#phantom mark x reader

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 cruise ship. 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.

"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 and 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 can't handle all eight of them at once. There are too many... but I have 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.

"Stop! 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 gaze never left Y/N's face, studying every expression 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.

"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 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 idiots?"

"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.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

  ☆ TBC!! ☆

Hope ya'll liked it ♡ Leave a comment on whatya think!! next chapter will be from Mohawk's p.o.v next part: Pt.2 ☆ 10 parts total! - The series is completed

Smut included with Sinister and Mohawk

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.

"...keep her sedated until the fever breaks..." No Mask's voice carried an unusual gentleness.

"...touch her again and I'll tear your arms off..." Mohawk snarled, his threat punctuated by the flash of his teeth.

"...mission parameters are clear, this distraction is illogical..." Omni's razor-sharp logic cut through the tension.

"...she's your Y/N, she's mine..." Sinister's words dripped with possession, his face gleaming with obsession.

The voices blended and separated, 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 and again, dragging her into dreamless darkness where even these thoughts faded to nothing.

(time skip)

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 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 after betraying the Viltrumite Empire. Taught me control. Strength." His gloved fingers curled into a fist on his knee, knuckles white beneath the leather. "Than they came back for me... 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. It is onyl fair" 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, 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 Mark'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 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.

"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. "Good, now go," he replied, dismissal evident in his tone. "Join Sinister in the eastern quadrant. Hes fighting dupli- Kate and Robot."

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.

Viltrumite Mark moved into the cabin with measured steps. 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 Marks' in color, held what seemed like 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 more clearly; they were cooler than the others' yet somehow more penetrating. 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, "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 as color rised to her cheeks when she held his gaze. "Is that it? I'm a convenient replacement for whatever woman you lost?"

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.

"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. 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. "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. 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 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 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 also ensure the others are following through with the destruction f the planet, they tend to get distracted," he said without looking back, his voice carefully modulated to betray no emotion. "Another will watch over you soon."

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...

(time skip)

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 once fucking again.

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 our highly advanced 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? All Mark Grayson" 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! Over half of earths population is already dead!" 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. 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 is 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 you 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. A slightly slower process, especially when transporting two or more people.

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

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 use her powers 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, not even half 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, burned with an intensity that made him look almost feral. His hands, 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.

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 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. "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. 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 Mark 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 like this... dont let your anger control you. 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 dulled its countdown, the beeping pasuing with no active user.

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, 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 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.

As darkness engulfed her senses, Y/N's mind spiraled into fever dreams.

She felt herself being 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.

"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 weight shift. His gaze swept over her. Something flickered across his face, relief, unmistakable and profound.

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. 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.

Omni's expression darkened. 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.

"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 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 and face. 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, "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. 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. "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 to me. A weakness. Because I spent more time with her than training. Learning. Providing to the empire" His eyes darkened with remembered rage. "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.

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, who 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.

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.

His lips were 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. His massive frame dwarfed hers as he moved closer, the bed creaking beneath their combined weight.

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.

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 like 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. "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. "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. "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, most memories... 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, 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. 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 all 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 would 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.

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.

"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.

When they broke apart again, both flushed and breathing heavily, Omni's eyes had darkened to stormy blue. 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.

"No," he admitted quietly. "She wanted to wait. And I respected her wishes." His jaw tightened, grief and anger momentarily darkening his gaze. "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. "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... Y/n."

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.

"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 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. "They denied you the most basic human experiences. The right to feel pleasure, to connect with another person... But it saved you for me, y/n."

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 as always. He simply can't touch her out permission.

Y/N nodded, her lips parted in anticipation, eyes never leaving his. She reached up to touch his face. 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.

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–!"

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

☆ Cliffhanger lol ☆ If you couldn't tell, I might have a favorite variant... 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' ˘ '). He was desperate for his love ☆ Sad to say, I won't be posting for a while. I need a break after this grind, lol

Next part: !!Pt.6!! Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

☆ 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)

☆ 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. 

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

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)

Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows.

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, surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying mix of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of Lensless's hand around her throat, the crack of her fist against his face, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath 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, binding him from shoulders to ankles. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. His luchador-style mask covered only the upper half of his face, the angular, sharp-edged thing that framed his eyes like a weapon, leaving his jaw, mouth, and cheeks fully exposed.

A landscape of mottled bruises bloomed across those bare cheekbones. 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 ran from his split lip down to his chin. His single visible eye that wasnt swollen shut burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position.

All souvenirs from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles tensed, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists. 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 grudging respect.

The chains rattled softly as he shifted.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. "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 pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings, but 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. 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.

"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 Lensless's fist connecting with her wound, of the variants' hands catching her as she fell, was still vivid.

Her body ached with the particular exhaustion of someone who had pushed past their limit and was now paying for it.

"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.

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, genuine surprise flickering across his face before his characteristic smirk smoothed it over. He'd been careful not to ask, not to show interest. "How did you—"

"Your jaw tightened when I mentioned it," she said simply. "And you've been watching me since I woke up."

A sharp laugh escaped him. "Well. Aren't you observant."

A humorless smile touched her lips. "I learned to read people fast. The ones at the GDA who telegraphed what they wanted were always the most dangerous."

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 hollow flatness 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, the words costing her something to say out loud.

"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. 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 room felt smaller suddenly. Lensless Mark went very still, the way people do when they've said something they can't take back and aren't sure what's coming next.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had broken his nose, that had fought back when every odd was stacked against her. 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 see the other variants in the work, the precision of it, the overkill of it.

This wasn't just restraint. This was a message.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No..." Y/N's lips quirked, her eyes dragging over him slowly, deliberately, like she was appraising something she'd found at the bottom of a trash heap. "I'm just trying to work out which one of them hit you hardest. Whoever it was, I'd like to shake their hand."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain, jaw tightening just slightly before he smoothed it over. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

"Just the answer," she said, already turning away from him and back to the chains.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a 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. "Are you serious right now?" He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Yes, I want out. Obviously. What kind of stupid question is that?"

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Of course," he drawled, leaning back against the wall like a man with all the time in the world despite the chains still wrapped around him. The corner of his mouth pulled up. "Let's hear it then."

"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."

A startled laugh burst out of him, genuine enough that it seemed to surprise even him. "You're out of your mind," he said, shaking his head slowly. "An actual, certifiable lunatic."

"Promise, or stay chained."

He looked at her extended pinky for a long moment, something unreadable shifting behind his eye. Then, slowly, with the air of a man deeply questioning every decision that had led him to this moment, he extended his own.

"Pinky." He hooked it around hers. "Fuckin'." He held her gaze. "Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered a beat longer than either of them acknowledged.

Y/N dropped her eyes to the chains, then crouched down in front of him, close enough that he could have reached her if his arms weren't bound. She didn't seem particularly concerned about that.

"Hold still," she said quietly.

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.

She braced herself, Viltrumite strength coiling through her arms as she applied pressure, slow at first, then with everything she had.

The chain snapped with a crack.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, skittering into the shadows at the edges of the room. Y/N was already moving to the next one before the echo died.

Lensless Mark watched, his eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket had faded further, the skin pulling back toward something recognizable. "Impressive," he muttered. "Didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled. She looked up at him, and whatever was in her eyes made him close his mouth.

"I learned a lot in the GDA," she said quietly. "Survival wasn't a choice. It was the only thing left."

She turned back to the chains. Another link gave way, the metal groaning before it twisted apart, softer than the first, like it had already decided to quit.

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."

"For you? Apparently yes."

Another chain fell, the metal ringing against the floorboards before going still. Y/N didn't look up from her work.

The silence stretched. Outside, something distant collapsed, another building giving up its fight against gravity. The sound rolled through the walls and faded.

"They beat the shit out of me." The snark was gone. Just the words, flat and bare. His gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders pulling inward slightly, like something in him had quietly deflated. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands stilled on the chain.

She looked at him, really looked at him, the dim light catching the damage mapped across his face, the set of his jaw, the way he wasn't quite meeting her eyes.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

He didn't answer right away and for a moment she thought he was going to deflect, throw another sneer at her and shut the conversation down like he had every other time something got too close to real.

Then—

"Because you're a fucking clone." The words came out low and vicious, like he'd been holding them behind his teeth for a long time. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chain. The room felt suddenly smaller. "What?"

He turned his face away from her, staring at the peeling wallpaper like it had personally offended him. The line of his jaw was rigid, a vein pulsing at his temple.

"Forget it."

"No." Her voice dropped, all the lightness gone out of it. Her grip tightened around the chain in her hands, knuckles whitening. "No more chains until you explain." She waited until he looked at her again. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you a single goddamn thing," he snarled, yanking forward against the remaining restraints hard enough that the chains bit deep into his skin. The metal held. Barely. His eye blazed, wild and cornered, the look of something that had been pushed into a space too small for it.

Y/N didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just held his gaze and waited.

The fight went out of him slowly, not all at once, but in increments. His shoulders dropped. His breathing changed. Something behind his eye shifted, cracked open just enough to let something through that wasn't rage.

"FINE."

The word exploded out of him, ricocheting off the cracked walls. He laughed after it, a broken, ugly sound that had nothing to do with humor.

"My Y/N was human." His voice cracked down the middle on the last word, splitting it open. "Just — human. Normal. She didn't have Viltrumite blood running through her, didn't have any of this—" he gestured at her, the movement sharp and contemptuous and somehow also devastated.

"She didn't need any of it. She was just..." He stopped. Swallowed hard. His head dropped back against the wall, eye closing briefly. "She looked exactly like you. Every detail. But she was real. Not built. Not engineered. Not some GDA science project stitched together and called a person." His voice had gone quiet now, which was somehow worse than the shouting. "She was perfect. And you're just—"

He stopped himself. Turned away again.

The unfinished sentence hung in the air between them, heavier than anything he could have said out loud.

Y/N didn't respond immediately. She let the silence sit, let it press against both of them with its full weight. Her fingers found the next chain and resumed their work, the soft groan of bending metal the only sound in the room.

She didn't look at him. Somehow, that seemed kinder than looking at him.

"And that's why you hate me," she said finally, her voice low and even. Not wounded. Just certain. "I'm her echo. But distorted. A version you deem wrong."

Lensless Mark said nothing.

She glanced up briefly, just enough to catch his expression, and what she saw there wasn't rage. It wasn't contempt. It was something far more uncomfortable than either.

His shoulders had dropped away from his ears, the rigid set of his spine softening incrementally against the wall behind him. The fight had gone out of him the way heat leaves a room, gradually, then all at once, until only the cold remained.

He looked, for just a moment, like someone who was very tired.

"I don't hate you," he said quietly. The admission seemed to cost him something. His eye dropped to the floor, jaw tight. "I hate that you exist. There's a difference."

Another chain gave way, the metal parting with a low groan that seemed to echo the mood of the room. Y/N set the broken links down carefully rather than letting them clatter.

"I know," she said simply.

She meant it without pity, and he seemed to understand that, because something in his expression shifted at the words, some last remaining wall losing its footing. His hands, freed incrementally as each chain fell, curled loosely in his lap. Not fists. Just hands.

The final chain hit the floor with a heavy, definitive clank. The sound rang out and then faded, swallowed by the dust and the silence.

He was free.

Neither of them moved for a moment. The room felt different without the chains filling it, emptier, and somehow more charged for it. Like the space left behind by something loud.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rolling his wrists with a grimace. The skin there was raw and chafed, deep red lines pressed into the flesh where the metal had bitten hardest.

He prodded at the bruising across his torso with the detached assessment of someone taking inventory of damage, wincing sharply at one spot near his ribs before schooling his expression back into something neutral. He flexed his fingers, then his arms, reacquainting himself with the simple fact of being unrestrained.

Y/N watched him without pretending she wasn't.

He caught her looking. Of course he did.

The shift was subtle at first, just a change in the quality of his stillness, something predatory sliding back into place beneath his skin like a blade being drawn slowly from a sheath.

He looked up at her through his lashes, and the man who had just spoken about his dead Y/N with a cracked voice was gone, packed away somewhere she wasn't meant to see.

"Well," he purred, the word rolling off his tongue like something dangerous dressed up as something easy. His voice had dropped to just above a whisper, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that had no warmth in it whatsoever. "About that pinky promise..."

Y/N didn't step back. She wanted to, her body was already registering the shift in him, muscles tightening, weight redistributing to the balls of her feet without conscious instruction. Every instinct she had was suddenly paying very close attention.

But she didn't move.

She held his gaze instead, her expression giving him nothing.

"You promised," she said. Flat. Certain. Like a woman reminding someone of a debt she fully intended to collect.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask, as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet. 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 further, revealing a sliver of iris that gave him an unsettling, lopsided gaze, like looking at something that wasn't quite finished healing and wasn't quite finished deciding what it wanted to do next.

He ran his tongue over his split lip, slow and deliberate, tasting copper.

"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 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. "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.

"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.

"You pinky promised," she said.

He stopped.

Something crossed his face, there and gone so fast she almost missed it. Then he laughed, and this time it was different from the harsh sound before. Quieter. Reluctant. Like it had escaped without his permission.

"You're insane," he said. But he didn't take another step.

The silence between them stretched; outside, the distant sounds of the dying world continued, crumbling concrete, the low moan of wind through broken buildings. In here, there were only the two of them and the wreckage of the chains and whatever this was becoming.

"In my world," he said finally, his tongue touching his split lip like he was testing the words before he let them out, "the GDA took her too." His voice had dropped to something quieter than a whisper, the words falling between them like stones into still water. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become..." He gestured at her, the motion sharp and short, his jaw working. "...this."

The last word landed exactly the way he intended it to. Like something discarded.

Y/N held his gaze without blinking.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said. Her hands curled at her sides, not quite fists. "I didn't choose this."

"No." He took a slow breath, his eye moving over her, not with desire, not with cruelty, but with something worse. Recognition. "But you're still here. Still breathing. Still standing in front of me wearing her face and her voice and everything she was except—" He stopped himself. His jaw tightened. "She would have died before she let them turn her into a weapon."

The words hit like a fist to the throat.

Y/N's chin lifted a fraction higher. "Maybe," she said quietly. "Or maybe she would have survived it the same way I did. By deciding that dying wasn't an option."

Something flickered in his eye. Pain, maybe. Or fury. With him the two seemed to occupy the same space.

"But you thrived on it," he hissed, the bitterness carving deep lines around his mouth. "You became exactly what they wanted. And she'd have hated that." His voice dropped. "I hate that."

Before Y/N could respond, a bickering 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. Something in his posture had shifted, the loose, predatory ease replaced by a coiled alertness that reminded her he was, beneath everything else, still a Viltrumite.

Y/N was already moving to the window. She pressed herself to the side of the grimy glass, fingers curling around the peeling windowsill, wood crumbling softly beneath her grip.

The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape in lazy, indifferent columns.

Several blocks away, figures hovered in the haze, familiar silhouettes even at this distance. Sinister's black and yellow. Omni's red and white. The others ranged around them in a loose, tense formation.

And at the center of it all, a smaller figure. Bulbous head gleaming with sweat even from here. Portal drones orbiting him like mechanical satellites.

Angstrom.

"Something's happening," she breathed, her breath fogging the glass.

Lensless Mark materialized at her shoulder without a sound, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off him before she registered his presence. He shouldered her aside with zero ceremony and pressed his face to the glass, one hand braced against the wall above her head.

"Well, well," he drawled, but the casualness was paper-thin, tension bleeding through every word. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices carried on the smoke-laden air, anger, threats, demands stacking on top of each other until they blurred into something that sounded less like negotiation and more like a countdown.

Y/N pulled back from the window. Her gaze moved across the room without meaning to, the broken chains, the splintered bedframe, the peeling wallpaper curling away from the walls like skin. A world coming apart at every seam.

She made her decision.

"We need to go there."

Lensless Mark's head turned toward her slowly, his expression cycling through surprise, disbelief, and then settling on something that was almost entertained. "We?" The word came out like she'd said something genuinely funny. "There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times. Recently."

Y/N stepped into his space. Not aggressively, just enough that he'd have to actively step back to maintain distance, and she was fairly certain he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

She was right.

"And yet here I am," she said, her voice quiet and even, "having just unchained you." Her eyes held his without blinking. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something big enough to have all of them—" she gestured toward the window without looking away from his face, "—on the edge of doing something they can't take back. Don't you want to know what it is?"

His gaze flicked to the window despite himself, just for a second, before snapping back to her.

Then Mohawk's voice tore through the air outside, loud enough to rattle the cracked glass in its frame.

Lensless Mark's eye narrowed.

"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 low. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

The words landed exactly where she intended them to.

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features, his pupil dilated, something darkening behind his eye that he couldn't quite get ahead of fast enough to hide. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them before he pressed them back together.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching, "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.

She let it sit there, that almost-touch, "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the one who brought all of them here," she said, her voice steady. "Every variant. Every destroyed city. Every person dead in the crossfire. That's on him. He set all of this in motion."

Lensless Mark stared at her for a long moment, his jaw working beneath the skin. Something moved through his expression that he clearly had no interest in letting her see, and she was kind enough, or tactical enough, not to name it.

"Fine." The word came out like it had been dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling. "Just fine." He said it again, quieter, like he was convincing himself as much as her. "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 rusted 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. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space.

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, 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 red 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, 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. 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 caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage.

Above them, the confrontation unfolded above the 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 portal drones that floated around the group.

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. "And now you want us to do more of your dirty work?!"

Angstrom's laugh bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. "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. "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 we just rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness.

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. "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.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile. "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.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at the drones."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, scanning the scene below with the focused attention of someone who had learned the hard way to watch everything at once.

The variants were locked on Angstrom's face, all of them, every single one, too busy making their demands to notice what was happening behind them. And Angstrom was letting them talk. Encouraging it, even, his nervous energy and sweating brow playing perfectly into the role of a cornered man buying time.

Because that's exactly what he was doing.

One by one, small drones were rising silently into position behind each variant. No lights. No sound. Just slow, careful movement in the blind spots of eight men too angry to look anywhere but straight ahead.

"He's setting them up," Y/N breathed.

"Mm." Lensless Mark's eye hadn't moved from the drones. His voice was flat, almost bored, but his jaw had tightened. "The moment those things activate, a portal opens behind each of them. They won't even see it coming."

Y/N's gaze snapped to him. "You know his tech?"

His lips curled. "I've been through enough of his portals to know what it looks like right before one opens." A sardonic glint cut through his good eye. "You pick things up, sweetheart."

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!" Mohawk's voice cracked like a whip across the ruined skyline. "Either you give us what we want, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted — and then, almost imperceptibly, steadied. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing a small remote. His thumb hovered over it with the quiet confidence of a man who had already won and was simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.

"I believe in contingency plans," he said, his voice carrying none of the nervousness from moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

Below, the variants were still watching his face. Still focused entirely on him, on his words, on the threat they represented. None of them looked back.

None of them saw the drones activate.

The green light came first — a sudden, simultaneous bloom behind each variant, portals yawning open at their backs with a low mechanical hum that was swallowed almost immediately by the sound of the variants' own shouting. By the time the energy crackled into full visibility, it was already too late to run.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling forward. "Right now—"

Lensless Mark's hand shot out, fingers closing hard around her wrist before she could move. 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. "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, other still slightly swollen, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

Y/N's jaw tightened. She looked at Lensless Mark for exactly one more second, reading his face the way she'd learned to read every dangerous thing that had ever been put in front of her.

Then she looked back up at the variants.

"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. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, like 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 launched pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

Y/N approached from below, using the smoke as cover, her eyes fixed on the scene above. The variants' attention remained locked on Angstrom, anger drowning out everything else, but not quite everything.

Angstrom's fingers danced across the remote with precision, sweat beading on his forehead as the drones behind each variant continued their slow, silent work. The green light was building now, subtle but steady, casting long shadows that crept across the backs of the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice cut through the electric hum below. His fingers curled into fists, tendons standing out like cords beneath his gloves. But his head tilted, just slightly, just for a fraction of a second, the way it did when something at the edge of his perception demanded attention.

He didn't turn around.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, teeth flashing in the sickly green glow. His rage had him completely, jaw bunching beneath his skin, eyes fixed on Angstrom's face.

He hadn't noticed the light at his back. Not yet.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, yellow cape billowing, shoulders hunched in the posture of a predator about to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath his black lenses. "You lying piece of shit," he hissed. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip."

But even as the words left his mouth, something made him pause. His head didn't turn, but his grin faltered, just barely. The green glow behind him had grown bright enough to cast his own shadow forward.

He was a half second from figuring it out.

"You'll get your worlds," Angstrom said, his voice pitching higher than he probably intended. His thumb found the central button of the remote. The nervous grimace on his face tried very hard to look like a smile and failed completely.

"And you'll die there."

His thumb came down.

The drones activated all at once, green light exploding into full brilliance behind each variant. The portals yawned open with a sound like tearing fabric, and for one suspended moment everyone froze , the variants finally turning, finally seeing, finally understanding what had been building at their backs while they'd been too angry to look.

It was Omni who spotted Y/N first. His head snapped toward her approach, eyes widening beneath his mask.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom spun.

His eyes found her a heartbeat later, hurtling toward him, momentum already committed, and something between panic and calculation crossed his face.

His finger jabbed at the remote, redirecting one of the drones away from its assigned variant and into her flight path. The device swung into position with a mechanical whir, green energy coalescing around it, a portal blooming open directly in her path.

Y/N's pupils contracted 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, silent and fast. 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 square in the eyes.

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 while 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 eyes were wide and feverish, jaw set with the particular excitement of someone who had been itching for a reason to stop talking and start breaking things.

Prisoner Mark slammed two drones together between his palms, the metal crumpling like paper. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark barked, his voice cutting through the chaos with the snap of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another. They collided with a burst of green energy that scattered sparks across the ruins below. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants turned on the remaining drones with focused brutality, smashing them with fists and feet until the air rained green sparks and twisted fragments down onto the devastated landscape below.

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.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, a different green than the others, deeper, darker, like something had been wrong with it from the moment it formed. Deliberate. His thumb moved across the remote one final time, slow and certain, like a man signing his name.

Angstrom's eyes found hers as he fell toward it. Blood bubbled at his lips, spattering across his chin.

"Enjoy your trip," he said.

Y/N pulled up hard, muscles burning against her own momentum. Not hard enough. The portal expanded beneath him and kept expanding, swallowing him whole and then reaching upward with hungry, churning energy.

She couldn't stop.

Above her the variants had gone still, the last drones forgotten. Omni's arm shot out, fingers outstretched, too far away to matter. Lensless Mark hovered at the edge of the group, both eyes wide, his hand moving toward her before he'd apparently decided to move it.

The portal took her.

Meanwhile, one drone had drifted unnoticed into position behind Sinister Mark. His attention had been entirely on Y/N, his black lenses tracking her descent, body locked in place in a way that was almost unlike him. The drone activated quietly, a portal blooming open at his back.

"Son of a—"

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The portal was nothing like the green ones. The sensation hit Y/N like every nerve in her body being pulled in opposite directions simultaneously, pressure, disorientation, colors that had no names pressing against the backs of her eyes until she thought her skull would give.

Then, abruptly, silence.

She hit the ground hard.

Her body absorbed the impact, but only just, dust and grit exploding outward from the point of contact. She lay still for a moment, cheek against alien soil, lungs working to remember their job.

Then she pushed herself up.

The landscape that greeted her was nothing like anything she had left behind. The sky hung low and sickly, a yellow-green that reminded her uncomfortably of infected tissue.

Three moons of different sizes and colors occupied that sky simultaneously, their overlapping light casting strange, layered shadows across the barren ground.

Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth in every direction, their surfaces catching the moonlight with an oily, iridescent sheen that suggested they were something other than simple stone.

She was a long way from home.

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 harden in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

She had been sent to 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, but she wouldn't wimp away from any fight.

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 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 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.

Y/N fought with everything she had. 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.

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, moving too fast to track. 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. Black and yellow, a cape catching the strange light of three moons, black lenses scanning the creatures with cold efficiency.

Sinister Mark.

His 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 suit. His yellow cape moved in the alien breeze, torn at one edge but no less dramatic for it.

"Stay down," he said, voice tight and clipped. Not a suggestion.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He tilted his head slightly, and a wide, savage grin split his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and genuinely delighted. "My turn."

What followed wasn't a fight. It was a massacre.

Sinister moved through the creatures with brutal efficiency, each strike placed exactly where it would do the most damage. No showboating, no wasted movement, just violence applied with the focused pleasure of someone who was very good at something they genuinely enjoyed.

His laughter punctuated every blow, bright and terrible against the alien silence.

Sinister's fist punched clean through the tentacled monster's central mass, the creature coming apart around his arm in a cascade of viscera. "Too easy!" He shook the gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist, already turning toward the next one.

The acid-spitter never got its second shot. Sinister's hand moved faster than Y/N's eyes could follow, and the creature's head was simply no longer attached to its body. He kicked it toward another approaching monster without breaking stride. "Is that the best you've got?"

The quadruped limped back into the fray, its body already realigning from the earlier impact. Sinister met its charge head-on, both hands finding opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched visibly beneath his suit.

"Let me help you with that," he said pleasantly, and ripped outward.

The creature collapsed, twitching. Sinister floated over it, shoulders shaking with laughter, already focused on the last one.

The largest monster had stopped advancing. Its cluster of milky eyes tracked Sinister's movements with something that looked, for the first time, like wariness. It took a step back. Then another.

Sinister leapt, his body cutting upward against the sickly sky, cape snapping behind him. He came down on the creature's shoulders, hands finding its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled. "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 suit 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, teeth gritted against the protest of every injury she'd collected in the last ten minutes. Her eyes tracked him as he approached, searching the blank lenses of his mask for some hint of what came next.

He stopped in front of her and looked down.

"You look like shit," he said.

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, cape settling around him as he tilted his head. The three moons caught his lenses, turning them into twin mirrors that gave her back her own battered reflection. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

The laugh that escaped her was not entirely voluntary. It came out edged with pain and something close to hysteria, which probably said a lot about her current state. "I feel like shit too," she managed, pressing her hand against the gash across her ribs that pulsed insistently with every heartbeat.

The ground around them was a mess of dismembered creatures, their various fluids pooling in the shallow craters left by the fight, alien colors that had no business existing bleeding slowly into the barren soil.

Sinister's eyes moved across the carnage with the detached satisfaction of a man surveying completed work. Then he folded himself into a crouch beside her, the movement carrying the same fluid ease as the violence that had preceded it, like both were simply different expressions of the same thing.

His yellow gloves reached toward her face, unhurried, like she wasn't going to stop him and he already knew it. The leather caught on her skin as he tilted her chin upward, the contact transferring blood between them, her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the things he'd just torn apart with what could only be described as enthusiasm.

Y/N held still. Partly because moving hurt. Partly because something in the quality of his attention made her think that pulling away would only make it worse.

"I don't save people," he said.

The words came out quiet and almost conversational, which somehow made them land harder than if he'd snarled them.

His lower face was fully visible beneath the mask, and what it showed her was a grin spreading slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other, not warm, not reassuring, just deeply, genuinely pleased with itself. His teeth caught the dim light of the three moons.

"But these things," his thumb moved to her lower lip, the touch so light it almost didn't register, leaving a streak of crimson against her skin, "don't get to have all the fun with you."

He cocked his head, a small, curious tilt that sent a ripple through his torn cape. The yellow fabric caught the alien light and held it.

"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 cost her, pain detonated through her battered body in a wave that stole the breath from her lungs.

A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth before she could stop it.

Her hand pressed instinctively to her shoulder where the acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges of the fabric blackened and still faintly smoking.

She kept her jaw tight, her expression as controlled as she could manage, which wasn't very.

Sinister watched her do all of this with obvious interest.

Then he laughed, head thrown back, the sound erupting out of him high and untethered, echoing off the alien rock formations and coming back distorted and strange.

Like it belonged to this place.

"Still playing tough?" He shifted closer, unhurried, bringing with him the smell of the fight still clinging to his suit, sweat and blood and something underneath that was uniquely, unsettlingly him. Behind the black lenses something glittered, hungry and focused. His smile hadn't moved. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

The words hit differently than she expected.

Before she could decide what to do with them, his arms were already moving. One beneath her knees, one at her back, and then the ground was gone and she was against his chest with no memory of agreeing to it.

Her injured shoulder pressed into him. The gasp that escaped her was entirely involuntary.

Her fingers found the material of his suit and held on, vertigo and pain conspiring against her dignity.

Then he buried his face in her neck.

It wasn't violent or aggressive, it was slow, deliberate, his nose pressing into the curve where her neck met her shoulder as he drew in a long, deep breath. Like he was committing something to memory. Like he'd been wanting to do it for longer than the last five minutes and had simply decided that now was acceptable.

The sound he made was low and quiet, barely audible, somewhere between a sigh and something far more dangerous.

Y/N went completely still.

The pain, the alien landscape, the three moons overhead, all of it faded to background noise as heat flooded her face with humiliating speed. She was acutely, painfully aware of every point of contact between them.

"You—" she started.

"Shh." He didn't lift his head. His breath was warm against her skin, his voice muffled by her hair. "Give me a moment."

"Absolutely not—"

"There it is." He pulled back just enough to look at her, and whatever he saw on her face made his grin spread slow and satisfied across his mouth. His lenses reflected her flushed cheeks back at her in perfect detail. "You're blushing."

"I'm not," she said, which was such an obvious lie that she almost respected herself for attempting it.

"You absolutely are." He sounded delighted. "Fascinating."

"I have an acid burn and three cracked ribs—"

"And you're blushing." He said it like it was the most interesting thing that had happened all day, which given the day they'd had was genuinely offensive. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

"I hate you," she said, with as much dignity as she could manage while being cradled against his chest on an alien planet.

"No you don't." He sounded completely unbothered by the possibility either way.

His head tilted then, the teasing quality dropping out of his expression as his lenses moved over her face with something more clinical, taking inventory. The acid burn. The gash at her ribs. The way she was holding herself slightly wrong to compensate for the pain she wasn't admitting to.

"Hurts, doesn't it," he said. Not a question.

The corner of his mouth moved, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer, something in between that was probably worse than either. He shifted his hold on her, adjusting her weight against his chest with a carefulness that sat oddly against everything else about him.

"Pain means you're still alive." His lenses caught the moonlight briefly as he looked back out at the wasteland. "Be grateful."

Then he launched skyward without warning.

The acceleration drove her body hard against his, gravity making the decision her pride wouldn't. Her arms went around his neck on pure instinct, face pressing into his shoulder as the wasteland dropped away beneath them with nauseating speed. The wind hit immediately, cold and alien, whipping her hair across her face.

"Let me go," she said into his shoulder. Then she pulled back enough to find his lenses, the wind pulling her hair in every direction at once. "I mean it."

The laugh that came out of him rumbled through his chest and into hers where they were pressed together. "After all that trouble?" His grip adjusted, yellow gloves vivid against the torn fabric of her suit as he pulled her more securely against him. His voice dropped, almost conversational above the rush of wind. "Besides — those things down there heard all of that. They're already calling their friends."

Below, distant shapes moved across the wasteland with slow, deliberate purpose, drawn by the noise and the blood.

She didn't argue again.

Sinister adjusted course, angling toward a jagged rock formation that rose from the wasteland floor. A dark opening revealed itself at its base as they descended, a cave mouth, shadow pooling thick and deep within it.

He landed with easy precision and ducked inside without breaking stride, her still held against his chest like something he'd decided to keep.

"Home sweet home," he said, and she could hear the smile in it.

She could still feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

She chose not to think about that.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

☆ Okay, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one, I know it was mostly buildup and a lot of talking but I promise it was necessary. Lensless needed his moment, and I will not apologize for it. ☆ This was mainly fluff and tension because the next chapter is the main course... and I mean that. You have been warned. ☆ Good news, I already finished writing the next chapter so there's no waiting around this time! I actually kept my promise for once!! ☆ Go check it out for some quality alone time with Sinister in a cave on an alien planet. You know how it is. 🖤

part 8: