove her touch. She tested the links, feeling for weaknesses, gauging the resistance they would offer to her enhanced strength.

"You want out?" The question, deceptively casual, carried the weight of unspoken conditions.

A sharp, barking laugh echoed off the cracked walls. "Out? I want to not be a goddamn ornament in this charming apocalypse-chic bedroom." He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Always," he hissed, the word a rasping promise. His good eye narrowed, calculating, predatory.

"A pinky promise." She extended her smallest finger, the gesture absurdly childish in their brutal reality. For a fleeting moment, a hint of something softer, almost playful, flickered across her face.

Lensless Mark stared, his jaw slack, the single visible eye widening in disbelief. "A what?"

"You heard me." The playful glint vanished, replaced by a hard, unwavering stare. "Pinky promise you won't immediately try to kill me, or anyone else, when I release you."

He laughed, a startled, genuine sound that rattled the chains around him. "Are we children playing in a sandbox?"

"Promise, or stay chained." Her voice held a steel edge, the extended pinky a silent challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his own pinky, a gesture that was both ridiculous and utterly serious. "Pinky. Fuckin'. Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered as she turned her attention to the chains.

Her fingers closed around a link, thumbs tracing the metal's cold, unyielding surface. She felt for weaknesses, pressure points where the metal might yield. Her grip tightened, the chain feeling like a throat beneath her fingers.

Muscles coiled, Viltrumite strength surging through her arms. Veins, dark and prominent, mapped the pathways of her enhanced power. She applied pressure, a slow, inexorable force.

The first chain snapped, a sharp, gunshot-like crack that echoed through the room.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, catching the weak light. They skittered into shadowed corners, disappearing like fleeing insects. Y/N's movements, precise and fluid, spoke of countless hours spent understanding mechanisms, a skill honed in the GDA's brutal laboratories.

Lensless Mark watched, his single eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket began to yellow, the first signs of rapid Viltrumite healing pushing through the battered skin. "Impressive," he muttered, "didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. "I learned a lot in the GDA. Survival wasn't a choice; it was the only option."

Another chain yielded, the sound softer, almost intimate. The metal twisted and deformed, giving way under her relentless pressure.

Outside, the world continued its fiery death throes. Distant screams and explosions painted a hellish soundscape, a constant reminder of the multiversal war raging beyond their sanctuary. The other variants—Omni, Mohawk, Sinister—remained locked in their negotiations with Angstrom Levy, their voices a distant, indistinct rumble.

"So," Lensless Mark drawled, breaking the silence, his head tilting to one side, "you're not curious why they left me here? Chained up like some… personal project?"

A flicker of humor touched Y/N's lips. Her fingers moved with methodical precision, each link yielding to her strength. "Maybe they thought you needed a timeout." A soft giggle escaped her, surprising even herself.

"A timeout?" His single eye narrowed, a muscle twitching in his bruised cheek. "Because chaining up a multiversal Mark Grayson variant is standard procedure."

Another chain fell, joining the metallic graveyard around them. Each broken link was a promise, a step into the unknown.

"They beat the shit out of me," Lensless Mark said, his voice losing its edge. His gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands paused. Her gaze locked with his, the single eye burning with an intensity that cut through the dim light.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

"Because you're a fucking clone," he spat, his voice raw with rage. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chains, her mouth falling open in shocked confusion. "What?"

He turned away, jaw muscles working furiously. "Forget it."

Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "No. No more chains until you explain." Her voice was hard, all humor gone. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you shit!" he snarled, yanking against his restraints. The chains held, barely. His eye blazed, and Y/N braced herself.

"FINE!" he exploded, the word echoing in the room.

"My Y/N was HUMAN!" The confession tore from him, his voice cracking. "Just a normal, beautiful human. She didn't need superpowers," a brittle laugh escaped him, his head shaking. "... she looked just like you. Exactly. But she didn't have Viltrumite blood. She was perfect, not like…"

His words trailed off, his jaw clenching. The unspoken venom hung heavy in the air.

The confession hung between them—raw, unexpected. A glimpse beneath the sardonic exterior that showed something more complex than the sadistic killer the other variants had described.

Her fingers silently resumed their work. Another chain fell, the metal giving way with a soft, metallic groan. Y/N's face remained unreadable, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than on his face.

"And that's why you hate me," Y/N said softly, the realization settling like cold steel. "I'm her echo, but distorted. A version you deem... wrong."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his posture shifting subtly. The defiant edge, while still present, was softened by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. His shoulders slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him like air from a punctured lung.

The final chain fell with a heavy clank, joining its brethren in a metallic heap on the floor.

Freedom waited, a tangible presence in the room. Potential crackled in the air, a silent, volatile energy.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rubbing at the raw, chafed skin where the chains had bitten into his wrists and chest. His fingers probed gingerly at the bruises marring his torso, wincing at particularly tender spots. He flexed his muscles experimentally, gauging their response after hours of confinement. Despite the lingering weakness, a predatory grace underlay his movements—a hunter assessing its strength before the kill.

"Well," he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he looked up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes, "about that pinky promise..."

The air thickened, charged with a palpable tension. Y/N's muscles tensed instinctively, her body reacting to the predatory gleam in his eye before her mind could fully process the threat.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet, discarded metallic snakeskins. The afternoon light caught each link, casting distorted, elongated shadows across the worn floorboards.

Lensless Mark rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking with a satisfying pop as he tilted his head from side to side. His single good eye never left Y/N's face. The swelling around his other eye had receded, revealing a sliver of iris, giving him an unsettling, lopsided gaze. He ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting copper and a hint of victory.

"I did promise not to kill you," he whispered, taking a step forward that closed the distance between them. His boot crushed a chain link underfoot, the metal yielding with a dull crunch. "Immediately."

Y/N didn't flinch. Her feet remained rooted to the dusty floor, her weight subtly shifted to the balls of her feet, poised for action. Her chin lifted, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, registering the scent of his sweat, blood, and something uniquely him. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening with focused intensity.

"So, that's it?" Her voice, deceptively soft, held the edge of a honed blade. "First taste of freedom, and you're already breaking your word?"

A harsh laugh reverberated through the room, devoid of mirth. It grated against the silence like fingernails on slate.

"My word?" Lensless Mark's chest expanded with a sharp inhale, the bruises on his torso shifting with each breath. "You dare speak of words and promises? That's rich."

Another step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot.

"In my world," he continued, his tongue darting out to touch his split lip again, "the GDA took her too." His voice dropped to a whisper, the words hanging in the air like poisoned darts. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become… this." The last word dripped with contempt, his hand gesturing toward Y/N with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating and contracting as she processed his words. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth, the only visible sign of the emotional impact.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said, each syllable precise and measured. The veins in her forearms became more pronounced as her hands curled into loose fists. "I didn't choose this."

Lensless Mark's gaze raked over her, taking in the subtle signs of her enhanced physiology—the unnatural grace, the contained strength, the too-perfect healing of old wounds. His lip curled, revealing his teeth in a predatory snarl.

"But you survived it," he hissed, bitterness etched in the lines around his mouth. "You thrived on it. Became exactly what they wanted."

Before Y/N could respond, a chorus of angry voices erupted outside, distant but distinct. Both occupants of the room froze, heads turning toward the window. The abandoned house suddenly felt paper-thin, the walls barely containing the sounds of the apocalyptic world.

"That's Mohawk," Lensless Mark muttered, his good eye narrowing as he cocked his head, listening. His earlier aggression momentarily receded, replaced by a flicker of concern.

Y/N moved to the window, careful to stay to the side of the grimy glass. Her fingers curled around the peeling windowsill, wood flaking beneath her touch. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape. Several blocks away, floating figures hovered in the haze.

"Something's happening," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. Her enhanced vision picked out details—Sinister's distinctive black and yellow suit, Omni Mark's red and white insignia, and a smaller figure with a bulbous head surrounded by portal drones. "Angstrom."

Lensless Mark appeared at her side, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine. He shouldered her aside, pressing his face to the glass. His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, well," he drawled, the forced casualness failing to mask the tension in his voice. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices rose again, carried on the smoke-laden air—anger, threats, demands. The hostility vibrated through the very foundation of their sanctuary.

Y/N turned from the window, her mind racing. Her gaze swept over the broken chains, the splintered bed frame, the peeling wallpaper—evidence of a world unraveling. Determination hardened her features.

"We need to go there," she said, the words dropping into the charged silence.

Lensless Mark's head snapped toward her, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to mocking amusement. "We? There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times."

Y/N stepped closer, invading his space. Her eyes locked with his, unflinching.

"And yet here I am, unchaining you," she countered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something that has all of them," she gestured toward the window, "in an uproar. Don't you want to know what it is?"

A muscle ticked in Lensless Mark's jaw, his gaze flicking between her and the window. Outside, a flash of blue light illuminated the sky, followed by Mohawk Mark's enraged bellow.

"I'd rather be anywhere but helping your little boyfriend squad," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt even as curiosity flickered in his visible eye, warring with the hatred that had become his constant companion.

Y/N sensed the opening and pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them. The floorboards creaked beneath her careful steps. "They're not my boyfriends," she said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper that seemed to reach past his defenses and resonate somewhere deep within him. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features—his pupil dilated, the one visible eye darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite conceal. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them as her words found their target with unerring precision.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching as it locked with his, "we all lose. Including you." Her hand hovered near his bruised forearm, not quite making contact but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the architect of all this destruction. Of all these universes colliding. He's the reason we're all here, suffering."

Something shifted beneath the carefully constructed mask of disdain Lensless Mark wore—a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through like sunlight through storm clouds. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, shoulders squaring beneath the tattered remnants of what had once been an immaculate suit.

"Fine," he spat, the single word seeming to cost him physically. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped along its edge as he practically vibrated with the storm of conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within him. "But this doesn't make us allies. This doesn't make us anything."

Y/N's smile appeared briefly—genuine despite its fleeting nature, a flash of relief that vanished as quickly as morning dew under a harsh sun. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Without further conversation, she moved to the window with fluid, purposeful strides. The hinges protested with a rusty screech as she pushed it fully open, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence hanging over the room. Cool evening air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of destruction—smoke and dust intermingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

Y/N paused at the threshold, glancing back once at Lensless Mark. Her expression remained unreadable in the fading light, shadows playing across the contours of her face. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space with the effortless grace of a predator taking flight.

Lensless Mark watched her disappear, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He stood motionless for a heartbeat—just long enough to mutter a string of creative curses under his breath, each syllable laden with frustration—before following her lead.

They soared above the devastated landscape, twin shadows against the darkening canvas of the sky. The city sprawled beneath them in ruins—buildings reduced to skeletal frameworks, streets split open like wound-like gashes across the face of the earth. Bodies of fallen civilians painted macabre patterns on the ground below, while fires burned unchecked in several districts, their orange-yellow flames serving as beacons in the gathering gloom.

Y/N maintained a slight lead, her body positioned to minimize wind resistance, arms extended at her sides. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard, dancing and whipping in the turbulent currents.

Lensless Mark kept pace a few feet behind and to her right, his movements marginally less fluid, the grace in his flight hampered by injuries that refused to be ignored. The exposed portion of his face remained locked in a grimace of concentration, jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating through his body with each powerful thrust through the air.

They approached the gathering of variants with tactical caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage. Below them, the confrontation unfolded above the skeletal remains of what had once been the Grayson family home, its once-welcoming structure now reduced to little more than ash and memory.

The variants hovered in a loose circle around Angstrom Levy, whose bulbous head glistened with a sheen of nervous sweat. His beady eyes darted between the assembled Marks, constantly calculating as he manipulated a constellation of glowing green portal drones that floated around the group like mechanical fireflies, their emerald light casting eerie shadows across the faces of the gathered variants.

Y/N signaled to Lensless Mark with a quick gesture, indicating a partially collapsed rooftop nearby. They descended in perfect silence, landing in a crouch behind a chimney stack that had somehow survived the destruction intact.

"—you promised us anything we wanted!" Mohawk Mark's roar cut through the evening air, each word punctuated by flecks of spittle flying from his contorted lips. The mohawk crowning his head seemed to bristle with his rage, while veins pulsed visibly at his temples. "And now we get nothing?"

Angstrom's laugh—nasal and grating—bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. Sweat trickled down his bulbous forehead, catching the green light of the portal drones as his eyes continued their nervous dance between the variants. "I promised you new universes to conquer. But first, you need to complete your part of the bargain."

"We've done enough," Omni Mark grunted, his powerful frame rigid with barely contained violence. His fists clenched at his sides, the red material of his gloves straining across the knuckles as though struggling to contain the force within. The black lenses of his mask gleamed with menace as he leaned forward, shoulders hunched like a predator preparing to pounce. "This world is in ruins, and we already lost half of us. Invincible's reputation is destroyed. It's time for you to pay up."

Sinister's laugh shattered the moment like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "Or should I rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness, a silent promise of violence to come.

Emperor Mark floated slightly higher than the others, positioning himself with the natural authority of one accustomed to command. His voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "You're stalling, Angstrom. That makes me wonder what you're hiding."

Phantom Mark hovered silently to the side, his full-face mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his body language—head tilted at a calculating angle, arms crossed over his chest—radiated cold assessment.

Prisoner Mark spat on the ground below, his scarred face twisting into a mean grimace that pulled at the puckered tissue crisscrossing his features. "If you think you can double-cross us after everything we've done—"

"Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's dealing with," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his voice a study in deceptive calm. One by one, he cracked his knuckles, each pop carrying ominously through the still air like distant gunshots.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes reflecting the sickly green glow of the portal drones as he edged closer to Angstrom. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since day one."

From their vantage point, Y/N's fingers curled around the rough edge of the chimney, knuckles whitening with pressure as she observed the confrontation unfolding above them. Beside her, Lensless Mark's breathing had become a carefully measured rhythm, each inhale and exhale a deliberate exercise in control.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at Angstrom's portals."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, focusing on the glowing rifts surrounding the variants. Several of the portal drones pulsed with an erratic rhythm, the edges of their projections wavering and fluctuating as though struggling to maintain coherence. A discordant humming filled the air, the vibration setting teeth on edge and raising the fine hairs on the back of the neck. Behind each variant—all of whom had their attention fixed on Angstrom—additional portal drones were silently rising into position, their movements deliberate and predatory.

"He's losing control," Lensless muttered, a note of grudging respect coloring his voice. "Too many portals open at once, too many dimensions bleeding into each other."

Y/N's gaze flicked to him, surprise momentarily widening her eyes. "You know about dimensional physics?"

His lips curled in a sardonic sneer, though a glint of dark humor danced in his good eye. "I've hopped more dimensions than you've had hot meals, sweetheart. You pick things up."

Their attention snapped back to the confrontation as Mohawk Mark's voice rose above the others, slicing through the cacophony with razor-sharp clarity.

"Enough talk!" he shouted, his dark suit blending with the gathering shadows. "Either you send us where we want to go, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted—fear and calculation battling for dominance across his features. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing what looked like a small remote control. Behind the variants, the drones began to rise higher, their movements synchronized with cold precision.

"I believe in contingency plans," Angstrom said, his voice suddenly steadier than it had been moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

His thumb descended on a button, and the drones surged forward, surrounding the variants in a complex geometric pattern. Green energy crackled between them, forming a lattice of dimensional power that began to constrict around the assembled Marks.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling with tension. "To some hell dimension where they can't threaten him anymore."

Lensless Mark's hand shot out with surprising speed, fingers closing around her wrist with undeniable strength. His eye locked with hers, something unreadable flickering in its depths.

"Let him," he hissed, teeth bared in a feral grin that spoke of old hatreds and deeper wounds. "Less competition for me."

Y/N yanked her arm free, disgust flashing across her face like summer lightning. "They're you. All of them. Different versions, but still you."

"Exactly," he countered, leaning closer until she could count the flecks of gold in his irises. His visible eye narrowed to a dangerous slit, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension. Y/N's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin of her cheek. Her pupils contracted then dilated as she made her decision.

"I'm going," she stated simply, her voice brooking no argument as her body tensed like a spring.

Lensless Mark's curse disappeared into the wind as Y/N launched herself skyward. Her body sliced through the smoke-laden air, arms extended at her sides, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, a living missile aimed at its heart.

Below, Lensless Mark's features contorted in frustration, nostrils flaring as he dragged in a ragged breath. The swelling around his injured eye had receded enough to allow him to squint through it, giving him a lopsided, dangerous gaze. With a growled string of profanities that would have made hardened criminals blush, he pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

The variants remained oblivious to Y/N's approach, their attention locked on Angstrom. The villain's fingers danced across his remote control with manic energy, sweat beading on his forehead as he manipulated the floating drones. Each mechanical orb pulsed with increasingly erratic energy, the portals they generated flickering and destabilizing as they formed a tightening net around the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice carried over the electric crackle of dimensional energy. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, tendons standing out like cords beneath the material of his gloves.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his teeth flashing dangerously in the sickly green glow of the portals. Jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin as rage contorted his features.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, his yellow cape billowing behind him like wings of sulfur. His shoulders hunched forward, head lowered in the posture of a predator preparing to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath the black lenses of his mask, teeth gleaming as a low, menacing laugh bubbled from deep within his chest.

"You lying piece of shit," Sinister hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip." His yellow-gloved fingers flexed and curled in rhythmic anticipation, as if already feeling Angstrom's throat beneath them.

Angstrom's lips peeled back from his teeth in a nervous grimace that tried and failed to masquerade as confidence. His thumb hovered over the central button of his remote, eyelids flickering with anticipation. "You'll get your worlds," he said, voice pitched higher than normal as adrenaline coursed through his system. "And you'll die there."

Y/N's approach created a subtle displacement in the air, a whisper of movement that Omni Mark detected first. His head snapped toward her, eyes widening beneath his mask as recognition dawned.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom pivoted with unexpected agility, eyes bulging as he spotted Y/N hurtling toward him. His finger jabbed frantically at the remote, redirecting one of the drones into her flight path. The device responded with a mechanical whir, positioning itself directly before her. Green energy coalesced around it, swirling into a vortex that yawned open like a hungry maw.

Y/N's pupils contracted to pinpoints as she registered the trap too late. Her momentum carried her forward despite her best efforts, muscles straining as she attempted to alter her trajectory. The portal reached for her with invisible fingers, the air around it warping and distorting with dimensional instability.

Lensless Mark streaked through the air to her left, the remnants of his mask fluttering away from his face, revealing more of his features than he had exposed in years. His hand dipped into a pocket, producing a shard of mirror—a makeshift weapon salvaged from the abandoned house. The setting sun caught it at precisely the right angle, creating a blinding flash that struck Angstrom's eyes with surgical precision.

Angstrom's head jerked backward, eyelids squeezing shut against the sudden assault on his vision. His grip on the remote faltered, thumb slipping across its surface. The drone pattern wavered in response, creating a momentary opening in their formation.

Y/N seized the opportunity, twisting her body mid-flight to avoid the portal directly in her path. Her trajectory shifted, bringing her around behind Angstrom. The air parted before her fist as she drove it forward with all her strength, connecting with Angstrom's skull. The impact reverberated up her arm, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack that echoed across the ruined landscape.

Angstrom plummeted, his body spiraling toward the devastation below. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine crimson mist, catching the light of the surrounding portals. His fingers maintained their death grip on the remote, thumb pressing a sequence of buttons as he fell.

The variants roared in unison, breaking free of the destabilized portal net. They remained hovering above, their attention fixed on the spectacle below rather than pursuing Angstrom themselves. Their expressions ranged from surprise to excitement, but all shared one common element: bloodthirsty anticipation.

"Finish him!" Mohawk Mark shouted, fist pumping the air as he destroyed a nearby drone with his other hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with bloodlust, eyes wide and feverish with excitement.

Prisoner Mark's chains rattled melodically as he crushed a drone between his palms, the metal links of his restraints clinking against each other like wind chimes. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark warned, his voice carrying the authority of command as he blasted one out of the air with his heat vision, the red beam cutting through the darkening sky like a laser scalpel.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another, creating a small explosion of green energy that illuminated the scars crisscrossing his face. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting the dimensional energy surrounding them. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants focused on destroying the remaining drones, smashing them with fists, feet, and energy blasts. Green sparks and fragments of metal rained down upon the devastated landscape below, a strange technological hailstorm over the ruins.

Y/N dove after Angstrom, her body streamlined for maximum velocity. Wind roared past her ears, heart hammering against her ribcage as she accelerated downward. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching toward Angstrom's falling form.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, swirling with sickly purple energy—different from the familiar green of his standard portals. This was something else, something engineered for a specific purpose. His thumb caressed the remote one final time, altering the destination encoded in the vortex.

Angstrom's eyes locked with Y/N's as he plunged toward the portal. Blood bubbled between his lips, spattering across his chin and neck in a grotesque parody of a beard. His mouth stretched into a rictus of hatred, teeth stained crimson with his own life essence.

"Enjoy your trip," he spat, the words barely audible over the roar of the portal's energy.

Y/N tried to pull up, to change course, her muscles straining against her own momentum. Too late—the portal expanded like a hungry beast, swallowing Angstrom and reaching hungrily for her.

The variants froze in mid-air, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what was happening. Omni-Mark's arm extended toward her, fingers outstretched in futile desperation. Lensless Mark hovered nearby, both eyes now visible and widened with what might have been concern, his hand reaching toward her in an unconscious gesture.

Sinister Mark, who had been hanging back observing, suddenly became aware of a drone hovering unnoticed behind him. His attention had been entirely focused on Y/N, his black lenses reflecting her plummeting form. For a split second, his normal vigilance lapsed, his body frozen as he watched her fall. The drone's circuitry hummed as it targeted his distracted form. The device activated, creating a second portal that intersected with his flight path.

"Son of a—" His curse was cut short as the portal's energy engulfed him, pulling him inexorably in the same direction Y/N had vanished.

The sensation was like being flayed alive while simultaneously being compressed into a space far too small for a human body. Colors that existed in no known spectrum swirled around Y/N, pressure building against her eardrums until she thought her skull might shatter from the force.

Then, abruptly, release.

Y/N tumbled through open air, disoriented and gasping. Her body struck the ground with bone-jarring force, enhanced physiology absorbing an impact that would have pulverized ordinary human anatomy. Dust billowed around her, a cloud of gritty particles that coated her sweat-dampened skin and invaded her lungs with each desperate breath.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, fingers digging into alien soil as her vision swam and finally began to clear. Her head lifted, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.

A wasteland stretched in every direction—not the devastated cityscape she had left behind, but something far more alien and terrifying. The sky above hung low and oppressive, a sickly shade of yellow-green that reminded her of infected tissue. Three moons of varying sizes and colors suspended in that alien firmament, casting overlapping shadows across the barren landscape. Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces gleaming with an oily iridescence that suggested something beyond normal geology.

And moving across that landscape—massive shapes that defied classification. Creatures composed primarily of teeth and claws and hunger, their bodies shifting and reforming with each lumbering step. Smaller, quicker things skittered between the giants, gleaming carapaces reflecting the eerie light of the alien moons.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, muscles trembling with the effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crystallized in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

A monster universe. A place where the laws of nature had taken a different, nightmarish turn.

The largest of the distant shapes changed direction, its hulking form now moving purposefully toward her. The ground trembled beneath its approach, vibrations traveling through the soil and into Y/N's bones. Her muscles tensed in response, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance despite her exhaustion.

From three other directions, more creatures noticed her presence, their misshapen heads swiveling toward her with predatory interest. The smallest was still twice her height, its body a writhing mass of tentacles supporting what appeared to be a cluster of jawless mouths. It moved with surprising speed, covering ground in undulating lurches that ate up the distance between them.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she prepared for a fight she wasn't sure she could win. Four against one, each creature more nightmarish than the last, and her body still recovering from the dimensional transition.

The monsters closed in, forming a ring around her. The largest towered at least thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of insectoid and reptilian features. A cluster of milky eyes tracked her movements, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light. Its maw gaped open, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth arranged in concentric circles that extended deep into its gullet.

Y/N circled slowly, keeping all four creatures in her field of vision. Her breathing steadied, muscles warming as she gathered her remaining strength. If this was to be her last stand, she would make it count.

The tentacled monster lunged first, appendages whipping toward her with the speed of striking snakes. Y/N leapt skyward, barely avoiding the attack. Her fist connected with what might have been the creature's head, the impact sending shockwaves up her arm. The monster stumbled but didn't fall, tentacles reconfiguring to maintain its balance.

Before she could press her advantage, the largest creature's arm shot out—a limb that seemed to elongate impossibly, ending in razor-sharp claws that raked across her back. Pain lanced through her body, hot blood soaking through the torn fabric of her suit. She spun in mid-air, teeth gritted against the agony, and delivered a retaliatory kick to the monster's forearm.

The third creature spat a stream of caustic fluid that struck her left shoulder, eating through fabric and searing the skin beneath. Y/N bit back a scream, the smell of her own burning flesh filling her nostrils. She dropped lower, trying to use the tentacled monster as a shield against further chemical attacks.

The fourth monster, a quadrupedal nightmare with a body structure suggesting both canine and arachnid heritage, circled warily, looking for an opening. Its face split horizontally, revealing not a mouth but a writhing nest of smaller, worm-like appendages that reached toward her hungrily.

Y/N fought with everything she had, each blow delivered with precision and desperate strength. Her fists created craters in monstrous flesh, her kicks shattered what might have been bones. But for every creature she staggered, another pressed forward. For every attack she evaded, two more connected.

Her stamina began to flag, muscles burning with exertion. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds, her accelerated healing struggling to keep pace with the damage. The monsters seemed to sense her weakening, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more precise.

A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, yanking her downward. She twisted, breaking free, but the motion left her open to the quadruped's charge. Its multi-jointed limbs propelled it forward with startling speed, body colliding with hers in mid-air. They crashed to the ground together, Y/N pinned beneath its considerable weight.

The worm-like appendages in its face writhed closer to her skin, exuding a paralytic toxin that numbed wherever they touched. Y/N struggled beneath the creature, muscles screaming with the effort as she tried to heave it off. Her vision began to dim at the edges, consciousness wavering as the other monsters closed in for the kill.

This was it. After everything she'd survived—the GDA experiments, the variants, Angstrom's traps—she would die here, torn apart by monsters in an alien dimension.

A dark blur streaked across her fading vision—something moving too fast to track properly. The weight pinning her suddenly vanished, the quadruped monster flying backward as though struck by a wrecking ball. The sound of impact echoed across the barren landscape, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.

Y/N rolled onto her side, blinking to clear her vision. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she made out a familiar silhouette standing between her and the remaining monsters. Armored and imposing, his black and yellow suit gleamed in the light of the three moons, lenses reflecting the creatures' movements.

Sinister Mark.

His masked head didn't turn toward her, attention fixed on the creatures regrouping before him. His stance radiated aggressive confidence, arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders squared beneath his dark armor. His yellow cape fluttered in the alien breeze, torn but dramatic against the wasteland backdrop.

"Stay down," he commanded, voice tight with barely contained rage. The words emerged as a snarl, every syllable vibrating with violent intent. Gone was the mechanical calm she'd heard from other variants, replaced by raw fury barely contained within human form.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones like a physical force. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, a wide, savage grin splitting his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and menacing. His body tensed, poised like a coiled spring. "My turn."

What followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre. Sinister Mark moved with lethal precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage. His laughter rang out with every strike, a sound of pure joy at the carnage he created. He didn't waste energy on showy techniques or unnecessary movements. His fighting style was brutally efficient, almost surgical in its application of violence.

The tentacled monster exploded in a shower of viscera as Sinister's fist punched clean through what passed for its central mass. "Too easy!" he cackled, lenses glistening with alien blood as he shook gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist.

The acid-spitting creature's head separated from its body before it could unleash another chemical attack, Sinister's hand moving too fast to see properly. "Is that the best you've got?" he taunted, voice dripping with disdain as he kicked the severed head toward another approaching monster.

The quadruped that had nearly killed Y/N limped back into the fray, its body structure already realigning from the previous impact. Sinister Mark met its charge head-on, hands gripping opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. His arms tensed, muscles bunching beneath his armor.

"Let me help you with that face," he sneered and then ripped outward with a wet, tearing sound. The creature collapsed, twitching, as Sinister tossed the separated halves of its head aside, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Much better!"

The largest monster hesitated, milky eyes tracking Sinister Mark's movements with newfound wariness. It began to back away, massive feet creating small tremors with each step. Sinister leapt upward, his body a dark projectile against the alien sky. He landed atop the creature's shoulders, hands gripping what might have been its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled the words. "The fun's just starting." With a single, powerful motion, he twisted until something inside the monster gave way with a sickening crack that echoed across the wasteland.

The creature's legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground with earth-shaking force. Sinister rode it down, maintaining his position until the last tremor had passed through its dying form. His laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the sound filled with genuine pleasure at the destruction he'd wrought.

Silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing and the distant calls of other monsters, wisely keeping their distance after witnessing the fate of their brethren.

Sinister Mark turned toward her, his armor spattered with multicolored fluids that dripped slowly to the ground. He approached with measured steps, his silhouette black against the alien sky. Despite having just saved her life, there was nothing reassuring about his advance.

Y/N pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as her injuries protested the movement. Her eyes never left Sinister's face, searching for some hint of intention behind the blank lenses of his mask.

"You look like shit," he observed, voice sharp and abrupt. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he loomed over her, cape billowing around him like a shroud. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped Y/N's throat, the sound edged with pain and the rising tide of hysteria. "I feel like shit too," she managed, one hand pressed against a particularly deep gash across her ribs that pulsed with each heartbeat.The alien ground lay scattered with dismembered creatures, their multicolored fluids pooling beneath mangled limbs. 

Sinister folded his frame into a crouch beside her, the movement as fluid as the violence had been moments before. His yellow gloves—vibrant against the desolation surrounding them—reached toward her face, the leather catching on her skin as he tilted her chin upward. Blood transferred between them at the contact, a macabre watercolor of her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the monsters he'd torn apart with disturbing enthusiasm.

"I don't save people," he said. The words slipped from his lips like blades, sharp with an undercurrent of promised violence. Behind the black lenses of his mask, she couldn't see his eyes, but his exposed lower face betrayed him—a twisted grin spreading slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth until teeth gleamed in the dim light. Her own battered reflection stared back at her from those obsidian lenses. "But these things don't get to have all the fun with you."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with unexpected delicacy, leaving behind a crimson streak that stood stark against her pallor. 

He cocked his head, a gesture both predatory and curious. The movement caused a ripple through his torn cape, the yellow fabric catching what little light filtered through the alien atmosphere.

"Those idiots lost you," he continued, leaning into her space until his breath warmed her face, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of battle. "Their loss. My gain."

Y/N wrenched away from his grip, the sudden movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her battered body. A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth. Her hand flew instinctively to her shoulder where an acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges blackened and still smoking faintly. The muscles in her jaw worked beneath her skin as she fought to control her expression, to hide the vulnerability the pain created.

A laugh erupted from Sinister's throat—high and untethered, his head thrown back with manic abandon. The sound echoed across the barren landscape, returning distorted and hollow.

"Still playing tough?" His body shifted closer, bringing with it the scents of battle that clung to him—a heady mixture of sweat, adrenaline, and blood. Something glittered behind the black lenses, something hungry and intent. His smile never faltered. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

Before she could react—before she could even process the possessive claim in those words—his arms slipped beneath her knees and back. He lifted her against his armored chest in one fluid motion, the metal plates cool against her torn suit. Her injured shoulder pressed against him, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. Her fingers clutched at his suit, seeking stability in the sudden vertigo.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His mask remained fixed on her face, head tilting as he studied her reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Pain means you're still alive. Be grateful."

Without warning, he launched skyward, the sudden acceleration forcing her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, instinct overriding caution. Her face pressed against his shoulder as the wasteland blurred beneath them. Three alien moons hung overhead, their overlapping shadows creating patterns of darkness across the barren landscape.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice tight with pain and anger. She pulled back just enough to meet the impassive black lenses of his mask, the wind whipping her hair across her face in wild tendrils.

A laugh vibrated through his chest, genuine in its amusement. The sound rumbled against her body where it pressed against his. "After I went through all that trouble?" His grip tightened, pulling her closer until the yellow of his gloves stood stark against her torn suit. "Besides, those things down there are probably calling their friends for round two."

In the distance, massive shapes undulated across the alien terrain, drawn by the earlier commotion. Sinister adjusted their trajectory toward a jagged rock formation rising from the wasteland. As they approached, the dark mouth of a cave became visible, a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness.

“How sweet home~”

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☆ YAY! Okay, I hope y'all like this chapter, even though it was just build up... ☆ And mainly fluff cause the next chapter is the main course~ ☆ Good news, I already wrote the next chapter so no waiting!! ☆ Go check it out for some fun with Sinister~ ☆ Pt.8

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 6✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A new variant appears?♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Broken Convergence‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 12k+ [Part 6] ☆ TW: fluff ☆ Author's Note: Hi everyone. Sorry for the late update; I went to Knotts Berry Farm and got hella sick. People really need the decency to cover up when coughing (￣へ￣）Anyway, I wrote this chapter with a fever, lol, I hope y'all like it! ––––––––––––––

Omni had only a split second to react. His enhanced senses detected the threat before the sound reached his ears—a rush of air, the crack of wood splintering, and the unmistakable scent of rage. The muscles beneath his red and white suit tensed as years of combat training took over, his jawline hardening with determination.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD OMNI—!"

In one fluid motion, Omni slipped his mask back over his eyes, concealing the vulnerability he'd shown only to Y/N moments before. The black lenses obscured the conflict in his blue eyes as he covered her body with his own. His massive frame enveloped her completely, shielding her from the incoming assault. The mattress springs groaned in protest as he shifted his weight, his arms creating a protective cage around her smaller form.

Mohawk Mark burst through the doorway, the wooden frame exploding into splinters that scattered across the cabin floor like deadly confetti.

His blue and black suit was torn in places, smeared with dirt and blood—evidence of the destruction he'd been wreaking across the planet. His signature mohawk was disheveled, strands of dark hair falling across his forehead like jagged shadows. His eyes blazed with unrestrained fury, pupils constricted to pinpoints as he caught sight of Omni hovering protectively over Y/N.

Mohawk's lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing teeth clenched so tightly that a vein pulsed visibly at his temple. The purple-blue line throbbed beneath his skin in time with his racing heartbeat, a visual indicator of his barely contained rage.

"I KNEW IT!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth. The veins in his neck stood out prominently, his face flushed dark with rage until it matched the crimson of his blood-splattered suit.

 "Sneaking off to have her all to yourself!"

He launched himself at Omni, his body becoming a blur of motion. His fist connected with Omni's forearm as the red-suited variant blocked the attack with mathematical precision. The impact sent shockwaves through the cabin, rattling the remaining windows and knocking dust from the ceiling beams. The sound was like a thunderclap contained within the small space, reverberating off the walls and assaulting Y/N's ears.

Despite Omni's protection, Y/N felt the vibration of the impact jolt through her body. Mohawk's knee drove into her abdomen as he collided with Omni, reopening the barely-healed wound in her torso. Her vision exploded with white-hot pain, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as fresh blood soaked through her bandages. The warmth of it against her skin was instant and alarming, a stark contrast to the chill that began to spread through her limbs.

Mohawk's momentum carried both him and Omni through the opposite wall, their bodies tearing through the aged wood like it was paper. Splinters and debris showered the forest floor as they tumbled outside, uprooting trees as they grappled, each impact reverberating through the ground like thunder.

Y/N curled into herself, clutching her reopened wound. Crimson seeped between her fingers, warm and sticky against her skin. The copper scent of her own blood filled her nostrils, making her stomach twist with nausea. Her breath came in short, pained gasps as she tried to focus through the haze of agony. Beads of cold sweat formed on her forehead as her face contorted with pain, her brows drawing together and lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"Damn it," she hissed through gritted teeth, her pupils dilated with shock. The wound from Prisoner's rusted pipe strike had never fully healed, and No-Mask's hurried medical work hadn't been enough to prevent infection.

As a man-made Viltrumite, she lacked the immunity to disease that true Viltrumites possessed. The infection had been festering beneath her skin, weakening her from within. She could feel it now—the unnatural heat radiating from her wound, the subtle but persistent throbbing that extended beyond the immediate injury.

The cabin creaked ominously around her, the structural integrity compromised by the variants' violent exit. A section of the roof had already partially collapsed, sending dust and debris raining down onto the bed. Y/N's eyes darted around the deteriorating structure, fear flickering across her features as survival instincts finally kicked in.

Outside, the battle intensified. Mohawk pounded his fist into the ground where Omni had been a millisecond before, the impact creating a crater six feet wide. The earth itself seemed to scream in protest, fracturing and buckling under the force of his rage.

"She's not yours!" Mohawk bellowed, throwing a punch that connected with Omni's jaw. The sound was like thunder, the shockwave rattling what remained of the cabin's windows. His eyes were wild, pupils constricted to pinpoints, lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed clenched teeth. A thin line of saliva stretched between his upper and lower lip as he shouted, his rage turning him feral. "None of us get to have her if all of us can't!"

Omni absorbed the blow, head snapping to the side before he recovered, his movements calculated and precise despite the fury of Mohawk's attack. Unlike his opponent, Omni's face remained a mask of calm, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, the only evidence that Mohawk's blow had landed. He wiped it away with mathematical precision, not a wasted movement in sight.

"You don't understand what's happening," Omni stated, his voice level despite the situation. He dodged another punch, the air whistling as Mohawk's fist passed inches from his face. His body moved with fluid grace, each dodge and counter-strike executed with perfect efficiency. "She needed protection—"

"Protection?!" Mohawk laughed, the sound hollow and manic as he grabbed a nearby tree, uprooting it with terrifying ease. Soil and roots dangled from the massive trunk as he hefted it like a bat. Muscles bulged beneath his torn suit, veins standing out in stark relief against his skin. His eyes glittered with cruel amusement. "Is that what you call fucking her while she's injured? Some protection!"

Y/N felt heat rush to her face at Mohawk's crude accusation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and indignation. The cabin creaked ominously around her, the structural integrity compromised by the variants' violent exit. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling, a section of which had already partially collapsed.

Something primal stirred within her—self-preservation that had lain dormant under the collar's suppression. With desperate concentration, she focused on the power that had been denied her for so long. The sensation was like electricity coursing through her veins, uncomfortable yet exhilarating. Her muscles trembled with the effort, her face contorting as she pushed against her limitations, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched.

The energy within her built slowly at first, then with increasing speed—a tingling at her core that spread outward to her limbs. It was like rediscovering a part of herself that had been amputated, painful in its return yet undeniably right. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, fine hairs standing on end as power surged through her.

With a strained grunt, Y/N launched herself toward the hole Omni and Mohawk had created. Her flight was wobbly, unpracticed—she ricocheted off the remaining wall, crying out as the impact sent fresh waves of pain through her torso. Blood trickled from the reopened wound, drops falling like crimson rain to the ruined cabin below as she corrected her trajectory and burst through the opening just as the cabin's roof collapsed with a deafening crash.

Dust and debris billowed outward, enveloping her in a cloud of particles that stung her eyes and choked her lungs. She coughed violently, each spasm sending darts of pain through her reopened wound. Her flight faltered, her concentration wavering as she struggled to stay airborne.

Outside, the battle intensified. Mohawk and Omni clashed in midair, the sound of their collisions echoing like cannon fire. Where Mohawk fought with wild, erratic movements fueled by emotional rage, Omni moved with precision, each strike calculated for maximum effect. Trees splintered and fell as they used the forest as their battleground, neither willing to yield.

"JUST FUCKING DIE!! She's MINE!" Mohawk roared, his voice cracking with emotion. His eyes were wild and unfocused, the veins in his forehead prominent as he drove his fist toward Omni's face. Sweat beaded on his brow, flying off in droplets with each violent movement. His mohawk had become completely disheveled, hanging limply to one side. "I found her first!"

Omni deflected the blow with efficiency, his expression composed despite the fury blazing behind his mask. His jawline remained tense, only the slight flare of his nostrils betraying his emotional state as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Every movement was a study in controlled power, not a single motion wasted.

"Your claim is irrelevant," Omni replied, his voice cold and even. His eyes narrowed behind his mask, assessing Mohawk's weaknesses with clinical precision. Each word was delivered with perfect speech as if he were discussing a scientific theory rather than fighting for the possession of a woman. "You're too volatile, too unpredictable. You'll get her killed."

Y/N hovered uncertainly above the destruction, her limbs heavy and uncooperative as she struggled to maintain altitude. The forest below was being systematically destroyed, a mirror of the greater devastation they'd been inflicting on the planet before she had entered their lives. Massive trees lay uprooted, their ancient trunks splintered like matchsticks. Craters scarred the earth where superhuman blows had connected, the once-lush landscape now resembling a war zone.

"Enjoying the fight, my little warrior?" a silky voice whispered in her ear.

The whispered words caressed her ear, warm breath tickling her neck. Y/N flinched violently, her concentration breaking as she faltered in the air. The almost imperceptible scent of expensive cologne mixed with something darker, more primal, invaded her nostrils. Her stomach lurched as she began to fall—only to be caught by strong arms that pulled her firmly against a solid chest.

Sinister's hold was both gentle and possessive, his yellow and black suit vibrant against the blue sky. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes—eyes that burned with an intensity that made her breath catch. The scent of sulfur and something darker, more primal, clung to him as he pressed his nose against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply like a predator committing its prey's scent to memory. His breath was hot against her skin, raising goosebumps despite the fever burning through her.

His entire body stiffened, the smile freezing on his face. When he pulled back to look at her, his expression had transformed into something dangerous, the mask of charm slipping to reveal the predator beneath. His pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the iris as his nostrils flared, drinking in her scent with animal intensity.

"Why does Omni's scent cover you so completely?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. His fingers dug into her arms, not enough to bruise but enough to demonstrate the barely leashed strength he possessed. The veins in his neck stood out prominently as he struggled to control his reaction, pulsing visibly beneath his skin. 

"He was watching you… What exactly happened between you two in that cabin?"

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Sinister's grip shifted, one hand moving to cup her face. His thumb and forefinger pressed against her cheeks, squeezing until her lips puckered slightly. A drop of blood welled at the corner of her mouth where her split lip reopened, the metallic taste coating her tongue. His touch was paradoxically gentle despite the power behind it, his fingers warm against her fever-chilled skin.

"Why him?" Sinister whispered, his face close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, a momentary glimpse of raw pain before it was swallowed by possessive fury. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath his skin, tension radiating from his body. 

"Why not me? I would have protected you just as fiercely. I would have worshipped you more thoroughly."

His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, wiping away the blood. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the tension radiating from his body. His pupils dilated as he stared at the smear of crimson on his glove, his breathing becoming more ragged. He brought the blood-stained finger to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the crimson smear. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the metallic taste of her. When they opened again, they were darker, hungrier.

"Release her, Sinister."

The commanding voice cut through the tension like a knife. Viltrumite Mark hovered several feet away, his pristine white uniform a stark contrast against the smoky sky. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his face a mask of disapproval, eyes cold with barely restrained anger. Unlike the others, Viltrumite Mark carried himself with an almost regal bearing—shoulders squared, chin raised, every inch of him radiating authority.

"This doesn't concern you, old man," Sinister snarled.

His grip on Y/N remained unyielding, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her suit where it clung to her fever-dampened skin. The heat of his body radiated through the material, creating a cocoon of warmth that simultaneously comforted and alarmed her. His arm snaked possessively around her waist, resting just below her wound. The subtle pressure sent lightning bolts of pain through her abdomen, yet there was something intimately protective in the way he held her—like she was something precious he'd lost and miraculously found again.

Viltrumite Mark's expression hardened, the muscles in his jaw flexing beneath his skin like steel cables being pulled taut. Afternoon sunlight caught in his eyes, illuminating the amber flecks hidden within the depths of brown, giving them an almost supernatural glow. A subtle twitch appeared at the corner of his right eye—the only visible indication of his growing anger.

"Everything concerning her involves all of us," he stated, his voice dropping an octave, the words vibrating with barely restrained fury.

He moved closer, each step measured and precise, the pristine white of his uniform a stark contrast to the destruction surrounding them. The devastated forest stretched like a wound across the landscape, with uprooted trees, and shattered earth testament to the variants' earlier battle. The distant smoke of burning cities hung on the horizon, a grim reminder of the chaos they had unleashed upon this world.

"You will release her. Now." The command hung in the air, heavy with authority.

"Or what?" Sinister's lips stretched into a smile that was all teeth, gleaming white against his tanned skin.

His eyes never left Viltrumite Mark's face, challenge radiating from his posture—from the defiant tilt of his chin to the ready tension in his shoulders. His body coiled like a spring, prepared for conflict, fingers digging minutely deeper into Y/N's flesh. The small indentations would surely leave bruises, and violet shadows to mark his possession.

"You'll fight me? Go ahead," he taunted, his breath hot against Y/N's ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "But remember who bleeds if I drop her."

"Stop it," Y/N said, her voice stronger than she expected.

She pressed her palms against Sinister's chest, creating a small space between them. The firm muscle beneath her fingers tensed at her touch, his heartbeat pounding against her palms like a war drum. Her eyes flashed with determination despite the pain etched into the lines of her face, fever making her skin glow almost luminescent in the filtered sunlight that pierced through the swirling dust.

"I'm not a prize to be fought over," she declared, each word precise and cutting.

Both variants looked at her with surprise, clearly not expecting resistance from her in her weakened state. A bead of sweat traced its way down her temple, a testament to the infection raging through her system, yet her gaze remained steady and defiant.

Viltrumite Mark recovered first, his expression softening fractionally. The harsh lines around his mouth relaxed, though the tension in his powerful frame remained. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly, becoming less threatening while still maintaining his authority—a predator choosing to retract its claws, but only momentarily.

"Of course not," he agreed, inclining his head slightly. The gesture was almost courtly, a curious formality amidst the apocalyptic landscape. "You are far more valuable than any prize. Which is precisely why you should not be manhandled by this—" his lip curled with distaste, "—degenerate."

Sinister's laughter erupted, sharp and brittle like breaking glass. It bounced off the ruined landscape, echoing in the unnatural silence that had fallen over the devastated forest.

"Such hypocrisy!" he spat, the words dripping with contempt. "You fucking smell her too, don't you?"

He leaned in closer to Y/N, his nose brushing against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. The intimate gesture was performed with deliberate provocation, his eyes remaining fixed on Viltrumite Mark, gleaming with malicious amusement. 

His lips, warm and soft, grazed her pulse point—not quite a kiss, but something more possessive, more primal. Y/N couldn't suppress the involuntary shudder that rippled through her body, her traitorous nerves responding to his touch despite her better judgment.

"Tell me, old man," Sinister continued, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that seemed to caress her skin, "does it burn you up inside knowing he got to her first? That she chose that cold, calculating bastard over the rest of us?"

Viltrumite Mark's nostrils flared as he took in the scene, his enhanced senses confirming what Sinister had said. The scent of another variant on Y/N's skin was unmistakable—the unique pheromonal signature of Omni lingering on her like an invisible brand. His expression hardened, the lines around his mouth deepening as his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek.

The white of his uniform seemed to glow in the afternoon light, immaculate despite the chaos around him—a visual representation of his attempt to maintain control, to rise above the base instincts that drove the other variants.

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. His gaze fixed on Sinister, misinterpreting the situation. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking with the tension. "You think you can claim her? Mark her with your scent like some animal?"

Sinister's lips pulled back in a sneer, his arms tightening protectively around Y/N. For all his antagonism, there was something genuinely defensive in the way he held her now as if shielding her from judgment.

"Are you blind? I just fucking told you it wasn't me," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. The vein in his temple pulsed visibly with each heartbeat, his anger a living thing beneath his skin. "It was Omni. The so-called perfect, logical Mark couldn't keep his hands to himself."

Viltrumite's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed to slits. His carefully maintained composure cracked, revealing a glimpse of the fury beneath. The perfect stillness of his body was more threatening than any movement could have been.

"Liar," he snarled, launching himself at Sinister with blinding speed.

Sinister released Y/N just before impact, sending her tumbling through the air as he met Viltrumite Mark's charge. The collision sent shockwaves through the atmosphere, the sound like a thunderclap as the two variants grappled midair. Their bodies moved so quickly they became blurs of yellow, black, and white, punctuated by the explosive sounds of their blows connecting.

Y/N struggled to stabilize herself, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. The infection was spreading rapidly, sapping her strength with each passing moment. Her vision blurred, the world tilting dangerously around her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her skin flushed with fever despite the chill in the air. The edges of her sight darkened, threatening unconsciousness as her body fought the invasive infection.

Below, the battle had escalated. Omni and Mohawk had noticed the new conflict and were now involved in a four-way brawl that tore through what remained of the forest like a tornado. Trees snapped like toothpicks under the force of their blows, the earth itself cratering with each impact. The air vibrated with the concussive force of their combat, dust and debris swirling in chaotic patterns around the fighting variants.

Most of the forest had been uprooted, leaving a desolate wasteland punctuated by splintered stumps and massive trees embedded in the earth like javelins. Boulders had been pulverized into dust, the very ground scarred and cratered by their supernatural strength. The destruction was systematic and complete—a microcosm of what they had been doing to the entire planet.

Y/N watched in horror as the variants tried to tear each other apart. All because of her. All because each believed she belonged to them alone. Her heart raced, pounding against her ribcage as if trying to escape. The stitches in her side pulled with each labored breath, blood still seeping through the bandages to stain her clothing.

"Stop!" she cried, her voice lost in the cacophony of destruction. Her face contorted with desperation, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Please, stop!"

Mohawk, his face twisted in a feral snarl, ripped a massive tree from the ground and hurled it at Omni. The red-suited variant easily dodged, the improvised projectile sailing past him toward Sinister and Viltrumite.

Both variants moved in unison, avoiding the missile without breaking their combat rhythm. Viltrumite punched the tree as it passed, splitting it in half. One section continued its trajectory, spinning wildly through the air.

Directly toward Y/N.

Under normal circumstances, she would have easily evaded the danger. But weakened by infection, disoriented by blood loss, and out of practice with her powers, Y/N found herself frozen in place. Her muscles locked, her mind blank with sudden panic, eyes wide with terror. The fever clouding her thoughts slowed her reactions to a crawl, leaving her hovering helplessly in the path of destruction.

The massive tree trunk hurtled toward her, and she couldn't move.

Time seemed to slow. Y/N watched the projectile approach, oddly detached from the reality of her impending doom. She could see the rough texture of the bark, and count the rings in the exposed wood where it had been torn from the earth. She could make out individual leaves still clinging to its branches, trembling in the disturbed air. She could hear the whistle of air being displaced as it approached, feel the subtle change in pressure against her skin.

"NO!" The cry came from multiple throats at once, a chorus of horror as all four variants realized her peril simultaneously.

They moved as one, abandoning their fights to converge on Y/N. Four blurs—red and white, blue and black, yellow and black, pure white—streaked through the air, racing against the projectile threatening to end her life.

Omni reached her first, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her aside. His body was solid and warm against hers, his grip secure yet careful to avoid her injury.

 The scent of him—clean, masculine, with undertones of sandalwood—enveloped her, familiar from the night before together. For a moment, despite the danger, her body responded to his proximity, remembering the gentle yet passionate way he had touched her in the cabin.

Sinister appeared a fraction of a second later, his body positioned to shield her from impact. His back pressed against her front, creating a protective sandwich with Omni behind her. The heat of his body seeped through her suit, his powerful back muscles tensing as he prepared to take the brunt of the impact. There was something achingly vulnerable in his willingness to use his body as a shield for her—this man who had helped destroy her world.

Viltrumite Mark and Mohawk arrived in the same instant, each grabbing part of the tree trunk, their combined strength bringing it to an abrupt halt mere inches from where Y/N now hovered in Omni's protective embrace. The wood splintered under their grip, sap oozing from the fresh breaks like amber tears.

The sudden silence was deafening after the chaos of battle. All four variants were breathing heavily, not from exertion but from fear—fear for her safety. Their eyes were wide, pupils dilated, faces drained of color at how close they had come to losing her again.

Y/N stared at the tree trunk still held in Viltrumite Mark and Mohawk's grip, her heart hammering against her ribs. The blood drained from her face as shock set in, leaving her pale and trembling, her lips bloodless and parted in silent terror. 

For a moment, she couldn't process how close she'd come to death. Her mind struggled to reconcile the violence around her with the protective circle now forming.

A hot flush spread across her cheeks as she realized the intensity of their gazes. Each variant looked at her with fierce protectiveness—Omni's eyes burned with determination behind his mask, his jaw set tight; Mohawk's wild gaze was tempered with genuine fear, his usual sneer replaced with concern; Sinister's face showed naked possessiveness, his lips slightly parted and breath ragged; and Viltrumite Mark's regal features were softened by relief, his eyes reflecting a pain born from past loss.

Omni's arm tightened around her waist, careful to avoid her injury. "Are you alright?" he murmured in her ear, his voice low and urgent as his hot breath fanned over one side of her face.

Despite the mask covering his eyes, she could see the concern etched into every line of his face—the tight set of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows, the tension around his mouth. For once, his voice held a tremor of emotion, breaking through his usually perfect control. The hand at her waist moved in a small circle, a subtle, unconscious caress that sent warmth blooming through her despite her weakened state.

"I—yes," she managed, though her voice shook as badly as her limbs. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her weak and disoriented. Blood continued to seep through her bandages, the crimson stain spreading wider across the fabric. The world spun around her, fever and blood loss taking their toll. She leaned heavily against Omni, no longer able to support her own weight.

Mohawk and Viltrumite Mark discarded the tree trunk, letting it fall to the devastated landscape below with a thunderous crash. The four variants formed a protective circle around Y/N, their previous animosity temporarily forgotten in the wake of her near-miss. Their bodies created a wall between her and the world, a barrier made of flesh and bone and superhuman power.

Y/N looked at each of them in turn, seeing the intensity in their eyes, the tension in their faces, and the mix of possessiveness and genuine concern that animated their features. It was overwhelming, this circle of identical yet different men, all focused solely on her. Each face was the same, yet each expression was unique—Omni's controlled precision, Mohawk's volatile emotion, Sinister's predatory charm, Viltrumite Mark's regal authority.

"This is ridiculous," she said, her voice steadier now despite the blood loss making her light-headed. Her eyes flashed with defiance, fever giving them an unnatural brightness. "You're fighting over me like I'm some... some trophy, but none of you bothered to ask what I want."

The variants exchanged glances, a mixture of guilt and stubbornness on their faces. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like electricity. For a moment, no one spoke, the only sound was the distant crash of falling trees damaged in their battle.

Mohawk was the first to break the silence, a bark of laughter escaping his throat. The sound was harsh and abrupt, startling against the sudden quiet. His blue and black suit was torn in places, revealing tanned skin beneath. Dust and debris clung to his signature mohawk, dulling its usual sharp silhouette.

"Well, sleeping beauty, what do you want?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, his mohawk flopping slightly with the movement.

There was genuine curiosity beneath his usual bravado, his brown eyes searching her face intently. A drop of blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, tracing a path down his temple like a crimson tear. His gaze flicked briefly to Omni's arm still wrapped around her waist, a scowl darkening his features.

"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like Omni already staked his claim." The accusation hung in the air, loaded with resentment and jealousy.

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks, painfully aware of how she must appear to them—Omni's scent on her skin, her lips still swollen from his kisses, her body cradled protectively against his. She felt Omni's grip tighten almost imperceptibly around her waist, a silent claim that contradicted his seemingly logical demeanor. His thumb moved in a small, soothing circle against her side, the gesture intimate and possessive.

"I don't belong to anyone," she stated firmly, though her voice lacked some conviction as she remained in Omni's embrace. Her chin lifted defiantly, eyes flashing with feverish intensity. "Not the GDA, not Cecil, and not..." she hesitated, her eyes moving from one variant to the next, lingering on each identical yet distinct face, "...not any of you."

They all pause, as the air around them seems to wobble, particles shifting in an unnatural pattern before turning to normal…

She sighed ignoring it as a bitter laugh escaped her lips. The sound was hollow, edged with pain and frustration. "Without the collar, I don't serve a purpose for any of you. I'm not a weapon, not a tool to be used and discarded." The words burned in her throat, raw with emotion. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, knuckles white with tension.

Viltrumite Mark's expression softened almost imperceptibly. The hard lines around his mouth relaxed, his eyes warming with something akin to tenderness. The white of his uniform caught the late afternoon light, giving him an almost angelic appearance that belied the destruction he had helped cause.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice gentler than she had ever heard it. 

"We used the collar as just another means for us convincing ourselves there was a logical approach to keeping you alive. Now without it, our claim still stands,” he hums softly.

“We don't seek to own you or use you. We seek to cherish you." A flicker of vulnerability crossed his usually stoic face, a glimpse of the man beneath the regal exterior. "Each of us lost you once. We cannot bear to lose you again."

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Y/N's eyes widened slightly, the sincerity in his voice striking something deep within her. Before she could respond, another voice cut through the moment.

"Can't we all just have her?" The question came from behind them, unexpected and startling.

All heads turned to see No-Mask hovering several yards away, his expression unusually thoughtful. Unlike the others, his face was still fully visible, allowing Y/N to see the earnestness in his eyes, the slight uncertainty in the set of his mouth. His face was somehow softer, more open than the others, lacking the hardened edge that years of wearing a mask had given them.

Without the barrier of a mask, his emotions were laid bare—confusion, desire, hope all visible in his expressive features. The late afternoon sun gilded his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the depths of his unguarded eyes. There was something disarmingly honest about him that made Y/N's heart flutter despite her condition.

"What did you just say?" Sinister's voice was dangerously soft as he regarded No-Mask. His body tensed, readying for another potential fight, the muscle in his jaw jumping with tension.

"I mean, she's clearly important to all of us," No-Mask continued, his expression thoughtful. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was both nervous and thoughtful. 

"Fighting over her is just going to get her killed." His eyes darted to Y/N's wound, concern evident in his gaze. "Look at her—she's already suffering because of our conflict."

Another figure appeared beside him, drifting lazily through the air. Prisoner Mark, his burned face twisted in a permanent sneer, his eyes roving over Y/N's body with unconcealed interest. The scar tissue pulled his lips into an asymmetrical grimace that might have been a smile. Light glinted off the metal restraints still attached to his wrists, remnants of his imprisonment that he wore like trophies.

"I mean, she's got three holes," he drawled, his voice rough and gravelly from smoke damage. 

"But we can make it work." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the movement slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Y/N's body. The crude suggestion hung in the air, made all the more disturbing by his casual delivery.

Disgust and revulsion flooded through Y/N, her stomach churning with nausea, her upper lip curling in distaste. Yet beneath her revulsion, there was something else—a flutter of confused interest as no one seemed to disagree with Prisoner's statement. The silence from the others was deafening, their lack of objection more telling than any words could have been.

She looked up at Omni, his hands still loosely around her waist. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his body told a different story. The muscles beneath his suit were coiled tight, his breathing carefully controlled. She thought she had built a connection with him in the cabin during their half-night together. She thought he saw her differently, as more than just a replacement for the Y/N he had lost. But now, surrounded by these men who all wore the same face, she wasn't sure anymore.

The realization hit her like a physical blow: Why were all these men so obsessed with her? Was it truly her they wanted, or the memory of the women they had lost? Was she nothing more than a ghost to them, a shadow of women long dead?

She needed to get away. Away from these men who looked at her like she was a prize to be won, a possession to be claimed. Away from the conflicting emotions they stirred within her—the disgust and the attraction, the fear and the longing.

With a desperate surge of strength, Y/N pushed Omni away and fled, pushing her weakened body to its limits as she shot through the air. The wind whipped past her face, cooling the fever heat of her skin. Below, the forest blurred into a sea of green, the destruction caused by the variants' battle a dark scar across the landscape.

Freedom was within her grasp. She could escape, could find somewhere to hide until she'd recovered enough to—

Strong hands closed around her waist, halting her flight so suddenly that the air was knocked from her lungs. Looking back, she found herself staring into Mohawk's face, his expression unexpectedly gentle despite the harsh lines etched around his mouth. The setting sun backlit his signature mohawk, creating a halo effect that softened his typically menacing appearance. Tiny beads of sweat glistened along his temples, catching the golden light. His jaw—usually set in a perpetual sneer—had relaxed, revealing a vulnerability she hadn't seen before.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice firm but gentle. His hands were steady on her waist, his grip secure without being painful. "Not in your condition."

Unlike the other variants, Mohawk wore his emotions openly on his face. The harsh lines around his mouth had softened, and his perpetually furrowed brow had relaxed. His eyes—those deep brown pools flecked with amber when caught in the right light—held a desperate intensity that made her breath catch. Behind the typical hardness of his expression lurked something raw and unguarded. When he looked at her, the snarky mask slipped, revealing not just desire but a terrifying depth of obsession.

Even now, as he held her suspended in the air, his thumbs absently traced small circles against her sides. The sensation sent shivers across her fevered skin, conflicting emotions of comfort and unease battling within her.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice weaker than she intended. She struggled against his hold, but her strength was fading rapidly. The infection was spreading, her temperature rising dangerously. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, trailing down her temples in rivulets that caught the dying sunlight like diamond tracks. Her skin flushed an alarming crimson, hot to the touch and stretched taut across her cheekbones. "I don't belong to any of you!"

"No, you don't," Mohawk agreed, surprising her. His voice cracked slightly, betraying his emotional state. The hand not supporting her waist came up to brush a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her forehead. His calloused fingers felt blessedly cool against her burning skin.

"But you need help. You're dying, Y/N. You are not a Viltrumite like the rest of us... you are man-made." His eyes dropped to her wound, where fresh blood was seeping through the bandages, the crimson stain spreading in a grotesque blooming pattern across the fabric. The metallic scent of her blood hung in the air between them, sharp and alarming. "Your body can't fight this infection without help."

The blunt assessment stopped her struggles. She knew he was right—could feel her body failing, the infection burning through her defenses like wildfire. Without proper medical care, she wouldn't survive much longer. The fever was clouding her thoughts, making her limbs heavy and uncooperative. Her vision blurred at the edges, reality wavering like heat rising from desert sand.

"Why do you care?" she asked, her voice small and vulnerable. She searched his face, looking for deceit, for hidden motives. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across his features, highlighting the tension around his eyes, the tiny scar at his jawline she hadn't noticed before. A muscle jumped erratically beneath the skin of his cheek, betraying his carefully controlled emotions.

"I'm not your Y/N. I'm not any of your Y/Ns." Her voice cracked on the last word, raw emotion breaking through. "Why can't any of you just see me for ME?!"

Mohawk's expression softened, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his eyebrows drew together in an expression of heartbreaking honesty. "No, you're not," he acknowledged.

His eyes revealed everything he couldn't say. As she looked into their brown depths, she saw beyond the anger and violence that defined him—saw the obsession simmering beneath. 

Mohawk wasn't just attracted to her; he was consumed by her, possessed by her very existence in a way that bordered on terrifying. There was love there, yes, but twisted and desperate, born from loss and madness.

"But you're still Y/N. A different version, perhaps, but still the woman we all loved—in our own ways, in our own worlds." He faltered, struggling with words that didn't come easily to him. "Fuck it, I can't... Fuck," he mumbled, his composure cracking further.

His hands came up to her face, moving slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. Y/N glared at him but remained still, allowing his touch. His fingertips were surprisingly gentle against her fevered skin, calloused thumbs brushing across her cheekbones with a tenderness that seemed out of place amidst the destruction surrounding them.

The physical contrast was striking—his massive hands, capable of ripping trees from the earth and punching through concrete, now cradling her face as if she were made of spun glass. She could see the dirt embedded beneath his fingernails, the scrapes across his knuckles from the earlier battle, the slight tremor that betrayed his emotional state. Each point where his skin touched hers became an anchor in her fever-hazed world, electric and alive.

Mohawk's eyes revealed everything he couldn't say. She could see the microscopic dilation of his pupils as they fixed on her face, the slight moisture gathering at the corners, the way the afternoon light caught the amber flecks within the deep brown. Tiny blood vessels mapped the whites of his eyes, evidence of exhaustion and stress. His lashes—longer than she'd noticed before—cast faint shadows on his cheeks when he blinked.

He traced the contours of her face as if memorizing them, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly—like he was touching a ghost he'd never expected to see again. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, the touch feather-light yet sending shockwaves through her system. 

The pad of his thumb was rough, calloused from years of violence, yet his touch was exquisitely gentle.

"Please... fucking please, I waited so long..." he whispered, his voice breaking with need, quivering with a vulnerability that the cocky Mohawk would never normally allow anyone to hear. 

His eyes dropped to her lips, darkening with desire, his breath coming faster, stirring the loose strands of hair around her face. "Let me."

“I know Omni got to kiss you first... to hold you first... but I need this more than I've ever needed anything…” His expression spoke volumes, raw emotion written across features usually set in arrogant lines. The late afternoon sun caught in his eyes, illuminating the desperate yearning there—a silent plea that went beyond mere desire.

Despite everything—her anger, her confusion, her illness—Y/N found herself nodding, a barely perceptible movement. Mohawk leaned forward slowly, giving her time to change her mind. His lips brushed against hers, gentle and questioning at first, then with growing hunger as she didn't pull away.

He growled against her lips, a primal sound that vibrated through her core. He spoke against her lips. At this moment, nothing else existed—not the destruction below, not the other variants flying towards them, watching, not even the infection ravaging her body. There was only this connection, this single point where past and present converged.

The kiss deepened, his lips warm and insistent against hers. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her closer. The slight scratch of his stubble against her skin added to the sensory overload, a delicious friction that contrasted with the surprising softness of his lips. Mohawk kissed with none of his usual aggression, instead with a desperate yearning that spoke of years of loneliness.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open briefly during the kiss, catching glimpses of his expression—eyes closed in concentration, brow relaxed, the harsh lines of his face softened by something akin to peace. When his eyes opened to meet hers, she saw naked adoration in them, dreamy and unfocused with desire. His lips, usually set in a hard line or cruel smirk, were soft against hers, moving with a gentleness that belied his brutal nature.

Despite his obvious hunger, he held himself in check, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss further, to run his hands over her body. She could feel the restraint in the tension of his muscles, in the careful placement of his hands—one at her waist, one at her nape, both trembling slightly with the effort not to crush her against him.

Y/N found herself responding, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the thunderous beating of his heart beneath her palms. The solid warmth of him was like an anchor in a storm, steadying her as fever and desire made her head spin. His suit was damp with sweat and smooth against her fingertips, the powerful muscles beneath twitching at her touch. For a moment, the world around them faded—the destruction, the other variants, her illness—all of it receding as she lost herself in the passionate fire of his kiss.

He gently pulled her flush against him, a soft gasp escaping her as their bodies connected. The height difference between them meant that his evident arousal pressed against her stomach rather than her hips, the prominence of his bulge impossible to ignore even through his full-body suit. Glancing down briefly, she could see where the fabric stretched taut, a small dark stain spreading at the tip where his excitement had overcome even the containment of his uniform.

His response to her was primal and unashamed, his body reacting with an honesty his words couldn't match. Each small sound she made—each gasp and sigh—elicited a corresponding groan from him, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into her own. He mumbled incoherently against her lips, soft words meant only for her, desperate professions intermingled with curses.

"Oh god," he whispered against her mouth, the words half prayer, half profanity.

The moment was shattered by a growl of rage.

Y/N and Mohawk broke apart to find the other variants surrounding them, faces twisted with jealousy and possessiveness. The passionate moment dissolved into tension as four pairs of identical yet distinct eyes locked onto them with tangible fury.

Omni's usually composed features were dark with fury, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. The perfect order of his appearance had fractured—his hair disheveled from the earlier fight, a vein pulsing prominently at his temple, his breathing uncharacteristically ragged. What made the display so shocking was how completely it shattered his carefully maintained facade of control. 

Sinister's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits behind his black lenses, his shoulders rising and falling with each rapid breath. His gloved hands opened and closed reflexively at his sides, the leather creaking audibly with each movement. The smirk that typically adorned his face had vanished, replaced by a thin-lipped expression of pure rage. Unlike Omni, Sinister made no attempt to hide his emotions—his jealousy radiated from him in almost visible waves.

Viltrumite Mark's jaw worked silently beneath his skin, the muscle jumping erratically at the hinge. His white uniform, though still immaculate compared to the others, bore smudges of dirt and debris from the earlier conflict. His eyes never left Y/N's face, something possessive and dangerous lurking in their depths.

No-Mask's reaction was the most naked, his face contorted with undisguised pain and betrayal. Without the barrier of a mask, every emotion played across his features in high definition—the shock, the hurt, the jealousy. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as if the sight of Y/N in Mohawk's arms had robbed him of speech. A flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks crimson with emotion.

HI gaze dropped momentarily to the prominent bulge in Mohawk's suit, the wet spot at the tip of his erection visible to all. No-Mask's expression shifted from pain to embarrassment to anger in rapid succession, his own body responding involuntarily to the sight of Y/N's flushed face and swollen lips.

Sinister caught the direction of No-Mask's gaze and let out a bark of laughter, the sound brittle and sharp. "Getting a little excited there, Mohawk? Can't say I blame you." His tone was deliberately casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his own jealousy. 

"Though I prefer a more... private approach to these matters." Despite his mocking words, there was an undercurrent of pure rage in his voice.

As soon as the other variants approached, Mohawk's arm tightened around Y/N, his moment of vulnerability disappearing behind a sneer. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken tension as the others formed a loose circle around them, hovering like sentinels in the devastated sky.

Omni's face was a study in controlled panic. While his posture remained rigid and his movements precise, his jaw muscle twitched beneath the skin, a hairline fracture in his perfect composure. The corner of his left eye spasmed minutely, and a vein at his temple pulsed in rhythm with his accelerated heartbeat. His breathing was deliberately measured, each inhale and exhale carefully calibrated to maintain the illusion of calm while his eyes, behind his mask, never left Y/N's face.

"I thought we forged something unique in the cabin," he stated, his voice carefully neutral despite the accusation inherent in the words. "Was that a lie?"

Sinister's head tilted slightly forward like a predator tracking wounded prey. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening in the afternoon light. The corner of his mouth curled upward in a half-smile that never reached his eyes—eyes hidden behind black lenses that reflected Y/N's own pale face back at her.

"Don't act so surprised, Omni," he taunted, his voice silky with malice. "Did you think she would be satisfied with your clinical approach to pleasure? Your calculated touches and precisely timed kisses?" He moved closer to Y/N and Mohawk, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face with unexpected gentleness. "She needs passion, fire... not your cold logic."

No-Mask couldn't contain his panic, hovering several feet away, hands opening and closing at his sides. His eyes were wide and wild, darting between Y/N and the blood seeping through her bandages. The crimson stain had grown significantly larger during the brief kiss, the fabric now saturated to a disturbing degree.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Viltrumite Mark snarled, his regal composure shattered completely. His pristine white uniform stood in stark contrast to the chaos of his emotions, the fabric rippling as his muscles tensed beneath. His usually authoritative demeanor had given way to something raw and urgent. "She's dying, and you're all fighting over who gets to kiss her next? Are your dicks controlling your brains now?"

The crude phrasing from the typically dignified Viltrumite Mark shocked them all into momentary silence. He no longer hovered regally above them but had descended to their level, hands clenched into fists at his sides, jaw set in a hard line.

"You need medical attention," Omni stated, his voice steady despite the worry evident in his eyes. A single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, disappearing beneath the edge of his mask. His hands opened and closed at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking softly with each movement. "The infection is spreading rapidly. If we don't act soon, you'll die."

"So what?" Y/N challenged, her voice brittle with pain and defiance. She pushed away from Mohawk, her movements uncoordinated and weak. Blood had soaked through her bandages completely now, the fabric dark and heavy against her skin. The metallic scent hung in the air around her, sharp and concerning. Her eyes burned with fever, pupils dilated and unfocused as she swept her gaze across all of them. "Why should I trust any of you? You came here to destroy my world, to kill everyone!"

The accusation hung in the air between them, sharp and undeniable. The devastation below—uprooted trees, cratered earth, the distant smoke of burning cities—stood as mute testament to her words. From their elevated position, they could see the destruction that stretched to the horizon—forests flattened, roads cratered, and buildings reduced to rubble. In the distance, several pillars of smoke rose from what had once been thriving communities, now reduced to ash and debris.

Silence fell over the group, heavy with unspoken guilt. It was Sinister who finally broke it, his usual swagger absent as he spoke.

"Because we lost you once," he said, his voice low and controlled, though something in it wavered ever so slightly. He didn't remove his black lenses, but the set of his mouth—usually twisted in a cruel smirk—had softened into something almost vulnerable. "All of us, in different ways. And it broke us."

He gestured around at the assembled variants, his movements precise and measured, lacking their usual predatory grace.

"Look at what we became without you. Monsters. Killers." He paused, a smirk returning to his lips as he added, "Well, I was always a killer. Enjoyed it, too. But the others..." He let the implication hang, eyes hidden behind his black lenses but his meaning clear.

He floated closer to Y/N, his approach cautious, as if afraid she might flee again. When he stood before her, he did something unexpected—he took her hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against her skin as his thumb traced gentle circles on her wrist.

"I know you're not her—not my Y/N," he said softly. "But when I saw you, something inside me that died with her came back to life." His free hand hovered near her face, trembling slightly before he let it fall away, as if he didn't trust himself. "I can't lose that again. I can't go back to being just an... empty fucking killer without you."

"Planet shit doesn't fucking matter!" Mohawk's voice cracked with emotion, the smooth veneer he usually wore shattering like glass. He pushed forward, hovering closer, his face contorted with an emotion too complex to name. Sweat beaded along his hairline, causing strands of hair to stick to his forehead in dark, damp tendrils. His gaze never left Y/N's face, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. The prominent bulge still strained against his suit, a visible reminder of their interrupted kiss.

"The main point is—" He stopped, struggling to find the right words. In a movement both desperate and gentle, he pushed Sinister out of the way to take her hands in his. Sinister's face darkened with anger, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he was forced aside.

Mohawk looked deeply into her eyes, his own intense and sincere. The pupils were so dilated that only a thin ring of color remained visible, black swallowing brown in a visual representation of his emotional state. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His expression mirrored the vulnerability he'd shown during their kiss—raw, unfiltered emotion that he'd never allow anyone else to witness.

"We won't fucking lose you again," he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that seemed to caress her skin like a physical touch. The sound vibrated in the air between them, intimate despite their audience. His grip on her hand tightened fractionally, not enough to hurt but enough to convey his desperation. "Even if we have to share you. We can find a way to work it out."

The last sentence hung in the air, loaded with implications that made Y/N's stomach flutter despite her condition. Mohawk leaned closer, his breath warm against her face as he uttered a final promise, the words carrying the weight of an oath: "You will love us, Y/N... Love me..."

The declaration sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with her fever. There was something in his tone—a certainty, a devotion—that both frightened and thrilled her.

Before she could respond, the air around them seemed to wobble, particles shifting in an unnatural pattern. 

The variants tensed, sensing the disturbance—a tension in reality that they'd felt earlier but had ignored in their confrontation. Now it returned, stronger and more insistent like fabric being stretched to its breaking point.

With a sound like reality tearing, a black portal materialized twenty feet away in the air. The edges crackled with dark energy, ribbons of shadow writhing around its circumference like living things. From its depths, a body was thrown—no, hurled—into their midst.

Darkwing crashed to the ground with a sickening thud, his body a broken, bloody mess. His costume was in tatters, revealing flesh beneath that was more wound than skin. One arm hung at an unnatural angle, clearly ripped backward if not worse. The other appeared to be barely attached, held to his body by thin strips of muscle and costume fabric. His mask was half torn away, revealing a face so bruised and bloodied it was barely recognizable as human. Through split and swollen lips, he drew rattling breaths, each one sounding more painful than the last.

From the portal stepped a figure that radiated casual cruelty—Lensless Mark. His uniform was tattered and ripped, his face and hands spattered with blood. Unlike the other variants, his mask resembled that of a luchador, lacking the traditional goggles and giving his face a strangely naked quality despite being covered. His lips were curled in a smile that held no warmth, only satisfaction at the suffering he'd caused. Areas of his suit were torn at the pecs and abdomen, revealing tanned, scarred skin beneath.

"How touching. The monsters have found their beauty," he drawled, his gaze sweeping over the assembled variants before landing on Y/N.

All heads turned to face him, bodies instinctively shifting to place themselves between Y/N and the newcomer. The protective formation happened without discussion or planning—a unified response from men who moments ago had been at each other's throats.

"So this is what's been keeping you all distracted," he continued, his gaze roving over Y/N's body with interest. Unlike the others, there was no warmth in his assessment, only a cold calculation that made her skin crawl. "I was wondering where everyone disappeared to after I got trapped in there. NO fucking help came for me. "

His appearance shocked the other variants. They had believed him dead, pulled into the shadowverse by Darkwing. Their expressions reflected their confusion and growing concern. With the war still ongoing and so few of them remaining after the brutal fighting, Lensless's return was an unexpected complication.

"What did you all call her? Y/N?" he mused, his head tilting as if considering the name. "Hmm. Yes. Rather mundane, isn't it?"

"This doesn't concern you," Omni said, his voice icy as he shifted to partially block Y/N from Lensless's view. His body language was pure protectiveness now, all traces of his earlier jealousy subsumed by this new threat.

Lensless laughed, the sound sharp and without humor. "Oh, but it does. Angstrom is looking for all of you. The final phase is about to begin." His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he focused on Y/N again. 

"Though I must say, I'm curious about what makes this one so special that you'd take a detour from our true mission."

In a movement almost too fast to follow, he appeared directly in front of Y/N, brushing past the protective circle of variants. His gloved hand reached out, gripping her chin and tilting her face up to his. His touch was neither gentle nor especially rough, simply... clinical. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, forcing it down slightly as he examined her face like a specimen.

"Awww I don't see it," he pronounced, his voice tinged with disappointment. 

"She looks like any other human to me. Fragile. Breakable." His grip tightened fractionally, enough to make Y/N wince. "Already dying from a simple infection. Pathetic."

The attack came from all sides at once.

Mohawk's fist connected with Lensless's jaw, the impact creating a sonic boom that shattered what few intact tree branches remained below. The punch sent Lensless spinning backward, a spray of blood arcing through the air from his split lip.

Before he could recover, Sinister appeared behind him, driving a knee into his spine with such force that Y/N could hear the vertebrae crack. The blow arched Lensless's back at an unnatural angle, his mouth opening in a silent scream of pain.

Omni and Viltrumite Mark moved in perfect unison, like dancers who had rehearsed for years. Omni struck high, his calculated punch landing precisely at the junction of Lensless's neck and shoulder, targeting the cluster of nerves there. Viltrumite Mark struck low, his fist driving into Lensless's solar plexus with enough force to expel all air from his lungs.

The combination of blows sent Lensless plummeting toward the devastated forest below. He crashed through three massive oak trees before hitting the ground with enough force to create a small crater, dirt, and debris exploding outward from the impact site.

No-Mask circled around, waiting for his opportunity, his face set in lines of determination rarely seen on his usually expressive features. He hovered above the impact site, ready to intercept if Lensless attempted to flee.

Y/N hovered, forgotten in the chaos of battle, her condition worsening by the second. The world tilted and spun around her, fever making everything blur at the edges. She pressed a hand to her wound, feeling fresh blood seep between her fingers. The warmth of it was alarming, spreading across her abdomen in a widening stain.

Below, the battle had expanded, the variants using the devastated landscape as both weapon and battleground. Mohawk tore a shattered tree trunk from the ground, hurling it at Lensless with enough force to level a building. The makeshift projectile whistled through the air, trailing leaves and splinters in its wake before Lensless dodged at the last second. The trunk embedded itself in the hillside behind him, quivering with the force of impact.

Omni calculated his trajectories, using precision strikes to herd Lensless into Sinister's path. Each punch was measured and deliberate, not seeking to cause damage but to manipulate Lensless's movements. Where Lensless dodged one blow, he found himself in the path of another, Omni's strategy becoming clear as Lensless was forced closer and closer to where Sinister waited.

Viltrumite Mark moved with regal fury, each blow causing sonic booms to ripple through the air. His white uniform was a blur of motion, seeming to be everywhere at once. Unlike the others, his attacks held nothing back—each punch and kick was delivered with the full force of his Viltrumite strength, intended not to subdue but to destroy.

Despite being outnumbered, Lensless held his own, his childish laughter echoing across the battlefield as he taunted and dodged. His fighting style was unpredictable, and chaotic, making him difficult to pin down. Where the others fought with purpose and strategy, Lensless fought like a child pulling wings from insects—with casual cruelty and evident enjoyment.

"You're all pathetic!" he called out, evading another coordinated attack. His voice carried across the battlefield, high and mocking. 

"Pining after a ghost! She's not even the same woman you lost!"

His words struck deeper than any physical blow could have. For a moment, hesitation rippled through the attacking variants, a half-second of doubt that Lensless immediately exploited. He surged upward, breaking free of their formation, and shot directly toward Y/N.

"Let's see how quickly you forget her when she's gone for good," he snarled, his hand reaching for her throat. The afternoon sun glinted off his gloved hand as it stretched toward her, fingers curled like talons.

Time seemed to slow. Y/N watched him approach, her body too weak to move, her mind oddly clear despite the fever. She could see every detail of his face as he neared—the hatred in his eyes, the cruel twist of his mouth, the tiny scar that bisected his right eyebrow. She could hear the panicked shouts of the other variants as they raced to intercept him, too far away to reach her in time.

In that moment of perfect clarity, something shifted inside her. The power that had been dormant since they'd removed the GDA collar flickered to life, responding to her desperate need. Energy surged through her veins, temporarily burning away the fever's fog.

As Lensless's hand closed around her throat, Y/N's eyes began to glow with an inner light. The blue-white radiance started at her pupils, spreading outward until her entire eyes were luminous pools of energy. Power radiated from her in visible waves, her hair lifting in an invisible wind, strands floating around her face like a dark halo. Her skin took on an ethereal glow, veins beneath the surface illuminated with the same blue-white light that consumed her eyes.

Her hand shot up, gripping his wrist with strength that belied her condition. Her fingers—moments ago weak and trembling—now closed around his arm with crushing force. The material of his suit compressed beneath her grip, the bones of his wrist grinding together audibly.

"Not today," she whispered, her voice resonating with newfound power. The sound seemed to come not just from her throat but from the air around them, as if reality itself amplified her words.

The energy exploded outward from her body in a concussive wave, sending Lensless flying backward with such force that he created a trench in the earth when he landed. The ground split open beneath the impact, dirt and rock spraying outward like water from a broken dam. Trees that had survived the earlier battles were flattened in concentric circles from the epicenter of Y/N's power.

The other variants braced themselves against the blast, shielding their eyes from the brilliant light emanating from Y/N. The wave passed over them, powerful enough to push them back but not to harm them—as if her power somehow recognized them as not-enemies.

For a moment, she hovered above them all, radiant and terrible, her body still suspended in the air by her own power. The infection that had been killing her was temporarily burned away by the energy coursing through her system. Her wound glowed from within, the damaged tissue knitting itself back together visibly, the process accelerated to a speed visible to the naked eye.

Beneath her torn clothing—the fabric of her suit shredded across her abdomen, exposing the smooth skin beneath—they could see muscle and tissue regenerating. The deep gash that had been leaking crimson life across her stomach closed before their eyes, angry red flesh knitting together with pulsing blue-white light. The tattered edges of her suit fluttered in the energy field emanating from her body, occasionally revealing glimpses of the curve of her breast where the fabric had been torn diagonally across her chest. The legs of her suit, stained dark with blood and dirt, ripped low on her hips, frayed and revealing a sliver of skin just above her hipbone.

The variants watched in awe, their identical faces transformed by different shades of the same emotion—wonder mixed with desire, concern tangled with reverence. The setting sun cast them all in amber light, highlighting the tension in their jaws, the dilation of their pupils, the parted lips as they struggled to comprehend what they were witnessing.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the power faded. The light dimmed, starting with her skin, then her veins, until finally, her eyes returned to their natural color. The glow receded like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving Y/N looking small and vulnerable once more. Her eyelids fluttered, exhaustion replacing the momentary strength, and she began to fall.

Five figures moved as one, racing to catch her. The air crackled with their passage as they broke the sound barrier, converging on Y/N's falling form from different directions. They reached her simultaneously, each grabbing a part of her with careful strength—Omni supporting her shoulders, his gloved hands cradling her with gentle precision; Mohawk at her waist, his fingers splayed possessively across her exposed midriff; Viltrumite Mark securing her legs, his normally stoic expression softened with concern; Sinister cradling her head with uncharacteristic gentleness, leather-gloved fingers threading through her hair; and No-Mask hovering protectively above them all, his unobscured face displaying every nuance of his worry.

As a unit, they descended to the forest floor, moving in perfect coordination despite their earlier antagonism. They touched down on a relatively undamaged clearing, gently lowering Y/N onto one of the few untouched patches of soft grass left. The setting sun painted the scene in gold and crimson, the long shadows of the men stretching across Y/N's still form like protective fingers.

Omni knelt beside her, his pulse quickening beneath his uniform as his fingers sought the pulse at her neck. The skin there was soft and warm against his fingertips, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a counterpoint to his own racing pulse. 

"It's steady," he reported, relief evident in the softening of his shoulders. The usually immaculate lines of his uniform were marred by dust and blood, a physical manifestation of the cracks appearing in his carefully constructed facade. 

"The wound is healed on the surface, but the internal damage may remain. Her fever has broken, but she's severely dehydrated and exhausted."

"What the hell was that?" No-Mask asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at Y/N's unconscious form. His hand hovered near her face, not quite touching, trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. Unlike the others, his unmasked face revealed every emotion—awe, desire, fear—all written clearly in the widening of his eyes and the tension around his mouth. A smear of dirt marked his left cheek, a bead of sweat tracing its way down his temple. 

"I've never seen power like that from any Y/N in our universes."

"The GDA must have modified her differently in this reality," Viltrumite Mark mused, his regal stance betrayed by the concern in his eyes as they remained fixed on Y/N's face. His white uniform, normally pristine, bore the marks of battle—a tear across the chest, a smudge of dirt on the shoulder, droplets of blood spattered across the fabric. The sun caught in his hair, turning the brown strands gold at the edges. 

"Perhaps removing the collar didn't just free her from their control but unlocked abilities they were suppressing."

"Who gives a fuck about the how," Mohawk interjected, pacing restlessly nearby. Each step left an impression in the soft earth, his movements jittery with excess adrenaline. His signature hairstyle, usually maintained with meticulous precision, now lay partially flattened on one side, giving him a lopsided, almost vulnerable appearance. A bead of sweat traced the sharp angle of his jaw, disappearing beneath the high collar of his suit. "Did you see what she did to Lensless? One fucking touch and she sent him flying like a rag doll."

A grin spread across his face, carving deep lines around his eyes that crinkled with genuine joy rather than his usual cynicism. He gestured expansively, his gaze never leaving Y/N's still form. "My—our girl's got teeth."

His expression softened as he knelt beside her, one gloved hand hesitantly reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. The touch was feather-light, his fingertips lingering on her temple with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his usual brutality. "She's more than just a pretty face. She's fucking magnificent." The admiration in his voice was tinged with possessiveness, his eyes darkening as he added, "And she's ours."

"She's not out of danger," Omni cautioned, his hand resting lightly on Y/N's forehead. Though cooler than before, her skin still held an unnatural warmth beneath his touch. A muscle in his jaw twitched with suppressed emotion, a hairline crack in his usually perfect control. 

"That power surge likely depleted what little reserves she had left. She needs proper care, not just field medicine."

A groan from the nearby trench reminded them that Lensless was still a threat. The sadistic variant was pulling himself from the ground, blood streaming from multiple wounds. His suit was torn across the chest and abdomen, revealing muscled flesh beneath, scored with deep gashes that oozed crimson. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheek mottled with bruises. Blood dripped steadily from his split lip, splattering onto the churned earth beneath him in a rhythmic pattern. Despite his injuries, his visible eye gleamed with manic intensity, and his lips were twisted in a grin that spoke of insanity rather than humor.

"You think this changes anything?" he called, staggering to his feet. Each movement was labored, with evidence of broken bones and internal injuries. Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips, pattering onto the churned earth beneath him like macabre raindrops. His chest heaved with each breath, a wet rattle suggesting punctured lungs or broken ribs. Still, he straightened, defiant even in defeat.

"She'll die, just like all the others. And you'll all go back to being the monsters you truly are," he taunted, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. The crimson spatter formed a grotesque pattern at his feet, shining wetly in the dying light. "We still have a mission to complete! Fuck this world and its beings. Angstrom is waiting for us!"

Mohawk's expression darkened, shadows gathering in the hollows of his cheeks as a savage smile spread across his face. "You know what? I'm going to enjoy this." He cracked his knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the quiet forest. His body tensed, muscles bunching visibly beneath his suit as he readied for the kill.

"Go," he said to Omni without taking his eyes off Lensless. "Take her to the meeting point with Angstrom. I'm done with this piece of shit."

Omni hesitated, looking down at Y/N's pale face. For once, indecision was written clearly in the set of his shoulders, the tension around his mouth. The evening light caught the moisture gathering in his eyes, transforming them into pools of liquid amber behind his mask. A single tear escaped, tracking a clean path through the dust on his face before falling onto Y/N's cheek—a glistening diamond against her flushed skin.

"Don't die," he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead. The kiss was feather-light, almost reverent, his breath warm against her skin, carrying the scent of aftershave and something uniquely him. His fingers brushed her cheek, lingering as if trying to memorize the texture. "Please."

With that, he was gone, streaking through the sky with Y/N held securely against his chest. His arms formed a protective cage around her, one hand cradling her head against his shoulder while the other supported her back. The wind whipped past them, ruffling her hair and cooling her fevered skin.

The remaining variants turned as one toward Lensless, spreading out to surround him. The setting sun cast long shadows ahead of them, turning four figures into monstrous silhouettes against the devastated landscape.

"Four against one?" Lensless laughed, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear across his cheek. The sound was wet and choked, bubbles of blood forming at the corners of his mouth. "Hardly seems fair."

"Good," Sinister replied, his smile all teeth, sharp canines gleaming in the dying light. His eyes were cold behind his black lenses, his posture deceptively relaxed even as his fingers flexed in anticipation. 

"We don't play fair anymore."

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As Omni flew with Y/N toward their destination, her eyes fluttered open briefly. Sunlight filtered through clouds, casting dappled patterns across her face as the wind tousled her hair. Despite her condition, a small smile curved her lips as she looked up at him, raising a hand weakly to touch his face.

"You're crying," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rush of wind. Her fingers, warm and gentle, traced the damp trail on his cheek, sending shivers down his spine.

"No, I'm not," he denied automatically, his usual defenses kicking in even as another tear escaped to contradict him. The droplet caught the light, transforming into a prism for a heartbeat before the wind whisked it away.

Y/N's smile widened slightly, her hand weakly reaching up to touch his cheek again. Her fingers came away damp, glistening in the sunlight. Her lips, still tender from Mohawk's earlier kisses, parted slightly as she whispered, "Liar."

A laugh escaped him, the sound rusty from disuse. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the tension in his jaw easing for the first time since they'd arrived in this universe. 

"Just stay with me," he urged, tightening his hold on her slightly. Her body fit perfectly against his as if designed as his missing piece. "We're almost there."

"Will you share?" she asked, her voice fading as consciousness began to slip away again. Her eyelids grew heavy, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks like butterfly wings. "With the others?"

The question caught him off guard, making him falter slightly in his flight. "What?"

"Will you share... me? Can you all... love me?" Each word seemed to cost her tremendous effort, her eyelids growing heavier with each syllable. Her fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his suit, holding on as if afraid he might vanish.

Omni was silent for a long moment, considering. The idea of sharing her with the others—his other selves—went against every possessive instinct he had. His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin as he battled with himself. And yet... if the alternative was losing her entirely...

"Yes," he finally said, the word feeling strange on his tongue. His voice softened as he added, "If that's what you want."

The admission sent an unexpected warmth through him. The knot of tension in his chest—a constant companion since he'd lost his Y/N—loosened slightly. Perhaps sharing her was the only way any of them could truly have her. Perhaps, in this fractured reality, they could find a new kind of wholeness with her.

Their Y/n.

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I'm losing motivation for this story (Even though I already had the whole storyboard written out). (っ- ‸ - ς), But I'll PULL THROUGH! Let me know if you guys are interested in more plot and perhaps smut later on in the story. Quite literally, maybe even the next chapter...

I'm really trying to include 'love' for all the variants. let me know if you want another or specific one to be included more.

Lensless Mark = No Goggles Mark

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

[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–!”

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☆ 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

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 4✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ Manmade Viltrumite isn't quite as invincible as them ♡

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Fractured Alliances‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 4] ☆ Author's Note: I wrote over 13k+ words for this chapter... I thought it was too much lol, so I cut it down (◞‸ ◟)💧 Another bonding Chapter ♡

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Y/N awoke with a violent start, hot breath fanning across her face. Her eyes shot open to find two bottomless black pools staring into her own, set in a deeply scarred and burned face hovering mere inches above hers. The sudden movement sent shards of pain lancing through her battered body, but fear overrode agony as she registered the grotesque visage of Prisoner Mark looming over her bed.

Her arm shot out on instinct, a desperate attempt to create distance, but Prisoner caught her fist with insulting ease. His burned fingers wrapped around her wrist like charred manacles, applying just enough pressure to make her nerves scream without breaking bone. With deliberate slowness, he forced her weak hand back to lay across her chest, directly over her frantically beating heart.

"Finally awake, princess?" Prisoner's voice was like gravel being ground underfoot, each syllable scraping painfully against her ears. The exposed muscle tissue of his face contorted into what might have been a smile, pulling the scarred skin into unnatural positions. "Missed all the introductions earlier. Thought I'd make mine... personal."

He leaned down, his scarred lips brushing against the shell of her ear, the contact sending revulsion crawling across her skin like insects. "They all want something from you," he whispered, his breath hot and acrid, "but I'm not complicated. I just want to hear you scream my name."

Y/N tried to pull away, but her injuries severely limited her mobility, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through her fractured ribs and bruised muscles. The cabin's pre-dawn darkness felt suffocating, the shadows deepening with Prisoner's presence, as if the very light retreated from his corrupted form.

"Step away from her." The command cut through the darkness like a blade, cold and precise.

Viltrumite Mark stood in the doorway, his white uniform seeming to capture what little light remained in the cabin, creating an ethereal glow around his imposing figure. His face was carved from marble, emotionless save for the deadly promise glittering in his eyes. One hand rested casually on the doorframe, the wood cracking under his grip, the only outward sign of the rage he was containing.

Prisoner straightened unhurriedly, making a show of brushing his fingers across Y/N's jawline before finally breaking contact. "Just introducing myself," he said with mock innocence, the burned skin of his face stretching grotesquely. "Can't blame a man for wanting a bit of... personal time."

"She is not yours to touch." Viltrumite's voice carried the weight of decree, each word laden with centuries of absolute authority. He didn't raise his voice, didn't need to—the threat was unmistakable in his perfect stillness, in the controlled precision of his posture. "Step away before I remove your hands entirely."

Prisoner's scarred features twisted into something ugly, resentment flashing in his bottomless lenses over his eyes, but he stepped back nonetheless. Even in his arrogance, he recognized the genuine threat in Viltrumite's words, the promise of violence that would make his current injuries seem like mere scratches in comparison.

"Always the superior one, aren't you?" Prisoner spat, contempt dripping from every syllable. "The almighty Viltrumite, looking down on the rest of us from your imaginary throne." He gestured to his own ravaged body, the burned flesh and exposed muscle visible through the tattered remains of what had once been a prison uniform. "At least I wear my scars on the outside."

Viltrumite didn't rise to the bait, his expression remaining coldly imperial, though the doorframe beneath his hand splintered further. "Out," he commanded simply. "Now."

For a moment, tension crackled between them, two gods measuring each other's strength. Then Prisoner shrugged, the motion sending flakes of dead skin drifting to the cabin floor. "Fine. She's not much to look at compred to my y/n anyway." His gaze slid back to Y/N, deliberately provocative. "Though I bet she screams beautifully."

Y/N flinched despite herself, hating the weakness but unable to control her body's instinctive response to the threat. Fresh pain lanced through her side as the movement pulled at her injuries, and she couldn't entirely suppress a small gasp.

The sound—that tiny indicator of pain—transformed Viltrumite's expression in an instant. His mask of imperial indifference cracked, something protective and possessive flashing across his features before he could suppress it. His eyes narrowed dangerously, fixed on Prisoner with deadly intent.

"Last warning," he said softly, and somehow the quiet tone was infinitely more threatening than any shout could have been.

Prisoner must have sensed the shift, recognized the genuine promise of violence, because he backed toward the door, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment. "This isn't over," he promised, the words directed at Y/N rather than Viltrumite. "We all get our turn eventually."

Then he was gone, slipping out into the pre-dawn forest, leaving behind only the lingering stench of burned flesh and threatening promise.

Viltrumite remained in the doorway for several long moments, his gaze fixed on the space where Prisoner had disappeared. His posture was rigid, controlled, but beneath that carefully maintained exterior, something dangerous roiled. When he finally turned to Y/N, his expression had smoothed back to imperial calm, though his eyes remained unusually intent as they cataloged her condition.

"Did he hurt you?" The question was precise, clinical, yet somehow carried an undercurrent of concern that seemed at odds with his detached manner.

Y/N wanted to lie, to maintain some illusion of strength, but her body betrayed her. Fresh blood had seeped through her makeshift bandages, staining the rough fabric that covered her side. The mere act of breathing sent waves of pain radiating through her ribcage, each inhalation a careful balancing act between necessity and agony. She was supposed to be the strongest weapon of the GDA, yet she was easily beaten by the 8 variants, and most of them werent even trying.

"No more than I already was," she managed, hating the weakness in her voice but unable to muster her usual defiance. The brief confrontation had drained what little energy she'd managed to recover during her fitful sleep, leaving her feeling hollowed out, vulnerable in a way that terrified her more than outright threats. Without the collar shes been feeling so many new emotions, most she came to regret.

Viltrumite's gaze lingered on the bloodstain spreading across her side, something flickering in his eyes—concern, possessiveness, calculation—before it was buried beneath his mask. He moved into the cabin with measured steps, each movement economical and precise, approaching her bed with the careful deliberation of someone accustomed to controlling their strength around fragile things.

"Your bandages need changing," he stated, not a question but an observation. His voice held no room for argument, the tone of someone accustomed to immediate obedience. Yet beneath that commanding exterior, something almost gentle lurked, evident in the way his eyes continued to assess her injuries with what might have been concern on any other face.

Y/N tried to push herself upright, instinctively wanting to maintain some control over the situation, but her muscles betrayed her. Pain lanced through her side like a hot knife, her vision briefly graying at the edges as she fell back against the pillows, a small sound of distress escaping her lips before she could stifle it.

Viltrumite moved with superhuman speed, suddenly beside her bed without seeming to cross the space between. His large hand hovered over her shoulder, not quite touching, an uncharacteristic hesitation evident in his posture.

"Don't move," he commanded, but his voice had softened slightly, the imperial decree tempered by what might have been genuine concern. His white uniform caught the first hint of dawn afternoon light breaking through the broken window, creating an almost ethereal glow around his imposing figure.

For a moment, they remained frozen in tableau—Y/N half-reclined against the rough pillows, face pale with pain and exhaustion, Viltrumite looming over her, hand suspended in the air between them, caught between his ingrained need for control and something more complex, more human.

The spell broke as he straightened abruptly, clasping his hands behind his back in military precision. "I'll get Omni," he decided, his tone returning to its usual cool authority. "He has the steadiest hands for this sort of... delicate work."

Before Y/N could respond, he was gone, moving with that uncanny speed that made him seem more force of nature than man. The cabin door opened and closed with surprising gentleness, leaving her alone in the gradually lightening gloom, the only sounds her own labored breathing and the distant calls of birds beginning their morning routines.

She used the moment of solitude to take stock of her condition. The pain in her ribs had intensified overnight, suggesting at least one fracture among the heavy bruising. Her throat still burned raw from the collar's damage, making each swallow an exercise in controlled agony. Various cuts and bruises mapped the violence across her body, some superficial, others deep enough to require proper medical attention she knew she wouldn't receive. It was so strange, so odd. Pain, it was something she had never truly felt when she was under the collars hold.

The golden light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the broken window when the door opened again. Omni Mark entered with quiet precision, his red and gray uniform stained with blood. Behind him followed Mohawk, carrying what appeared to be supplies—clean cloth, a basin of water, and what might have been medicinal herbs, though Y/N couldn't be certain in the dim light.

"Good morning," Omni greeted her with formal courtesy, as if they were meeting at a business function rather than in a broken cabin in the middle of nowhere, with her injured and at their mercy. His eyes, however, betrayed him—cataloging her injuries with methodical intensity, lingering on the fresh bloodstain underneath her suit at her side, the bruising beginning to form on her wrist where Prisoner had gripped her.

Something dark flashed across his features at the evidence of Prisoner's visit—not quite anger, but a cold, calculating displeasure that seemed somehow more threatening than outright rage. His jaw tightened momentarily before his expression smoothed back to careful neutrality.

"Viltrumite mentioned you required medical attention," he continued, approaching the bed with measured steps. Unlike the others, who radiated raw power and barely contained violence, Omni moved with controlled precision, every gesture deliberate. 

"May I?" He gestured toward her injured side with a gloved hand.

The formality was almost absurd given her situation, yet Y/N found herself appreciating this small courtesy—the pretense that she had some agency, some choice in what happened to her body. 

She nodded weakly, too exhausted to maintain her defiant façade, the pain overriding her pride.

Mohawk hovered at the edge of the bed, uncharacteristically quiet. His usual swagger was absent, replaced by a nervous energy that manifested in his inability to stay completely still. His mohawk stood in rumpled spikes, as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly, and the bruises from his earlier fight with Sinister had darkened to violent purples and blacks across his face.

"Brought water," he said gruffly, setting the basin on a rickety table beside the bed. His eyes darted to Y/N's face, then away, then back again, unable to maintain a steady gaze.

"And stuff. For... you know." He gestured vaguely at her injuries, his usual crude eloquence deserting him entirely.

Despite everything, Y/N found the corner of her mouth twitching upward at his obvious discomfort. There was something almost endearing about seeing this usually brash, aggressive version of Mark reduced to awkward, stumbling concern. 

The brief amusement vanished as Omni carefully pulled back the blood-soaked fabric of her suit covering her side, exposing the ugly wound beneath.

"This needs proper cleaning," he stated, his tone clinical but his touch surprisingly gentle as he examined the damage. His gloved fingers moved with practiced efficiency, probing the edges of the wound with just enough pressure to assess without causing additional pain. "The risk of infection is significant."

Y/N hissed softly as he touched a particularly tender spot, her muscles tensing involuntarily against the pain. Omni's hands stilled immediately, his eyes flickering to her face, something that might have been concern breaking through his controlled exterior before being swiftly buried.

"Mohawk," he said without looking up, "hold her hand."

Mohawk blinked, clearly startled by the directive. "What?"

"Her hand," Omni repeated with forced patience, articulating each word as if speaking to a particularly slow child. "Hold it. This will hurt, and she needs something to grip." His tone brooked no argument, the command of a leader accustomed to immediate obedience.

Mohawk moved to Y/N's side with uncharacteristic hesitation, his usual aggressive confidence nowhere to be seen. He reached for her hand, pausing just before contact, his eyes seeking permission in a gesture so at odds with his established personality that Y/N found herself momentarily speechless.

The vulnerability in his expression was raw, unfiltered—a man who had lost everything once before, terrified of being rejected again, yet equally terrified of overstepping. The mohawk that gave him his name seemed to droop slightly with his uncertainty, reflecting his emotional state in a way that would have been comical under any other circumstances.

Y/N made the decision for him, reaching up to grasp his hand, her fingers wrapping around his with surprising strength given her weakened condition. Something like wonder crossed Mohawk's face at the contact, his fingers curling around hers with exquisite gentleness, as if holding something infinitely precious and irreplaceable.

Omni watched this exchange with unreadable eyes before returning his attention to the wound. "This will be uncomfortable," he warned, reaching for a cloth soaked in what smelled like some kind of herbal solution. "Try to remain still."

The understatement became apparent as soon as the cloth touched her torn flesh. Pain exploded through Y/N's side, white-hot and all-consuming, her vision briefly whiting out at the edges. Her grip on Mohawk's hand tightened convulsively, her knuckles whitening with the force of her hold.

 To his credit, Mohawk didn't flinch, didn't pull away, simply held her hand securely in his, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin in silent comfort.

Omni worked with methodical precision, cleaning the wound thoroughly despite Y/N's involuntary sounds of distress. His face remained impassive, but there was tension in the set of his shoulders, in the too-careful way he handled each movement. When a particularly painful spot drew a choked cry from Y/N's lips, his hands faltered almost imperceptibly, his composure cracking for just a fraction of a second.

He hated this, Y/N realized through the haze of pain. This man who presented himself as coldly rational, as above emotional entanglements—he hated causing her pain, even when necessary. The realization was startling, forcing her to reevaluate the complex person behind the controlled façade.

"Almost done," Omni said, his voice even despite the tension evident in the tight line of his jaw. He reached for fresh bandages, wrapping them around her torso with practiced efficiency. His hands were steady but gentle, each movement calculated to provide maximum support while causing minimum discomfort. "You have at least two cracked ribs," he informed her clinically. "Movement should be limited for the next several days."

Y/N couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped her, the sound edged with pain and dark humor. "I don't think that will be a problem," she managed, gesturing weakly at her surroundings with her free hand. "My social calendar is remarkably empty."

A hint of genuine amusement flickered in Omni's eyes, so brief she might have imagined it. 

"Indeed." He secured the bandage with a small knot, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary, a touch so light she could barely feel it through the fabric. "There. That should hold for now."

Throughout the procedure, Mohawk had remained uncharacteristically silent, his usual crude commentary entirely absent. His focus was entirely on Y/N, watching her face with unparalleled concern, his thumb continuing its gentle circles against her skin. When she looked up at him, she found an expression of such raw vulnerability that it momentarily stole her breath—this was not the arrogant, aggressive Mohawk who had fought Sinister with wild abandon, who fought her back in the city, but someone fragile, someone broken, desperately seeking redemption in her eyes.

"Thanks," Y/N said softly, the word directed at both of them. She made no move to withdraw her hand from Mohawk's, too exhausted by pain and blood loss to maintain her walls of distrust.

 A day ago, she would have recoiled from their touch, from their very presence. Now, her body's weakness forced a pragmatic acceptance of their assistance, however reluctant.

Omni inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment, beginning to gather the bloodied cloths with meticulous care. 

—---

The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the cabin's broken windows, painting golden stripes across the weathered floorboards. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, swirling like miniature galaxies whenever a breeze disturbed the stagnant air. Y/N watched them with half-lidded eyes, her mind drifting between clarity and fog as Omni's medicinal concoction dulled her senses and slowed her thoughts.

The bandages around her torso felt like a vice, restricting her breathing to shallow, careful inhales that wouldn't disturb her fractured ribs. Each breath was a calculated risk—too deep, and pain would lance through her side; too shallow, and dizziness would cloud her vision. The cabin's ancient timbers creaked and settled around her, as if the structure itself was breathing alongside her wounded body. Eventually she was alone.  

Until a shadow fell across the doorway, blocking the sunlight. Y/N tensed instinctively, igniting fresh waves of agony through her injured side. The silhouette was unmistakable—those broad shoulders, that confident stance—but in her pain-addled state, she couldn't immediately identify which Mark variant had come to torment her now.

Sinister stepped into the cabin, his yellow and black suit catching the sunlight in a way that made the yellow elements seem to glow with unholy fire. His eyes, behind those obsidian lenses, fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. His lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes—not a gesture of warmth, but a predator's anticipation of the hunt. The sharp angles of his jawline seemed more pronounced in the harsh contrast of light and shadow, giving him an almost demonic appearance. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear, puckered and angry against his skin, stretching grotesquely when he smiled.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice silky with malice as he approached the bed. "Look at our darling warrior, all broken and bandaged." His gaze slid over her injuries with something akin to appreciation, as if her wounds were artwork he was admiring. A single finger traced the air above her bandages, never touching but implying the threat. "Quite a different picture from the GDA's perfect weapon."

Y/N attempted to push herself higher on the pillows, determined not to appear completely vulnerable, but her body betrayed her. Pain lanced through her side, stealing her breath and forcing her back down. The wound at her side reopened, fresh blood blooming through the bandages like a crimson flower. A whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it, the sound embarrassingly weak to her own ears.

Sinister's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp, too predatory. The scar running from the corner of his mouth to his ear stretched with his grin, creating a grotesque parody of joy. "Don't strain yourself on my account," he purred, perching himself on the edge of her bed without invitation. The mattress dipped under his weight, tilting her slightly toward him. "I prefer you... compliant... Like my old Y/N was."

His gloved hand reached out, one finger tracing the line of her jaw with deceptive gentleness. Y/N jerked away, ignoring the screaming protest of her injuries. Fresh blood seeped through her bandages, the metallic scent filling the air between them, sharp and coppery.

"Don't touch me," she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice hoarse from the lingering damage to her throat. The raw, blistered skin where the collar had once rested burned as if the metal was still there, a phantom pain that never truly faded. The flesh was angry and red, with patches of skin missing entirely, revealing raw tissue beneath.

Instead of anger, Sinister's face lit with delight, his eyes widening with manic glee behind his mask. The whites of his eyes seemed to glow against the darkness of his pupils, creating an unsettling contrast.

"There she is," he whispered, leaning closer until his breath ghosted across her face, hot and invasive. "That fire, that defiance—it's intoxicating." His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a gesture both calculated and instinctive. "Breaking it will be my greatest pleasure."

"Step away from her, Sinister." Omni's voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade of ice.

He stood in the doorway, his red and gray uniform stark against the wooden frame, fresh blood spatters lacing the bottom of his suit and boots. His face was a study in controlled fury—jawline tense, eyes narrowed to piercing slits, lips pressed into a thin line. Not a hair was out of place, not a wrinkle in his uniform, yet rage radiated from him in almost palpable waves. His posture was rigid, militaristic, but his eyes—usually so coldly analytical—burned with barely contained fury. The muscle in his jaw twitched rhythmically, the only outward sign of the emotion roiling beneath his controlled exterior.

Sinister didn't move, didn't even acknowledge Omni's presence, his gaze remaining fixed on Y/N's face. "We were just getting acquainted," he murmured, his finger still hovering near her cheek. "Weren't we, little warrior?"

Omni moved with startling speed, crossing the cabin in a flash of movement. His hand clamped down on Sinister's shoulder with enough force to make the yellow-clad Mark variant grimace. The tendons in Omni's hand stood out starkly against his skin, revealing the power he was barely restraining. His normally impassive face showed the slightest flicker of raw emotion—a tightening around the eyes, a slight flaring of the nostrils.

"I won't repeat myself," Omni stated, each word clipped and precise, delivered with the cold efficiency of a scalpel. "Step. Away."

For a moment, tension crackled between them, two alphas circling in silent challenge. Then Sinister's mouth curved into a mocking smile, the scar tissue pulling unnaturally at his face. "So protective," he observed, rising smoothly to his feet despite Omni's punishing grip. "One might think you've developed... feelings for our little Y/N." He spat the word 'feelings' like it was poison on his tongue.

Omni's expression remained impassive, but his grip tightened fractionally, the leather of his gloves creaking. His eyes—usually calculating and distant—flickered with something primal, something possessive. "Her well-being is crucial to our mission," he replied with clinical detachment that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Your... proclivities are jeopardizing that mission."

Sinister chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. "My proclivities," he repeated, savoring the word. "We all want the same thing, Omni. The difference is—" he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper—"I'm honest about my desires."

Omni's control slipped for just an instant, a flash of something dark and possessive crossing his features before being ruthlessly suppressed. The slight flare of his nostrils, the momentary tightening around his eyes—small tells that spoke volumes about the emotions he was containing. He released Sinister's shoulder and stepped back, creating distance not just physically but emotionally, retreating behind his mask of cold calculation.

"Leave," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Viltrumite wants us all gathered to discuss the collar."

At the mention of the collar, Y/N felt her heart rate accelerate, the phantom sensation of metal against her throat making her breath catch painfully. Her fingers instinctively reached for her neck, tracing the raw, blistered skin where the device had once rested. The collar's damage was a grotesque necklace of scar tissue and burns, a permanent reminder of her captivity. The flesh was mottled, varying shades of angry red and purple, with patches that were beginning to scab over.

Sinister caught the movement, his gaze sharpening with interest. "Ah, yes," he murmured, his attention fully on Y/N again. "The precious collar that had rendered you so... compliant." His smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Don't worry, little warrior. We'll have you back in chains soon enough." He blew her a mocking kiss before sauntering past Omni, deliberately brushing shoulders with the red-suited Mark in a show of disrespect.

The door closed behind Sinister with a decisive click, followed by the gushing sound of wind as he took off into the sky, leaving Y/N alone with Omni. The tension in the room shifted, transformed from threatening to something more complex, laden with unspoken currents.

Omni remained where he stood, his posture military-straight, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes, however, betrayed him—they roamed over her with clinical precision, cataloging her condition, lingering on the spots where Sinister had touched her as if he could erase the contact through sheer force of will. The slight furrow between his brows deepened as he noticed the fresh blood staining her bandages. The perfect composition of his features was marred by this small break in his facade.

"Did he harm you?" The question was asked with detached professionalism, but a muscle jumped in his jaw, belying his apparent calm.

Y/N shook her head, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her neck. The collar damage extended up to her jawline, a vivid reminder of how completely the device had controlled her.

"No," she managed, her voice still raw and broken. "Just... the usual threats."

Something dark flashed in Omni's eyes, there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it. The momentary softening of his expression, the slight downturn of his lips—it was as if he was struggling to maintain his clinical detachment. He moved to her bedside with measured steps, each movement precise and controlled as if he didn't trust himself with anything less than perfect restraint. Reaching for her wrist, he pressed two fingers against her pulse point, his touch impersonal yet strangely intimate.

"Your heart rate is elevated," he observed, his gaze fixed on her wrist as he counted beats. "Pain levels?"

Y/N almost laughed at the absurdity of the question—as if her pain could be quantified, as if it wasn't written in every line of her body, in every careful breath she took. "Manageable," she lied, unwilling to show additional weakness.

Omni's eyes flicked to hers, a flash of something like respect crossing his features. The hard lines of his face softened almost imperceptibly. "Lying doesn't serve either of us," he said, his tone softer than before, almost gentle. His gloved fingers moved from her wrist to the edge of her bandage, carefully lifting the fabric to check the wound beneath. Fresh blood had seeped through the inner layers, staining the white gauze with crimson blooms that spoke of reopened wounds.

His jaw tightened at the sight, displeasure evident in the hard set of his mouth. "The bleeding has restarted," he stated unnecessarily, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension radiating from his body. "Your movement with Sinister aggravated the wound."

"Sorry to inconvenience you," Y/N muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. "Next time I'll just let him do whatever he wants."

Omni's hands stilled against her side, his eyes lifting to meet hers. For a moment, his carefully constructed mask slipped, revealing something raw and strangely vulnerable beneath. The harsh lines of his face softened, his eyes—usually so cold—warming with an emotion she couldn't name. "That's not..." he began, then stopped, recalibrating. "Your safety is paramount."

"For the mission," Y/N finished for him, echoing his earlier words to Sinister with a raised eyebrow.

Omni didn't respond immediately, his gaze dropping back to the blood-stained bandage. With careful movements, he began unwrapping the soiled dressing, his touch so gentle it belied his formidable strength. "Yes," he finally said, the word sounding hollow even to her ears. "For the mission."

The lie hung between them, acknowledged but unaddressed as Omni continued his ministrations. When the bandage came away completely, revealing the ugly wound beneath, Y/N couldn't suppress a gasp of shock. The injury looked worse than she'd imagined—a jagged tear across her side where one of the Mark variants had caught her with the edge of a broken pipe during their initial confrontation. The flesh around it was angry and inflamed, streaks of red radiating outward like malevolent fingers reaching for her heart. Yellow pus oozed from the deepest part of the wound, mingling with fresh blood to create a sickening mixture that stained the sheets beneath her. The stench of infection hung in the air, acrid and unmistakable.

Omni's face remained impassive as he examined the wound, but something flickered in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or something deeper that she couldn't name. The slight tightening around his mouth, the almost imperceptible furrow of his brow—small expressions that spoke volumes about his internal struggle. His gloved fingers hovered over the injury, not quite touching, as if he feared causing her additional pain.

"It's infected," he stated, his clinical tone at odds with the tightness around his eyes. "The antibiotics I administered earlier aren't sufficient." He reached for the medical kit beside the bed, his movements controlled but possessing an urgency that hadn't been there before. "This will be... uncomfortable."

Y/N closed her eyes, bracing herself for more pain. "Just do it," she whispered, too exhausted to maintain her defiance.

Omni hesitated, something unreadable passing across his features. The strong line of his jaw tensed, his lips pressing together in an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty. Then, with a decisiveness that surprised her, he removed his gloves, revealing hands that were surprisingly elegant despite their obvious strength. "It will be easier to feel the extent of the infection this way," he explained, catching her questioning look.

His bare fingers brushed against her skin, the contact sending an unexpected shiver through her body. His touch was clinical, professional, yet there was something intimate about the skin-to-skin contact that made her pulse quicken despite herself. The pads of his fingers were calloused but warm as they carefully probed the edges of the wound, testing for heat and inflammation. His breathing changed subtly, becoming more measured, more controlled—as if he was struggling to maintain his professional demeanor in the face of this simple touch.

"The infection is spreading faster than anticipated," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Your immune system is compromised from prolonged collar use." His eyes flickered to the raw marks on her neck, something like regret crossing his features before being swiftly buried. "I need stronger medication. Clean bandages."

As if summoned by his words, the cabin door opened again. Mohawk stood framed in the entrance, his imposing silhouette backlit by the afternoon sun. His usually wild hair was slightly damp, as if he'd recently washed, and there was a restless energy to his movements as he stepped into the cabin, his eyes immediately finding Y/N on the bed. His face, typically set in a permanent sneer, softened momentarily at the sight of her, genuine concern flashing across his features before he could mask it with his usual bravado.

"Fuck," he breathed, taking in the sight of her exposed wound, the blood staining the sheets beneath her. His eyes widened, the pupils dilating with shock. "That looks worse."

Omni didn't look up from his examination. "Your observational skills are remarkable as always," he commented dryly, the sarcasm in his voice razor-sharp. "Make yourself useful and get fresh water. Hot, if possible."

Mohawk bristled visibly, his shoulders tensing and his hands curling into fists at his sides. His mohawk seemed to stand more rigid with his anger, reflecting his emotional state. "I'm not your fucking errand boy," he snapped, echoing his earlier sentiment, but there was less heat in it this time. His eyes remained fixed on Y/N, a strange vulnerability evident in his expression as he took in her pale face, the tight lines of pain around her mouth.

"Please," Y/N managed, the word barely audible. She hated asking for anything from these men, these alternate versions of the person who had destroyed her world, but pride was a luxury she couldn't afford when infection was spreading through her body.

Something shifted in Mohawk's expression—surprise, softening into something almost tender before he caught himself, schooling his features into a scowl that didn't quite reach his eyes. The hard lines of his face gentled, his perpetual sneer fading into something more genuine. "Fine," he muttered, already turning toward the door. "But not because he asked." He jerked his chin toward Omni with undisguised contempt. "Because you did."

The admission hung in the air as Mohawk disappeared through the doorway, leaving Y/N momentarily speechless. Omni's hands paused in their examination, his eyes lifting to meet hers with an unreadable expression. The hard angles of his face caught the afternoon light filtering through the broken window, highlighting the rigid discipline in his features. A muscle twitched almost imperceptibly at his jaw—the only visible crack in his otherwise perfect composure.

"He's... attached to you," Omni observed, his tone carefully neutral despite the tightness around his mouth. The red accents of his uniform seemed to darken as shadows passed over him. "They all are, in their way." His fingers resumed their careful probing, gentler now, almost apologetic when she winced. "It complicates matters."

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry and painful. The raw, blistered flesh where the collar had once rested throbbed with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of her captivity. Patches of her skin were missing entirely, revealing angry red tissue beneath that wept clear fluid intermittently.

"What matters?" she managed to ask, genuinely curious despite herself. "The mission? Killing everyone in this universe?"

Omni's eyes flickered to hers, something complex and unidentifiable passing across his features. For a fraction of a second, the clinical mask slipped, revealing depths of emotion she hadn't thought him capable of. The harsh fluorescent light from the cabin's single bulb caught the flecks of gold in his irises, making them seem almost luminous against his stern features.

"The mission is absolute," he stated, his voice firm despite the hesitation that had preceded it. His gloved fingers tightened momentarily on the edge of her bandage. "Your universe is... collateral damage."

"Collateral damage," Y/N repeated, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. "Billions of lives, just... collateral damage." She attempted to push herself higher on the pillows, ignoring the fiery pain that shot through her side. Fresh blood bloomed through her bandages like a crimson flower, the metallic scent filling the air between them. "And what makes your universe so special, Omni? What gives you the right to sacrifice mine?"

Omni didn't answer immediately, his focus seemingly on preparing a fresh antiseptic solution. But there was tension in the set of his shoulders, in the careful control of his movements that suggested her words had struck a nerve. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, weighted with something that might have been regret in anyone else.

"Necessity," he said simply. "My universe is collapsing. One universe must survive at the expense of all others." His eyes met hers, and for once, the clinical detachment had fallen away, revealing a depth of emotion that startled her. His pupils dilated slightly, the black expanding to swallow more of the iris. "I chose mine."

Before Y/N could respond, the cabin door swung open again, admitting Mohawk carrying a steaming basin of water and Viltrumite, whose imposing presence seemed to fill the small space, making the cabin feel suddenly claustrophobic. Viltrumite's white uniform was pristine as always, a stark contrast to the rustic surroundings, and his expression was regal and cold as his gaze swept over the scene before him. The high collar of his uniform emphasized the proud set of his jaw, the perfect symmetry of his face suggesting something almost inhuman in its beauty.

"The infection?" he inquired, addressing Omni without acknowledging Y/N directly, though his eyes lingered on her exposed wound with something that might have been concern in anyone else. A slight furrow appeared between his perfectly shaped brows, the only break in his imperial mask.

Omni straightened, his professional demeanor sliding back into place with practiced ease. The vulnerability she'd glimpsed moments before vanished completely, replaced by clinical efficiency. His spine stiffened, his posture becoming almost militaristic in its precision.

"Spreading," he reported succinctly. "Antibiotics are ineffective. We need proper medical supplies." His voice was clipped, each word precisely enunciated, all emotion carefully excised.

Viltrumite's jaw tightened, the only outward sign of his displeasure. The muscles in his neck stood out in stark relief against the white of his uniform, like cords of steel beneath flesh. "The nearest town is forty miles northeast," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Emperor and Phantom are scouting it now."

"Not exactly inconspicuous, those two," Mohawk muttered, setting the basin down beside the bed with surprising care. Steam rose from the water's surface, curling in the afternoon light like ghostly fingers. His eyes darted to Y/N's face, assessing her condition with poorly concealed concern. The perpetual sneer softened around the edges, his eyes—usually hard with disdain—warming as they met hers. A lock of his mohawk had fallen forward, softening the harsh lines of his face. "Fuck, you look like shit, princess."

Despite everything, Y/N felt her lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. There was something almost refreshing about Mohawk's blunt honesty after Omni's clinical detachment and Viltrumite's imperial distance. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice breaking on the word. "You're not exactly... calendar material yourself."

Mohawk's face split into a genuine grin, his eyes lighting with surprised delight at her attempt at humor. The harsh lines of his face transformed, making him look younger, almost boyish in his pleasure. A dimple appeared in his left cheek, unexpected and strangely endearing. "She's got jokes," he announced, a strange note of pride in his voice. "Even half-dead, she's got more balls than the rest of you combined."

Viltrumite's expression didn't change, but something dangerous flashed in his eyes as they fixed on Mohawk. His gaze hardened to glacial intensity, the temperature in the room seeming to drop several degrees. The perfect symmetry of his features became somehow threatening in its stillness. "Watch your language," he commanded, the words soft but edged with steel. "And make yourself useful or leave."

Mohawk's grin turned feral, a challenge sparking in his eyes as he deliberately moved closer to Y/N's side, his hand coming to rest on the edge of her bed in a gesture that was unmistakably possessive. The spikes of his mohawk seemed to stand more rigid with his defiance, bristling like the hackles of a threatened animal.

"I am being useful," he countered, all trace of humor vanishing from his voice. His teeth flashed white against his tanned skin, oddly predatory. "More than you, standing there like some fucking statue."

The tension between them crackled like electricity, two alpha predators circling for dominance. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, gasping as the movement sent fresh pain lancing through her side. Her wound pulsed with each heartbeat, hot and vengeful beneath the inadequate bandages. All three men turned to her at the sound, their expressions varying from Omni's careful concern to Mohawk's open worry to Viltrumite's more guarded reaction.

"Enough," Omni broke the standoff, his voice cutting through the tension with surgical precision. The perfect line of his mouth tightened in displeasure. "This posturing does nothing for her condition." He turned back to Y/N's wound, his hands steady despite the charged atmosphere. "Mohawk, soak those clean bandages in the water. Viltrumite, I need you to lift her—carefully—so I can clean the full extent of the wound."

For a moment, it seemed as if both men might protest being ordered around, but Y/N's labored breathing seemed to decide the matter. Mohawk moved to the supplies without further complaint, his usual swagger subdued as he focused on the task with uncharacteristic care. Viltrumite approached the bed with measured steps, his imposing presence looming over Y/N as he assessed the best way to move her without causing additional pain.

"This will hurt," he warned, his voice softer than she'd heard it before. The imperial mask slipped just slightly, revealing a glimpse of something almost gentle beneath. A tiny muscle at the corner of his perfect mouth twitched with suppressed emotion. "Try to remain still."

Before Y/N could prepare herself, strong arms slid beneath her shoulders and knees, lifting her with such careful precision that she barely felt the movement. Viltrumite held her as if she were made of glass, his strength—capable of tearing through buildings—restrained to cradle her broken body without causing further damage. The contrast between his destructive potential and his current gentleness was dizzying. His chest was warm against her side, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat oddly comforting through the fabric of his uniform.

Omni worked quickly while Viltrumite held her suspended, cleaning the wound with methodical efficiency. Despite his care, the process was agonizing, each touch sending waves of fire through her nervous system. Y/N bit her lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood as her teeth broke the skin, determined not to show weakness in front of these men who had destroyed her world. The coppery taste filled her mouth, oddly grounding in its familiarity.

A calloused hand suddenly grasped hers, rough fingers intertwining with her own in silent support. Mohawk had moved to her side without her noticing, offering his hand without comment, his eyes fixed determinedly on the wall as if the contact embarrassed him. A faint flush colored his cheeks beneath his perpetual tan, the brash exterior momentarily stripped away to reveal someone younger, more vulnerable than he pretended to be.

Y/N squeezed his hand gratefully, clinging to the anchor as Omni continued his ministrations. The contrast between Mohawk's calloused palm and her own softer skin was stark, a reminder of the fundamental differences between them despite their current alliance of necessity.

"Almost done," Omni murmured, his voice holding that strange gentleness that seemed at odds with his clinical exterior. His bare hands moved with practiced precision, applying a fresh antiseptic solution before beginning to wrap clean bandages around her torso. His fingers were warm against her skin, the touch clinical yet somehow intimate in its care. A drop of sweat traced the perfect line of his jaw, the only sign of the concentration he was expending.

Viltrumite continued to hold her effortlessly, his breathing steady, his arms unfaltering despite the awkward position. His eyes remained fixed on her face, studying her with an intensity that might have been uncomfortable if Y/N had the energy to care. There was something almost possessive in his gaze, a silent claim that seemed to say: Mine to protect. Mine to rule. Mine. The perfect symmetry of his features was unmarred by expression, yet somehow all the more compelling for its stillness.

The cabin door burst open without warning, admitting Emperor Mark in all his imperial glory. His uniform—a more ornate version of Viltrumite's, decorated with additional symbols of rank and authority—was splattered with fresh blood, the metallic scent filling the small space. Droplets of crimson dotted the golden embellishments of his collar and cuffs, obscenely bright against the white fabric. His face, so similar to Viltrumite's yet somehow more arrogant, twisted with anger as he took in the scene before him. His upper lip curled in disdain, revealing perfect teeth clenched in barely contained fury.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice thunderous with disapproval. His eyes narrowed as they moved from Viltrumite holding Y/N to Mohawk clutching her hand to Omni tending her wounds. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple, his rage manifesting physically. "Playing nursemaid while a universe waits to be destroyed?"

Phantom Mark appeared behind him, his expression more subdued but no less intense. Unlike Emperor, whose rage burned hot and bright, Phantom's anger was a cold thing, a calculating fury that assessed and planned. His uniform—black where the others wore bright colors—seemed to absorb the light around him, creating a void in the shape of a man. His features were partially obscured by shadows, giving him an ethereal, almost spectral quality that matched his name.

"The town is secured," he reported, ignoring Emperor's outburst with practiced ease. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, yet somehow carried clearly across the room. His eyes found Y/N, lingering on her injured form with an expression that might have been concern in someone less controlled. The slight narrowing of his gaze, the almost imperceptible thinning of his lips—subtle tells that spoke volumes. "No survivors. We've found medical supplies."

Emperor made a dismissive gesture, his attention still fixed on the tableau around Y/N's bed. The movement was imperial in its arrogance, a casual disregard for others' concerns. "This is a distraction we cannot afford," he stated, his tone imperious and unyielding. The golden emblem on his chest caught the light as he stepped forward, lending him an almost divine aura of authority. His face was a study in controlled fury—nostrils slightly flared, eyes narrowed to slits, jaw clenched tight enough to make the muscles stand out in sharp relief. "The collar must be repaired. This universe must fall."

Y/N felt Viltrumite's arms tense around her, a minute shift that spoke volumes about his reaction to Emperor's words. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat accelerated slightly against her side, betraying emotions his face refused to show. Mohawk's hand tightened on hers, his knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. A muscle jumped in his jaw, his earlier humor completely evaporated. Even Omni paused in his work, his hands going still against her side, the perfect control of his features momentarily disrupted by something that might have been anger in someone less disciplined.

"Her survival is necessary for the collar's functionality," Omni stated, his voice returning to its clinical detachment, all trace of the gentleness from moments before erased. His eyes, however, told a different story—calculating, yes, but with an underlying protectiveness that belied his dispassionate tone. "The device was calibrated to her specific genetic structure. Without her, it's useless."

It was a lie—Y/N knew it was a lie—but a convincing one. She kept her expression carefully neutral, fighting to hide her surprise at Omni's deception. Why would he protect her? What game was he playing? She studied the perfect mask of his face, searching for cracks, for hints of his true motivation, but found only carefully constructed neutrality.

Emperor's eyes narrowed suspiciously, darting between Omni and Y/N as if trying to read the truth in their faces. A drop of blood—not his own—slid down his temple, tracing the aristocratic line of his cheekbone before he impatiently wiped it away. "Convenient," he observed, the word dripping with skepticism. "And this necessity wasn't mentioned until she was found?"

"It wasn't relevant until she was found," Omni countered smoothly, resuming his bandaging with unruffled composure. Not a single tell betrayed the lie—his hands remained steady, his gaze direct, his breathing unchanged. "Logic dictates we keep her alive until the collar is repaired and recalibrated."

The tension in the room was palpable, a brewing storm of conflicting agendas and barely contained violence. Y/N could feel it pressing against her skin, making it difficult to breathe beyond the constraint of her injuries. These men—these versions of Mark—were fracturing, their united front crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was the wedge driving them apart, and in that realization, she found a glimmer of hope. Perhaps their obsession with her—with the shadow of the woman they had each lost—could be weaponized, turned against them.

"If I may," No Mask Mark spoke from the doorway, startling everyone with his silent arrival. Unlike the others, his face was fully visible, his expression open and readable—a strange vulnerability in this gathering of masked men. His features were handsome in a conventional way, unmarred by the hardness that characterized the others, though shadow lurked in his eyes. "The medical supplies are here. Arguing delays treatment."

He stepped into the cabin, carrying a box emblazoned with a red cross. Blood stained his gloves, fresh evidence of the destruction they continued to wreak upon her world. The crimson was stark against the blue of his uniform, accusatory in its brightness. Yet his eyes, when they met hers, held something like regret—a shadow of the man he might have been in another life, another universe. His mouth, usually set in a grim line, softened imperceptibly.

"Move aside," No Mask directed, approaching the bed with quiet authority. "I have medical training."

This revelation seemed to surprise even the other Marks, with Mohawk's eyebrows shooting upward in genuine shock while Emperor's eyes narrowed with suspicion, the golden flecks in his irises catching the dim light. Viltrumite, however, merely adjusted his hold on Y/N, positioning her to give No Mask better access to her wounds. His movements remained gentle despite the tension radiating from his rigid posture.

"From where?" Emperor demanded, his voice cutting through the cabin like a blade. The imperial authority in his tone made it clear he didn't believe the claim. His perfectly shaped lips curled downward in disdain, the expression accentuating the regal angles of his face.

No Mask's expression remained open yet guarded as he opened the medical kit, revealing an array of modern supplies that made Omni's herbal remedies look primitive by comparison. Unlike the others who hid behind masks and visors, the naked vulnerability of his features was jarring—every emotion, every thought played across his face for all to see.

"I was a paramedic. Before. I- I treated her before, many times in my universe…" The words were simple, but the weight behind them—the life he'd lived before becoming this—hung heavy in the air. Something haunted flickered in his eyes, a shadow of remembered purpose. "I can administer proper antibiotics, pain relief."

The revelation struck Y/N like a physical blow. A paramedic. This version of Mark had saved lives, had dedicated himself to healing before something—someone—had broken him, had turned him into a destroyer of worlds. The dichotomy was jarring, impossible to reconcile with the man who now stood before her with blood-stained hands.

Omni's fingers stilled against her wound, the perfect control of his features momentarily disrupted as his eyes met No Mask's. A silent communication passed between them—professional understanding, perhaps, or the recognition of shared knowledge. The tension in his shoulders eased fractionally as he stepped back, ceding his position with a clinical nod that belied the reluctance evident in his eyes.

"Do it," Viltrumite commanded before Emperor could protest further. "Quickly." The single word carried the weight of centuries of authority, brooking no argument.

No Mask worked with practiced efficiency, preparing syringes and medication with the smooth movements of someone who had performed these actions thousands of times. His touch was gentle but confident as he examined the infected wound more thoroughly than Omni had been able to.

"The infection has spread deeper than it appears," he murmured, more to himself than to the others. His fingertips traced the angry red lines extending from the wound's epicenter, mapping the infection's progress with clinical precision. "The tissue damage is extensive."

Y/N couldn't suppress a gasp as he probed a particularly tender area, fresh pain blooming beneath his touch. The wound was a grotesque mess of torn flesh and congealed blood, yellow pus oozing from its deepest recesses. The stench of infection hung heavy in the air, acrid and unmistakable.

"Hold her steady," No Mask instructed Viltrumite, whose arms tightened almost imperceptibly around Y/N's frame. "This will hurt."

Without further warning, No Mask began cleaning the wound properly, flushing it with antiseptic that burned like liquid fire. Y/N's back arched involuntarily against Viltrumite's chest, his grip tighting around her as a strangled cry teared from her raw throat as white-hot agony overwhelmed her senses. Blood and purulent discharge sluiced away, revealing the true extent of the damage—muscle tissue exposed and inflamed, the edges of the wound necrotic and blackened.

Mohawk's grip on her hand tightened to the point of pain, his knuckles whitening with the force of his hold. His eyes, usually hard with disdain, were wide with genuine alarm as they fixed on her face.

"Fuck," he breathed, the usual swagger absent from his voice. "You're hurting her!"

No Mask didn't look up from his work, his focus absolute. "I'm saving her," he corrected quietly, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening as he continued debridement of the wound. "The infection would have reached her bloodstream by nightfall. She would have died."

The word 'died' sent a visible ripple through the assembled Marks. Emperor's imperial posture faltered momentarily, something raw and painful flashing across his features before being ruthlessly suppressed. Phantom, still lurking in the shadows near the door, shifted his weight—the first indication of discomfort he'd displayed. Even Sinister, leaning against the far wall with studied nonchalance, straightened slightly, the perpetual mockery in his expression giving way to something sharper, more alert.

Y/N was beyond noticing these reactions, her consciousness fracturing under the onslaught of pain. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision, reality becoming increasingly tenuous as No Mask continued his ministrations. The cabin seemed to waver around her, the faces of the Mark variants blurring into one another—different versions of the same man, all watching her with varying degrees of possessiveness and concern.

"Almost done," No Mask murmured, his voice reaching her as if from a great distance. His hands moved in her peripheral vision, preparing a syringe that gleamed silver in the cabin's dim light. "This will help with the pain."

The needle slipped into her arm with practiced precision, and almost immediately, blessed relief began to spread through her system. The sharp edges of agony dulled, receding like a tide drawn back to sea. Y/N's rigid muscles began to relax despite herself, her body acknowledging what her mind resisted—that these men, these destroyers of her world, were now the ones keeping her alive.

"She needs rest," No Mask stated, his voice returning to its clinical detachment as he began applying fresh bandages to the now-clean wound. The white gauze stood in stark contrast to the angry red of her flesh, a fragile barrier against further infection. "And constant monitoring. The antibiotics should help, but she's weak from blood loss and prolonged trauma."

Emperor stepped forward, his imperial demeanor reasserting itself with every movement. A single drop of blood—not his own—had dried on his temple, a macabre accent against his otherwise immaculate appearance.

"The collar takes priority," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This universe will not survive our presence much longer. And I plan to find that fucking GDA Facility." His gaze swept over Y/N with calculated assessment, coldly evaluating her worth against their mission. "Once the device is repaired, her comfort becomes irrelevant."

"The collar requires her conscious participation," Omni interjected smoothly, the lie flowing from his lips with perfect conviction. Not a single tell betrayed his deception—his posture remained military-straight, his voice steady, his breathing unchanged. Only Y/N, watching through pain-blurred eyes, caught the almost imperceptible tightening around his mouth, the subtle tell that belied his apparent objectivity. "Damaging her further compromises the mission."

Emperor's eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in the hard set of his jaw. "Convenient," he observed, the word dripping with skepticism. "And this necessity wasn't mentioned until now?"

"It wasn't relevant until she was found," Omni countered without missing a beat, his face a perfect mask of rational detachment. "Logic dictates we keep her not just alive, but functional for the mission and… after."

The medication was pulling Y/N under now, consciousness slipping away despite her efforts to remain alert. The voices of the Mark variants became increasingly distant, their words blending together into an indistinguishable murmur. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was the array of faces surrounding her bed—different versions of the same man, each marked by their own universe's trauma, each fixated on her with an intensity that transcended simple obsession.

In that moment of clarity before unconsciousness claimed her, Y/N understood with perfect certainty: she wasn't just a mission parameter to these men. She was a ghost made flesh, a second chance at what they'd each lost. And that made her infinitely more valuable—and more vulnerable—than a simple hostage.

The darkness took her then, dragging her down into dreamless oblivion where even this realization couldn't follow.

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Plot twist next chapter! .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. Thanks for reading pookies ♡ ♡Pt.5♡

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 3✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ Will their sleepy beauty awake from her beauty sleep? ♡

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.4

Chapter 3: Beast Within

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 3] ☆ Author's Note: May have gone a bit crazy with this chapter. It's so hard to capture each character's different voice and personally... but I think, I did it ⸜(ˊᗜˋ)⸝

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The Peaceful moment, of just sleepy beauty and him; ended as quickly as it came.

The cabin door crashed open with enough force to splinter the frame, sending wooden fragments scattering across the floor like shrapnel. Framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the predawn light, Sinister Mark's massive form filled the space entirely. His black and yellow suit seemed to absorb what little light touched it, creating the unsettling impression of a human-shaped void with only those gleaming, unnatural eyes breaking through the darkness behind those black lenses. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in that familiar, manic way—the smile of a predator who enjoyed playing with his food.

"Time's up, Mohawk," he purred, his voice carrying a honeyed malice that made the air in the cabin feel suddenly thick and oppressive. His fingers flexed at his sides, the black portions of his suit rippling like living shadows eager to taste blood. "My turn with darling."

Mohawk Mark hadn't moved from his position beside Y/N, his large hand still wrapped protectively around hers. The six hours had passed in a blur of memories and promises whispered to her unconscious form, and he'd made his decision long before Sinister arrived. His shoulders tensed visibly, the muscles in his back coiling like springs as he traced his thumb over Y/N's knuckles one last time.

"Fuck off," Mohawk growled, not bothering to look up. The mohawk that gave him his name stood in defiant spikes, catching the dim light filtering through the cabin's broken window. "She stays with me." The possessiveness in his voice was raw, primal—not the usual cockiness he brandished like a weapon, but something deeper, more vulnerable.

Sinister's lips curved into that signature psychotic grin, teeth too sharp to be fully Viltrumite, glinting in the dim light. The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop several degrees as he stepped inside, closing the damaged door behind him with deliberate gentleness that was somehow more threatening than any slam could have been. His eyes never left Y/N's face, drinking in her features with an intensity that bordered on worship.

"Now, now," Sinister chided, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. "We had an agreement, didn't we? Six hours each. That was the deal." He tilted his head, studying Mohawk with predatory intensity, running his tongue over those too-sharp teeth. "Unless you'd like to renegotiate? I'm always up for a little... physical debate."

The black portions of his suit seemed to writhe and shift subtly, like living shadows eager to be unleashed. The yellow highlights pulsed with an internal light that cast sickly patterns across the cabin walls, transforming the rustic space into something from a nightmare. The wooden floor beneath his feet seemed to darken, as if the very materials of the cabin responded to his corrupted presence.

"Try it," Mohawk challenged, finally looking up, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. He positioned himself more fully between Sinister and Y/N's unconscious form, his blue and black suit a stark contrast to Sinister's darkness. "I'll tear your fucking arms off and beat you to death with them." The statement would have seemed like typical Mohawk bravado to anyone who didn't notice the slight tremor in his hands—not fear, but the effort of restraining himself from launching across the room.

Sinister laughed, the sound like broken glass grinding underfoot. "Such vivid imagery! I've always appreciated your creative spirit, Mohawk." He moved closer, each step measured and deliberate, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as if in protest. "But let's be realistic. We both know I could rip your soul out through your nostrils if I wanted to." His grin widened impossibly, stretching beyond what should have been physically possible. "And I very much want to."

Before either could move, the cabin door opened again—more controlled this time, but no less commanding. Omni Mark stepped inside, his red and gray suit pristine despite the violence they'd all participated in mere hours ago. His presence immediately dominated the room, calm authority radiating from him in palpable waves. Where Sinister was chaos and Mohawk was raw emotion, Omni was cold calculation wrapped in a veneer of reason.

"Enough," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed without question. His eyes swept over the scene—Mohawk by Y/N's bedside, Sinister poised for violence, the damaged cabin bearing witness to their territorial squabbling. The tension in the room seemed to bend toward him, like metal filings aligning to a magnet.

"This is beneath us," Omni continued, closing the door behind him. Unlike Sinister's theatrical entrance, Omni's movements were economical, purposeful. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing with military precision.

 "We have a mission that requires cooperation, not petty infighting." His gaze lingered for just a moment on Y/N's unconscious form, something flickering in his eyes—concern, possessiveness, calculation—before it was swiftly buried beneath his composed exterior.

"Tell that to Mohawk," Sinister said, his voice taking on a childish whine that was somehow more disturbing coming from someone who could level mountains. He gestured dramatically toward the bed, his movements fluid and unnaturally graceful. "He's not playing by the rules."

"Rules?" Mohawk scoffed, rising to his full height but never releasing Y/N's hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with his rising anger, his free hand clenching into a fist that could pulverize steel. 

"Since when do you give a shit about rules? Wasn't it in your universe, you turned an entire kindergarten class inside out because you were bored. You turned their fucking little kids bodies inside OUT!" His voice rose with each word until he was practically shouting, the veins in his neck standing out against his skin.

Something dark flickered across Sinister's face—not guilt, but perhaps irritation at having his actions so casually exposed. "They were defective specimens," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, the black material of his suit rippling with the movement. "I was simply... quality testing." His voice dropped to a purr as his gaze returned to Y/N. "I'm much more careful with the things I truly value."

Omni Mark moved between them, his presence creating a buffer zone in the suddenly too-small cabin. Outside, the first hints of dawn were breaking through the trees, casting long shadows through the broken window that stretched across Y/N's still form like spectral fingers.

"The agreement stands," he stated firmly, his gaze settling on Mohawk. "Six hours each. It's Sinister's turn to watch over her." Though his words were reasonable, there was steel beneath them—the voice of a man who had killed his own father to assume his mantle.

"Not happening," Mohawk insisted, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. His grip on Y/N's hand tightened possessively, his thumb absently stroking her skin. "I found her first. She stays with me." There was something almost childlike in his insistence, a stark contrast to his usual abrasive personality.

"Found her?" Omni's eyebrow raised slightly, the subtle movement speaking volumes. "Or recognized her? There's a difference, one you seem intent on blurring." His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now—the hint of a threat beneath the reasoned exterior.

Mohawk's face hardened, his grip on Y/N's hand tightening imperceptibly. "What's your point?" The question came out as a snarl, the brief flash of vulnerability vanishing beneath his customary aggression.

"My point," Omni said with maddening patience, stepping closer until he towered over Mohawk despite their identical height, "is that you're confusing this Y/N with your dead girlfriend. They may share a face, but they are not the same person." Each word was precisely calibrated to wound, delivered with surgical precision.

The words hit Mohawk like physical blows, each one landing with accuracy on his most vulnerable spots. He flinched, his face momentarily betraying the raw wound that still festered beneath his brash exterior. For a heartbeat, the swagger and bravado fell away, revealing the broken man beneath.

"Fuck you," he spat, but the words lacked their usual venom, hollowed out by the truth in Omni's assessment. His fingers trembled slightly around Y/N's, as if afraid she might dissolve into nothing if he let go.

Sinister's grin returned, wider than ever, feeding on the emotional distress like a shark scenting blood in the water. He slid closer, moving with that unnatural fluidity that made him seem more shadow than solid. "Oh, did we touch a nerve? Poor baby Mohawk, still crying over spilled girlfriend?" His voice was a singsong mockery, designed to cut deep.

Before anyone could react, Mohawk launched himself at Sinister, releasing Y/N's hand for the first time in hours. His fist connected with Sinister's jaw with a thunderclap sound that shook the cabin's foundations, sending both of them crashing through the already damaged wall and into the clearing outside. The impact sent splinters of wood flying in all directions, the cabin itself groaning in protest at the abuse.

Omni didn't move to stop them, simply sighing as if dealing with particularly troublesome children. He glanced down at Y/N, still miraculously unconscious despite the chaos erupting around her. The black lenses of his mask kept his emotions sealed away, but he couldn't help but admire the dawn light caught on her features, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the fan of her eyelashes against her skin, the beautiful texturing of her face.

His gaze lingered on the angry red burn around her neck where the collar had chafed, and something tightened in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation he couldn't immediately identify. The urge to reach out, to trace those marks with his fingertips, to soothe the damaged skin, caught him off guard with its intensity. In his universe, weakness was something to be despised, eliminated, she was weak. Yet seeing Y/N injured sparked not contempt but a fierce, protective impulse that both confused and disturbed him.

Outside, the sounds of combat intensified—trees splintering, earth trembling, the distinctive crack of breaking bones followed by inhuman howls of pain and rage. Omni moved to the broken wall, watching dispassionately as Mohawk and Sinister tore into each other with abandon, each blow powerful enough to level city blocks. Mohawk fought with raw fury, his attacks wild but devastating, while Sinister moved like liquid darkness, his laughter echoing through the forest despite the blood streaming from his mouth.

"Predictable," Omni murmured, shaking his head slightly. His attention returned to Y/N, studying her with calculating intensity. In his universe, he had a Y/N– and she was diagnosed with... He had never allowed himself before to have such a weakness, such an obvious pressure point for enemies to exploit. But looking at her now, compared to his. She looked so much healthier than his Y/n, and he could understand the appeal. The vulnerability. The humanity she represented.

A movement at the treeline caught his attention—a flash of white, there and gone so quickly it might have been imagination. But Omni knew better. His enhanced vision had captured the distinctive white uniform of Viltrumite Mark, watching from the shadows of the forest, a predator biding his time.

Interesting, Omni thought. So the old man isn't out destroying cities with the others. He's keeping watch.

The realization shifted his mental calculations. If Viltrumite was this invested already, the dynamics between the eight of them would grow even more complicated than anticipated. Another contender for Y/N's attention. Another threat to manage.

A particularly violent crash from outside drew his attention back to the fight. Sinister had Mohawk pinned against a massive pine, one hand wrapped around his throat while the other formed into something like a blade, poised to plunge into Mohawk's chest. Sinister's face was a mask of ecstasy, as if Mohawk's suffering was the sweetest nectar.

"Enough!" Omni commanded, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing, echoing through the trees with supernatural projection.

Both combatants froze, their heads turning in unison toward the cabin. Sinister's face was split in a rictus of joy, dark red leaking from a cut on his cheek, his black and yellow suit torn in places to reveal unnaturally pale skin beneath. Mohawk looked worse for wear, his mohawk completely flattened, one eye swollen shut, blood streaming from his nose and split lip, but still burning with defiance.

"He started it," Sinister whined, not loosening his grip on Mohawk's throat. His blade-hand hovered centimeters from Mohawk's chest, trembling slightly with restrained violence.

"And I'm ending it," Omni replied coldly, stepping through the ragged hole in the cabin wall. "Release him. Now." The command brooked no argument, delivered with the absolute authority of someone accustomed to having his every word obeyed.

For a moment, it seemed Sinister might refuse—might drive that blade-hand into Mohawk's chest just to prove he could, consequences be damned. But something in Omni's stance, in the quiet certainty of his command, made even Sinister hesitate.

With visible reluctance, he lowered Mohawk to the ground and stepped back, his suit rippling with barely contained violence. The blade melted back into a hand, though the fingers remained unnaturally elongated, twitching with bloodlust.

"Spoilsport," he muttered, but the killing edge had faded from his voice, replaced with childish petulance.

Mohawk massaged his throat, spitting a glob of blood onto the forest floor. The crimson splatter stood out stark against the loamy earth, a testament to the violence that always seemed to follow in their wake. "This isn't fucking over," he promised Sinister, already pushing himself upright despite his injuries, his battered pride more wounded than his body.

"I certainly hope not," Sinister replied with a wink that somehow managed to be both flirtatious and threatening. "I was just getting started." He licked his lips, tasting Mohawk's blood that had splattered there, savoring it like fine wine.

Omni stepped fully through the broken wall, moving to stand between them once more. "We need to establish some ground rules," he stated firmly. 

"This childish territorial behavior stops now. We have a mission—first, we already removed Y/N's collar without killing her, now when she walks we can use her to access GDA's central database through the broken remains." His tone was that of a general outlining a battle plan, brooking no argument.

"And after?" Mohawk demanded, his gaze darting between Omni and the cabin where Y/N still lay unconscious. Blood dripped from his chin, spattering his blue and black suit, but he seemed not to notice, all his focus on Y/N's fate.

A slight smile curved Omni's lips. "After, we'll discuss arrangements. But for now—" He turned to face the treeline directly, raising his voice slightly. "Why don't you join us, Viltrumite? Lurking in shadows doesn't suit a man of your... stature."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the sounds of forest wildlife beginning their morning routines, oblivious to the godlike beings in their midst. Then, with deliberate slowness, a figure emerged from between the ancient pines.

Viltrumite Mark moved with the confidence of someone who had never known true defeat. His white uniform gleamed in the early morning light, pristine despite the forest surroundings, the material somehow repelling even the morning dew. Unlike the others, who wore their power like a threat or a shield, Viltrumite carried his like birthright—unquestioned, absolute. His posture was military-straight, chin raised in perpetual superiority, eyes cold and assessing beneath hooded lids.

"Omni," he acknowledged with a slight inclination of his head. His eyes flicked dismissively over Mohawk and Sinister before returning to Omni. "I see your babysitting duties are keeping you occupied." There was just the faintest curl of contempt in his tone, the barest hint of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth.

Sinister hissed, the sound more reptilian than human, his suit rippling in response to his agitation. Mohawk's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking loudly, fresh blood welling from his split knuckles.

"Merely maintaining order," Omni replied smoothly, unruffled by the implied slight. "Though I'm curious why you're here instead of razing cities on this planet with the others." His tone was conversational, but his stance had shifted subtly—more alert, ready for whatever came next.

Viltrumite's expression remained impassive, but something calculating flickered in his eyes. "Emperor and Prisoner were enthusiastic enough for all of us. I thought my time might be better spent... observing." He glanced toward the cabin, and though his face revealed nothing, his eyes lingered just a fraction too long on the gap in the wall where Y/N's unconscious form was just visible on the bed inside.

"Spying, you mean," Mohawk accused bluntly, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. The morning light caught the scarlet smear, making it gleam wetly against his skin. "You're not fooling anyone with your superior act, old man."

Viltrumite barely spared him a glance, regarding him with the casual disdain one might show an insect. "Call it what you will. I prefer to know what pieces are in play before committing to a strategy." The way he stood—perfectly still, unnaturally composed—made him seem more like a statue than a living being, save for the calculating intelligence that burned behind his eyes.

"Pieces?" Mohawk's voice rose dangerously, his battered face contorting with fresh rage. The blood vessels in his neck stood out like ropes as he took a threatening step forward. "She's not a fucking chess piece, she's—"

"A resource," Viltrumite cut him off coldly, finally deigning to look directly at Mohawk. "One we need alive and cooperative. Your emotional attachment is..." His lip curled slightly, the first real expression to crack his marble façade. "Inefficient."

Before Mohawk could launch himself at yet another Mark, a faint sound from inside the cabin froze them all—a soft moan, barely audible, but to their enhanced hearing, it might as well have been a thunderclap.

As one, they turned toward the cabin, all pretense of disinterest abandoned. Even Viltrumite's carefully maintained indifference cracked, something hungry flashing across his features before he could suppress it—and beneath that hunger, something softer, almost vulnerable, that vanished so quickly it might have been a trick of the morning light.

"She's waking up," Sinister breathed, his voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper. The manic energy that typically animated his every movement stilled suddenly, replaced by an intense focus that was somehow more disturbing than his usual chaos.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, as if released from a starting gate, all four marks surged toward the cabin—Mohawk and Sinister actually colliding in their haste to be first through the broken wall, Omni and Viltrumite close behind, their usual dignity forgotten in their eagerness to witness Y/N's awakening.

Inside, Y/N's eyelids fluttered, her breathing pattern changing as consciousness began to return. Her fingers twitched against the sheets, her head turning slightly on the pillow as awareness slowly filtered back. A grimace of pain crossed her features even before her eyes fluttered open, her body registering the damage before her mind fully awakened.

Mohawk shoved past Sinister, reaching the bedside first by mere inches. He dropped to his knees beside her, his expression a complex mixture of hope, fear, and naked longing that would have shocked anyone who knew only his brash exterior. Blood still dripped from his injuries, but he seemed entirely unaware of his own condition, all his attention focused on Y/N's awakening.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his normally abrasive voice gentled to something almost tender. The transformation was jarring—like watching a hurricane suddenly calm to a gentle breeze. "Can you hear me?"

Sinister crowded in beside him, his grin feral with anticipation. "Wake up, little one," he crooned, the sound somehow both soothing and deeply unsettling, like a lullaby sung by a demon. His hand hovered just above her cheek, not quite touching, as if savoring the moment before contact. "We have so much to discuss."

Omni and Viltrumite maintained a slight distance, both too controlled to show the same naked eagerness as the others, but their intensity was no less palpable. Omni's hands were clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles had whitened, the only visible sign of his internal struggle. His eyes never left Y/N's face, cataloging every flicker of expression, every micro-movement as consciousness returned.

Viltrumite stood perfectly still, his breathing barely perceptible, yet there was an almost palpable aura of anticipation surrounding him. The usual cold superiority in his eyes had warmed to something more complex—a mixture of calculation, desire, and proprietary interest that transformed his entire demeanor.

The small cabin seemed to shrink around them, the air growing thick with tension and expectation. The morning light spilling through the gaps in the walls caught dust motes dancing in the air, creating an almost surreal atmosphere around the tableau of identical men gathered around the bed.

Y/N's eyes opened fully at last, unfocused at first, blinking rapidly against the light. A soft whimper of pain escaped her as she tried to move, her body clearly registering the full extent of her injuries from the previous day's battle. Bruises blossomed across her visible skin in violent purples and yellows, and dried blood matted a section of her hair where she'd taken a particularly brutal hit.

Her gaze slowly focused on the impossible sight before her—four identical faces with wildly different expressions, all staring down at her with varying degrees of possession and hunger.

Her lips parted, and the four Marks leaned forward slightly, each desperate to hear her first words in this strange new reality they'd thrust her into.

"What..." Her voice emerged hoarse, rusty from disuse and the trauma of the collar. She swallowed painfully, wincing as the motion irritated the raw skin of her neck, her hand instinctively rising to touch the injury before falling back weakly to the bed. "What the fuck is going on?"

Mohawk's face split into a genuine grin, a bark of laughter escaping him that seemed to contain equal parts relief and delight. "That's my girl," he said softly, the possessive pronoun slipping out before he could stop it. His smile faltered slightly as he realized his mistake, but the pride in his eyes remained undimmed.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, focusing specifically on him. She tried to push herself up on her elbows but collapsed back with a hiss of pain, her muscles trembling with the effort. Recognition flickered across her features—not of him personally, but of the situation, memories rushing back in a disorienting flood.

"You," she managed, her voice strengthening slightly despite the raw pain evident in every syllable. "All of you. The bridge. The fighting." Her eyes immediately widened, her hand rose with more strength this time, instinctively to her neck, fingers tracing the burn left by the collar. Every movement was clearly agonizing, her body a map of pain from the confrontation. "You took me."

"Rescued," Viltrumite corrected smoothly, stepping closer. His white uniform caught the light, creating an almost halo-like effect that contrasted sharply with the cold authority in his voice. "The term is rescued, my dear." The endearment sounded strange coming from him—formal, archaic, yet undeniably possessive.

Y/N's gaze shifted to him, taking in the white uniform, the authoritative stance. Her breath caught momentarily, a flash of something like recognition crossing her features, but not the kind any of them hoped for—this was recognition of danger, of power unchecked by conscience. She shrank back against the pillows, her body language screaming distrust despite her weakened state.

"Kidnapped," she countered, voice firm despite her obvious weakness. Every word seemed to cost her, but her eyes blazed with defiance.

"The term is fucking kidnapped." She attempted once more to sit up, her face contorting with pain as her abused muscles protested.

Omni made an aborted movement toward her, his hand extending slightly before he caught himself and resumed his rigid posture. The brief slip in his composure did not go unnoticed by the others—Sinister's grin widened knowingly, and Viltrumite's eyes narrowed with calculation.

Sinister laughed delightedly, clapping his hands together like a child at a particularly entertaining show. "Oh, she has spirit! I like this one even more now." His eyes gleamed with manic enthusiasm, his entire body vibrating with barely contained energy. "So much more fun when they fight back."

Y/N struggled again to sit up, her muscles protesting after hours of unconsciousness and the brutal beating she'd endured. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the effort, her teeth gritted against the pain that clearly radiated through every limb. Mohawk moved to help her, but she flinched away from his touch, eyes wide with distrust.

"Don't," she warned, the single syllable sharp with fear and determination. Her hand raised weakly in a warding gesture, trembling with the effort.

Mohawk froze, his hand suspended in midair, something raw and wounded flashing across his features before he could mask it. The rejection hit him visibly, like a physical blow, cracking through his usual bravado. He withdrew slowly, jaw clenching, shoulders hunching slightly inward in a defensive posture that betrayed his hurt.

"We're not going to hurt you," Omni said, his voice calm and reasonable—the voice of a man used to being believed. Yet beneath that reasonable tone lurked something else—concern, genuine and unexpected. His gaze lingered on her trembling form, on the visible evidence of her suffering, and something in his expression softened fractionally. "We need your help."

"My help?" Y/N repeated incredulously, looking from one Mark to the next. Her laugh was bitter, ending in a wince as the movement jarred her injured ribs. "You killed people. I saw you. On the bridge, in the city." Her voice rose slightly, cracking with emotion. "You're monsters."

Sinister preened at this, as if she'd paid him a compliment, running his hands down his suit in a gesture of mock modesty. "You flatter me, darling." His tongue flicked out, unnaturally long, wetting his lips in a gesture that was deliberately provocative.

Viltrumite's expression remained impassive, not bothering to deny or justify the slaughter. In his world, such casualties were beneath notice, unworthy of acknowledgment.

Omni had the grace to look slightly troubled, a frown creasing his brow momentarily before his face smoothed back to careful neutrality. "Regrettable but necessary casualties," he said, the words practiced, as if recited from a script he'd used many times before.

But it was Mohawk's reaction that caught her attention—a flinch, subtle but unmistakable, as if her words had struck a physical blow. His eyes dropped, unable to meet her accusing gaze. "Not all of us," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "Some of us just... got caught up in the wrong crowd." The excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears, his usual swagger entirely absent.

Sinister snorted derisively, the sound oddly wet and inhuman. "Please. You tore through groups of civilians like tissue paper, laughing. Don't pretend you're any better than the rest of us." His grin was knife-sharp, delighting in exposing Mohawk's hypocrisy. "I still remember that mother and child—how you separated them with one punch. Such beautiful screams."

"At least I'm not proud of it," Mohawk shot back, eyes still fixed on Y/N's face, drinking in her features with desperate intensity. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, yearning to reach for her yet respecting the boundary she'd established.

Y/N pushed herself further up against the headboard, each movement a study in agony, her face pale and drawn with pain and shock. She tried to put as much distance between herself and the four identical men as the small bed would allow. Her eyes darted between them, calculating, assessing—looking for weaknesses, for differences, for any advantage she might use.

"Why me?" she finally asked, her voice steadier now despite the rasp. One hand cradled her ribs protectively, while the other braced against the headboard for support. "What do you want?"

The four Marks exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them—perhaps the first moment of genuine unity since they'd arrived in this universe.

"First we wanted more universes for ourselves, but now. We need her to access data from the broken collar remains," Omni explained, gesturing toward her neck, then to his hand where he was holding the torn piece of metal. "It contains access codes to the GDA's central database. Information we need. I believe you can only access it." His tone was businesslike, but his eyes lingered on the angry burns circling her throat with an expression that might almost have been a concern.

Y/N's hand flew to her neck again, fingertips tracing the raised, angry flesh where the metal had burned her. "This? T-that was a security measure! It doesn't hold anything–! " Disbelief colored her voice as she explored the extent of the damage, wincing as her fingers encountered particularly sensitive areas.

"One they were willing to let kill you rather than have it fall into the wrong hands," Viltrumite added, his voice carrying a note of genuine disgust. "Humans. Always ready to sacrifice their own." Despite his contemptuous words, there was something almost protective in his stance as he watched her—the tension in his shoulders, the slight forward tilt of his body, as if ready to catch her should she fall.

Something flashed in Y/N's eyes at his dismissive tone—a spark of defiance, of anger cutting through the pain and fear. "And what would you know about sacrifice? You're not even from this universe." Each word was delivered with precision despite her weakened state, targeting Viltrumite's obvious superiority complex.

Viltrumite's carefully controlled expression slipped for just a moment, revealing something ancient and pained beneath—a wound so deep and well-guarded that its brief exposure was shocking. "More than you might imagine," he said softly, surprising even himself with the admission. For just an instant, the marble façade cracked, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the imperial bearing.

The atmosphere in the cabin shifted subtly, charged with unspoken histories. Outside, the forest had fully awakened, birds calling to each other in the morning light that streamed through the broken wall and shattered window, creating a surreal backdrop to the tense scene within.

Y/N looked between them again, her gaze settling on each Mark in turn, noting the differences in their expressions, their postures, the way they carried themselves despite wearing the same face. Her analytical scrutiny was impressive given her condition—strength of mind persisting despite her body's weakness.

"So what happens now?" she asked, her voice carrying a forced calm, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her fear. A light sheen of sweat covered her forehead from the effort of remaining upright, her breathing shallow and carefully controlled to minimize the pain in her ribs. "You removed my collar, going to get your information, and then what? Kill me? Let me go?"

"Kill you?" Mohawk looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion, recoiling physically as if she'd struck him. "No one's fucking killing you." The words burst from him with such raw sincerity that even Sinister's mocking grin faltered momentarily.

"We wouldn't waste such a valuable resource," Viltrumite stated pragmatically, earning a murderous glare from Mohawk. His choice of words was deliberately cold, but there was something in his eyes that contradicted his tone—a possessiveness that went beyond mere utility.

"What my less eloquent companions are trying to say," Omni interjected smoothly, stepping forward slightly, "is that your welfare is of concern to us." His voice was measured, reasonable—the voice of a negotiator, a leader. Yet beneath that calm exterior, something protective lurked, evident in the way his eyes continually assessed her injuries, cataloging each wince, each labored breath.

Sinister's grin widened impossibly. "Some more than others," he purred, eyes glittering with malicious amusement. He circled behind Mohawk, moving with that unnatural fluid grace, like a predator stalking its prey. "Our Mohawk here knew another you in his universe. She died. Very tragic. He's been crying about it for... how long has it been now? Eighteen months, two weeks, and four days?" The precise count was designed to wound, and it found its mark perfectly.

"Shut the fuck up," Mohawk snarled, half-rising from his position beside the bed. His fists clenched so tightly that fresh blood welled between his knuckles, dripping unnoticed to the rough wooden floor.

Y/N's eyes widened, her gaze fixing on Mohawk with new understanding. The pain of her physical injuries momentarily forgotten in the face of this revelation. "Is that true?" Her voice had softened slightly, the first hint of something other than fear or defiance entering her tone.

Mohawk looked away, unable to meet her eyes, the vulnerability in his expression a stark contrast to his aggressive posture. The usually arrogant set of his shoulders slumped, his mohawk seeming to droop along with his spirits. "It's complicated." The words were barely audible, forced through a throat tight with suppressed emotion.

"Oh, it's not complicated at all," Sinister continued, reveling in the discomfort he was causing. He circled behind Mohawk like a predator stalking wounded prey, his movements fluid and unnatural—too smooth to be human because he wasn't, he was a god in his eyes. The black portions of his suit seemed to absorb what little light touched them, creating shifting shadows that danced across his form. "She died in his arms. Blood everywhere. Very messy." His eyes gleamed with malicious delight, pupils dilating slightly at the memory of violence. "He's been a mess ever since. And now he thinks you're his second chance."

He leaned closer to Y/N, the temperature around him dropping several degrees as he moved. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, sweet as honey yet laced with poison. "He's not the only one with a history, though. We've all got our little... attachments."

The air in the cabin seemed to thicken with tension, dust motes frozen in the thin beams of sunlight breaking through the damaged walls. Y/N's labored breathing was painfully audible in the silence that followed.

"Enough," Omni commanded, steel beneath his reasonable tone. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of the emotion roiling beneath his controlled exterior. His eyes flickered briefly to Y/N's form—noting how she struggled to stay upright, the way her arms trembled with the effort of supporting her weight, the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she tried to breathe through obvious pain. His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to go to her, to support her battered body, to examine her injuries with his own hands nearly overwhelming his carefully maintained composure.

Y/N's gaze shifted to him, newly curious despite the pain etched into her features. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through her battered form, yet her eyes remained sharp, analytical. "What does he mean?" Blood had dried in her hairline, and bruises in various stages of development created a map of violence across her visible skin. When she shifted, a barely suppressed whimper escaped her lips.

Omni maintained his stoic expression, but something flickered behind his eyes—a shadow of memory, grief carefully controlled and compartmentalized. His posture remained rigid, hands clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles whitened. "It's irrelevant to our current situation." The words were clipped, precise, but lacked his usual authoritative conviction.

"Oh, I don't think it's irrelevant at all," Sinister crooned, moving like liquid shadow to circle behind Omni. His grin stretched wider than should have been physically possible, teeth gleaming unnaturally sharp in the dim light. "Tell her about your Y/N, Omni. The one who wasted away while you watched, helpless." His voice took on a sing-song quality, the cadence wrong, inhuman. "All your power, all your control, and you couldn't save her from something as simple as cancer. How your father watched you break, decided you were too weak, too emotional." His tongue flicked out, tasting the pain his words caused. "How you proved him wrong by ripping him apart."

Omni's jaw tightened further, a muscle jumping at his temple—the only visible sign of the rage building inside him. His red and gray suit seemed to darken with his mood, the shadows in the cabin deepening around him. "I said enough." The temperature in the cabin dropped several degrees with those three words.

But Y/N was looking at him differently now, seeing past the calm authority to something vulnerable beneath. Each breath clearly caused her pain, yet she leaned forward slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured ribs. "You lost someone too," she said softly, not a question but a realization. Blood had crusted at the corner of her mouth, her lips cracked and dry.

"We all did," Viltrumite said unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention. He stood perfectly still, his white uniform catching the morning light, making him appear almost luminous against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. His imperial bearing seemed at odds with the weathered walls around him, like a marble statue placed in a garden shed. "In different ways." His voice carried the weight of centuries, of losses cataloged and filed away but never truly forgotten.

Sinister's grin was practically predatory now, delighting in pulling back the curtain on each of their carefully guarded pasts. He bounced on the balls of his feet, the manic energy within him impossible to contain. "Oh yes, tell her your story, old man. About how daddy dearest killed your precious human pet when you tried to bring her into the empire." His voice dripped with false sympathy, each word carefully chosen to cause maximum damage.

Viltrumite's face remained impassive, but his eyes—those were different now, burning with a cold fury that made the temperature in the cabin seem to drop further. The frost in his gaze could have frozen oceans. "She wasn't a pet," he said, each word precise, controlled, yet containing the force of avalanches. "She was mine. And my father took her from me because she was human. Weak. Unworthy of the empire." His gaze fixed on Y/N with uncomfortable intensity, drinking in her features with possessive hunger. "But you're different. You have Viltrumite blood, however diluted. You're stronger. You could survive."

Y/N stared at him, a chill running down her spine at the implication in his words. She tried to push herself further upright but collapsed back with a pained gasp, her body simply too damaged to obey her commands. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the effort, her skin ashen beneath the bruises and dirt. "Survive what?" The question emerged as little more than a whisper, her throat raw from the collar's damage.

"The empire, of course," Viltrumite answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly, leaning toward her like a planet drawn to a sun. "Where you belong. At my side." The possessiveness in his tone was absolute, brooking no argument or alternative.

"That's not happening," Mohawk growled, shoving himself between Y/N and Viltrumite. His mohawk seemed to bristle with his rising anger, like the hackles of a threatened animal. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl, blood still dripping from his split lip, giving him a savage appearance. "She's not going anywhere with you." Despite his aggressive stance, when he glanced back at Y/N, his expression softened momentarily, eyes lingering on her injuries with poorly disguised concern.

"She's not going anywhere with any of you," a new voice interrupted, and all heads turned toward the broken wall.

Phantom Mark stood there, his translucent suit catching the light in eerie, otherworldly patterns that seemed to bend reality around him. Unlike the others, his expression was solemn, almost sad, as he surveyed the scene before him. His eyes lingered on Y/N's battered form, something like regret flickering across his features before it was swiftly buried.

"The others are coming back," he announced, his voice echoing slightly as though coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Emperor and No-Mask have finished their fun in the city." His lip curled slightly at the word 'fun,' a brief flash of disapproval breaking through his ghostly demeanor. "Prisoner is on his way too."

Sinister clapped his hands together with childish glee, the sound unnaturally sharp in the tense atmosphere. His entire body vibrated with excitement, the black portions of his suit rippling in response. "Oh, the gang's all here! This should be interesting." He rubbed his hands together, the motion too quick, too eager—a child anticipating a particularly enjoyable game.

Y/N's face had gone pale, her eyes fixed on Phantom, the little color that remained draining from her cheeks. Her breathing quickened, pulling painfully at her damaged ribs, each inhalation a struggle. "How many cities did you destroy?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the cabin like a blade.

Phantom had the grace to look away, unable to meet her accusatory gaze. The translucent portions of his suit seemed to dim, absorbing rather than reflecting the morning light that tried to touch it. "Enough." The single word carried a weight of unspoken justifications and buried guilt.

"Enough?" she repeated, her voice rising with incredulity despite the pain it clearly caused her. Her hands clenched in the rough blanket beneath her, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. "People are dead because of you—all of you—and that's all you can say? 'Enough'?" Each word seemed to cost her, pain flashing across her features, yet her eyes blazed with righteous fury.

"Collateral damage," Viltrumite dismissed with a small wave of his hand, the gesture imperious, accustomed to wiping away concerns beneath his notice. His white uniform seemed to glow brighter in the shaft of sunlight that fell across him, creating an almost holy aura that contrasted sharply with the callousness of his words. "Inconsequential in the larger scheme."

"Inconsequential?" Y/N's voice cracked, rage and grief warring in her expression. She pushed herself upright despite the obvious agony it caused her, one arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, the other braced against the headboard for support. Blood had begun to seep through her shirt where wounds had reopened with her movement. "They were people! With families, with lives, with—"

"With an expiration date," Sinister cut in, his voice suddenly cold, all playfulness gone. His eyes darkened, pupils expanding until they nearly swallowed the irises. "All humans die, darling. Today, tomorrow, sixty years from now—what difference does it make? We just... accelerated the inevitable." He licked his lips slowly, savoring her reaction like a fine wine.

The casual cruelty of his statement hung in the air like poison, and something shifted in Y/N's expression—fear giving way to a different emotion entirely. Determination. Resolve. She straightened as much as her battered body would allow, a fresh trickle of blood making its way down her temple from a reopened wound.

"You're all monsters," she said again, but this time there was no fear in her voice, only certainty. The morning light caught in her eyes, igniting them with inner fire despite her physical weakness. "Every single one of you."

Mohawk winced, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. His shoulders hunched inward, his usual aggressive posture crumpling like paper. "Y/N, it's not—we're not all—" His voice cracked, unusual vulnerability breaking through his abrasive exterior. For a moment, the dangerous predator vanished, replaced by someone broken, desperate for understanding.

"Save it," she cut him off coldly, though her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than the others. "I don't care what version of you lost what version of me. I am not her. I will never be her. And I will never, ever help any of you after what you've done." Each declaration was punctuated by a labored breath, her body trembling with the effort of remaining upright, yet her resolve never wavered.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of forest life continuing on, oblivious to the drama unfolding within the cabin's walls. Y/N's ragged breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness, each painful inhalation a reminder of her mortality among these godlike beings.

Then Sinister started to laugh—a low, dangerous sound that built steadily, filling the small space with malevolent mirth. The sound was wrong, inhuman, echoing in impossible ways. "Oh, you think you have a choice," he said when his laughter finally subsided, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "That's adorable." The word dripped with condescension and dark promise.

He moved toward her with preternatural speed, faster than the others could react. The black portions of his suit seemed to extend and flow as he moved, like living shadows eager for the kill. His hand shot out, grabbing her chin in a grip that was just shy of crushing, forcing her to look directly into his face. The contrast of his black glove against her skin made her appear even more fragile, more human.

"Let me tell you about my Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room. His face was inches from hers, his breath caressing her skin like a poisonous fog. "She was human too. Fragile. Breakable. But she was mine, and I cherished her in my own way. Played with her. Sometimes too rough." His grin widened, showing too many teeth, sharp and gleaming in the dim light. "But she loved it. Or learned to. Until a hero decided to 'rescue' her from me."

His grip tightened slightly, and Y/N couldn't suppress a small sound of pain. Fresh bruises began forming under his fingers, blooming like dark flowers on her skin. "Know what happened then? This 'hero' killed her right in front of me. Said she was 'tainted' by her association with me. Too far gone to save. Put his hand right through her chest." Sinister mimicked the motion with his free hand, making a brutal tearing gesture that displaced the air with an audible whoosh. "That was the day I learned what I really was. What I was capable of." The black parts of his suit seemed to writhe with the memory, responding to his emotions like a living extension of his being.

"Let. Her. Go." Mohawk's voice was deadly quiet, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to release. The blue and black of his suit seemed to darken with his rage, the bruises on his face standing out in stark relief against his pale skin. His hands had formed into fists so tight that fresh blood welled between his knuckles, dripping unnoticed to the rough wooden floor.

Sinister ignored him, his eyes never leaving Y/N's. The pupils had expanded unnaturally beneath his black lenses, almost hypnotic in their intensity. "You think you know what monsters are? You haven't seen anything yet, darling. But you will. And you will help us, whether you want to or not. Because the alternative..." His voice trailed off, the threat clear in his gleaming eyes, his thumb brushing almost tenderly across her cheekbone, leaving a smear of blood in its wake.

"That's enough," Omni said, his voice carrying the weight of command. He took a step forward, red and gray suit catching the light differently now, seeming to absorb it rather than reflect it. The temperature around him dropped perceptibly, frost forming on the wooden floor where he stood. "Release her, Sinister. Now." Each word fell like a hammer blow, precise and devastating.

For a moment, it seemed Sinister might refuse. The black portions of his suit rippled with anticipation, reaching toward Y/N like hungry tentacles. Then, with deliberate slowness, he uncurled his fingers from Y/N's chin, leaving angry red marks that would soon bloom into bruises. His fingertips lingered a moment too long, trailing down her jaw with possessive intimacy.

"As you wish," he said with exaggerated courtesy, stepping back with a theatrical bow. "For now." The promise of later hung in the air between them, dark and inevitable.

Y/N's hand went to her chin, rubbing the sore spots where his fingers had dug in. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of fear and defiance as she looked around at the gathered Marks. Despite her obvious pain—the way her breath caught when she moved too quickly, the subtle tremor in her limbs from exhaustion and trauma—her spine remained straight, her gaze unwavering.

"I will never help you," she repeated, each word deliberate and clear despite her raw throat. Blood had begun to seep through the fabric at her side, her injuries reopening with each movement. "Not willingly."

"Then we'll have to persuade you," came another voice from the doorway, this one hard and imperious, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Emperor Mark stood there, resplendent in his yellow and blue-gray uniform, the very picture of regal authority. Sunlight caught on the golden accents of his suit, creating a corona around his imposing figure. His stance was wide, commanding, a ruler accustomed to immediate obedience. Behind him loomed No-Mask, his unmarked face a stark contrast to his blood-spattered uniform, eyes cold and distant, as if still seeing the destruction he'd left behind.

"Persuasion takes many forms," Emperor continued, stepping into the already crowded cabin with easy confidence. His boots left imprints in the wooden floor, such was the weight of his presence. His eyes settled on Y/N with the calculated interest of a collector assessing a rare acquisition. "Not all of them unpleasant."

"Some of them very pleasant indeed," Sinister added with a lascivious wink that made Y/N's skin crawl visibly. His tongue flicked out, unnaturally long, wetting his lips in a deliberately provocative gesture.

Mohawk growled low in his throat, positioning himself more firmly between Y/N and the newcomers. His mohawk stood in rigid spikes, as if electrified by his anger. Blood still dripped from his various wounds, but he seemed entirely unaware of his injuries, every sense focused on protecting the woman behind him. "Back off, Emperor. She's been through enough." His voice was rough gravel, yet beneath the hostility lay something almost tender when referring to Y/N.

Emperor looked down at him with thinly veiled contempt, one eyebrow arched in aristocratic disdain. The golden highlights of his uniform caught the light as he shifted, casting imperial patterns across the cabin's weathered walls. "Your attachment is clouding your judgment, Mohawk. This isn't about her comfort. It's about what we need." He spoke with the absolute certainty of one who had never been denied, each syllable weighted with unquestioned authority.

"And what we need," Omni interjected smoothly, stepping forward with calculated precision, "is her cooperation. Which we won't get through intimidation or coercion." The reasonable tone couldn't entirely mask the steel beneath his words. His eyes flickered to Y/N again, noting how the color had drained from her face, how each breath seemed to cost her. Something in his rigid posture softened minutely. "We can give you time. To adjust. To understand the situation. But make no mistake—one way or another, we will access the broken collar remains."

Y/N looked around at the seven Marks now crowding the small cabin, each wearing the same face but with wildly different expressions—from Sinister's malevolent glee to Mohawk's desperate protectiveness, from Emperor's cold calculation to Phantom's resigned sadness. The morning light caught different aspects of each of them—glinting off Emperor's golden accents, absorbed by the shadows of Sinister's suit, highlighting the blood still wet on No-Mask's uniform.

For the first time since waking, genuine fear flickered across her features, breaking through her defiant facade. One Mark she might have had a chance against. Two, possibly, if she was clever. But seven, with an eighth somewhere nearby? The odds were impossible. A tremor ran through her battered body, visible to all with their enhanced vision, a painful reminder of her humanity among these godlike beings.

"One day," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm despite the pain evident in every syllable. She swallowed hard, wincing as the motion aggravated her damaged throat, the burns from the collar angry and raw against her skin. "Give me one day to... process this. Then we'll talk about the collar."

The Marks exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them—calculation, consideration, desire—all focused on the battered woman before them.

"One day," Omni agreed, speaking for the group, his voice carrying the weight of a contract signed in blood. "Starting now."

Y/N nodded slowly, her movements careful, measured against the pain that clearly radiated through every fiber of her being. Her mind was visibly racing behind those defiant eyes, looking for angles, for weaknesses, for any possible way out of the impossible situation she found herself in. Despite her condition, there was a sharpness to her gaze that spoke of intelligence, of calculation beneath the pain.

"I'd like some privacy," she said, her voice stronger now, drawing on reserves of will that impressed even Viltrumite, whose eyes narrowed slightly with newfound appreciation. "And food, if you have any." Her hand pressed against her side where blood had begun to seep through her clothing, her face paling further with the movement.

"I'll get it," Mohawk volunteered instantly, eager for any excuse to be useful to her. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by an almost puppyish eagerness that would have been comical under other circumstances. He turned toward what passed for a kitchen area, moving with barely contained energy, casting frequent glances back at Y/N as if afraid she might disappear if he looked away too long.

"And I'll ensure she has privacy," Viltrumite stated in a tone that brooked no argument, positioning himself near the broken wall like a sentinel. His white uniform caught the sunlight streaming through the gaps, creating an almost ethereal glow around his imposing figure. His eyes never left Y/N, drinking in her features with possessive intensity. "No one approaches without my permission."

The others began to file out, each casting lingering glances at Y/N as they went—some calculating, some hungry, some almost sorrowful. Emperor's cape rustled as he turned, the sound of expensive fabric incongruous in the rustic cabin. No-Mask followed silently, his bloodstained hands flexing at his sides, eyes distant as if already contemplating further destruction. Phantom drifted toward the door, his translucent form seeming to merge with the morning light before solidifying again.

Only Sinister paused in the doorway, turning back with that too-wide grin that stretched the boundaries of what a human face should be capable of. The black portions of his suit seemed to reach toward Y/N, living shadows hungry for her touch. "Sweet dreams, darling," he crooned, voice honeyed poison. "I'll be seeing you... very soon." His tongue flicked out one last time before he melted into the shadows outside, his laughter lingering in the air like a bad smell.

When they had all gone except for Viltrumite standing guard at the perimeter and Mohawk rummaging through the cabin's sparse supplies, Y/N finally allowed herself to slump back against the pillows, exhaustion and fear catching up with her in a rush. A soft whimper escaped her lips as the movement jarred her injuries, the sound quickly stifled as she bit down hard on her lower lip. Blood welled from where her teeth had broken the skin, adding to the collection of wounds that mapped the violence visited upon her body.

One day. She had one day to figure out how to escape seven—no, eight—versions of the most powerful being on Earth, each with their own agenda, each seeing her as something to be possessed. Each wearing the face of someone who had once been her ally, her friend...perhaps more. The cruel irony wasn't lost on her even through the haze of pain that clouded her thoughts.

As Mohawk approached with a tin of what looked like soup and a relatively clean spoon, his expression so nakedly hopeful it would have been pitiful under other circumstances, Y/N made herself meet his eyes. She saw past the cocky exterior, the crude jokes and aggressive posturing, to the raw wound beneath—a man who had lost everything and saw in her face a second chance he knew he didn't deserve.

"Thank you," she said quietly, accepting the food, making sure their fingers didn't touch in the exchange. The simple act of holding the tin sent fresh waves of pain through her damaged muscles, but she refused to show weakness, gripping it with white-knuckled determination.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough with emotion, nothing like his usual brash tones. His mohawk seemed to droop slightly, reflecting his uncertainty. Blood had dried in dark rivulets down his face, but he made no move to wipe it away, all his attention focused on her. "I know you're not her. I know that. But—"

"Don't," she cut him off gently, a softness in her tone that hadn't been there before. Despite everything, there was something in his naked vulnerability that touched her. "Please. Not now." The unspoken 'maybe later' hung between them, a crumb of hope she wasn't sure she meant to offer.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, nodding jerkily. "Right. Yeah. You need space. I get it." He backed away, his movements awkward, uncertain, so different from the confident swagger he'd shown earlier. The blue and black of his suit seemed dimmer somehow, reflecting his dejected mood. "I'll just... I'll be outside if you need anything." The offer was sincere, his eyes lingering on her injuries with genuine concern before he turned away.

When he was gone, Y/N looked down at the tin of soup in her hands, the thin broth rippling with the tremors she could no longer control. Her gaze traveled around the cabin's interior—the rough-hewn walls, the broken furniture, the splinters and debris from the damaged door and wall—before settling on Viltrumite's back where he stood watch, his white uniform pristine against the forest backdrop, giving her the illusion of privacy while missing nothing.

One day. One chance.

She began to eat, methodically, mechanically, each swallow painful against her damaged throat, but necessary. Building her strength for whatever came next. The food was tasteless in her mouth, but she forced herself to continue, knowing she would need every ounce of energy she could muster.

Through the broken window, she could see slivers of the forest beyond, the sunlight dappling through ancient trees, birds flying free overhead, the promise of freedom so close and yet impossibly far away. The contrast between the peaceful wilderness and her desperate situation created a surreal dissonance that made her head swim.

Somewhere out there, seven Marks were waiting, planning, wanting. Patient predators circling their wounded prey. And she was trapped in the center of their web, a prize none of them were willing to relinquish.

One day to find a way out.

The sound of the forest continued undisturbed—birds calling, leaves rustling, life proceeding as it always had—indifferent to the cosmic drama unfolding within the cabin's broken walls. Y/N closed her eyes briefly, gathering her resolve like armor around her battered spirit.

The clock was ticking.

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☆ Next chapter is going to be instance, perhaps a first kiss ♡ ♡ ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

☆ It's crazy, how writer's block hasn't hit me yet (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

♡ Pt.4 ♡

Pt.1 Pt.2 ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-ꕤ.ﾟ Pt.5

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 2 ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ A distance night with Mohawk ♡ ☆ Pt. 1 ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ First Watch ‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 4k+ [Part 2]

☆ TW: Major Fluff ♡

☆ Authors Note: Mohawk acts like a turd but I believe he's good at heart. (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡ He's just on the cusp of a broken mind, def the one to talk to himself for comfort.

–––––––––––––––––– ♡ Mohawk Marks p.o.v ♡

Six fucking hours.

Mohawk Mark stared down at Y/N's unconscious form, still hardly believing she was real. The cabin felt too small, too quiet after the others had left—each of them casting lingering glances at Y/N before departing with thinly veiled reluctance. He caught Sinister's black and yellow suit from the corner of his eye, the demonic bastard's lips curling into that signature psychotic grin that made Mark's blood boil.

"Yeah, fuck off," Mohawk had sneered as they filed out, making sure to flip off Emperor Mark's retreating back, the yellow and blue-ish gray fluttering around him like he was some kind of goddamn royalty. "She's mine for now."

When the door finally closed, leaving him alone with her, the gravity of the situation hit him like a cement truck. She was here. Actually fucking here. Different universe, same face, same everything—but alive. 

Not dead like his Y/N. And from that fight she'd put up against all eight of them, she was fucking strong. Stronger than his Y/N had been.

"Shit," he muttered, running his hand through his now-drooping mohawk, the black tips falling limply over his forehead. Dismissing his tattered suit, he looks around the cabin. "This place is a goddamn mess."

His eyes fell on the crumpled body of the cabin's former occupant, still leaking blood onto the rough wooden floor where Sinister had left him. The old man's eyes stared at nothing, his throat a gaping red smile courtesy of Sinister's unnecessarily theatrical kill. The crimson puddle spread across the uneven floorboards, seeping into the cracks between the planks, filling the musty air with the coppery scent of death.

"Fucking drama queen couldn't just snap your neck, could he?" Mohawk grumbled, grabbing the corpse by its ankles, lifting the man like he weighed nothing. "Had to make a whole production out of it. Typical Sinister bullshit."

He carried the body toward the door, the blood trailing, leaving a dark smear across the floorboards. The dead weight was nothing to him—he could bench press a tank without breaking a sweat—but the awkwardness of maneuvering the stiffening corpse through the narrow doorway had him cursing up a storm.

"Motherfucking!—Tiny-ass—backwoods—piece of shit—CABIN!—" Each word punctuated with a violent tug of the fat man's body through the door frame, not wanting to destroy the cabin. Finally, with a sickening snap of ligaments, he just ripped the man's arms off and easily pulled the torso outside, blood spattering across his blue and black suit.

He stood on the small porch, taking a moment to breathe in the nice crisp cold night air. The forest surrounded them, ancient pines stretching toward a star-studded sky, their silhouettes black against the deep blue canvas. No fire, no blood-curdling screams or destruction… His life felt instantly peaceful, now that he had Y/N back in it. A foreign feeling after eighteen months of rage and pain.

He sighed softly, scanning the dense forest surrounding them. No witnesses, no neighbors, nothing but trees and wilderness for miles. Perfect isolation.

 With casual disregard, he hurled the corpse as far as he could, making sure to yeet the two severed arms as well, sending the body parts arcing high above the treeline miles away before disappearing into the forest with a distant, muffled crash.

"Rest in pieces, old timer," he snorted at his own joke, wiping his bloodied hands on his thighs. "Nothing personal. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong universe."

Back inside, he surveyed the cabin with critical eyes. It was rustic, to put it kindly—a single room with a small kitchenette in one corner, its countertops stained with years of use, cupboards hanging slightly askew. A bathroom barely large enough to turn around in, with a shower that probably hadn't seen hot water since the Cold War. And a bed that had probably been new when Nixon was president, sagging in the middle under a faded quilt that smelled of mothballs and regret.

"This is bullshit," he muttered, kicking at a worn rug that might have once been colorful but now was just a sad, faded thing covering even sadder floorboards. "She deserves better than this shithole."

His eyes returned to Y/N, still lying motionless where they'd placed her on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her face serene despite everything she'd been through. The angry red marks where the collar had dug into her neck stood out in stark contrast against her skin. A permanent scar burned into her delicate skin, a constant reminder of the GDA's cruelty.

"Fuck," he breathed, anger bubbling up inside him like magma. "I'll kill every last one of those GDA assholes. Turn their fucking building into a crater. Make them wish they'd never even thought about putting a collar on you."

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked, before forcing himself to focus. She needed rest, comfort. Not him raging uselessly about revenge.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable than the fucking floor," he said, kneeling beside her. His hands—hands that had crushed throats and shattered bones—hovered uncertainly above her for a moment before he gently steadied one under her head, the other beneath the small of her back. It felt strange being so careful—he'd spent most of his existence breaking things, not cradling them.

He laid her on the bed, but immediately grimaced at the musty smell that rose from the ancient mattress, picking her back up and gently tossing her over his shoulder with one arm. "Jesus Christ, this thing reeks worse than Prisoner Mark's armpits. And that's saying something—dude smells like he bathes in toxic waste."

On impulse, he stripped the bed, yanking off sheets that might have once been white but were now a dingy gray. They came away with a cloud of dust that had him coughing and cursing.

"Fucking disgusting," he spat, bundling the offending bedding and tossing it out the window, the glass shattering with a spray outside at the immense force. "Great, what now, genius?"

He searched through the cabin's sparse storage, finding only one spare set of sheets that didn't look much better than the ones he'd discarded. 

Still, he struggled to make the bed, wrestling with fitted corners that refused to stay put and a flat sheet that somehow ended up more wrinkled than when he started.

"How the fuck does anyone do this shit?" he growled, giving the sheet a violent snap that nearly took out a lamp. "Is there a goddamn degree in bed-making I missed? No wonder Viltrumite Mark has that stick up his ass if this is what 'domestic life' is like."

After ten minutes of increasingly creative curses, he'd produced something vaguely resembling a made bed. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than the floor.

With exaggerated care, he placed Y/N on the fresh—well, fresher—sheets, arranging her limbs in what he hoped was a comfortable position. 

Her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stare at her bruised face, so peaceful in unconsciousness, so heartbreakingly familiar.

"There you go, sleeping beauty," he murmured, his usual harsh tone softening despite himself. "Not exactly five-star accommodation, but it's safe. Nobody's gonna hurt you here. Not while I'm around."

He stared at her face, drinking in every detail like a man dying of thirst. Same full lips, same curve of her cheekbones, same tiny scar above her right eyebrow. His fingers itched to trace that scar, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, to reassure himself that she was real and not some cruel hallucination.

"Not gonna be a creep while you're knocked out," he told her unconscious form, shoving his hands to his sides, pinching at the fabric of his suit. "I'm an asshole, not a fucking monster. Though Sinister probably would've—" He cut himself off, unwilling to even think about what that psychopath might have done if left alone with her.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to move away from the bedside. Instead, he dragged over the cabin's only chair—a rickety wooden thing that groaned ominously under his weight—and sat down to keep watch. The fading light cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her jaw.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking off the seconds of his six-hour vigil. Outside, daylight was fading, golden light barely painting the darkened sky, filtering through the dusty windows and painting long shadows across the uneven floorboards. A tiny beam of sunlight caught particles of dust, making them dance like tiny stars in the otherwise dim room.

"So," he said to the silence, his voice oddly loud in the quiet cabin as he tapped his fingers together.

"Guess I should introduce myself, huh? I'm Mark. Well, obviously I'm fucking Mark—you've seen eight of us now, poor bastard. But I'm the best one. The rest are just cheap knockoffs."

He chuckled humorlessly, dragging his hand through his mohawk again, trying to reshape it into its usual spiky glory without much success. The blue and black ends stuck out at odd angles, making him look more deranged than usual.

"They call me Mohawk Mark. Creative as shit, right? But in my universe, I'm just... Mark. Mark who fucked up. Mark who couldn't save you."

His voice caught on the last word, raw emotion surfacing before he could shove it back down. Memories he'd tried to bury came flooding back—her smile, her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes at his worst jokes but laugh anyway. The way she'd been the only one who saw past his bullshit, who wasn't afraid to call him on it.

"You died," he said flatly, the words falling like stones in the quiet room. "In my universe. You fucking died, and it was my fault..."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at his bloodstained hands. Hands that had failed to save her when it mattered most.

"We were... together. Not just fucking—although that was pretty goddamn amazing—but really together. You were the only person who didn't take my shit, who pushed back when I was being a dick. Which was, you know, most of the time."

A bitter smile twisted his lips.

"I was such an arrogant prick. Thought I was invincible—ha, get it? Fucking hilarious—thought nothing could touch me. Or you, because you were with me. But then this asshole came along, this nobody with a grudge and some Viltrumite tech he'd stolen. Didn't even see him coming."

Mohawk's voice dropped to a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away.

"You pushed me out of the way. Can you believe that shit? ME. The guy who can stop a bullet with his fucking eyelash, and you... you just..."

He broke off, the memory too vivid—her body, broken and bleeding, in his arms. The way the Viltrumite tech had torn through her like she was made of tissue paper, leaving a gaping hole where her heart should have been. The way her blood had felt, hot and sticky, pouring over his hands as he tried desperately to hold her together. The light Instantly fading from her eyes as he screamed for help that wouldn't come in time.

"There was so much blood," he whispered, his voice cracking. "All over me, all over the ground. I tried to stop it, tried to hold you together, but it just kept coming. And you—you looked up at me, and you fucking smiled. Like you were happy it was you and not me. Then you tried to say something, but there was blood in your mouth, and you just... you just stopped. Right there in my arms."

He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"You died protecting me. Me! The biggest asshole in the universe! The Invincible one! Who does that? Who throws away their life for someone like me?"

He stood abruptly, the chair skittering backward as he paced the small confines of the cabin, too much raw energy coursing through him to stay still. His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, a counterpoint to the ticking clock.

"I buried you myself," he continued, the words pouring out now. "Wouldn't let anyone else touch you. Dug the grave with my bare hands, six feet deep in that spot by the lake you loved. Covered it with those wildflowers you were always going on about. And then I hunted down the fucker who killed you. Made him suffer. Made him beg. And when I was done, there wasn't enough left of him to bury."

He paused, staring out the window at the setting sun, its dying rays painting the forest in shades of gold and red.

"And then this multiverse bullshit started, and Angstrom found me. Said I could take my anger out on another world, another universe. Destroy a place where nothing mattered because it wasn't my reality. Sounded like a pretty sweet fucking deal at the time."

He stopped at the window, his brown eyes staring out at the darkening forest. The first stars were beginning to appear, tiny pinpricks of light in the deepening blue.

"But then we found you. Or I found you, I should say. Those other dipshits would've just zapped past you if I hadn't recognized you first. Would've missed you completely, the blind bastards."

He turned back to look at her, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable, all pretense and bravado stripped away.

"And now I don't know what the fuck to do. Because you're not her—not my Y/N. But you look like her, sound like her. And those assholes out there?" He jerked his thumb toward the door. 

"They're going to try to take you for themselves. Each one of them. Emperor Mark with his 'I rule the world' bullshit. Viltrumite Mark probably wants to breed a whole army of super-soldiers with you. Phantom Mark might seem nice, but he's just as fucked up as the rest of us. No-Mask can't shut up about his friend William, but he'll want you too. Omni mark may seem mature and collected, but he's got a dark mind beneath that fucking stoic face. And Sinister?" He shook his head, a shiver running down his spine. "That guy gives me the creeps, and I'm not exactly squeamish."

He returned to the bedside, carefully perching on the edge of the mattress. The bed creaked beneath his weight, but held firm.

"But I found you first," he said, a possessive edge creeping into his voice. "And I'm not letting you go this time. No fucking way. I'd rather tear this whole universe apart."

He tentatively reached out, finally allowing himself to brush a strand of hair from her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle for hands that had torn through concrete and steel. His fingertips lingered, barely touching her skin, as if afraid she might shatter like glass.

"We should've had more time," he whispered. "In my universe, we should've had years. Decades. Instead, I got eighteen months, two weeks, and four days."

The specificity of the number hung in the air between them—every day counted, treasured, mourned.

"This time will be different," he promised, his voice hardening with determination. "I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Including those alternate versions of me. They didn't protect their Y/Ns either, so they don't deserve you any more than I do."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"I sound like a jealous psycho, don't I? Guess that's what losing you did to me. Made me fucking crazyyyy. But I don't care. You're here. You're alive. And I'm not letting you go.”

Outside, twilight was deepening into night. Through the window, stars were beginning to appear, pin-pricks of light in the growing darkness. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Mohawk Mark settled more comfortably on the edge of the bed, his large frame incongruous with his gentle movements.

"Not gonna lie, this is gonna get messy," he told her unconscious form. "Eight Marks, all with their heads up their asses, all thinking they have some special claim on you? Recipe for disaster. Especially sinister…" He shook his head, a soft groan running through him. "Better if you stay far away from that psychopath."

He sighed, rubbing his slightly bruised face with both hands.

"And me? I just want a second chance. To do it right this time. To keep you safe."

His eyes drifted to the clock. Five hours and twenty-three minutes left of his watch.

"You know what's really fucked up?" he said conversationally, as if she might answer. "In those shitty romance movies you used to make me watch, there's always some speech about how 'if you love someone, let them go.' But that's bullshit. I let you go once—not by choice—and it broke me. So this time?" His jaw set in a determined line. "This time I'm hanging on. I don't care if it's selfish or wrong or whatever. I get a do-over, and I'm taking it."

He reached out again, his fingertips barely brushing against her hand. Her skin was warm—alive—and the contact sent electricity shooting up his arm. How long had it been since he'd touched her? Since he'd felt anything but rage and emptiness?

"I just need you to wake up," he whispered. "Wake up and remember me somehow. Not likely, I know, but hey—a multiverse exists, so anything's possible, right? Maybe there's a version of you that remembers a version of me."

Outside, an owl hooted softly, its call carrying through the still night air. Inside, Mohawk Mark settled in for his vigil, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face, as if by sheer force of will he could bring her back to consciousness.

"Take your time," he said softly. "I've got five hours left, and I'm not going anywhere."

The cabin creaked and settled around them, the wooden beams contracting in the cooling night air. Moonlight now streamed through the window he'd broken, casting eerie shadows across the floor. 

In the silence, his thoughts wandered, memories surfacing like bubbles in still water.

"Remember that time we went to that shitty carnival?" he asked her sleeping form, a genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You made me ride that ferris wheel even though my legs were too damn long for the seat. When it stopped at the top, you kissed me and said you liked seeing me vulnerable for once."

He laughed softly, the sound strange even to his own ears. When was the last time he'd laughed without bitter sarcasm?

"Or that night I came back from that fight with those Dinosaurus, all bloody and fucked up? You didn't say a word, just cleaned me up, bandaged what needed bandaging, then tore me a new one for being reckless. Said if I got myself killed, you'd find a way to bring me back just to kill me yourself."

His voice caught on the last word. The irony wasn't lost on him.

"Guess I'm the one who found a way to bring you back…"

He glanced at the clock again. Four hours and fifty-seven minutes.

"Sinister's got next watch," he muttered darkly. "No fucking way am I leaving you alone with him. Guy's more unhinged than I am, and that's saying something. The things he did in his universe..." He shuddered. "Let's just say even I've got lines I won't cross."

Mohawk stood up, restless energy making it impossible to sit still any longer. He paced the length of the cabin, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

"You should see Emperor Mark," he continued, needing to fill the silence. "Strutting around like he owns the fucking multiverse. 'I am the supreme ruler of Earth,' blah blah blah. Bet you'd have knocked him down a peg or two. You never did have patience for that kind of bullshit."

The memory of her standing up to him, hands on hips, not backing down even when he towered over her, made something twist painfully in his chest.

"You were never afraid of me," he said quietly. "Everyone else—even other heroes—they'd flinch when I got angry. Not you. You'd get right up in my face, tell me to stop being a dramatic asshole." He smiled, a genuine one this time. "God, I loved that about you."

The word 'loved' hung in the air, and he froze, suddenly aware of what he'd said. Loved. Past tense. Because his Y/N was gone, and this woman on the bed, no matter how identical, wasn't her.

"Fuck," he whispered, running both hands through his hair. "This is so fucked up."

He moved to the kitchenette, rifling through the cupboards for anything to distract himself. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he uncapped it and took a long swig, grimacing at the burn.

"Tastes like piss," he muttered, but took another drink anyway. The alcohol wouldn't affect him—his metabolism was too efficient for that—but the ritual was comforting in its familiarity.

A sudden sound from outside had him instantly alert, the bottle forgotten as he moved silently to the window. His enhanced vision cut through the darkness, scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. A deer stepped cautiously into the clearing, ears twitching, and he relaxed marginally.

"Just Bambi," he said, returning to Y/N's bedside. "Though with our luck, it's probably Bambi with a grudge and a nuclear warhead."

He settled back into the chair, bottle dangling from his fingertips. For a while, he just watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest hypnotic in the quiet room.

"You know what scares me?" he finally said, voice barely above a whisper. "That you'll wake up, take one look at me, and see a monster. That you'll run screaming. That you'll hate me for what I am, what I've done."

He took another swig from the bottle.

"I wasn't always like this," he continued. "The hair, yeah—that was a rebellious phase that stuck. But the rest? The violence, the rage? That came after. After you died, after I realized that all my power meant jack shit when it mattered."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I killed him slow," he admitted, voice flat. "The guy who took you from me. Made it last days. Kept him conscious the whole time. Told myself it was justice, but it was just... emptiness. Trying to fill a hole that couldn't be filled." He laughed bitterly. "Pretty fucking poetic for a guy who didn't graduate high school, huh?"

A soft moan from the bed had him instantly on his feet, bottle clattering forgotten to the floor. Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but didn't open, her face slightly contorting in pain.

"Y/N?" he whispered, heart hammering. "Can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly, a frown creasing her forehead, but remained unconscious. He exhaled slowly, equal parts disappointed and relieved. He wasn't ready yet—didn't know what he'd say when those eyes finally opened and looked at him without recognition.

"Not yet, huh?" he murmured, gently adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. "That's okay. You've been through hell. Take your time."

He retrieved the bottle from where it had rolled under the bed, setting it on the nightstand.

"When you do wake up," he said, sinking back into the chair, "things are gonna get complicated. Eight Marks, each one thinking they've got dibs on you? It's gonna be a clusterfuck of epic proportions."

He studied her face in the moonlight, memorizing every detail all over again.

"But I'll be there," he promised. "I'll keep you safe from them, from the GDA, from whatever other bullshit this universe throws at us. Even if you don't remember me. Even if you never..." He swallowed hard. "Even if you never feel about me the way my Y/N did."

The clock ticked on, marking the passing minutes. Three hours and twenty-two minutes left.

"I should probably talk strategy," he said, switching gears. "Sinister and Emperor are the obvious threats. They'll try to use you, control you. Viltrumite's more subtle, but just as dangerous. No-Mask and Prisoner are wild cards—unpredictable. Omni should be okay for now, he's a wait to the last second type of guy. And Phantom..." He frowned. "He's the one to watch. Plays the sympathy card, all 'I miss my mom' and shit, but he's got an agenda. They all do."

He stood up again, too restless to remain seated.

"Only safe Mark in the bunch is me," he declared with dark humor. "And I'm a complete psychopath according to most psychiatric evaluations. So that's saying something."

As if in response to his self-assessment, Y/N's fingers twitched, curling slightly into the sheets. He was at her side in an instant, his eyes glued to her hand, then her face, back to her hand. watching intently for any sign of consciousness.

"Y/N?" he whispered, hope creeping into his voice despite his best efforts. "You with me?"

Nothing. Just the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand down his face. "Now I'm seeing things. Get it together, Mark."

He retreated to the window, staring out at the moonlit forest. The night was clear, stars scattered across the black velvet sky like diamonds. In another life, they might have been lying on a blanket somewhere, her head on his chest as she pointed out constellations he pretended to be interested in.

"You used to love the stars," he said softly. "Could name all the constellations, all that shit. I never got it—they're just balls of gas burning billions of miles away—but you'd talk about them like they were magic."

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"After you died, I couldn't look at them anymore. Kept thinking about how the light from some of those stars takes years to reach us. So maybe, some of that light started its journey when you were still alive. Like some part of you was still out there, somewhere."

He laughed at himself, the sound hollow in the quiet room.

"Pathetic, right? Big bad Mohawk Mark, getting all philosophical about starlight." He shook his head. "The others would never let me live it down if they heard me now."

The thought of the other Marks sobered him. Each one was dangerous in his own way, each one a twisted reflection of what he might have become under different circumstances. And each one would want Y/N for himself.

"I won't share you," he said, turning back to face her. "Not with them, not with anyone. They can have this whole fucking universe to tear apart, but you? You're off-limits."

He returned to the bedside, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress. His hand hovered above hers, wanting to touch but hesitating.

"I know it's selfish," he admitted. "You're not my Y/N. You don't know me, don't owe me anything. But I've spent eighteen months in hell without you, and now you're here, and I just..." He exhaled sharply. "I just need a second chance."

Finally, he allowed himself to take her hand in his, engulfing her smaller fingers in his palm. Her skin was soft, warm—alive. The simple contact made his chest constrict.

"When you wake up," he said, voice rough with emotion, "you can tell me to fuck off. You can run as far from me as you want. But until then, I'm staying right here. Keeping you safe."

A memory surfaced—Y/N in his kitchen, attempting to cook something complicated, cursing colorfully as smoke billowed from the oven. He'd laughed until she threw a dishrag at his head, then pulled her against him, still laughing as she pounded her fists against his chest in mock outrage.

"You used to say I was the worst boyfriend in the multiverse," he recalled, a smile tugging at his lips. "Turns out you were right, just not in the way you meant. There are literally seven other versions of me, and every single one of them is fucked up in their own special way."

He glanced at the clock again. Two hours and forty-five minutes.

"You know what? Sinister can go fuck himself. Emperor too. I'm not leaving when my time's up. If they want to try and move me, they're welcome to try."

He shifted, carefully arranging himself so he was sitting with his back against the headboard, her hand still clasped loosely in his. For the first time since she'd died, a flicker of something that might have been hope kindled in his chest.

"Wake up or don't wake up," he told her. "Either way, I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

Outside, a wolf howled, the sound echoing through the trees. Another answered, then another, a chorus of wild voices in the darkness. Mohawk Mark settled in, Y/N's hand still in his, to wait out the night.

"Take your time, sleeping beauty," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."

–––––––––––––– Next chapter may be freaky, or just crazy lol. haven't decided yet ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Pt.1✧ ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Pt.3✧ Pt.4✧

Pt.5✧

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

They watched you succumb to death in every twisted, agonizing way in their universes. Unable to prevent it, in this universe... ♡ It would be different ♡ Parts Available: The series is completed - 10 parts

☆ characters: MoHawk Invincible, Omni Invincible, Sinister Invincible, Viltrumite Invincible, Prisoner Invincible, No Mask Invincible, Phantom Invincible(Full masked), and Emperor Invincible.

☆ TW: Reader is manmade 'Viltrumite'

☆ WC: 5k+ [Part 1-]

☆ Author's Note: I'm truly sad I can’t find much Invincible variants x reader stuff, so I decided to make a story myself! This is going to be a long story with many parts, and I mean lonnggggg. If writer's block doesn't succumb me :P I also plan to include sexual content as well in later chapters. First time posting on tumblr, kinda nervous (ᵕ ´ ∇ ˋ ˶) ––––––––––––––––––

☆

The ice cracked, a shudder running through my suspended form, the cryopreservation ending once again. It was a sensation I'd grown intimately familiar with – the cold, the forced awakening, the metallic taste of the seemingly invincible shock collar tightening around my neck. The small sparks of electricity traveling to the wet muscle trapped inside my head. 

My dull eyes flickered open, adjusting to the harsh glare of the white lights of the GDA facility.

"Experiment 1-01, designated Y/N, reactivation complete," a cold, clinical voice echoed from the speakers. Cecil's voice. Always Cecil. The weak, old white man.

"What is it this time?" I growled, my voice rough from disuse. 

My body felt heavy, a dull ache permeating every muscle. Slunking down on the platform I hiss. The heaters appearing from each side of the enclosure wall to warm my aching body back into submission. 

"A… situation," Cecil replied, his tone unusually strained, "Multiple hostile entities, Invincible variants… Viltrumites in origin, are causing widespread destruction. We require your… assistance."

Hostile Viltrumites? My mind struggled to process the information. They were sending me, me, the weapon they kept locked away, against Viltrumite variants of Invincible? This had to be bad.

The ice finally fully melted away, and I was lowered onto the transportation platform. The shock collar pulsed, a constant reminder of my captivity.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the raw power thrumming beneath my skin. My wet hair sticking to the skin of my back. The tight suit clamped to my skin.

They'd honed me, pushed me beyond any natural limit. I was an experiment seemingly born in this dreadful prison. A test tube for them to fill with anything they dreamed of, and use needlssy. Dissecting my body apart to inject with the results of false experiments. Viltrumite blood, from the one Omni-man himself… I was their ultimate weapon in the face of no return. Crafted as the last stand in the face of no return, even if they were terrified to use it.

"What's the mission?" I asked, my voice flat. My eyes glued to the one sided glass wall, where I could sense the heat Signatures of multiple scientists and Cecil standing behind.

"Eliminate all hostile Invincible variants. No collateral damage," Cecil instructed, his voice laced with a thin veneer of control through the speaker.

No collateral damage? They were asking the impossible.

The transport platform hissed, lifting me from the cold, sterile chamber throught the many levels of the base. Finally to the surface of the GDA's hidden base. 

My eyes widen, as I see the sky for the first time in so many long years. The soft blue sky, the cool chill crisp of fresh air, beautifully painted clouds strengthening across the blue canvas stretched above me. I raised my arms spinning softly with a laugh. Fuck it feels good to be out again! The shock collar suddenly pulsed, a cold, insistent command that made me freeze. "Eliminate all hostile Invincible variants," Cecil's voice echoed in my mind.

With a grumble, I launched myself into the air, a surge of raw power propelling me upwards. The world shrank below, the GDA facility becoming a mere speck in the distance. 

I spread my arms, feeling the wind whip through my damp hair, as it instantly dried in the strong breeze of fresh air. The raw energy of flight coursing through my veins. This was what I was made for.

Zooming through the sky I break the sound barrier, flying into New York. 

The city was a chaotic tapestry of destruction, plumes of black smoke rising like grotesque fingers, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers reaching towards the sky. Building Collapsing.

Once again I break the sound barrier with a thunderous boom, the air around me shimmering with heat. The raw, untamed power of flight, the sheer speed, it was soooo intoxicating.

The scents of the city assaulted my senses – burning metal, acrid smoke, the coppery tang of blood, and the faint, terrified screams of the dying citizens trying to hide and running. It was a symphony of chaos, a macabre orchestra conducted by the Invincible variant in New York. 

And I, the weapon, was here to silence it.

A jolt of electricity from the collar snapped me back to the mission. "Focus girl. Eliminate target in New York. Identification, Mohawk Invincible."

My eyes scanned the ruined cityscape, looking onto a scene of imminent destruction for any sign of the killing machine.

A child, no more than a few years old, stood frozen in terror beneath a crumbling building, its foundations groaning ominously. I felt a flicker of something, a faint echo of… what? It was quickly extinguished by the collar's control. A child...weak...protect? No, mission.

With a burst of speed, I was there. I braced myself, catching the falling building with my bare hands, the concrete groaning under the strain as I held the collapsing building up.

I glanced at the child between my legs, its face a mask of terror streaked with tears and mucus. With one arm still bracing the collapsing structure, I scooped the small body against my chest. Its warmth was shocking—so different from the cold sterility of my existence. The tiny heart hammered against my suit, a frantic rhythm that stirred something protective within me.

Releasing my hold on the building, I launched us both skyward as tons of concrete and steel crashed to the street below. Dust and debris erupted in a massive cloud, consuming everything in its path as I carried the child to relative safety, landing on a section of street that wasn't actively burning.

The asphalt cracked beneath my feet, blackened and weakened by the heat of nearby fires. The child in my arms whimpered, one limb bent at an angle that spoke of fracture and pain. I placed the small form on the ground, studying it with clinical detachment as its eyes—wide with terror—stared up at me. Unintelligible words tumbled from its lips, a litany of fear I couldn't process.

"Stay," I commanded, my voice devoid of warmth or reassurance. Yet as I reached down to brush a speck of blood from its cheek, a spark of something undefinable flared within me as tiny fingers clutched desperately at my hand. Why? Why do I feel this?

"Saving citizens is important, but defeating the threat is top priority." Cecil's voice intruded into my moment of connection, the implant in my head ensuring his control remained absolute.

I turned away, the mission reasserting its primacy in my consciousness. But a blur of motion caught my peripheral vision—a figure streaking across the sky on an intercept course.

"Finally, another fucking hero for me to fucking obliterate!!" A voice laced with manic glee echoed through the ruined streets as the figure—Mohawk Mark—accelerated toward me.

There was barely time to react. I pivoted sharply, using my body as a shield for the child, intercepting the charge with my shoulder. The impact was cataclysmic—like colliding with a runaway train. The force sent us both hurtling through the concrete wall of a nearby building, pulverizing it instantly. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows for blocks in every direction.

My body shot through the other side of the building, into the street where people were running. 

The bodies of fleeing civilians exploded like fleshy water balloons as I crashed through them, the force of the impact turning them into a spray of blood and bone. I spat, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth as I picked the strand of intestines off my shoulder, flicking it away. The child I'd tried to protect was now unrecognizable, I was clumsy and squeezed the child so tightly against me it exploded. reduced to a pulped mass of tissue in my arms, its blood staining the front of my suit. A flash of anger and envy flickered through me—this child's suffering was over while mine continued indefinitely—I felt a flash of anger and envy, before the emotions quickly dismissed within me. 

"Insignificant," I hissed, dropping the remains with a wet splat onto the blood-slicked sidewalk.

Rising to my full height, I ignored the pain radiating through my system. Pain was merely information, and information could be disregarded. The mission remained paramount: eliminate the target. And now, the target had revealed himself.

Debris from the shattered building continued to rain down around me as I steadied my stance. My eyes—cold, calculating, devoid of mercy—locked onto the figure hovering above the rubble. Mohawk Mark. His blue and black suit hugged a physique identical to the original, but the spiky mohawk and the arrogant smirk set him apart. It was a face I had been programmed to destroy.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with cruel amusement that barely masked something deeper, "What do we have here? Another hero comes to play?—" His expression shifted, eyes widening slightly as he studied me more carefully. Recognition dawned in his gaze, followed by confusion that seemed genuine. "Wait... Y/N?"

The name struck me like a physical blow. Something flickered in the recesses of my mind—a half-remembered dream, perhaps, or an echo of a life that had been systematically erased. I groaned, clutching my head as fractured images threatened to coalesce into meaning. The collar responded instantly, electricity searing through my neural pathways, burning away the nascent memories before they could fully form.

My mission remained untainted by sentiment: eliminate the target.

I launched myself at him. My fist aimed for his jaw with enough force to shatter concrete, but he reacted with equal speed, blocking the blow and retaliating with a devastating kick to my ribs. Blood erupted from my mouth as the impact sent me crashing through yet another wall. The concrete disintegrated around me, offering no more resistance than tissue paper.

I rose from the wreckage without hesitation, the pain relegated to some distant corner of my consciousness as I assessed my opponent with newfound respect. It had been a long time since anyone had landed a blow with such force.

Mohawk Mark landed before me, his expression a mix of confusion and something else I couldn't name. He was hesitating, holding back his attacks. Why?

"Y/N, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. "Don't you remember me? Or did the fucking Mark of this universe not meet you?! Love you!" he hissed, frustration clear in every word.

"Target identified," I responded, my voice empty and cold. I ignored his words completely - they meant nothing to a weapon. "Elimination protocol engaged."

I lunged forward with everything I had, throwing punches that could level buildings. Each blow carried enough force to shatter concrete, aimed to destroy rather than just hurt. But he was good - too good - dodging and blocking with growing desperation in his movements.

Something was wrong. He wasn't fighting back with full strength. He was holding back, his eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn't understand.

"Fucking stop, Y/N!" he yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "You don't have to do this y-you bitc–!"

I ignored him completely, focused only on my mission. Finally, an opening! My uppercut connected with his jaw, sending him flying skyward. I followed immediately, delivering another crushing blow to his chest that sent him crashing through the roof of a nearby building.

I zoomed to where he landed, pulling my fist back for what should be a finishing blow. But he caught my punch, his eyes wide and filled with emotion that made me hesitate.

"Y/N... please," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. When I saw he wasn't defending himself anymore, I delivered a savage kick to his ribs that sent him smashing into a burning bus. The metal folded around his body like it was made of paper.

"Shut up," I growled, feeling nothing as I approached. "You're a target. Nothing more."

He struggled to his feet, his mohawk now crooked, his blue and black suit torn and stained with blood and dirt. Despite the beating, his eyes never left mine.

"But... it's me, Mark! Don't you fucking remember?!" The pain in his voice wasn't just physical.

Remember? The word bounced around inside my empty mind. Remember what? My life was the cold lab, the endless tests, the collar's constant shocks. There was nothing before that. Nothing to remember.

I charged at him again, aiming for his throat this time. He dodged, grabbing my arm as he pulled me down for a punch and suddenly freezing as his eyes locked onto the collar around my neck. Something changed in his expression - understanding dawned.

"Shit, I mean it, stop!" he yelled, his voice mixing anger and desperation. "You don't have to do this! Are they fucking controlling you?!"

The collar sent a massive shock through my body, making my vision blur and my muscles spasm. I stumbled backward, momentarily stunned. He used the chance to grab my head, his fingers pressing against my skull as he pulled my head back to look at him directly. My eyes drazed against his fierce ones.

"Fucking listen to me!" he pleaded, his grip gentler than it should be. "I know who you are! I... loved you in my universe! B-before you—" His voice caught in his throat, and I watched, strangely fascinated, as tears formed in his brown eyes. His hands loosened, now almost cradling my head instead of restraining me.

Loved? The word was strange, meaningless to me. What did it mean to be loved? I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from the collar's shock. For a brief moment, I felt the control slipping, something else trying to surface. But it passed quickly, and I snapped back to my purpose. Kill.

"Fucking listen to me, Y/N," he begged, his voice rough with emotion. "They're controlling you! That collar... it's controlling your damn mind!"

I answered with my elbow, smashing it into his face with all my strength. I felt his nose shatter under the impact. Blood sprayed as he staggered backward, yet he looked unharmed. I didn't hesitate, unleashing a storm of punches that would crush a normal human to paste, but he wasn’t normal, he was a variant, of Invincible. He easily blocked, dodged, but I was relentless.

"Eliminate... target," I mumbled, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.

As I paused to gather strength for another attack, he lunged forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. Despite everything I'd done to him, his grip was surprisingly gentle.

"SHIT, you have to fight it, Y/N!" he urged, his eyes burning with intensity. "You're stronger than this! Tell me who's controlling you! I will fucking murder them!"

I struggled against his grip, my body fighting like a puppet on strings as the collar shocked me repeatedly. But something about his words, his voice - they were cutting through the fog in my mind, stirring something buried deep inside me. Fight? How could I fight what I was?

"She's not listening," a new voice called out, calm but commanding, making both of us freeze. "She simply can't.. She wasn't made for you, she was made for me."

A new figure landed beside Mohawk Mark - another Mark variant, but this one wore a red and gray suit. A mask with black eyesless goggles. Omni Invincible. His mask couldn't hide his grim expression as he studied me. "Plus, the collar has her completely under their control."

"We have to stop her," another voice hissed as a figure in dark blue and black landed heavily on the rooftop. Phantom Mark. His voice carried deep pain and barely controlled rage. "She's being used... I can't bear to see her again... not like this..."

Used? Why did they care what happened to me?

"Used?" A mocking voice cut through as another Mark variant landed directly in front of me and Mohawk. This one wore black and yellow - Sinister Mark. His smile was cruel as he stared at me with open interest. "She's a weapon. A god damn killing machine. And we're her targets." His grin widened, predatory and cold. "She's perfect, so much better than the fucking pathetic Y/N of my universe."

Perfect? What did he mean? Another… me? 

More Mark variants began to arrive, surrounding me on the rooftop. Each one showed recognition when they saw me, their faces displaying a mix of shock, grief, and something that looked like desperate hope. Viltrumite Mark, Emperor Mark, Prisoner Mark, and No Masked Mark all landed around me. Every threat I was supposed to eliminate was gathering in one place.

"Y/N," Viltrumite Mark said softly, his voice almost tender, his brown eyes wide with disbelief. A stark contrast to his white suit. "Wow... you look just like her. Just like my Y/N. Your face, that beautiful face... and your—" He stopped suddenly, his gaze fixing on the collar around my neck. His expression shifted from wonder to anger.

They all knew me? How was that possible when I didn't know any of them?

I felt something touch my back - warm, gentle - and it broke my frozen state. I lashed out blindly, my fist connecting with No Masked Mark who had tried to hug me. The impact sent him flying across the rooftop. Warmth? No. Target.

The electricity from the collar intensified, becoming nearly unbearable. I staggered under the pain, blood dripping from my nose as my vision blurred. My arm froze mid-swing as my muscles began to lock up. My strength was fading. But I must keep fighting.

"I believe she's too far gone," Emperor Mark said grimly, resignation heavy in his voice. "We have to disable her..."

"Are you fucking insane?! Hell no!" Mohawk Mark shouted, stepping between me and the others. His voice shook with fierce protectiveness. "I watched her die in my universe and I will not let it fucking happen again!"

Die? What did that mean?

The Marks surrounded me, their expressions complex mixtures of determination, sorrow, and fear. They weren't attacking to kill - they were trying to subdue me, to break the collar's hold. But every hit made the collar shock me harder.

Phantom Mark attacked first, moving faster than I could track in my weakened state. His fist aimed for my shoulder, and I managed to catch his arm, but the force still sent me staggering backward. I wasn't prepared for this coordinated attack, especially since they seemed to be holding back.

Omni Mark followed with a precise kick to my ribs. I twisted my body to block, but the impact still sent shockwaves of pain through me, launching me into the sky.

Viltrumite Mark and Emperor Mark moved together with perfect coordination, their attacks aimed to disable, not kill. They fought with ruthless efficiency, their movements showing years of combat experience. I blocked and countered as best I could, but their combined assault was overwhelming.

Prisoner Mark and No Masked Mark fought with less precision but equal power. Their attacks were wild and unpredictable, making them hard to counter. I dodged a powerful swing from Prisoner Mark only to be caught by a kick from No Masked Mark.

Mohawk Mark moved differently from the others. His eyes never left mine, filled with desperate pleading. His attacks lacked killing intent - he was trying to restrain me rather than hurt me. He repeatedly tried to grab me, to hold me still, but I was too quick.

And then there was Sinister Mark. He moved like a predator stalking prey, his attacks brutal and precise. His eyes gleamed with cruel enjoyment, fixed on me with disturbing intensity. He wasn't just fighting - he was enjoying every moment.

He feinted high before kicking my knee with savage force. Pain shot through my leg as I stumbled. He immediately followed with a vicious uppercut to my jaw that made my vision go white for a moment. I spat blood, the metallic taste filling my mouth as I nearly bit through my tongue.

"Come on, Y/N," he taunted, his voice low and excited. "Show me what you've got."

Unlike the others, Sinister Mark wasn't holding back. He reveled in the violence, moving with brutal efficiency. A predatory grin never left his face as he aimed to cripple me. His fist connected with my jaw again, sending another shockwave through my skull. I managed to retaliate with a kick to his chest that sent him crashing through a skyscraper.

New York was completely destroyed around us. I couldn't handle all eight of them at once. It was too many... but I had to fight. Must focus.

"Enough!" Omni Mark shouted, his voice echoing through the ruined city. His face was set with grim determination. "We have to end this!"

He launched himself at me with perfect control and precision. Before I could dodge, he grabbed me in a powerful bear hug, pinning my arms to my sides, his chin pressing to the top of my head. I struggled against his grip, trying desperately to break free, but he was too strong, and I was weakening by the second.

The other Marks surrounded me, their combined strength impossible to overcome. Their expressions mixed pain and resolve as they held me tight. I hissed and fought, biting Sinister's hand when he tried to touch my face. He pulled back, laughing as he licked the drop of blood from his hand.

"She's so feisty, I love it~" he purred, eyes gleaming.

"Enough! Come on guys, we have to get this fucking collar off," Phantom Mark said, his voice strained with sorrow. "That's the only way to free her."

Mohawk Mark reached for the collar, his fingers trembling. Fear and determination battled in his eyes as he hesitated.

"If we remove it, she could lose control," Omni Mark warned gravely. "She could destroy everything, or worse... we could lose her."

"It's the only chance we have," Mohawk Mark replied firmly, his fierce eyes locked with mine. For a moment, they softened with an emotion I couldn't name. "We have to trust her."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gripped the collar around my neck.

"AHHHHHHH-!" A scream of pure agony tore from my throat as he tried to break the collar. The device unleashed its final defense - a massive electrical current that ripped through my entire body and into anyone touching me. The pain was beyond anything I'd ever felt, beyond what any human could survive.

The world around me faded to white as electricity consumed everything.

The air crackled with raw energy, the shockwaves from the collar's defense system rippling outwards like violent tsunamis across the already devastated rooftop. Y/N's screams tore through the ruined city—a primal, guttural sound that sliced through the hearts of the gathered Marks like a heated blade. Her body convulsed violently in their grip, crimson streams of blood trickling from her ears as her eyes rolled back, revealing only whites.

Omni Mark's muscles strained beneath his crimson and slate-gray suit, veins bulging like ropes under his skin as he maintained his vise-like grip on Y/N. Despite the electrical current surging through him, his face remained a mask of controlled determination—only the slight twitch at the corner of his right eye betraying his agony.

"Hold steady," he commanded, voice unwavering despite the pain. His analytical gaze never left Y/N's face, studying every microexpression with obsessive intensity. "The collar's defense system is activating exactly as anticipated. Maintain your positions." Behind his disciplined exterior, a possessive gleam flickered in his eyes—the calculated look of a general who had just discovered his most valuable weapon.

"FUCK! This hurts like a motherfucking BITCH!" Mohawk Mark roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he yanked at the collar with manic desperation. His once-proud mohawk now drooped pathetically to one side, plastered to his scalp with sweat that poured down his face in rivulets. His wild, bloodshot eyes darted frantically between Y/N's contorted face and the other Marks. "Back the FUCK off, assholes! This is MY moment with her!" he snarled when Emperor Mark moved closer, his voice cracking with equal parts pain and possessiveness.

Viltrumite Mark held Y/N's thrashing legs with unwavering strength, his pristine white uniform now marred with smoking char marks. Unlike the others who grimaced and cursed through their pain, he maintained an almost regal posture—back ramrod straight, chin lifted imperiously even as electricity danced across his skin.

"Such primitive technology," he remarked coldly, his voice carrying the smooth, cultured tones of someone accustomed to absolute obedience. His steely gaze traced the contours of Y/N's face with unmistakable ownership. "In my empire, she would have been conditioned properly. My Y/N required no such crude devices to ensure compliance." His fingers tightened possessively around her ankles, leaving white imprints on her skin.

No Masked Mark hovered anxiously at the periphery, bouncing on his heels like an impatient child. His unmasked face—so similar yet different from the others—contorted with a peculiar mixture of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Will she remember me when she wakes up?" he asked, voice tinged with childlike hope that seemed bizarrely out of place amid the destruction. His eyes never left Y/N's face, a hungry desperation evident in his gaze. "I won't let you suffer like William and my Y/N did," he murmured, the words tumbling out in a rushed whisper before his expression hardened again with determination.

Phantom Mark's grip on Y/N's arm was white-knuckled, his midnight blue and obsidian suit smoking where electrical feedback scorched the material. Unlike the others whose focus remained entirely on Y/N, his haunted gaze occasionally darted to the ruined cityscape surrounding them, as if seeing ghosts in the debris.

"We're going to lose her!" he cried out, voice thick with an emotion he couldn't fully suppress. The perpetual fury that typically blazed in his eyes momentarily gave way to raw grief—a glimpse into the trauma that drove him. "She looks just like my Y/N when they took her from me." His grip tightened, unwilling to let go even as the pain intensified, a guttural yell tearing from his throat as another surge of electricity pulsed through them all.

Emperor Mark strode forward with the confident swagger of royalty despite the crisis unfolding before him. His uniform, adorned with subtle gold embellishments, smoldered at the edges as he moved to assist despite Mohawk's furious objections.

"This primitive technology is beneath us," he declared, his voice carrying the practiced resonance of one accustomed to addressing multitudes. His movements were precise, efficient—a ruler accustomed to servants handling menial tasks now forced to act himself. "In my empire, she would have been treated with the respect befitting her connection to me." His eyes tracked possessively over Y/N's convulsing form as he grasped part of the collar, a barely audible hiss escaping through clenched teeth as electricity surged through his fingertips.

Through it all, Sinister Mark prowled the perimeter of the group like a predator assessing wounded prey. Unlike the others who betrayed their pain through grimaces and curses, his lips curled into a twisted smile that never quite reached his cold eyes. The black and yellow of his suit seemed to absorb the shadows around them, making him appear more demon than man as he circled the struggling group.

"Look at you pathetic fuckers," he sneered, voice dropping to a dangerous purr that somehow cut through the cacophony of pain and destruction. "All of you, burnt and crying over her like she's the last woman in the multiverse." His eyes gleamed with cruel delight as they raked over Y/N's suffering form, lingering on the places where her suit had torn during the battle. "Mine was weak, useless when it mattered," he continued, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "But this one..." His voice trailed off into an appreciative growl. "This one has real potential."

He continued circling them with predatory grace, each step deliberate and measured, like a lion stalking gazelles. The others, too focused on Y/N and their own pain, barely registered his calculating assessment until he suddenly stepped forward with decisive purpose.

"We'll do it my way," he declared, voice slicing through their collective agony with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "Otherwise she's fried, and none of us gets what we want." There was no benevolence in his offer—only ruthless pragmatism and thinly veiled desire.

Sinister Mark moved into position with fluid grace, eyes locking with each Mark in turn. His gaze was sharp and challenging, daring them to defy him while simultaneously asserting dominance. "We're going to rip that collar off her neck, all at the same time. Understand that, you pussies?"

"But the shock—" Omni Mark began, his typically calculated façade cracking slightly as another surge of pain tore through his body.

"The shock is killing her!" Sinister Mark snapped, genuine anger flashing in his eyes like lightning. For the briefest moment, something almost like concern flickered across his features before being submerged beneath his usual cruel demeanor. "We either pull it off now, together, or she dies. Are you all going to be useless now?"

Despite their differences, despite the simmering tensions and individual desires to claim Y/N for themselves, the Marks exchanged glances of reluctant agreement. In this moment, keeping her alive took priority over their competition.

Sinister Mark positioned himself beside Omni and Mohawk, placing his hands on the collar with surprising gentleness. A low, unsettling laugh escaped his lips as electricity coursed through him—the pain seemingly pleasurable to his twisted mind. Prisoner and No Masked Mark grabbed the other side, their faces twisting into grimaces of determination. Phantom and Viltrumite followed suit, hissing breaths escaping through clenched teeth.

"On my mark," Sinister commanded, voice cutting through the chaos with sharp authority. "One..." His fingers tightened around the collar. "Two..." His eyes locked onto Y/N's face with possessive intensity. "THREE!"

With a collective roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of what remained of New York City, the Marks pulled. Omni Mark and Mohawk Mark yanked with such force that tendons stood out like steel cables in their necks, while Viltrumite and Phantom used their strength to counter Y/N's violent convulsions. The air around them crackled and sparked with deadly energy, the building beneath them crumbling further as a deafening SNAP echoed through the ruins.

The collar broke free.

The electrical storm ceased instantly, energy dispersing into the air with a final concussive shockwave that sent debris flying in all directions. Y/N's body went limp between them, her screams fading to an eerie silence that felt more ominous than her previous agony. The Marks, exhausted and scorched, collapsed around her on the rooftop, their breath coming in ragged gasps that disturbed the settling dust.

Sinister Mark recovered first, shoving Mohawk aside with unnecessary force to kneel beside Y/N's still form. His eyes traveled over her with unmasked hunger as he reached out to trace the line of her jaw with surprising gentleness—a predator admiring his prize. "She's still alive," he announced, voice unexpectedly soft, almost reverent. "But barely..."

"Get your fucking hands off her," Mohawk Mark growled, struggling to his knees despite his injuries. His normally arrogant demeanor was stripped away, leaving raw desperation in its place as his eyes never left Y/N's face. "I found her first, you sick piece of shit."

"In your juvenile fantasies perhaps," Emperor Mark countered icily, moving closer to Y/N's limp form despite his weakened state. His regal bearing remained intact even while injured, chin lifted with imperial disdain as he regarded Mohawk. "She requires proper care and guidance, which only I am qualified to provide."

Omni Mark silenced them with a sharply raised hand, his authoritative presence reasserting itself even while injured. "Enough," he commanded, voice brooking no argument. "She needs time to recover before any of us make claims." His eyes, however, told a different story—calculating grey depths already mapping out strategies to separate Y/N from the others when the moment was right.

The Marks exchanged wary glances, temporarily united by their shared goal but irrevocably divided by their desire for the same prize. They had saved Y/N from the collar's control, but the battle for her had only just begun—a new war brewing beneath the surface of their temporary alliance.

"We need to get her out of here," Omni Mark said, his voice low and urgent as his eyes methodically scanned the horizon. His brow furrowed in a deep, concerned frown that belied his typically impassive demeanor. "Angstrom won't wait forever. We still have a mission to complete."

A tense silence fell over the group, heavy with unspoken implications. The mission. The destruction of this universe. It was their objective, their reason for being here. But now, with Y/N lying before them, their priorities had irreversibly shifted.

"What now?" No Masked Mark asked, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes, wide and filled with an almost childlike worry, never left Y/N's face. His features drawn and pale, he anxiously gnawed at his lower lip—a nervous habit that revealed the youth beneath his power.

The original mission, Angstrom Levy's directive to destroy the mainstream universe, loomed over them like a shadow. They were here to wreak havoc, to dismantle this reality and claim it for themselves. But the discovery of Y/N had thrown their carefully orchestrated plans into beautiful disarray.

"Well we can't just fucking leave her here, dipshit," Mohawk Mark snapped, his voice cracking with emotion despite his attempt at his usual abrasiveness. His jaw set in a determined line, eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness as he hovered over Y/N's still form. "Not like this anyway. We need to find somewhere safe—" He trailed off, gaze darting around the ruined cityscape as if a solution might materialize from the rubble.

"A safe place?" Prisoner Mark scoffed, voice dripping with bitter cynicism. The scarred tissue of his face twisted into a mocking grimace as he gestured at the devastation surrounding them. "In this ruined world? We destroyed everything worth saving." Despite his harsh words, his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern as they drifted to Y/N's unconscious form.

"We'll find one," Viltrumite Mark stated with cold certainty, voice carrying the weight of imperial decree. His eyes, usually hard as flint, softened imperceptibly when they fell upon Y/N. "There must be somewhere untouched by our... activities." The slight hesitation in his typically smooth delivery revealed an unusual uncertainty.

"We can't abandon Angstrom's mission either," Omni Mark countered pragmatically, crossing muscular arms over his broad chest. His analytical mind was already formulating contingencies, weighing variables with machine-like efficiency. "He'll notice something is wrong if we deviate too significantly from the plan."

Sinister Mark rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders as if shedding a burden. His eyes—cold and calculating—swept across the ruined cityscape with predatory assessment. His features hardened into a mask of ruthless determination as he reached a decision.

"We'll do both," he declared, voice a low growl that somehow carried more authority than Omni Mark's reasoned commands. "We continue the destruction," he elaborated with a careless shrug that belied the intensity of his gaze, "but first, we take her somewhere safe."

He sighed—an oddly human gesture from such a monstrous figure—and pointed toward the outskirts of the city, where the skeletal remains of skyscrapers gradually gave way to the dense, seemingly untouched wilderness beyond. "There," he stated with absolute certainty. "We'll find a secluded spot, somewhere Angstrom won't think to look. Somewhere we can... protect her."

The way he lingered over the word "protect" sent an involuntary shiver through the group, but none dared contradict him. With a collective nod of reluctant agreement, the Marks carefully lifted Y/N's limp form, each positioning themselves to maintain contact with her—their movements gentle despite their immense strength. Viltrumite Mark delicately wiped a droplet of blood from her cheek with a tenderness that seemed entirely at odds with his imperial bearing.

They rose into the air in tight formation, carrying their precious cargo through the smoke-filled sky, leaving behind the ravaged husk of what had once been New York City.

Eventually, they found a secluded cabin nestled deep within the dense forest, a small, unassuming structure that seemed miraculously untouched by the chaos they had unleashed upon the world. Inside, they discovered a lone occupant—an elderly man whose rheumy eyes widened with terror at the sight of eight identical men, each bearing the face of destruction that had dominated emergency broadcasts before they failed.

A swift, brutal act silenced his frightened cries, leaving the cabin empty and waiting for its new occupant—a practical necessity that none of the Marks questioned or regretted.

They laid Y/N on the worn wooden floor of the small cabin with surprising gentleness. Her body remained still and pale against the rough-hewn planks, face tear-stained and peaceful despite the violence of her liberation. Tendrils of her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, slightly frizzed from the electrical assault she had endured. The Marks gathered around her in a protective circle, their expressions a complex mixture of concern, determination, and barely concealed desire as they gazed upon the woman who mirrored the one they had each lost in their respective universes.

"We'll take shifts," Omni Mark announced, instantly assuming command with practiced ease. His calculating eyes scanned the modest room with meticulous attention to detail, mentally cataloging potential threats and escape routes. "Someone will stay with her at all times. The rest will continue the destruction, maintaining our cover while we monitor her condition."

"And the mission?" No Masked Mark questioned anxiously, raising his arms in a helpless gesture. His youthful features contorted with uncertainty, clearly torn between their original destructive purpose and this unexpected development.

"We'll continue," Omni Mark replied with firm assurance, locking eyes with No Masked Mark. He placed a steadying hand on the younger variant's shoulder, grip firm but not unkind. "But we'll approach it strategically. Create diversions, spread out our forces, minimize unnecessary collateral damage. We'll maintain the appearance of following Angstrom's directives, but our true priority remains here." His eyes flickered meaningfully toward Y/N's unconscious form.

"She'll wake up," Mohawk Mark insisted with desperate conviction, roughly wiping at his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. The vulnerability in his voice was startling, stripping away his carefully constructed arrogance to reveal raw emotion beneath. "She fucking has to. She can't leave me again... not after I just found her."

Sinister Mark observed Mohawk's naked emotion with evident disgust, a contemptuous sneer curling his lip. Yet when he moved forward to kneel beside Y/N, his movements possessed an unexpected grace, almost reverent in their precision. His fingers—capable of crushing steel and ending lives without effort—traced the delicate lines of her face with obsessive gentleness, exploring every curve and hollow as if committing them to memory.

"She will," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the cabin's wooden bones. Unlike the desperate hope in Mohawk's tone, Sinister's words carried the weight of absolute certainty—a predator's confidence in claiming what he considered already his. His eyes—typically cold and calculating—burned with an intensity that made the other Marks shift uncomfortably. "And when she does, we'll be ready; waiting for those beautiful eyes to reopen to us."

The possessive emphasis he placed on "us" fooled no one—least of all himself. His fingers lingered a moment too long on the pulse point at her throat, his expression momentarily softening into something almost tender before the mask of cruelty slammed back into place.

The Marks had a new mission now. The destruction of the mainstream universe still bound them by obligation and necessity, but they were now equally bound by a newfound sense of purpose—a desperate, collective desire to protect the woman they had found. She was both stranger and intimately familiar, a phantom made flesh, the woman they had each lost in their respective universes, and now, the woman they were collectively determined to save—from others, from the world, and perhaps from themselves.

They began dividing their forces with military precision, Omni Mark drafting plans with Emperor Mark's input while Viltrumite offered cold, tactical suggestions. They would spread across different continents, maintaining the façade of random destruction that Angstrom expected, while rotating shifts to ensure Y/N was never left unguarded. Paris would fall next, then Moscow, Tokyo, and beyond—a symphony of calculated chaos designed to mask their true priority.

The first day of their war against this universe was far from over, but the discovery of Y/N had fundamentally altered its purpose. What had begun as simple conquest—the destruction of one universe among infinite possibilities—had transformed into something far more complex and personal. Each Mark now fought with renewed purpose, their actions guided not merely by Angstrom's directives but by the silent promise they had made to the unconscious woman in the cabin.

The mission was no longer just about conquest; it was about salvation—about reclaiming a lost love, about rewriting a tragic fate that had played out eight different ways across eight different realities. In their own universes, they had failed her, each in their own way. Too weak, too late, too cruel, too blind—their regrets took different forms but shared the same bitter taste. This Y/N offered something none of them had dared hope for: a second chance.

They would keep this Y/N safe at any cost, jealously guarded even from each other. None spoke this truth aloud, but it hung in the air between them, a silent agreement underscored by watchful gazes and lingering touches.

"Mohawk stays with her first," Omni Mark announced, his tone making it clear this was not a suggestion but a command. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the flash of rebellion on Sinister's face. "He found her first. We'll rotate every six hours. No exceptions."

The others nodded with varying degrees of reluctance, Viltrumite's jaw tightening with barely contained objection while Emperor Mark's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against his thigh. Only Sinister Mark seemed truly at ease, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he already saw moves ahead in a game the others didn't realize they were playing.

As the Marks departed one by one to continue their orchestrated destruction across the globe, Mohawk Mark settled beside Y/N's still form. Alone at last, his carefully maintained façade of arrogance and anger crumbled like the buildings they had destroyed. With shaking fingers, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch feather-light against her skin.

"I found you again," he whispered, voice cracking with emotion he would never show the others. "And this time, I won't fucking lose you. I swear it."

Outside the cabin, a gentle breeze stirred the trees, nature continuing its rhythms oblivious to the schemes of gods and monsters. Inside, a different kind of war was just beginning—one fought not with fists and fury, but with patience and possession. Eight versions of the same man, each determined to claim what they believed was rightfully theirs alone.

And at the center of it all, still and silent, lay Y/N—oblivious to the tempest her very existence had unleashed, unaware that she had become the eye of a storm that would reshape this universe and perhaps beyond.

–––––––––––––––––– ☆ TBC!! ☆

Hope ya'll liked it ♡ Leave a comment on whatya think!! next chapter will be from Mohawk's p.o.v Please keep reading, lovely!(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ Pt.2 ☆ 10 parts total! - The series is completed

Smut included with Sinister and Mohawk -

Fluff/Smut series following main one!! (𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜) pt.1-2-3