#soft void

You had chalked it up to a freak imbalance in your hormones. A cruel twist of biology you hoped would never happen again.

But tonight, it had.

The ache pulled you out of your sleep like a hook in your ribs. At first it was a whisper, a slow throb in your belly that pulse slowly. But then it sharpened, expanding outward, like a molten knot that radiated and passed through your hips, your thighs, into your core, and digging into the hollow of your spine. It was a hunger so fierce it bordered on painful, and it was an ache that made your muscles clench and tremble. You blinked into the dark, heat prickling along your skin, as your chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

You were already soaked, you could feel it when you shifted slightly. The cotton of your panties clung to your swollen core, dragging over your clit with every tiny movement, sending shivers up your spine until you wanted to cry. Sweat slicked the inside of the t-shirt you had borrowed from The Void, damp patches spreading beneath your breasts, between your shoulder blades, and down your lower back. You felt like you wanted to tear the fabric off yourself bit by bit until they were mere shreds, because every brush of it against your scorching skin seemed to magnify the fever that was burning through you.

And you couldn’t seek relief, because you were cocooned.

The Void’s arm was cinched tight around your waist, his forearm pressing firm and unyielding across your stomach. His cool palm laid heavy and broad over your midsection, holding you flat to him, keeping your position perfectly secured. His bare chest was pressed into your back–an immovable wall–with his weight trapping you. And everywhere around your body was anchored, as the tendrils had slipped out and claimed you throughout the night.

Two curled gently around your wrists, holding them to your chest like they were clasped in prayer. Another banded across your ribs, a velvet strap that rose and fell with every shallow breath you fought to take. A thick coil stretched broad across your hips, its weight pressing you into the mattress. Two more wrapped snug around your thigh, silk-heavy restraints that made your pulse throb beneath their hold. One had slipped beneath the crook of your knees, canting your legs open just enough to expose the heat between them to the cool temperature that he radiated. Smaller coils spiraled down your calves, looping around your ankles like vines. And around your throat, softest of all, one laid in a loose collar–not tight, nor cruel, only brushing lightly over the frantic hammer of your pulse.

You were practically wrapped head to toe in darkness. Swaddled, and enveloped as if you were an extension of him.

Most nights, this was peace to you. He was your sanctuary, your safety, your claim and your calmness. But tonight, that security felt like pure torture.

Every tendril pressed too close. The one at your hips brushed the waistband of your panties absentmindedly, grazing just shy of where your body screamed for relief. The ones on your thighs denied you the chance to press together–not on purpose, it was just by chance. And they were all pulsing in sync with you, because you were the one thing that they tethered to. Layered over everything though was him.

HIs scent surrounded you, caressing you with every breath. Smoke and steel, ozone sharp enough to sting your tongue, threaded with the faint sweetness that could only belong to him. It filled your lungs, coated your mouth and slipped down your throat, and soaked into your pores until it drowned you. Each inhale you took dragged the hunger deeper, and each exhale made the ache sharper.

You tried to still yourself. You tried to breathe through it, to will it away. But the dampness continued to soak the fabric and it continued to catch on your clit with each twitch of your hips. It felt like your insides were burning, twisting cruelly within your womb, tightening no matter how you tried to fight it. You shifted slowly, moving back against The Void in search of relief, but it only made it worse. The cotton clung and pulled, sparking pleasure so instant and out of nowhere it stole your breath. The tendrils responded immediately, tightening around you–a gentle reflex that stole what little room you had to move.

Your body convulsed with frustrated need. Tears pricked at your lashes, and you bit your lips so hard until you tasted iron. You tried to hold it in, but your chest hitched with shallow, frantic gasps.

Then the sound broke free. A whimper, high and ragged, a desperate little sob.

It didn’t sound like want. It sounded like pain.

The bed shifted. And the arm around your waist drew taut, pulling you tighter for a moment before easing. The tendrils pulsed once, their nest around you rippling as if they too had heard the desperate little noise that escaped your throat. You could hear The Void’s breathing change. The steady rhythm of sleep fractured, deepening into long heavy pulls of air that dragged over the crown of your head. It wasn’t the breath of someone merely waking–it was searching and deliberate, like he was smelling you, and tasting the heat and anguish bleeding from your pores. His chest pressed more firmly into your back as he shifted even closer, his face burrowing into your hair. When he turned his head, you felt the faint graze of his lips–damp and cool–against the shell of your ear.

”Are you okay?” He asked, his voice rough with sleep, but weighing with a concern that only he could have for you. His hand moved as he spoke, dragging slowly over your stomach, pressing through the soaked cotton of his t-shirt that clung to your body. The coolness of his velvet skin made you shudder where it passed over the damp patches, soothing the fever just enough to give you a split second of relief before the ache ruptured through you again.

You shook your head quickly, the admission spilling from you before you even had a thought to keep it in. The motion made the tears that clouded your vision slip free–hot, helpless drops escaping from the corners of your eyes, sliding down across the bridge of your nose until they dripped onto the pillow beneath your head.

He stilled at the action, and the energy around him shifted, subtle but undeniable. He wasn’t just half awake anymore, and he wasn’t drifting on instinct–he was fully present now. You could feel it in the way his weight adjusted, and the way the tendrils that came from him stirred as if waiting for a command.

He moved with slow certainty, pushing himself upright behind you. The mattress dipped with his shift, and immediately the tendrils obeyed, unwinding from the cocoon they’d woven around your body. But they didn’t vanish. They reformed, flowing like liquid silk, lifting you with eerie gentleness, guiding you onto your back as if you were weightless. The shadows moved with a reverence that mirrored his own hands–placing you, not trapping you, until you were laid flat against the sheets, your chest heaving, your sweat-slick skin shining in the dim.

You blinked up through the darkness, dazed and fevered, until your eyes found him.

He loomed above you, his form a living silhouette of shadow. And yet his eyes–those pale, glowing pupils–cut through it all, steady and piercing, like twin moons hovering over you and casting their coolness over your skin. They swept over your face with agonizing slowness, meticulous in their reading. He saw everything, the sheen of sweat that made a few strands of hair stick to your temples, the wet shine of tears clinging to your lashes, and the frantic rise and fall of your chest that you couldn’t calm, no matter how hard you tried.

There was no judgement in his gaze, no distance, just love and concern.

His hand rose, sliding into your vision, until his palm cupped your cheek. The touch was steady and ground, cool against your scorching skin. His thumb brushed tenderly across your temple, catching the dampness of sweat, wiping it away as if it offended him to see you so uncomfortable.

The contrast made your throat ache, and you leaned into it without meaning to, your lips parting on a shudder as if the pressure of his hand would steady the whirlwind that ruptured and broke open inside your body, another whimper slipping out of your mouth. You could see the way his eyes narrowed at the noise.

”Y/N…” He started softly, threaded with concern so heavy it seemed to darken the air around you, “What’s wrong, my love?” Another fresh set of tears welled in your eyes at the sound of his voice, that gentle endearment wrapping around you like silk chains. It was too much–it unraveled you from the inside out. Your stomach knotted painfully, your throat tight, your lashes clinging with wetness as you tried to hold yourself together. You shook your head, the movement tiny, trembling, and finally the words scraped free in a broken croak.

“I–I woke up like this… Void, I’m in so much pain…” His fingers twitched faintly against your cheek, the smallest crack in his stillness betraying the surge of feeling beneath his skin. He leaned closer, his cool breath ghosting over your fever-hot flesh, his gaze chasing yours when you tried to turn away. His voice came low, coaxing, velvet smoothed with care.

“Show me where it hurts…” The instruction was soft but left no room for denial. With shaking hands, you reached up to the one still cupping your cheek, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. His skin was impossibly cool, a balm even in your desperation. Slowly, with shame and need tangling in your chest, you guided him downward–over the line of your sternum, past the damp cling of his t-shirt stretched tight across your body–down, down until his palm hovered at the soaked cotton of your panties. The moment his hand pressed there, your hips lifted desperately, chasing contact, unable to stop yourself. You writhed under his touch, tears spilling anew as a small, helpless whimper broke free.

“I feel like I’m dying, Void…I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why it’s so bad tonight…” Your voice cracked under the weight of it, words dissolving into breathy sobs. The pained pleasure was so sharp it made your eyes burn, mortification searing in your chest even as need forced the confession from you.

“Shhh…” He hushed you immediately, the sound soft, a lullaby in the dark. The tendrils tightened around your body, not harsh but embracing, a cocoon pressing you closer to him as though his shadows themselves wanted to soothe. His lips hovered just above yours, his voice low and coaxing. “Hey, hey…It’s okay. Look at me…”

Your bottom lip quivered, and for a moment you thought you couldn’t. But the weight of his words tugged at you, anchored you, and you forced yourself to lift your gaze. His eyes pulsed faintly, the pale moons of his pupils expanding and contracting like a steady heartbeat.

“You’re just having a rough ovulation period,” he murmured, his voice so steady, so sure it almost made you believe it wasn’t monstrous at all. “All you need is a little bit of relief.” As he spoke, his fingers pressed firmer against the damp fabric, dragging slowly along the wet heat of your core. The motion was unhurried, deliberate, the kind of touch that said he had all the time in the world to take care of you.

“It’s nothing I can’t fix…”

A shaky sigh tore out of you at the contact, your hips rising helplessly into his palm. Your voice came small and shattered, begging before you could stop yourself.

“God, please Void…Please…Please help me.” The words hung between you, ragged and raw, and you could feel how they stirred him. His body shifted, his breath caught faintly in his throat. He had never heard you like this before–so desperate, so close to breaking, begging with tears streaking your cheeks. The sound of it struck through him like lightning, twisting want and worry together until his own stomach knotted with arousal. It was unbearable and intoxicating all at once.

He let out a small, steadying sigh, then leaned forward, his lips brushing your damp cheek. He kissed along the salt-streaked skin, tasting the tears you hadn’t been able to hold back. Each press of his mouth was soft, chasing away every trace of wetness until all that remained was the clean press of his affection. When he reached the corner of your mouth, he lingered, then tilted his head and claimed your lips fully.

His mouth was cool against your fevered heat, the contrast so sharp it made you moan into him immediately. He moved with aching slowness, savoring you, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to taste the salt and the sweetness of your mouth. His hand still pressed against your soaked panties, grounding you, steadying you, while his lips consumed every sound you tried to make. His tongue tangled with yours, deliberate strokes that coaxed rather than demanded, deepening the kiss until you felt your body melt into him despite the ache still tearing through you.

You moaned again, broken and breathless, and he caught the sound, swallowing it like he could keep it safe inside him. His mouth pressed harder against yours for a moment, a low hum vibrating in his chest, before he finally pulled back just enough to breathe you in.

His forehead nearly touched yours, his lips still grazing your mouth as he whispered, low and tender, the words vibrating through the space between you.

“I’ve got you, Y/N…You know I’ll always help you. You never have to beg me.” You almost sobbed at his reassurance, the vow sinking into you even as the ache in your body sharpened again. Your chest rose and fell erratically, the air burning in your lungs, but you let it out on a shudder when he bent his head and kissed slowly along your jaw. Each press of his mouth was gentle, his cool lips skating over your fevered skin, dragging at the edge of your composure.

Then you felt the shift. His weight moved, pressing lower, his body sliding between your parted thighs until he was above you fully. The mattress dipped beneath the cage of his form, his chest sealing against yours, cool velvet flesh smothering the sweat-slick cling of your shirt. The sudden temperature contrast made you gasp, the sound breaking into a moan as your nipples tightened instantly beneath the thin cotton. The friction was exquisite agony, every brush against his chest sending sparks through your nerves.

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time. The kiss was heated, open-mouthed, a clash of need and comfort as his tongue swept into your mouth and tangled with yours. You moaned into him, and his hand–still pressed firmly against the soaked fabric of your panties–moved in slow, deliberate circles. Slick gathered instantly, seeping through until his palm was wet with you, and every drag of his fingers made your hips jolt helplessly against him.

You ground into his touch, shameless and desperate, whimpering into his mouth as though you could climb inside him just to escape the ache. He swallowed each broken sound, and you felt the faint curve of his lips–he was smiling into the kiss, tasting your desperation like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

When he pulled back, you almost cried at the loss. His pale eyes glowed down at you, feverishly steady, before he rasped, “Take off your shirt for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your hands flew to the hem of the sweat-damp cotton, tugging it upward so quickly you nearly tore the seams. You ripped it off in one motion, tossing it aside without care before launching yourself forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders. You dragged him down against you again, clinging to him, nails biting faint crescents into the velvet-dark flesh of his back as though you feared he might pull away.

“Please,” You breathed against his mouth, almost sobbing again. Your hands roved everywhere–his shoulders, his arms, the back of his neck–anywhere you could touch. The desperation made your movements clumsy, frantic, but he met every grasp with steady patience. His hand pressed harder against your drenched core, keeping you grounded while your body writhed beneath him.

His mouth pressed against your jaw, trailing downward with aching slowness. Cool lips and tongue dragged over flushed skin, and when he reached the swell of your breast, you gasped his name, arching up into him instinctively. He didn’t make you wait–his mouth closed over your nipple, tongue swirling, lips sucking gently before pulling harder, leaving a wet heat in his wake. The sharp cry that tore from your throat echoed in the darkness, broken and high, and he hummed against you as if savoring it. He dragged his teeth lightly over the peaked bud, then soothed it with his tongue, alternating kisses and sucks until you were clutching his silky hair between your fingers and pushing him closer.

His free hand slid to your other breast, kneading with care, thumb circling until both were hard and sensitive beneath his touch. His pale eyes flicked up to watch you, glowing with a mixture of reverence and hunger, his lips pulling free with a wet pop before latching again. He kissed, sucked, and marked until you felt your skin buzzing, little blooms of heat decorating your chest where his mouth had worshiped.

The noises pouring out of you were shameless–moans, whimpers, cries of his name. You could barely keep still, your hips grinding up into the hand still working you through your panties, chasing friction, tears still clinging to your lashes.

He let out a soft laugh, dark and low, pulling back from your breast just enough to whisper against your damp skin. “So noisy already…” His tongue flicked over your nipple before sucking hard again, making you sob. “Can’t wait to hear what kind of sounds you’ll make when I have my mouth on that desperate little pussy of yours…”

Your entire body jolted, the filth in his tone sinking into your bones.

He dragged his lips lower, down the curve of your breast, teeth nipping softly before sucking another mark along the tender flesh, moving even lower, “Can’t wait to have a taste…” His words rumbled against your skin, reverent and filthy all at once. “I know it’ll be different tonight.” His hand rubbed harder between your thighs, the fabric of your panties utterly soaked, clinging to his fingers with every drag. “I can smell the difference already–just from what’s on my hand.” The admission made you cry out, hips jerking up, your hands yanking on his hair.

“Void…Oh, fuck…Please, I can’t–” Your words dissolved into a sob, your body trembling, torn apart by the sensitivity. He smiled against the soft plane of your stomach as he kissed lower, his teeth scraping lightly over your fevered flesh.

“Yes, you can,” He soothed, nipping, then sucking at your hip. “You’ll give me every sound. Every taste. You’ll let me fix this for you, my love.” His hand left your drenched core, pulling away so suddenly that you gasped at the loss. But before you could whimper your protest, both of his hands slid up, fingers curling into the waistband of your panties. He didn’t need to ask you to lift–he never needed to ask. The tendrils did it for him, sliding low across your waist, curling around your hips and thighs before lifting you off the mattress like you were a feather. Your body hovered, weightless, as he peeled the soaked cotton down your legs.

The fabric dragged over your swollen clit and made you twitch, a shiver cracking down your spine. When he pulled them completely off, the sight made his glowing pupils flare. Your arousal had soaked straight through, staining the insides of your thighs with a glistening sheen that caught the faint light.

He lifted the panties in his hand and pressed the damp cotton to his lips. His tongue swept across the soaked gusset, savoring it, and his throat rumbled low when he sucked. A moan broke from him–low, guttural, reverent.

“Gods…” He rasped, his voice vibrating through you. His eyes flicked to yours, blazing white. “Your taste is so different. Riper. Sweeter. Fertile.” He licked the fabric again, slower this time, savoring the salt and sweetness. “It’s like drinking straight from the source of life itself. You’re made to be filled, made to be taken. Every drop is proof.” Your breath caught, a sobbing gasp tearing from you at the filth of his words, your thighs trembling against the tendrils still holding you aloft. The shadows answered again, uncoiling from your waist to slither lower. They wrapped around your thighs, tightening, spreading you wide with no effort. The stretch made you whimper, your core exposed and glistening under his gaze, puffy and dripping, clenching around nothing. His smile was sharp and soft all at once, both feral and full of fondness.

“Most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, awe bleeding through the growl. He leaned forward, mouth grazing up your inner thigh. Cool lips dragged against hot skin, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. He marked you as he went–slow sucks, teasing nips–before settling his body fully down against the mattress, his shoulders wedged beneath your thighs. The tendrils tugged, pulling you down towards him, and you gasped as his face pressed close enough that his breath fanned across your swollen folds.

He teased mercilessly. His tongue traced the creases of your thighs, licked across the mound just above your clit, dipped low but never where you needed him most. The ache in your core sharpened into anguish, and you squirmed uselessly against the shadows.

“Void… Void, please,” You sobbed, your voice breaking, your hips straining for him. “Please lick me. Please stop teasing me, I feel like my heart is going to explode.” He hummed, low and dark, the sound vibrating against your overheated skin.

“I don’t mean to take joy in your suffering…” His voice was almost tender, his eyes gleaming.

And before you could beg even more, his tongue slid between your folds.

Your cry ripped free, raw and desperate, as his mouth sealed against you. His tongue swept up the length of your core, dragging through the flood of arousal that poured from you, collecting it greedily before circling your clit. His pupils glowed so brightly they seemed to light your body, and his gaze never left yours as he devoured you.

Your thighs twitched hard against the tendrils, but they only tightened, holding you wide open as he licked and sucked. He was feral, his mouth working you as though he needed you to live. His tongue alternated between broad strokes and sharp flicks, dragging through your wetness, plunging into you, then laving your clit until you writhed uncontrollably.

Your back arched, your hips jerking against his mouth, but another tendril slid across your stomach, draping heavily to hold you down. The pressure only heightened your helplessness, made you sob his name as his mouth tore you apart piece by piece.

Then–his fingers. Cool and long, slipped into you without warning. Two pressed deep, stretching your walls until your head snapped back and a scream ripped from your throat. He curled them immediately, finding that soft spot inside you, and the combination of his tongue on your clit and fingers stroking deep made stars burst behind your eyes.

He growled into you, the vibration traveling straight through your folds, filthy words spilling from him between licks. “So fucking wet…Clenching like you’re already trying to milk me…” His teeth grazed your clit before sucking, and you nearly sobbed.

“Yes, yes, Void–want it, want you–fuck, your tongue feels so good…Please don’t stop, please, I’m begging you–” Your hand shot up blindly, searching, and he caught it. His free hand tangled with yours, cool fingers interlocking tightly with your trembling ones. He squeezed back, grounding you as his mouth grew more relentless. His fingers pumped harder, faster, curling just right while his tongue flicked mercilessly.

Your orgasm slammed into you with no warning. You screamed his name, your back bowing so hard it hurt, your thighs quaking in the tendrils’ grip as waves of release tore through you. The tendril across your stomach pinned you down, forcing you to take every lick, every thrust of his fingers as he worked you through it. You shook violently, tears streaking your face as you came undone against him.

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, lapping at everything you gave him, swallowing it down like a starving man. His glowing eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, pupils pulsing with each shudder of your body. Only when your writhing softened, your sobs quieting into broken gasps, did he slow.

With a final sweep of his tongue, he cleaned you thoroughly, licking every drop from your folds until you whimpered at the oversensitivity. He eased his fingers from you, the slick sound obscene in the quiet, and then you heard him suck them clean. A low groan spilled from him, guttural and reverent, like he was worshiping the taste itself.

He climbed up your body, shadows releasing you only to reform as a dark cradle around you both. His weight pressed you into the mattress as he leaned over you, his lips wet with your arousal, his glowing eyes fixed on your face like you were the only thing that existed.

And then–you felt it. His cock, hard and heavy, cool against the fever of your stomach. Thick and long, pre-cum dripping in a slick trail that smeared across your skin. The blunt weight of him was impossible to ignore, every pulse a promise.

His voice rasped low against your lips, filthy and tender all at once. “Feel what you’ve done to me, Y/N. You’re so fucking perfect…And I’m going to ruin you with it.” You let out a soft moan before his mouth crashed back to yours, soaked with your release. The moment they touched you tasted yourself on him. Sweetness bloomed across your tongue–heady, thick, almost like honey laced with salt and smoke. The taste was intoxicating, cloying in its intensity, and you whimpered into his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as though you could drink it down from him. The kiss deepened immediately, his tongue sweeping against yours, dragging the flavor deeper, making you taste every ounce of what he had pulled from you. He groaned low in his throat, a feral sound that vibrated straight into your chest, as if your taste itself was undoing him.

The tendrils stirred while he kissed you, their velvet length coiling down your thighs, curling beneath them, then rising. Slowly, gently, they lifted your legs higher, wrapping around your calves and spreading you, guiding you until they were hooked around his waist, perfectly angling you against him. The shift pressed your soaked, swollen core flush to the cool, rigid length of his cock, and you gasped against his lips at the sharp contrast–your fevered heat against his icy steel.

He pulled away just enough to breathe, his glowing pupils searing into yours as his hand slid down your body. His palm ghosted over the sweat-slick valley between your breasts, down your trembling stomach, until his fingers brushed over the coarse flesh of his own cock. You watched, totally dazed, as his hand wrapped around himself, stroking once, twice, slowly, dragging his palm down the shadowed length. Then he angled himself lower, dragging the blunt head against your folds.

The first pass smeared his pre-cum across your clit, and you nearly sobbed at the sensation. The slick coolness against the swollen bud sent a jolt straight through you, and your thighs quivered against the tendrils that held them high. He did it again, slower this time, letting the tip of his cock slide through your folds, coating you in his leaking arousal. Your body trembled, a shaky sigh spilling from you as your hand flew down to clutch at his thigh, nails biting crescent moons into the velvet-dark skin.

“Fuck,” You gasped, hips canting up instinctively, chasing the pressure. “God, Void…”

His lips curved into a smile, feral and reverent all at once, his glowing eyes hooding as he teased himself against you. Then, with a steadying groan, he pressed the thick head to your entrance. The pressure built instantly, and you could feel yourself stretching around him even before he pushed in fully.

Your walls gave way slowly, fluttering and clenching as inch after inch of him sank into you. The stretch was overwhelming, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs, and yet it was exactly what your body ached for. You cried out, tears springing fresh to your lashes as your body opened around him, taking him deeper, your warmth dragging him in like quicksand.

“Gods,” He rasped, his eyes slipping closed as he stilled once his hips met yours. His jaw clenched tight, his chest expanding on a ragged inhale. Then he let it out in a sigh, shuddering, his hands sliding up to clutch at your waist, his thumbs digging reverently into your damp skin. “You always…fuck, you always stretch around me so well. Like you’re molded for me alone.”

Your body pulsed around him, clenching greedily, milking his cock already as though begging for him to spill. His eyes opened again, glowing bright as moons, and he smiled down at you–sharp teeth flashing, but softened by the awe that cut through his hunger. His hands smoothed up and down your waist, tracing the lines of you, grounding himself in the feel of your body wrapped so perfectly around him.

“I can already feel it,” He murmured, his voice low, the words rasping against your lips as he leaned closer. “How much you need it…My cum. You’re pulsing around me like you want me to finish right now. Like your body already knows what it needs most.” His hips rolled slowly, the shift dragging him deeper into you, making your back arch as you cried out. “You need me to give it to you, don’t you? To fill you until you’re dripping with me.”A broken moan tore from your throat, your nails digging deeper into his thigh.

“Right now I just need you to fuck me,” You gasped, your words cracked but heavy with desperation. “Please…Fuck me, Void…” His lips crushed to yours again, his groan vibrating into your mouth. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth and need, your breaths tangling until you thought you’d drown in it. When he pulled back, his mouth trailed down to your jaw, then your ear, his words spilling hot and low into your skin.

“This is prime time for me to breed you,” He whispered, and you whimpered at the thought of it, your body clenching tight around him. His hips rocked again, slow, deliberate, dragging the thick length of him against every sensitive spot inside you. “Your body’s begging for it. Ovulating. Fertile. You’re so fucking ready to take me–to take everything I give you.” His teeth scraped over the shell of your ear, his voice dropping into a growl. “I’ll fuck a baby into you tonight. I’ll fill you until there’s no doubt who you belong to.”

“Yes…Yes, fuck, I want it,” You gasped, your nails dragging red lines into his flesh. “Want you to fill me, Void. Want you to fuck me until you breed me, until I can’t think of anything but you inside me…Until I’m swollen with your child.” He groaned, a guttural, reverent sound, his forehead pressing to yours as his hips began to move in steady, deeper thrusts. His glowing eyes never wavered, drinking in every broken sound you gave him, every tremble of your body as it writhed under his.

Then his lips brushed your temple, his voice velvet and commanding all at once. “Turn over onto your stomach.”

The tendrils stirred at the words, sliding low, already preparing to move you. His gaze burned down into yours as he whispered, “Let me take you deeper. Let me ruin you the way you need.” His words–low and reverent, yet heavy with command—still rang through you as the tendrils obeyed, easing your trembling body into motion. They unwound from your thighs and waist, their silk-smooth coils slipping away just enough to roll you gently onto your stomach. The movement made him slide from you, his cock dragging free with a wet, obscene sound that made your hips jerk at the sudden emptiness. You whimpered at the loss, tears streaking fresh down your cheeks.

“Shhh,” He hushed, the sound cutting straight into your bones. “It’s okay…”

The mattress dipped as he moved, straddling your hips, his body blanketing yours from behind. His cock–thick, cool, glistening with your slick–pressed against the curve of your ass, sliding between your cheeks before he gripped himself and angled low. You felt the blunt head notch against your entrance, slick and swollen, and then–slowly, with devastating control–he pushed in again.

The angle was deeper. So much deeper.

Your jaw fell open, a gasping cry ripping from your throat as his cock split you wide, your walls stretching, fluttering helplessly around the thick intrusion. It felt like he was driving straight into your womb, the blunt head nudging somewhere so deep and sensitive it made you sob into the pillow.

“Fuck,” You cried, your hands clawing at the sheets. “Void–it’s so deep–I can feel you in my stomach–” He groaned above you, the sound guttural, feral, his chest pressing into your back as he buried himself to the hilt. His hips ground down against your ass, the base of his cock flush against your swollen folds, and you could feel him pulsing inside you, thick veins dragging against your walls.

“Exactly where I belong,” He rasped, his lips brushing along the curve of your shoulder. He kissed down your spine slowly, reverently, even as his hips rolled in steady thrusts. Each drive of his cock speared deeper, the sensation exquisite, your body clenching and fluttering helplessly around him. “You feel that? I’m right against your cervix. Right where I’ll spill into you.” His hand slid along your side, mapping the curve of your waist before catching yours. He laced your trembling fingers with his, pressing them into the sheets. His other hand swept up, dragging your sweat-damp hair from your neck, baring the flushed skin. His mouth followed, cool lips kissing a trail up until his teeth found the nape.

The bite came sharp, claiming, making your back arch and your walls seize around him. He growled against your skin, grinding his cock deep as he held you there, marked and filled.

“Gonna breed you, Y/N,” He snarled low, his voice breaking with hunger. “Gonna fuck you so full of me you won’t stop dripping for days. Your body is begging for me to fill it–and I’m going to give you everything I have…Including my kin…” Your sob was wrecked, filthy.

“Yes—yes, please, Void—fuck me, breed me, make me full–” You shoved your hips back against his thrusts, gasping at how he pressed so deep you swore you could feel him in your lungs. “I want it, I need it…I’ve always needed it.” The words made him lose what little restraint he had left. His thrusts turned hard, deep, grinding strokes that punched gasps out of you with every roll of his hips. His cock stretched you wide, the friction overwhelming, each drag of his shaft lighting sparks through your core. His bite tightened briefly, then softened into a soothing lick, his cool tongue trailing across the mark as he pounded into you.

Your climax tore through you with no warning. Your body convulsed, clenching around him in wild spasms, your cry muffled against the pillow as you shook beneath his weight. Your walls milked his cock, pulling, begging, every squeeze drawing him tighter to the edge.

“Fuck–yes–milk me, my love…Take it all from me–” His thrusts faltered into a feral rhythm, deep and deliberate, and then his growl broke low in his chest. He slammed deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock throbbed violently.

The first gush of cum spilled into you hot, shocking against his cool flesh. It flooded you instantly, heavy and thick, and your eyes rolled back at the sensation. More followed, pulse after pulse, filling you so full you swore you could feel it spilling past his cock, dripping down your thighs.

“Oh my god–” You sobbed, the sensation breaking you. He groaned into your neck, still grinding deep, thrusting slowly to push it further inside.

“Take it all. Every drop. You’ll keep it–your body won’t waste a thing.” His hips rutted shallowly, his cock pressing against your cervix as if to force the cum higher, deeper. Each thrust smeared the release against your walls, making the wet, lewd sound of it echo in the dark.

Finally, his bite eased. He released your neck, his lips pressing tender kisses over the mark he’d left. His forehead dropped to your back, resting heavy, his breath cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. His chest heaved against you, his body trembling faintly as he stayed buried inside, still thick and hard, still leaking into you and pulsing.

The tendrils coiled back around, draping over your hips and thighs, holding you close to him as though to seal everything in.

The air was thick with the sound of your mingled breaths. Both of you were panting, your lungs burning from the sheer ferocity of what you had just shared, but neither of you could bring yourself to pull away. His lips peppered tender kisses along the ridges of your spine, slow and unhurried, each press lingering like a vow. His mouth traced the beads of sweat still clinging to your skin, as though even the salt of your body was something he wanted to claim.

Your fingers still clutched his, trembling, and when you gave them a weak squeeze he immediately squeezed back–cool, grounding, steady.

“Are you still in pain?” He asked at last, voice low and gravel-edged, his breath ghosting against the back of your neck. You turned your face from the pillow with effort, your cheek dragging across the damp linen. The moment you shifted, he lifted himself up, white pupils glowing bright in the shadows so he could meet your eyes fully. His gaze searched you, scanning every detail of your bliss-drunk face.

“No…” Your voice was hoarse, broken into pieces by exhaustion and euphoria, but heavy with honesty. A slow smile curved your lips. “I’m…Fuck, that was so good.” The Void’s teeth gleamed against the darkness of his face, a feral flash softened by affection. He bent low and kissed you gently, a press of lips so different from the wild hunger of moments before–soft, steady, grounding.

“I’m glad.” For a long moment, you both stayed tangled, wrapped in the aftermath, the sweat cooling on your skin, the weight of his body pinning you into a security that no storm could shake.

Then, with a slow inhale, he murmured against your cheek, “I’m going to pull out…And go run a bath for the both of us, okay?” You nodded, your lashes heavy, your body pliant. He eased out of you slowly, carefully, his cock dragging free with a wet, obscene sound that made you twitch at the sudden emptiness. You gasped faintly at the loss, but the high of your orgasms and the languid satisfaction flooding your body dulled the ache of it. Before you could mourn the absence, he kissed you again, catching your lips with his in a soft seal.

“I’ll come get you once everything is ready,” He promised.

“Okay,” You breathed, the word falling quiet into the space between you.

You listened to the rustle of movement as he left the bed, the faint creak of the adjoining washroom door, then the shuffling of him preparing things. Soon, the sound of water running filled the silence, steady and comforting, a lullaby to your wrung-out body. You laid still, limbs heavy, as though your bones had melted into the mattress. Your muscles twitched and clenched with the aftershocks, tiny reminders of how hard he had wrung you out, how thoroughly he had filled you. The sheets clung damp to your skin, your body flushed and loose, yet every corner of you hummed with him.

Then you heard him again, his steps returning, deliberate and quiet.

The bed dipped as he leaned down, his arms sliding beneath you with effortless strength. He scooped you up slowly, your limp body collapsing against the firm wall of his chest. You tucked yourself instinctively into him, your arms looped weakly around his shoulders, your cheek resting against the cool press of his collarbone, as he moved.

The washroom lights were dim, golden and soft, flickering against the walls like candlelight. Steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of clean water and faint minerals. The Void lowered you into the tub first, his shadows steadying you as your body slipped beneath the hot surface. The water embraced you instantly, wrapping you in its warmth, soothing your overstimulated skin and the ache still blooming deep inside. You sighed, your head falling back, your lashes fluttering.

Only when you were settled did he step in behind you. The water shifted around his body, rippling softly as he eased down, his arms immediately circling you, guiding you back until you leaned against his chest. His cool skin pressed firm against your overheated back, a balm and a claim all at once.

You melted into him.

His lips found your neck again, softer this time, ghosting over the faint marks he had left there. He kissed each one reverently, as though apologizing for the sting even while cherishing the evidence of his claim. His hand found yours beneath the water, his long fingers weaving delicately between yours. He played with your hand, tracing the webs between your fingers, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, interlocking until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

The water lapped gently against the sides of the tub, the only sound between his featherlight kisses. Until, softly, you broke the silence.

“Is it bad that I actually hope it takes?” You whispered, your voice almost too quiet to disturb the still air. His fingers immediately squeezed yours, firm and sure, and you felt the hum of his chest against your back before his words came low, steady, and true.

“It’s not bad at all, Y/N…” He murmured into your damp skin. “We all want that with you. Always have.” Your throat tightened. You tilted your head back, shifting against him until your eyes caught his. His glowing pupils gleamed like twin moons through the haze of steam, their light soft but unyielding, filled with a truth that made your chest ache.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, your lips trembling with a fragile smile. He smiled in return–teeth flashing, but softened by the gentleness that bled through every word, every look. He leaned down and kissed you slowly, his mouth tasting of warmth and reverence rather than hunger. When he pulled back, his forehead brushed yours, his words spilling low and sacred.

“You’re our salvation. The only person we could see worthy of building a life with. You’re sacred to us, Y/N. And it would be an honor for all of us to say that we made another human together.” Your cheeks heated, your heart aching with the weight of it. Tears pricked at your eyes again, but softer this time, born of love rather than anguish.

“You always know how to make me feel special,” You whispered, your voice shaking.

His nose nudged against yours, a soft, intimate touch. “It’s because you are. And I love you so much.”

Your lips parted, trembling, before you pressed them to his in a soft, sure kiss. “I love you too, Void.”

Regardless, you don’t drop by the tower often after that. Every once in a while you would pick something up from Bob, or hang out for a few hours if he wanted company. Most of the time everyone would just go to your apartment. That drew less suspicion to you, and it let them feel free of Valentina’s clutches.

Oftentimes you’d come home from school or work and someone would be sprawled out on your couch. Or banging pots and pans in your kitchen. You’ve even caught Yelena filling up your tub for a bubble bath - twice!

So when you come home to your apartment and hear some chatter and obvious movement, it doesn’t raise suspicion. A little bit odd that more than one of them would come at the same time, but maybe someone was just getting ready to leave when another was heading in and they got to chitchatting. 

Not like they didn’t have all day to do that. Y’know. Because they live together. But you digress.

“Hey! You guys planning on staying for dinner?” You’re placing your keys and grocery bags on the counter, trying to peek around the corner so you can get a feel for how many extra portions you’d need.

You get silence as an answer. It means that they heard you, otherwise the chatter would have continued. Why wouldn’t they respond then?

You’ll give them a few minutes. They wouldn’t act this way without good reason. To fill your time you start putting the necessary foods away, keeping the ones you were going to use on the counter.

A huff leaves your lips. They can’t barge into your house, expect you to cook for them, to entertain them, and not speak to you. You’re a woman on a mission, marching out of your kitchen with your jaw set in mock seriousness.

Then you’re catching the butt of a gun to your temple, and crumpling into the man on your left. You can barely see him, vision starting to fill with black dots.

Who was he?

When did he get in here?

Who hit you?

What’s happening?

Then you’ve faded completely. Full ragdoll on the man, a bit of blood running down your face before it can soak into your hair or the man’s shirt.

—

It’s been a busy week for Bob. He’s been training with every member on the team. Each of them have something different to teach him and his want to be useful leaves him like a sponge in the ocean. 

If he’s not training, he’s in therapy. He’s hoping, believing, that if he gets himself sorted out then he’ll be able to go out and be the Sentry. It’s been pretty helpful for normal things too though, aiding him in not feeling like everyone is going to up and abandon him one day. Really giving him a sense of purpose, you’ve been doing that too though.

If he’s not doing either of those things, he’s working on his cooking skills. The two of you had gone on a date last month where you learned to make pasta from scratch. You were overjoyed, even if it looked and tasted a little wonky. He wanted to see what you’d look like when he made it perfectly, like a real chef.

The team wasn’t too upset. Maybe too much pasta for their liking, but Bob changed the sauce and protein every time so it didn’t get exhausting to eat.

Now that he has some time to think about it, he hasn’t seen you at all this week.

He wasn’t too worried though. You had exams coming up, you had reminded him of it last week. When you had exams you tended to shrink into your own personal bubble, not wanting a distraction to prevent you from getting the best grade possible. Maybe he’d stop by and bring you a dessert, something to reward you for all your hard work.

“Where are you going Bob?” Yelena asks, not even looking over the back of the couch she’s lounging on.

“To visit Y/n.” He’s facing her even though she’s not looking at him. Something’s been up with the team this week and he can’t seem to get it out of anyone, “I’m gonna stop at the bakery by her place, get her a slice of the cake that she likes.”

“Oh - That’s sweet.” Bob’s nodding along, Yelena turns before she finishes, “But no can do.”

“No… can do?” 

“Yes. Right. No can do.”

“Why not?” You’re his girlfriend, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t be able to go see you when he wants. You haven’t even explicitly said you didn’t want to see him. Unless you told Yelena to keep him away?

“I just do not think it would be good to distract her from her studies.” Yelena’s jutting her lips out a little as she nods along to herself, like it’s the best thing she’s ever said.

“I won’t be there long. She shouldn’t be studying this late anyway.” Then Bob’s pressing the down button for the elevator.

Yelena can’t stop him without raising uncertainty in Bob, she’s backed into a corner. Either let him go and let him see the empty apartment where you should be. Or tell him that when Ava went by earlier this week she was greeted with an empty apartment, spoiled food on the counter, and a note left behind demanding that some criminal be released from prison.

Either way the risk of the void being unleashed was imminent, the only difference was the location; unleashed to the public or unleashed in the tower. Neither choice was good, the team still incapable of fully subduing the void in a normal sense. But they were the Avengers, they needed to take these hits.

So Yelena stops him. Drags him to the dining table and tells him to stay. Then she’s rounding up the rest of the team so they can all break the news to him together.

Since she stopped him, it’s her responsibility to break the ice, “Y/n went missing a few days ago.” 

“I-I don’t understand.” A skeptical look overtakes Bob’s eyes, “What do you mean went missing?”

“I went by to watch that Mormon wives show with her a few days ago and she was gone.”

“So she was out. Running errands like a normal person.” Bob moves to get up. This is ridiculous, no need to stress him out.

“No. There were groceries left out on the counter. And - and a note. Saying they took her to make a deal.”

Bob’s eying everyone up. Trying to figure out if this is some sort of prank and if anyone will slip and say that they were just testing him, trying to make sure he could control himself. 

When Walker, of all people, gives him a look of sympathy he knows its not a joke.

“So did you do it?” 

“Do what?”

“The deal. Did you make the deal or not.”

“Not yet. We were trying to keep the asset in prison and get Y/n out but we haven’t got the exact coordinates to her whereabouts yet.”

Ever the congressman. All about diplomacy and doing things the right way. If it was someone he cared about Bob is sure Bucky would have been trying harder. 

“Show me.”

“The file? We can’t Bob. It’s too risky, especially because nothing's official yet.”

He’s lucky that his hands are below the table, fingers starting to get encased in black. His eyes are downcast too, as long as no one looks too deep they wouldn’t be able to see the way they’re flashing gold. 

He’s competent. He’s been doing good. Going to therapy. Training. Setting himself straight. And they, his supposed family, couldn’t even tell him that his own girlfriend went missing? That she was being held for ransom?

“I just want to look. A fresh set of eyes never hurt.” He’s doing his best to keep his voice level. Doing all he can to not allow anyone to know the turmoil he’s truly going through. 

The tension could be cut with a knife. Every member looking at each other, doing their best to communicate telepathically. To figure out how many of them really trusted that Bob wouldn’t go ballistic, that he could just assist like he was trying to make them believe. 

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right Bob.” It’s Yelena. Always trusting in him, always being his number one supporter. “We’re sorry that we doubted you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just shoves his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and follows them down to the briefing room. He goes through all of the information fast, as it’s spread around the digitized walls.

The main thing he cared about was the suspected location, and who took you. There’s no for sure ID on your kidnappers. They knew exactly how to evade the cameras, either that or there was someone helping them become invisible. 

He didn’t mind sending everyone in that facility to the void though. It’s what they deserved.

He plays it off cool. He’s got a ‘level head’ and really did his best to come up with valid input. Everyone seems to truly believe that he just wanted to help by the end of their discussion. 

Bob lets out a yawn. Not too loud - then it’d be obvious he was faking. But loud enough to draw some attention. Then he rubbed his eyes, pressing the pads of his fingers to the inner corners and rubbing outwards. Followed a few minutes later by blinking for a few seconds, then trying to hold his eyes open wide to the point that they couldn’t close.

When he knows that everyone has seen him exhibit signs of being tired at least once, he excuses himself. He’s just ‘much too tired to be any real help’, and they all understand. It must be a lot for him to comprehend, a lot to take in unexpectedly. They let him go with no resistance, and he couldn’t be happier. 

As the last light went out, and everyone had been confirmed to be asleep he would leave. Well to be correct - Void would leave. Bob was working on coming to an understanding with him because of you, so he would do Bob a favor and bring you back.

Any shadows left in his wake, those were at the fault of the Avengers. They should have told him right away, or done their job properly.

—

Your sense of time was distorted. The only light you have is a single lightbulb, far beyond your reach. Guards coming in specified intervals, either to bring you sustenance or to try and interrogate you. 

It was always the same routine - Guard comes in, questions on how you know the Avengers, questions on their weaknesses. There weren’t any questions today though.

A guard you’ve never seen before steps into the cell. “We’ve been nice. You understand that right?”

You nod, smart enough to not provoke him. Even if everyone knows kidnapping someone isn’t considered ‘nice’.

“You’re comrades haven’t been as nice. Seems they need some… Motivation.”

“They’re not my comrades! We’re just friends, and I wouldn’t even call us that! They don’t tell me anything anyway, it’s all confident-” you’re cut off by the back of the man's gloved hand. You can feel the bruise forming on your cheekbone. 

“Keep sayin’ that. Hasn’t gotten you anywhere yet, maybe tomorrow’ll be your special day though.”

A couple more guards filter into your cell. One goes behind you, the other waiting by the door, something underneath his armpit that you can’t identify, “What’s your dominant hand sweetheart?” 

“M-m-my left.” He couldn’t be asking for any good reason, lying seems like your best choice. 

“Bullshit, you always eat with your right.” Then the man from the doorway is closing in on your right side, placing a wooden board beneath your hand and splaying your fingers out.

You start to thrash, trying to jerk your hand out of his grasp before your biceps are grabbed by the guard behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Told you. Your friends need motivation.” He flips out a switchblade, “Usually an appendage is enough. Won’t take nothing too important.. Yet at least.”

“No, no, no, no. Let me talk to them. Please.” You’re still thrashing, hoping that by some act of god or any higher being, you get enough strength to free yourself, “I-If I could talk to them I’m sure they’d get you whatever you’re asking for.” 

His tongue clicks, head tilting side to side as if he’s in thought. There’s hope! He’ll bring you a phone, you’ll talk to Yelena, or Bucky, or even Bob, and they’ll get you out of here.

“Nah.” 

What does he mean ‘nah’. He’s really going to cut your finger off? For what? Because you don’t know the Avengers personally enough for him. Come on, you work in a bookshop for Christ's sake.

He’s lining up the cut when everything goes dark. You can still feel the other two grips on you, so it must be some electricity issue, but the grips went a little slack when the lights turned off. 

You throw your head back, connecting with something behind you - probably a nose from the crunch you heard. Then you’re taking your left hand, shoving it in the direction you think the head of the man holding your right arm down would be. Connecting with his face you look for his eyes, pushing inwards as much as possible when you locate them.

You’re stumbling through the room, trying to stay as silent as possible. The entire compound erupted in chaos when the lights went off. People trying to figure out what happened, who’s to fault, how to get the lights back on. 

The noise allows you to creep out of your cell. Pressing your back against the wall you try to move in only one direction, hoping it will lead you to an exit.

On your way around a corner you hit something. It’s solid, so you don’t move. Praying it’s a file cabinet, just a weird divot in the wall, even a fridge. But then it inhales, and you move with its chest.

When you look up to assess the damage you’ve just done, you’re met with two pinpoint white eyes. You’d think you were hallucinating them if they didn’t seem to track over your face, like they were assessing you.

“Stay here.” It’s a command, not a statement. His voice is deep, sort of gravely or raspy. His arms grasp your biceps, nothing like the last person who held you like this. It’s soft, gentle, like you mean something. He’s maneuvering you however he pleases, pushing you into a sitting position in the corner.

Then you hear footsteps, fading away in the direction that you came. 

The noise progressively gets quieter and quieter. Surprisingly, there’s no gunshots, no grunts or groans, not even thuds of bodies hitting the ground. Eventually, there’s complete silence, not for long though, soon there’s footsteps heading in your direction.

You keep your head down. You hope it’s whoever put you here, whoever told you to stay, but there’s no guarantee. Better to be safe than sorry.

There’s a hand lightly brushing your shoulder, “You hurt?”

A small sigh leaves your mouth, recognizing the voice as the same one from before. Hearing it again brings an odd sense of familiarity to you. “N-No.”

“Good. I’m going to pick you up.”

Before you could deny, informing the man that you were perfectly capable of walking yourself, you’re in his arms. It’s dark outside, not like anything you’ve seen in the city. No lamp posts, no buildings, nothing supplemental to aid the stars in lighting the sky.

You can see more than in the building though. The fingers that are gripping the back of your knee and your bicep are black. More black than humanly natural, like a tar. Maybe it was just spandex gloves over your saviors suit?

You look to the left and quickly realize you’re mistaken. The entirety of this man is black. Like he was drenched in it, no part of him free from it. His pupils are white, the only indication that you have that he’s got thoughts going on in his head. 

He takes off, bursting into the sky like a rocket. You assume this is how he got here, but you would have thought he would be more considerate considering you have minimal clothing on. 

You wouldn’t complain though. While the Avengers, your friends, had left you high and dry this man came and saved you. You’d forever be grateful. 

There’s plenty of time to stare at this man during your flight. Quickly, you’re able to identify him. Or at least you assume you can. He has all the same features as your boyfriend.

Same cheekbones, same nose, same jaw, same hair. Did Bob have a twin that he was hiding from you? 

Oh.

Wait.

Was this the void? The one who sent you to that shame room all those months ago? The reason you avoided Bob in the first place?

If he senses your turmoil, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t talk at all actually. You’d think it bothered him to save you, but his fingers are digging into you. Not enough to be painful or bruise, but enough to make sure that he never lost focus, never risked you being dropped.

You’re flown back to the Watchtower, directly into Bob's room. You’re placed gently on the bed, sitting on the edge. The void gives you a once over one last time before the darkness is receding. It flows down Bob’s body, as if there’s a drain on the floor and it’s all flowing downwards to it. 

After a couple of seconds Bob’s eyes shoot up. Surprise overtakes his features, “Y/n?”

“Hi Bob.”

“Oh my God. What happened to you?” His fingers are ghosting over the bruise on your cheekbone, then they’re making their way over to the scabbing on your temple.

“Uh - A lot. Yeah, a lot.”

“Let’s get you to the med room. You gotta get patched up.”

You shake your head, moving a bit in his firm grasp, “I just want to shower and sleep. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah of course that’s alright. We’ll get you patched up in the morning.”

Bob wanted to know what happened, everything that happened. Wanted to know how you got here, who took you, what really happened in your apartment. But if you wanted to shower and cuddle up in his grasp for the rest of the night, he wouldn’t deny you.

When he woke up before you, heading out to get you a cup of coffee and some waffles, the rest of the team cornered him. Asking him how he was feeling, that’s when he remembered that he essentially faked exhaustion to leave the briefing room.

They informed him that an underground facility was found this morning, some unknown source tipping off local authorities. Inside they found tons of information on a terrorist group, no one to guard it however. Only shadows plastered to the ground, unable to be smudged or wiped up. 

Bob raises the mug he’s carrying in mock toast on his way back down the hall to his room, “Not sure how that happened, I do wanna get back to my room before Y/n wakes up though.” 

You could answer their questions later. Figure out some therapy probably too. Right now though Bob wanted you to rest. He was sure that you weren’t able to for a long while, so he’d make sure you stayed undisturbed until you wanted to wake. 

Even though the Void has always been a burden on him, making his life hard, miserable even. Bob couldn’t help but believe it was growing, changing into a better force. The one who could do the hard things when he couldn’t. The one who was able to dish out the proper judgement. A true blessing in disguise.

“How about I take over for the night?” He murmured, stepping further into the glow of the television where river sounds rolled endlessly through its speakers, “So you can get some real sleep.” You froze mid-step, though the nervous sway of your body didn’t stop. His pale pupils glimmered, catching the silver light, and even in your frayed state you felt that familiar tug–the one that made your lungs release just a little, the tight coil in your chest easing by degrees, just by the way he looked at you.

To The Void, even now, you were breathtaking. Your hair was sticking damp to your temples, your shirt bore the faint, sour marks of spit-up and leaked milk, your eyes were rimmed red and raw from too many restless nights. Yet he stared at you like you were the only light in the room.

Bob and Sentry had tried, time and time again, to shoulder the weight for you. Diapers, bottle, rocking until Luna couldn’t be rocked any more–but you were stubborn, fueled by an anxious devotion that wouldn’t let you step back. Your doctor’s words–sleep when the baby sleeps–echoed uselessly in your mind, but you couldn’t. Not when every moment felt like a test you might fail if you dared to close your eyes.

And yet–when he showed up, you faltered.

The Void always carried with him an unnatural kind of calm, like frost melting over scorching skin. His presence quieted the static in your head. Maybe it was the coolness of his body against the heat of your own. Maybe it was the faint glimmer of stars scattered across his vantablack skin, replacing Bob’s freckles with galaxies. Or maybe it was simply the way his voice threaded into you, soothing and certain, like he had found the key to a lock you didn’t know how to open.

He moved closer, each step silent, fluid, inevitable, getting swallowed up by the dim light, catching in the stark white of his gaze. He stopped just in front of you, lowering his shadowed face toward the small bundle in your arms.

Luna sighed in her sleep, her lips twitching faintly as her fists curled tighter into her cheeks. The Void’s chest rose with something that almost felt like warmth–a flicker of it, fleeting and fragile–as he leaned forward and gave a gentle kiss on her head, before his voice dropped into a quiet little murmur.

”Let me take her, hmm?” You gripped your daughter a little tighter, instinctively protective, though your arms were trembling from the strain of hours of holding her. His hands came up slowly, brushing along your forearms with a feather-light touch that sent shivers up your spine. He wasn’t pulling at you, just coaxing, silently urging you, “I’ve got her,” He whispered, and you could feel it resonate in your bones.

Your jaw clenched, hesitation written in the lines of your tired face. And then, at last, you exhaled. Carefully–like surrendering a piece of your heart–you eased Luna into his waiting arms.

The shift was seamless. She melted against him instantly, molding to his figure, as if even the universe had woven his cool, star-flecked skin into her comfort–you attributed it to the fact that she had a part of that darkness in her, even though it rarely came out, it’s what made the bond so strong between them. She let out a little coo, her restless little twitches subsiding until she was nothing but softness and sleep pressed against his chest.

”Hey, my little star.” He murmured, “We’re gonna give mama a little break tonight…It’ll just be me and you, we’ll throw a little party,” He added, bringing his finger up to rub against her warm little cheek, his teeth flashing through the shadowed darkness of his face. Your throat tightened, eyes stinging as you watched him hold her with a grace that seemed impossible for a being made of shadow and starlight. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, your shoulders dropped an inch. Your lungs filled all the way. Relief tangled with guilt, gratitude with wonder.

“Remember…” Your voice trembled a little, thick with fatigue, as your eyes lingered on the tiny rise and fall of Luna’s chest. “She needs to be fed every two to three hours. You can use some of the breastmilk I’ve stored, or…Or just follow the instructions on the formula tin if it runs out. And make sure you check the temperature of it before giving it to her–I don’t want her to burn her mouth. Oh, and…” Your words faltered, but you forced them out, rubbing your forehead, “Make sure to burp her after. I don’t want her to have stomach pains.”

Your gaze softened on Luna, her little button nose wrinkling in her sleep, the faintest shadow of a pout ghosting her lips. Even in her stillness, you could see Bob in her–the soft brow, the little huff in her sighs. And you could see yourself too, tucked into the plumpness of her cheeks, the gentle way her lashes rested against her skin. She was fussy and sweet in equal measure, and right now, at last, she was all peace.

The Void swayed gently from side to side, rocking her with a rhythm as natural as breathing, nodding to your instructions.

”Y/N,” He started, his gaze flicking up to you with those pale, glowing pupils, “I’ve watched you do this through Bob and Sentry’s eyes for the past four weeks. I know every detail, and every step…I can handle it.” The words weren’t boastful, they were just a promise that he had everything under control.

”Now. Go rest,” He continued, his voice dipping lower and softer, “We’ll be okay.” But still–your chest tightened, your mind crowding with what ifs. What if she woke screaming and inconsolable? What if he couldn’t soothe her? What if she refused the bottle? What if she needed you? The thoughts swarmed until they pinched your brow into a knot, until you felt yourself teetering between guilt and exhaustion.

And he saw it immediately.

Adjusting Luna with an effortless shift, The Void extended his free hand to you. His palm, cool and steady, cupped your cheek with an intimacy that made your throat ache–it was such a simple act, but being connected like that could’ve brought you to tears in those moments. His thumb brushed beneath your swollen, sleep-starved eyes, smoothing gently as if he could press away the heaviness of every sleepless night you’d endured. Then he leaned closer, lowering his faceless, starlit form until his lips pressed to your forehead. Cool, grounding, impossibly tender.

”I see your mind racing,” He whispered, his words curling into you like smoke, “Working overtime…Always worrying. But Y/N–you’ve done so much. Four weeks of pushing yourself past every limit, refusing help even when you needed it. You deserve a break. Let me give you that.” His voice was almost pleading at this point, “Go take that hot bath you love–the one with the oil that smells like roses and the bobbles that almost overflow the tub…Pamper yourself. Breathe. Then go to sleep. And I’ll wake you in the morning.” Your eyes shimmered in the dim light, exhaustion making your emotions sit raw at the surface. A hum slipped from your chest, your shoulders sagging as though his words had loosened every knot holding you together…That bath really did sound good right now, and to be able to sleep for more than two hours at a time felt like it was going to be a blessing in disguise. Your heart squeezed at the thought of how much Void cared, at the way he knew you so well that he could practically recite your entire schedule from morning to night, and it made you grateful even more for him.

You tilted your head up, eyes half-lidded, and let out a small sigh before pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. His coolness met your warmth, and for a moment, the whole house felt still. He gave your cheek a gentle squeeze before you pulled back.

”Okay…” You whispered against his lips, reluctant but surrendering at last, “I’ll go.”

He kissed you once more, basking in the glory of the small win before murmuring, “Thank you…And I love you…”

A tired smile tugged at your mouth as you whispered back, “I love you too, Void.” And with that, you turned, shuffling down the hallway with the heaviness of someone finally allowing themselves to let go.

The Void’s eyes followed your figure until you disappeared into your bedroom, then he glanced down at Luna. She stirred faintly in her sleep, pressing her tiny fist against his chest. He let out a low, amused sigh, a rare smile tugging across his shadowed face.

“Time to party, little star,” He whispered, rocking her gently as he crossed the room to the couch. “We’ll hunt for some galaxies to take over.” Lowering himself into the cushions, he settled her against his chest, adjusting her with a care that seemed instinctive. With his free hand, he picked up the remote, changing the channel until he landed on a cooking show, lowering the volume to just a breath above silence. Then he pulled out his phone and set a timer for two hours, placing it down on the coffee table in front of him as he settled back against the sofa, his gaze dropping back down to the bundle.

He adjusted his arm, easing Luna higher against his chest. She stirred, her little nose wrinkling before she squirmed faintly in her swaddle. His cool fingers rose to brush across her cheek, the pad of one large thumb tracing the impossibly soft skin.

She responded with the tiniest wiggle, her lips puckering before parting in a long, dramatic yawn. Her tiny body stretched as far as it could within the confines of her blanket you had made her, arms shifting as though she were testing her strength, before relaxing again with a small huff.

“That was a nice one,” He murmured, the corners of his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. His voice was quiet enough not to startle, but low enough to reverberate warmly in the hush of the room. Her eyelids fluttered open just enough to reveal cloudy, drowsy eyes, still glazed with sleep. They blinked up at him hazily, unfocused but unflinchingly trusting. The Void tilted his head, gazing down at her with an awe that even galaxies couldn’t match.

“Tired from dreaming all day long?” He whispered, as though coaxing an answer she would never give. Of course she didn’t respond, not with words at least. But her tiny fists wriggled, stretching slightly outward, and her lips worked around a sleepy pout before her head tucked deeper into the shadowed plane of his chest. The small sound she made–a soft, contented coo–was answer enough.

The Void stilled, drinking in the moment. This sliver of quiet, of closeness, was something he rarely had the chance to get. Sentry’s brightness and Bob’s tenderness always seemed to crowd him out, leaving him watching from behind the veil. Always observing, never participating. A silent passenger to the life they were building with you.

But now–tonight–he finally got a chance to bond a little more with the creation he made with you…His little star.

He brushed a finger over the curve of her cheek again, careful, reverent. The heat of her skin bled into his cool touch, a reminder of how human she was, and yet…Not entirely all at the same time. Not when she carried a fragment of him, a portion of his darkness stitched into her blood, hidden deep where no one else could see, unless it was in the moments of high emotion. You had told him countless times that she cried until she practically turned the same shade he bore, and it gave him a feeling of heartbreak, because he wished he could’ve been there to soothe her, to bring her down from those moments. But he never was.

It was a complicated situation to be away from her, and it was the most gut wrenching thing he had ever been through. To feel that tether inside his chest that yanked and pulled when he wasn’t allowed to answer it. To ache for closeness when Bob and Sentry filled every waking hour, every stolen kiss, every soft moment with you and Luna. He always felt like he was the shadow at the edges of the flame.

But right now–with her little body breathing steady against him, her tiny fingers twitching as though trying to grab hold of the stars freckled into his skin–he felt something he never thought he would: belonging.

And for once, he wasn’t just a bystander in his own life.

The Void’s gaze lingered on Luna’s tiny face, every soft exhale brushing warmth into the cool fabric of his chest. He adjusted her slightly, rocking with that patient rhythm, and then, almost without realizing it, he whispered into the stillness,

“You know…I held you like this when you first came out of your mom.”

His voice was a low murmur, reverent in the quiet glow of the room. One of his long, shadowed fingers rose, brushing delicately against the back of her little hand. As if on instinct, her fist loosened, tiny fingers unfurling until they closed snugly around him. The sight nearly undid him.

“Could’ve sworn I was crying my eyes out the entire time,” He admitted softly, his white pupils dimming with the memory. “I was so terrified to hold something so fragile…Something so small. I kept thinking–what if I hurt you? What if my hands weren’t meant for something this delicate?” Her grip tightened around his finger, impossibly tiny, impossibly strong. His chest gave a faint ache that felt almost human.

“Your mom…” He went on, his voice quiet but steady, “She made me sit down on the bed with her. She guided my arms, showed me the right way to hold you. She was exhausted–sweating, shaking–and still she was teaching me, making sure I didn’t miss out. She put you in my arms and told me, ‘See? You’re a natural.’” He rocked a bit.

“I remember every second of that moment,” He confessed. “Because I don’t get many. Not like Bob. Not like Sentry. Most of the time, I’m just…watching. Waiting at the edges. But those few moments I do get with you, little star…they’re sacred. They’re mine.”

Luna cooed, still half-asleep, her small fist flexing around his finger as though she were answering him in her own way. His jaw clenched faintly, a tremor of emotion running through him. He leaned his faceless head down until his lips brushed the crown of her head in a breath of a kiss.

It was a peaceful kind of domestic moment–until it was interrupted.

Because you could feel him.

The air itself felt different when he stared. Heavy. Stretched. Saturated with heat and static, like a solar flare brushing the skin before it breaks open the sky in all its glory. His presence was coiled in the space behind you, shadows thickening near the couch, the sense of being watched so potent you could nearly taste it.

You glanced up from your work, already knowing what you would see.

The Void sat like a statue of shadow–sprawled on the far end of the couch in the common room, long limbs draped with studied stillness with a book long forgotten in one hand. He didn’t blink. He never did. Not when those faint, star-pale eyes were fixated on you like you were some precious, forbidden thing.

“Whatcha looking at, Void?” You asked, glancing back down at your screen. He hummed softly, the sound quiet and low, reverberating in the hollowness of his chest.

”Your legs…” He replied, you stilled for a moment, then turned your head fully to face him.

In the golden wash of sunlight, he stood out like an eclipse. The light bent strangely near him–not quite touching him–and all that remained in that pocket of space was black, rippling and endless, like gravity had folded in on itself around his body. The only thing visible through the darkness were those eyes–those two white pinpricks against a sea of nothing.

You felt heat crawl up your chest at the way he watched you so closely, at how long he had probably been staring and taking in every move you made.

”Any reason why you’re looking at me like I just committed a crime against humanity?” You teased, letting your foot bounce slightly, “It’s a sundress. Not a sniper scope.” There was the soft rustle of his book closing, as he set it aside with a care that felt intention–like he was preparing himself.

”Is there a reason you must torture me by wearing that particular piece of clothing?” He replied, almost like he was pained. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and airy.

”Torture you?’ His head tilted at your comment.

”Yes.” He said quietly.

“I’m running errands after this first off,” You explained with a shrug, “And second, it’s summer, Void. I’m not going to walk around the compound in a sweater and sweatpants just because you can’t keep it together when I show a little bit of skin.” He let out a dramatic sigh, the kind that echoed in the hollowness of his body like the groan of a distant storm. You didn’t even have to look up to know he was gesturing–likely toward your legs, which were still swinging lazily in the golden light, only this time you were doing it intentionally.

“That,” He started, voice dipping into something indulgent, “Is not a little bit of skin.” You snorted softly.

”And also,” He continued, “I can control myself. But when you’re tempting me like this…” His voice trailed off for a moment, thickening like cooled honey, “You can’t fault me for staring.” You shook your head and let out another quiet laugh.

”You make it sound like I did this on purpose.”

”Didn’t you?”

“No.” You clicked your tongue and refocused totally on the tablet, stylus dragging across the screen as you continued to write your botched summary. “Sentry is to blame for your anguish. He’s the one who picked this out for me last night.” There was a pause. Then a groan, long and drawn out.

”Don’t worry,” He muttered, clearly suffering, “He’ll get his own scolding when I get him. That guy does that shit on purpose. He knows my weaknesses too well.” You hummed with amusement, glancing up at him through your lashes.

”Once again, you’re making it seem like this was some kind of targeted attack on your self-control.” You commented. Then you heard it–the low creak of the couch frame, the hush of shifting weight. But before you could turn, before you could add another though that was forming in the back of your mind, he was there. The shadows moved faster than your breath could catch, and he appeared at your side like smoke made flesh. One second he was across the living room,a nod the next, the space beside you was full of him–his cold presence, his gravity, and his hunger.

His cool arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his body pressing up to your back with a slow, languid intent. He didn’t grab or squeeze–just simply enveloped. The weightless press of his body against your sundress, his form a contradiction of heat and absence, tangible only where he wanted to be.

You barely had time to say anything before his mouth found your neck, as he pressed a soft kiss right behind your ear, feeling your whole body pulse at the contact.

“I’m so used to seeing you in tactical gear that seeing you like this…In something so soft and sweet…Like a pretty white dress–“ He murmured, placing another kiss, lower now, right at the base of your neck where your pulse jumped, “–Just gets me going.” You froze, tablet still in hand, stylus hovering just above the screen. He pressed his nose deeply into your neck and breathed you in like a man in mourning, like he was grieving the time he hadn’t spent touching you this way. His arms around your waist flexed slightly, his hands ghosting over the folds of fabric, curling into it possessively, like he wanted to pull you even closer to him.

“Void…” You groaned, your breath catching as his lips brushed over your skin again, “You’re losing it.” He let out a small sigh–not frustrated, nor annoyed. It was something deeper. Hungrier. Almost desperate. And then his mouth was open against your neck, his cold tongue pressing to your pulse point before sucking gently. A slow drag of his lips against your throat before pulling off and exhaling, his cool breath skating across the damp spot he left behind. Goosebumps lifted immediately along your arms and down your side, and you stiffened, as the stylus almost slipped from your grip.

”Y’know…” He started, voice vibrating with something primal just beneath the shroud of calmness he was trying to put on, “There’s one way you could stop me from spiraling further…” You squinted, tilting your heads to the side just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision. His pupils–those white, pinpricked stars–were glowing now. Subtly at first, then brighter, like the flame of a match swelling just before it touches skin.

“I need to get this report done, Void,” You said, though your voice had lost its edge. It didn’t even sound like a protest anymore. He shook his head slowly, and you felt the deliberate unraveling of his arms from your waist, as though it physically pained him to let go. The sudden loss of his touch left the air thinner, your skin prickling from the contrast. One of his hands slid to the edge of the stool while the other mirrored it, both palms bracketing your hips as he turned the seat gently, pivoting you to face him. The sun framed him in golden streaks, but none of it truly touched him, it just curved around as if it dodged his body.

“You won’t have to do a thing,” He whispered, voice hushed and low, “You don’t even have to pay attention to me.” His hand found your thigh, cool and smooth against your warm skin, sliding slowly from your knee upward. Your sundress shifted as he moved, the soft cotton folding easily under his touch, rising inch by inch until the hem sat high enough to reveal the faint bruise like splatter he had pressed into your skin–a mark he had left once months ago, because you had begged him to make you his. The pads of his fingers ghosted over it slowly, acknowledging it, like he was reliving the moment he had given it to you.

You exhaled softly, lids fluttering at the sensation, and felt your legs part instinctively on the stool. The sunlight warmed the inside of your thighs, but all you felt was the chill of his presence closing in.

“What are you going to do?” You asked, your voice barely audible–fractured by anticipation, by the heat that had begun to pool in your belly. His smile flashed in the sunlight, crooked and devastating–a rare expression that cut through the ever-present shadow clinging to him. It was a kind of hunger that dripped with beauty. A quiet plea dressed in seduction. Then he leaned forward, his cold, silky black hair brushing against your skin, leaving a chill in its wake as it tickled along your collarbone and throat.

”I’m going to get on my knees and please you…” He whispered, thick with restraint. A promise. A prayer breathed into your body. He kissed your jaw, slow and lingering, like he wanted to savor it. You could feel your throat tighten, closing around the breath that tried to escape your throat, before he spoke again.

”Because I can’t go another moment without tasting you.” The confession sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

His lips grazed your skin once more, then paused at the corner of your mouth. “All you need to do,” He murmured, “Is open your legs for me, and sit back. Then enjoy, and do your report…” His eyes flicked up to yours again, glowing brighter now with that soft, aching starlight–warm and cold at once. You could feel him vibrating just under the surface, stretched tight with the desire he was barely holding back.

“It’s a win-win.” You swallowed hard, trying to refocus, but your hands felt too light. Your skin too alive. Your thighs had already parted slightly, the space between them drawing a path of light and shadow, heat and cold. His gaze dropped briefly to your center, then back up again, and he didn’t move until you gave the smallest nod.

That was all it took.

He moved like a shadow made of silk, a ripple in the fabric of the room. One second he was in front of you, and the next, he was below you–kneeling between your thighs, reverent and unblinking. The glow in his eyes lit the space beneath your dress, casting ghost-light across your skin as he reached up and slowly dragged his fingers along the backs of your knees, urging them apart just a little more. Your hand tightened around the tablet as you peeked down at him–at the sight of that impossible shadow made man, kneeling between your thighs like you were an anomaly. His fingers trailed softly along the backs of your knees, thumbs pressing gently into the curve of muscle, coaxing your legs wider with every beat of your heart. He moved slowly, like he wanted to be careful with you, to show his appreciation.

Then his mouth descended.

He pressed one kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Higher. Slower.

Each touch left behind a glistening mark, warm spit trailing across your skin as his cold lips dragged upward, wet and tender. You could feel your muscles twitch in response, tension building in your belly, your legs parting a little more in silent surrender. His voice vibrated against you when he spoke, low and breathless.

“God, you smell so sweet,” He rasped, kissing again just beneath the crease of your hip. “I want to lose myself in it every time.” You shivered, your head tilting back slightly as he pushed the dress higher, careful and methodical, bunching it gently around your waist so he didn’t ruin how nice and smooth the fabric was. His hands were so tender, so deliberate–never rough, never rushed. His fingers brushed your hips as he tucked the hem into itself, just enough so he could see you fully, and when his gaze landed on the soaked cotton between your thighs, he let out a soft, trembling sigh.

“Look at you,” He whispered, in awe. “So wet already…”

He leaned forward and licked you through the fabric.

A long, slow drag of his tongue over the damp lace, the coolness of it shocking against your soaked center. The cotton clung to you, stuck to your folds with spit and arousal, and he mouthed at it like he didn’t care that it was in the way–like it turned him on more, tasting you secondhand, his hands gently massaging your thighs in slow, adoring circles as he worked his mouth against you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hips rising off the stool just slightly in response, instinctive, desperate. His tongue flattened against the soft cotton and dragged up again, this time pausing to suck gently. You let out a soft whimper. It was so gentle. So careful. And it was driving you mad. You put the tablet down.

“Please…” You breathed, voice strained. He groaned low against your center, the vibration sinking into you.

“I know, baby. I know.”

His hands slid higher, fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear. He paused–just long enough for you to nod–and then slowly he began to tug them down. You pushed yourself up slightly off the stool, helping him, lifting your hips so he could ease them down your thighs and off completely.

He didn’t toss them aside.

He held them for a moment–just looked at them. At the translucent wet patch he’d caused. He brought them briefly to his lips, and kissed the center before finally setting them down next to your tablet with quiet care.

When he looked up at you again, his eyes were glowing–burning.

“Keep your legs open for me,” He said softly, his breath catching, “And don’t think about anything else but how good I’m going to make you feel.” You nodded–barely–and leaned back against the edge of the marble counter, shifting your hips forward slightly, your breath already uneven. The tablet was forgotten. Time was irrelevant. All that existed now was him, kneeling between your thighs like a worshiper before an altar, the sunlight breaking gently across his dark figure like some divine contradiction.

His hand slid beneath your knees, cool palms gliding over heated skin as he lifted and draped your thighs over his shoulders. His grip was soft, like you were porcelain that would shatter if he dared to touch you too roughly. He pressed kisses to your inner thighs again, following the wet trail he had left for himself, as his tongue teased its way up your skin, until he buried his face completely between your legs.

The first pass of his tongue made your back arch–not because it was hard or fast, but because it was tender. Slow. The contrast of his cool mouth against your molten center sent a rush of sensation through your whole body. He moaned softly, the sound vibrating against you, and you felt him tighten his grip, squeezing your thighs gently as if anchoring himself there, holding onto the moment. His tongue moved in slow, adoring strokes–lapping up everything you gave him like a starving man nursing from springwater.

“Fuck…” You whispered, your voice already trembling. He looked up at you from between your thighs, lips glistening, his eyes glowing like eclipsed stars.

“You always make the best sounds…I’m so devoted to you, Y/N…” Your breath caught. One of your hands reached for him, threading through the silky black strands of his hair, smoothing it away from his face, holding him there. He pressed deeper into you, tongue swirling, his lips suckling gently at your clit like it was all he ever wanted to do.

“You were made for me,” He breathed between kisses. “This perfect fucking pussy–” He groaned, “–And this little dress, and these thighs, and your voice–” He nipped at your clit lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “You’re driving me mad and making me better at the same time.”

“Void…” You whimpered, hips twitching as he moaned again, slow and pretty, almost pained.

“You’re everything I crave,” He admitted softly, “Everything I could ever want. I could live on you. Just like this. Forever. You’re my fucking lifesource.” His tongue found its rhythm–languid and worshipful–each pass of it punctuated by small, open-mouthed kisses. Your other hand slid across the counter, reaching for something to ground yourself with, but all you could find was him. So you gripped his hair tighter instead, gently guiding him, your moans tangled with his name.

“Please…More,” You begged, legs quivering on either side of his shoulders.

He obeyed like a man possessed.

One hand left your thigh, trailing down, knuckles brushing lightly over your folds before his fingers joined in. His touch was careful at first–two fingers sliding through your soaked heat, gliding easily with how aroused you were. He dipped them inside, and your whole body shuddered.

“There you go,” He said softly, like he was praising a miracle. “So good for me. Always so perfect, so open when I touch you like this.”

His fingers curled with practiced skill, brushing against your walls as his mouth latched around your clit again. It was overwhelming–the cool glide of his tongue, the warmth of his breath, the slow stretch of his fingers curling deeper. Every motion was deliberate, drenched in adoration. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it, baby,” He whispered, pausing to kiss your clit before sucking again. “Let me feel it–give me everything. I need it.”

“Void…Jesus Christ, you’re always so good at this…Eating me like I’m yours.” You gasped, voice breaking into something breathy and beautiful. He moaned loudly, and the sound echoed through you like a command.

”You are mine,” He mumbled, “Every time I lick you…I claim just another piece of you. But now…I want you to say you’re mine while I make you come.”

“I’m yours,” You gasped, legs starting to tremble, the pleasure mounting in waves. “I’m…Void…I’m yours–” He curled his fingers harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot. His lips sealed around your clit and he began to suck, gently but insistently, in rhythm with the way he pumped his fingers. The praise didn’t stop.

”So perfect,” He whispered, “So sweet…My good girl…My favourite thing in this entire world. My fucking altar.” That pushed you over the edge.

Your hand flew to his, gripping it tightly as the orgasm surged through you–hot and overwhelming, like light bursting behind your eyelids. You cried out, legs locking around his shoulders, your hips jerking. He held on. He stayed there.

Sucking. Licking. Worshipping.

He didn’t stop even as you shook, even as your breath stuttered. He moaned against you, and the sound was ecstatic–like he was tasting something forbidden and divine. He let your pleasure flood over him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the underside of his nose. And when you finally sagged against the counter, blinking down at him through the haze, he slowly pulled back.

The sunlight struck his face.

And you were glistening on him.

Your arousal shimmered on his mouth, streaked across his cheeks like the aftermath of a kiss from a god. His lips were parted, breathing shallow, and his eyes–those white, glowing stars–were soft with awe.

You smiled, dazed and radiant, before leaning forward slowly, sliding your fingers through the silky strands of hair that felt damp against your skin, your lips grazing his cheek. You kissed him gently, then ran your tongue across the heat of his cheekbone. His breath caught in surprise.

Then he giggled.

A sound so quiet, so rare, it barely had form–but it was there. Light and breathless, startled by the ticklish trail your tongue left behind.

“I love when you laugh,” You murmured, brushing your nose against his temple before continuing your path–cheek to jaw, jaw to chin, soft fluttering kisses that made his fingers tighten ever so slightly around your thighs.

Then you reached his lips.

“My sweet love…” You whispered between kisses, each one delicate and sweet, “My starless sky…My favorite boy.”He shuddered like you’d carved the words into his skin. His free hand lifted and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the softness of your jaw as he looked up at you like you were sunlight he never earned.

He pulled back just slightly, and in that brief distance, whispered, “You’re wonderful. A fucking…Apparition. You’re not even real sometimes. You’re just…” He trailed off, eyes burning with affection and want. “You’re everything.” You smiled, brushing your lips against his again.

“Well,” You started, breath teasing his mouth, “This apparition wants her starry-eyed man to fuck her.” His eyes flickered. You kissed him again, just once–slow and full of promise–before pulling back with a small smile.

“Since there’s no point in continuing to work,” You added, arching an eyebrow, “When you’re such a huge distraction.” He hummed like you’d given him a gift, tongue peeking out briefly to taste your words lingering on his lips.

“That can be done.” He murmured. And with one last kiss to your inner thigh, he slowly slipped his fingers from inside you–your walls clenching around the sudden loss, aching to feel full again. He stood in a single, smooth motion, hands sliding under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly from the stool. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his hips automatically, your arms loose around his shoulders, forehead brushing against his. He stepped forward, nudging the tablet and your soaked underwear off to the side of the counter with careful precision. Then he placed you onto the marble.

The stone was cool against the heat of your skin, and your dress was still bunched around your waist, but none of it mattered. Not with him standing between your legs, not with the sun at his back and your scent still clinging to his mouth.

“You want to do it right here?” You asked with a laugh, letting your heels hook loosely behind his back.

He tilted his head slightly. “We’ll clean up afterwards,” he said, voice low and silken. “It’ll be spotless. Nobody will know anything happened…”He leaned in, his breath brushing your lips, eyes molten white as they flicked down to your mouth. “Except us.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh, arms sliding around his neck as you pulled him in closer.

“You don’t have to do much convincing,” You said. “I like how desperate you are. Can’t even bear to carry me to our bedroom.”

“Why should I?” He murmured, his nose brushing against yours. “I need you now.” You let out a soft laugh, the kind that trembled at the edges with anticipation, before pulling him down into a kiss that turned far from sweet.

It was hungry.

Hot and spit-slick, teeth grazing, lips catching–like the two of you had been starved of this for far too long. His mouth met yours with urgency, with reverence disguised as desperation. You could feel the growl buried low in his throat, pressed into your teeth as your tongues slid together, tasting, taking. The kind of kiss that stole your breath even as it fed you something else entirely.

He exhaled harshly through his nose against your cheek as his hand dropped between your bodies. You didn’t break the kiss–not even when you felt him shove his sweatpants down just to his knees, the rustle of the fabric barely audible between your bodies. He was too focused, too gone. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him, your thighs spread wide around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him, cool and hard, the slick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. The tip was already wet with pre-cum, and it spread across your folds as he dragged himself through them slowly, coating you in his need. He groaned low into the kiss, like the heat of you burned through the cold that clung to his skin.

And then–without ceremony, without fanfare, but with the kind of restraint that bordered on trembling worship–he began to push inside. You broke the kiss with a gasp so sharp it caught in your throat. Your head tilted back, lips parting, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch of him filled you inch by inch.

“Fuck…” You whispered, breathless, back arching slightly as he eased deeper. He immediately ducked to your neck, his mouth wet and open against your skin. He peppered kisses along the curve of your throat, sucking softly, dragging his lips along your pulse, his breath cool and shaky as he moaned against the warmth of your skin. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling you tighter against him with each inch he sank into you, anchoring you to his body like he couldn’t bear the thought of space between you.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails dragging across his skin. Your thighs tensed around his waist as if your body was trying to hold him in place, as if it needed to keep him inside.

He was thick. Deep. The stretch of him felt divine. Your bodies adjusted together in that perfect, unbearable way, just like they always did. When he bottomed out–when he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt–you both stilled.

You could feel him pulsing inside you, like a heartbeat, in tandem with your ragged breaths.

“Christ…” He groaned against your throat, like a man struck down by a vision, “Always feel…So fucking good.” You pulled his face up with one hand at the nape of his neck, kissed him again–not as rough this time, but full of weight, full of that silent desperation that made your limbs tremble. He kissed your bottom lip slowly, savoring it, then moved to your top one, sucking gently, nipping, giving both equal attention like he was memorizing you all over again.

And when he finally pulled away, breathless, lips still brushing yours, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Made for me,” He whispered. “Fucking made for me.”

His eyes–white and glowing–searched your face like you were a miracle, lips parting like he was tasting your breath.

”Can I start moving?” He asked quietly, and you nodded, almost frantically.

”Please.” You breathed out. He started slow–deep, rolling thrusts that made your whole body slide slightly along the marble counter, the slick sound of your arousal filling the space between your bodies. Each motion was careful, worshipful, but brimming with tension, like he was trying not to lose himself too fast.

You clung to him, moaning into his mouth when he kissed you again, swallowing every sound you made as he began to rut into you a little harder, the slap of skin meeting skin echoing softly in the kitchen.

“You feel so fucking good,” He groaned, voice shaky against your lips. “So hot and tight around me…Like your body has an imprint of me inside it…”

“It does,” You whispered, kissing him again, messily this time, your mouths sliding together, open and wet and aching. “Because I’m yours…Only yours.”

He let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking harder, deeper.

Your dress was still bunched around your waist, your chest rising and falling with every breathless sound you made. One of his hands slid under the fabric, splaying across your lower back, anchoring you as his thrusts gained pace, hips snapping forward as he buried himself into you over and over again.

Then, as if pulled by some magnetic urge, he ducked back to your throat.

His mouth latched onto the column of your neck, lips sucking and tongue dragging slow and filthy against your skin. You whimpered as he sucked harder, marking you, the heat of his mouth clashing with the cool breath that followed. Saliva ran in a slow trail down the side of your throat, soaking into the neckline of your dress where it clung to your damp skin.

You shivered beneath him, and he growled softly, “God, I could eat you alive…You taste like heaven and fuck like sin.” Your hands roamed everywhere–clutching his shoulders, raking down his back, threading into his hair again just to hold him close. Every part of you was stretched wide open, exposed and vulnerable, but it felt safe–like no one else in the universe could have you, like you belonged only here, under this sun-drenched kitchen light, spread open and moaning on the countertop.

He pulled back just far enough to look down.

To watch.

And so did you.

You both looked between your bodies–his cock disappearing inside you with every thrust, coated in your arousal, your folds wet and swollen and clinging to him like your body didn’t want to let go.

The image made your breath hitch.

He saw it. Saw your face tremble with the weight of it.

He groaned, curling one arm tighter around your back while his other hand lifted–slowly, reverently–to your chest. He pressed his palm flat over your heart, feeling it pound wildly, and you covered his hand with your own, fingers trembling as they laced between his.

“That’s for you,” You whispered, voice breaking. “It’s yours.”

“Fuck…” He moaned, trembling, eyes wide and awestruck. “I feel it. I feel you.”

You squeezed his hand and rolled your hips up to meet his next thrust.

“I’m close,” You gasped. “So close–don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

His pace stayed steady, passionate, fucking you through the coil building low in your belly. Every deep thrust pushed you closer to the edge, until your breath was catching and your eyes were fluttering, until you were gasping his name like it was the only word left in the world.

“Let go for me,” He begged, his voice cracking, forehead pressed to yours. “Come on, baby, please.” You did—with a broken moan and a full-body shudder, your climax tore through you like a sunburst. You clung to him as it hit, your walls fluttering around him, milking him, pulling him in even deeper.

He followed almost instantly.

With a soft cry, he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, rutting into you a few more times as his cock pulsed inside you, filling you up with his cool streaks of cum. His body trembled with each small thrust, like he couldn’t stop chasing the feel of you, the intimacy, the perfect fit.

And then stillness.

He let out a breathless whimper, still inside you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Then he kissed you.

A real kiss. Long, slow, warm–like thanks and surrender and devotion all in one.

When he pulled back, his forehead dropped to yours, eyes fluttering shut, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his spit-slick mouth.

“Sorry I distracted you from finishing up the mission reports…” He murmured, voice hoarse and thick with affection.

You let out a quiet laugh, your hand still resting over his.

“They can always wait,” You admitted. “Especially when it comes to you.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. “Always good to know that,” He said, grin crooked and boyish now, the afterglow softening what little features you could see, his eyes, maybe the little crinkle in his brow. “I’ll bring it up the next time I distract you.” You smiled, fingers threading into his cool soft hair again, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

”Hopefully I don’t forget.” You commented, as he hummed.

During the quiet hours of slumber, after you’d whispered your plea for him to stay buried inside you–revealing in that unique, chilled completeness he had offered–his cock had eventually slipped free. But he’d stirred just in time, his shadowy form attuned to your every shift, and replaced it seamlessly with one of his tendrils. The sleek appendage had slid into you with effortless precision, expanding gently to plug the warmth of his releases, ensuring not a single drop of him escaped. He had taken a quiet delight in it, feeling the slick smears of his own cum coating the velvety length as it swelled even more, pausing only when your breathed hitched in your sleep, then settling back into stillness as he curled around you once more.

Now, as awareness bloomed, you became acutely conscious of the short, rhythmic puffs of cool air ghosting across your bare back, like whispers from a distant nebula, raising the fine peach fuzz along your spine and sending ripples of goosebumps cascading over your skin. They raced upward, tingling along your neck and shivering deep into your bones, a delicious counterpoint to the overheated flush still lingering inside you from the hours of passion. Your body felt both tender and alive, every nerve humming with residual echoes, awakening completely like a hard reset.

You shifted ever so slightly, testing the boundaries of your position, only to feel the unyielding lock of the form behind you. He curved around your smaller frame like a living shield, a protective cocoon of shadow and silk that molded to your curves with effortless intimacy. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the sun-washed room where dust motes danced in the beams like tiny stars. Glancing downward, you took in the makeshift restraints: his black, smooth tendrils wrapped around your torso and limbs like living vines of midnight velvet, their surfaces adhering gently to your skin with a subtle, sucking pull, like little mouths. They shimmered under the light, iridescent flecks of white twinkling like embedded glitter–miniature galaxies swirling within the endless void of his flesh. This was the same expanse you had explored so hungrily last night, your hands rubbing over the smooth, star-speckled darkness, claws digging in as ecstasy built, your teeth sinking into the flesh as his voice urged you onward: “Finish for me, soak me, mark me as yours.” 

The memory sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly, and you bit down on your bottom lip to stifle a soft sigh. Carefully, you adjusted your position, reaching up to trace a fingertip along the glossy surface of the tendril curled around your waist. It was impossibly smooth, like polished obsidian dipped in oil, and as you connected the scattered dots of starlight across its vantablack canvas, a collected pulse rippled through them all. They tightened in unison, a loving squeeze that felt like you were going to be swallowed whole by him, while the one nestled deep inside you expanded with an unconscious wiggle, its suckers brushing teasingly against your g-spot. You clenched back automatically.

A deep hum vibrated through your body, the shadowy entity pressing even closer, his form enveloping you like a cool, silken blanket. His arms–strong yet gentle, their starry blackness flowing like liquid night–joined the tendrils, one sliding just above your breasts to hold you, while the other one dipped below to cradle your ribs, forming a complete harness that made you feel utterly cherished, like you were the centre of his universe. His hand curled around your shoulder, fingers tracing lazily over your collarbone as the other hand burrowed beneath your torso settling between your skin and the mattress, ensuring no inch of space separated you. 

“Hope you’re not trying to make a quick escape,” He murmured, pressing his cool, wet lips to the back of your neck, the contact sending a shiver down your spine as he kissed with exquisite gentleness, each one a lingering caress. Then, he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, drawing in the mingled scents of your sweat-slicked skin, the faint lavender from your shampoo, and his own heady musk–a dark, intoxicating aroma like ozone and ancient stars. You tilted your head back, a stuttered breath slipping out, followed by a soft giggle as his lips continued their path, kissing and lick with a worship that made your heart flutter. He seemed intent on savouring every bead of morning dew on your skin, his tongue tracing patterns that left you tingling, as if he were drinking you in like a fresh cup of coffee to start his day.

“Would never consider it…Not after last night,” You replied softly, your voice laced with utter contentment. You noticed how the muscles in his forearms flexed against you, pulling you impossibly closer like he was going to open up and swallow you, his chin slipping onto your shoulder for a better view of your profile. The coolness of him battled the warmth rising in your cheeks, a silent testament to the effect he had on you.

“You liked it that much, hmm? What if it turned out to be terrible?” He questioned, his tone playful yet truly curious, as if he was seeking reassurance without asking you outright. To emphasize, he teased with the tendril inside you, letting its suckers pull lightly at your g-spot in rhythmic tugs, coaxing you to squirm and moan. Your hand flew to the back of his, gripping it as you shifted your legs beneath the duvet, only for him to weave his own cold one between them, locking you still. Your heart raced, your entire being vibrating with rekindled fire–coiling tension and electric shivers radiating from every point of contact, nerves alight as the tendril pulsed, reminding you of his silent claim.

“Could never be terrible…I didn’t event even think there was a chance,” You breathed, turning your head to meet his gaze. He was already watching you, his bright white pupils–pinpricks that dilated into thin slits of adoration under your scrutiny–gleaming like stars in the sunlight. The freckles of light scattered across his shadowy cheeks shimmered, and when he smiled, his teeth flashed briefly–they were sharp and you knew their indentations were spread around your skin.

“Sounds like you had high expectations for me,” He quipped, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. His cool lips made your breath hitch, the sensation like a splash of midnight against your skin, followed by a hum of acknowledgement from you as he pulled back.

“Wasn’t high expectations, it was anticipation,” You corrected, your fingers rubbing soothing circles over the back of his hand, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath his skin. The tendrils around your legs adjusted with a soft, wet sound–the suckers releasing from your calves with a faint pop before slithering higher to your thighs, latching onto the fresh expanse of flesh with eager gentleness, like they knew where they hadn’t marked you.

“Anticipation…” The word slipped off his tongue, drawn out as if he were savouring each syllable, rolling them like a secret, “So you’ve been thinking about this for a while then?” He pressed playfully, though a hint of vulnerability underscored it, as if your answer meant everything. You felt another rush of heat, remembering how you’d practically broadcasted your desires last night through fervent touches and breathless pleas.

“Since Bob allowed you to come out and meet me…” You admitted, the words tumbling out with honesty. You recalled the first encounter vividly: the way his darkness had overtaken Bob’s form, sliding like liquid shadow over pale skin until he stood before you as this god-shaped enigma, all vast blackness speckled with twinkling lights. He’d been so gentle then, too–enamoured by your lack of fear, by how you’d sought excuses to touch him, fingers tracing the starry patterns on his arm, marvelling at the silky smoothness. In that moment, three months ago, desire had ignited like a supernova, a cascade of wonders about his nature: would his touch be rough and commanding, or possessive and consuming? Sensual and surprising? Last night had answered all the burning questions–it was gentle yet intense, needy in his softness–and waking to this only amplified the euphoria, making you feel like the luckiest being in existence. He shifted closer, the cold tip of his nose grazing your cheek with a featherlight caress, his lips brushing the hinge of your jaw in a brief kiss before he inhaled deeply.

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who felt that way,” He whispered, his breath cool against your ear as he burrowed his leg deeper between yours, “The wait was worth it…But now all I want to do is be inside you,” His words were a soft confession, and he opened his mouth to suck at the skin just below your earlobe–gentle at first, then twisting into a pull that drew hot blood to the surface, mingling pleasure with a faint sting as his tongue soothed the spot. He released with a wet pop, streaks of saliva snapping against the pulsing flesh, his pupils dilating further.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” You commented, squeezing around the tendril still pulsing against your walls, drawing a low, needy groan from him that vibrated through your back.

“Of course you don’t, you’re absolutely insatiable,” He joked, and you let out a little laugh, playfully smacking the back of his hand while he nuzzled closer, his starry form shimmering with quiet joy. 

“You’ve only had sex with me once and suddenly now you think you can jump to conclusions like that? Sounds unfair to me,” You teased, shifting against the tendril as if urging it to go deeper, even though you were already stretched to the brink, its thick tip nudging your cervix with gentle insistence, almost like he was going to slide right past it to fill your womb.

“Mmm, I think I need to remind you that we had sex three times last night and you were still begging for more, so I think my conclusions are valid and accurate, you just think it’s unfair cause I’m right.” He pointed out, with a smirk chasing his words, his breath gliding over your skin like a chilly mist from some ethereal, starlit realm, carrying faint notes of cosmic frost that made your pulse sing in response. You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling another wave of heat building beneath your flesh, a radiant bloom that clashed deliciously against his inherent coolness, like fire meeting the emptiness of space and sparking into something alive.

It was true, you had begged him for more last night even though exhaustion was trying to overtake you, your limbs heavy with the sweet ache of overuse, your mind hazy from the repeated crescendos of pleasure that had left you trembling and breathless. He was well aware of how tired you were–his perceptive nature had caught every little yawn you had tried to hide, and every flutter of your eyelids as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness–yet he’d been taken off guard by your words, your voice a husky whisper pleading just for one more moment of that profound union where he merged with you in ways that defied earthly logic. 

No matter how long he had lasted during the three round prior–each one a compilation of building intensity, from the slow, exploratory caresses of the first to the soul bonding, all-consuming rhythm of the third–it was like you couldn’t get enough of him, of the unique way he felt inside you, filling every hidden crevice with a cool, expansive presence that stretched you to your limits without ever crossing into discomfort. His releases had flooded you over and over again, a slick, viscous essence that cooled and soothed, leaving you feeling marked from the inside out, utterly possessed yet cherished. 

And then there was the way he looked at you–those white pinprick pupils dilating into wide, adorning voids that swallowed the light into them, reflecting your own desire back at you like twin supernovas that pulled you in deeper. The way he touched you, his tendrils gliding over your skin with featherlight precision, the suckers attaching and releasing in patterns that mimicked the feeling of his mouth, mapping every curve and dip as if committing you into a permanent memory. The way he kissed you while he was fucking you, his cool lips pressing against your with a hunger that he needed to temper because of how much he wanted to consume you, as if this was the only opportunity he would get to worship you, his starry form shimmering with each thrust, the speckles of light across his body flaring brighter in sync with your gasps and moans. It made your head spin, a dizzying whirl of sensations wrapping around you, as if a spell had been woven from the fabric of the universe itself, binding you to crave him alone–his touch, his voice, his everything. 

“…I guess you got me there.” You relented quietly, your voice a soft surrender, feeling his hand slip off your shoulder slowly, his fingertips dragging a path downward. They skimmed over the swell of your breast, circling the sensitive peak of your nipple with a teasing lightness that sent sparks dancing along your nerves, coaxing it to harden under his touch like a bud unfurling to midnight’s call. He lingers there just long enough o draw a shiver from you, before continuing their descent, coming to settle with a gentle pressure on the small but noticeable bulge in your lower abdomen, his palm molding perfectly to the curve. 

Sometimes he wanted to admit that he could read your thoughts and see everything that went on inside your head–the swirling eddies of desire, the quiet vulnerabilities, the flashes of doubt and pure lust–but he took joy in being aware of your innermost desires, in granting you everything you wanted without you needing to ask him, anticipating your cravings with an intuition that felt almost predestined. And that was the secret that kept you wanting more, this unspoken dance of give and take where he poured himself into you, literally and figuratively, making you feel seen, desired, and utterly complete.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it…It’s nice to know how much you want me.” He murmured, pressing down ever so slightly on the outline of his tendril through the softness of your stomach. The subtle pressure made you shiver, the appendage shifting minutely within you, its suckers pulsing, causing you to let out a breathless little whine. It drew your attention back to where the two of you were connected, as you shifted your legs beneath the duvet’s soft weight, feeling the sticky residue of his cum on the insides of your thighs. “And also, to be clear…I want you just as much.” He added in a small whisper, as he pressed a few open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his lips parting to let his cool tongue trace the delicate veins there, focusing on the sensitive spot he had sucked on and mark just moments before. The faint throb of the bruise bloomed under his attention, a sweet sting that he soothed with gentle laps, as he brought his hips forward in a slow, needy grind, letting you feel his semi-hard erection growing against your lower back–a cool, insistent length that throbbed with restrained hunger. 

“Maybe we can go for round four in the shower then, since you want me just as much.” You suggested, your tone playful yet edged with genuine invitation, tilting your head up to grant him more space to explore–to kiss and nip with those sharp teeth that grazed so lightly, sending tiny thrills racing down your spine. He responded with a little hum, a sound of pure contentment that rumbled from deep within him, vibrating against you like the distant echo of a nebula’s birth.

“Sounds doable, but that means I’m gonna have to free you from the little trap I’ve woven you in, so brace yourself,” He warned jokingly, his voice playfully humming, as his tendrils began to loosen their grip around you, starting with the ones that had adhered to your thighs. Each sucker released with soft, wet pops that echoed in the sunlit quiet of the room, an orchestra of reluctant parting that left behind imprints on your skin–delicate ovals blooming like ephemeral petals, tender to the touch and tingling with the ghost of his suction, a map of his affections etched in a variety of shades against your flesh. 

He took his time with the unwinding, his movements unhurried, ad if he was relishing in the act of release as much as the embrace itself; the silky appendages slithered away with a whisper-soft glide, their star-speckled surfaces brushing against you one last time in a caress that shook along your limbs, until only the tendril nestled deep inside you remained, wiggling and pulsing with a needy insistence, as though pleading for you to envelop it in one final, intimate squeeze–which you granted with your walls contracting around its cool, expansive form in a loving farewell that drew a shared tremor through the both of you.

Only then did he drag it out, taking it as slow as possible, inch by velvety inch, so you could feel every nuanced contour leaving your core–the ridges of its suckers detaching with gentle tugs, the slick slide of it retreating through your sensitive fold, smearing a glistening mix of your shared wetness and his viscous essence along the insides of your thighs, mingling with the sticky warmth already clinging there. When it finally slipped free completely, the sudden emptiness elicited a sigh from the both of you–a soft, synchronized exhale that hung in the air, your body mourning the loss even as a fresh wave of his release began to trickle out. 

You turned on your back, the sheets rustling beneath you and cradling your skin, to look at him fully, a smile plastering itself across your lips unbidden, wide and genuine, as your eyes met his. His white pinprick pupils, gleamed like stars caught in the morning light, expanding into wide adoring orbs under the weight of your gaze, his lashes fluttering with a quiet shyness that made your hear swell; his hair framed his head like a halo of midnight, floating with embedded flecks of light that pulsed in rhythm with his breath.

“I’ll get the shower ready,” You said, before leaning up to kiss him. His lips parted eagerly to capture your bottom one between them, nipping with those sharp teeth in a gentle, playful bite that made you squirm, then sucking with a needy softness that coaxed it to swell slightly under his cool, wet attention, earning a gasp from you. Right as he pulled away, his tongue darted out in a soothing lick over the spot he’d claimed, leaving your lips glistening and tingling with the trace of his saliva. 

“Meet you there,” He mumbled, as he shifted away from you with graceful reluctance, settling back against the pillows in a sprawl of starry blackness that seemed to absorb and reflect the room’s light In equal measure. His form lounged there, relaxed yet watchful, his eyes tracking your every movement with undisguised adoration, drinking in the sight of you as if you were the only light in his infinite darkness. 

As you moved, his gaze lingered on the faint sucker marks trailing along your spine, remnants from where he had held you so tenderly while you rode him the night before, the imprints aligning perfectly against your skin like a assemblage of love bites. 

Your eyes, meanwhile, caught on the wreckage that was once your undergarments strewn about the floor in a disheveled pile of torn navy lace, the fabric rent asunder in evident impatience–a vivid reminder of his hazed frenzy that had wrecked through him from going down on you, your arousal coating his face in a slick sheen that had driven him to the brink, leaving him no choice but to rip apart the delicate material with an urgency that almost disintegrated the fabric. The image made you bite into the softness of your cheek, a flush of heat rising anew as the phantom feeling of his hands ghosted over your body, like you were reliving what he had done.

Shaking off the distraction with a soft exhale, you threw the covers off your legs, and shimmied to the edge of the mattress, your skin prickling at the shift from warmth to the cooler air. Planting your feet onto the glossy hardwood floor, you pushed yourself up to stand, only to feel an immediate rush of his cum flood out of you in a thick, insistent cascade, trickling down your inner thighs in rivulets that cooled rapidly against your heated skin, the feeling of it making your knees weaken for a heartbeat.

Quickly, you waddled to the bathroom with an awkward, endearing haste, the sensation of fullness giving way to a slippery urgency that had you giggling under your breath at the absurdity of it all. Rushing inside, you flicked on the light–a soft, artificial golden glow that bathed the tiled space in warmth–before closing the door with a gentle click, sealing yourself away from your lovers eyes so he didn’t see you in the process of pushing out the remnants of the night. You lowered yourself onto the toilet seat, the hard plastic rim biting at the back of your thighs, and let gravity take its course, relaxing your clenched walls. 

The soft plops of his cum hitting the water below echoed in the quiet room, feeling the thick strings dripping out as you pushed gently to coax it through you. As you relaxed further, your gaze drifted downward to your thighs, taking in the bruised ovals from his suckers seared onto them–irregular ellipses in shades of deepening plum and dark crimson, wrapping around the contours of your muscles with an artistry that spoke of his careful, loving grip. You extended your legs out in front of you experimentally, flexing them to watch the play of light on the marks, tracing their path all the way up from your calves in a winding trail: some clustered in starry little bursts near your knees, others solitary and bold along the inner curves, yet each one was a testament to how controlled he was, keeping the grip just right so it didn’t hurt you. 

But as your fingers followed the patterns higher, you noticed the black smears along your skin–inky trails that started faint, like smudges charcoal dusted across your limbs, and growing far more darker and pronounced between your thighs, where they converged in glossy, viscous streaks that gleamed under the bathroom light like you were bleeding or leaking the midnight sky. His cum, revealed in its true nature: not the warm, pearlescent essence you had half-expected, but a deep, obsidian black, slick and shimmering with an otherworldly iridescence that caught hints of the room’s glow. 

You reached down between your thighs with a tentative curiosity, your fingers sliding through the thick, sticky residue that clung there, coating the tips in a generous layer of him. It was cool to the touch, almost refreshingly so, with a viscosity that felt like a gel–silky and dense, like molten obsidian tempered by starlight. Bringing your digits up to your gaze, you marvelled at the slight shimmer it held, flecks of light winking within the deep black that was eerily similar to the ones on his flesh. Separating your fingers slowly, you watched his release stretch out between the space in thin threads, elastic and gleaming. 

Then suddenly, a knock echoed through the room, making you just with a start, your heart leaping into a staccato rhythm as if you were startled from a dream, pulling you back to the present with a flush of self-consciousness.

“Hey, do you mind if I open the door?” Void asked, his voice muffled by the wood between the both of you, laced with a hint of concern as if he sensed your momentary solitude and didn’t want to interrupt it without checking in first.

“Sure, go ahead.” You replied, wiping your fingers off on the top of your thigh in a hasty motion, the slick transfer leaving a fresh streak of black against your skin like an abstract painting of nightfall, as though you were hiding the evidence of your exploration.

You listened to the knob twist with a soft, metallic click, the door swinging open on well-oiled hinges to reveal him standing in the entrance, a vision of cosmic elegance, bundled with domestic awkwardness: all your sheet gathered haphazardly in his arms, the grey fabric bunched and overflowing, marred with irregular blotches of black that seeped through in uneven patterns, dark and indelible as spilled ink on cotton. He was shimmering at this point, his entire form aglow, the little freckles of white scattered across his body flaring brighter than usual, pulsing in erratic waves that displayed his embarrassment–a living canvas of starry sheepishness, where each pinpoint of light twinkled like bashful fireflies shaking in his skin.

“I owe you new sheets if the stains don’t come out in the wash.” He stated quietly, his tone a gentle murmur infused with genuine remorse, his eyes glancing down at the mess in his grasp before flicking back up to you, taking in the way you shifted on the toilet, your posture adjusting subtly as if to frame yourself better for his view, open and inviting despite the intimate setting.

“You didn’t tell me your cum was going to look like ink.” You commented teasingly, an attempt to diffuse the tension and lighten the embarrassment radiating from him like heat from a dying star, but it only amplified his glow, transforming him into a human disco ball of cosmic light, the reflections bouncing off the bathroom mirror and scattering prisms across the walls in a dazzling display of his flustered state. He held the sheets tighter against his chest, clutching them like a shield, his pupils flicking away from you momentarily with a little shrug, the movement rippling through his shadowy form.

“I thought you saw it last night when I had let you taste it off my fingers.” He murmured, shifting from one foot to the other in a display of fidgety unease, his bare feet padding softly against the cool tile, peeking up at you through the veil of his lashes to see that you had raised your eyebrows in amused surprise, letting out a little laugh.

“Void…Baby…The room was basically pitch black last night, all I could see was your eyes and freckles.” You admitted with a fond exasperation as you glanced at the sheets again, knowing damn well the stains weren’t going to come out no matter how many times you washed them–deep-set and pervasive, sunken into the fabric–at least they weren’t your favourite set, though now you knew not to put them on the next time you tangled with him in such fervent abandon, a mental note filed away for yourself.

“Sorry…” He whispered under his breath, the apology barely audible, a soft exhalation that carried the weight of his needless guilt, his starry form dimming just a fraction as if to retreat into himself, but you let out a sigh, grabbing some toilet paper to quickly wipe away the excess stickiness from between your thighs–letting it absorb the last remnants–before tossing it into the now-translucent black water below and flushing, the swirl clearing everything away in a rush of sound.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Honestly…I kind of like looking like I lost a fight to a really big fountain pen cartridge.” You joked, which earned a little laugh from him, his shoulders relaxing as the flecks across his skin steadied into a softer glow, his softness peeking through in the way he leaned toward you ever so slightly, drawn like a moth to your flame.

“I do think those sheets are ruined though, so you can just leave them on the ground, and we can deal with it after our shower.” You added, extending your hand out to him, palm upturned and fingers beckoning slowly to coax him in closer. Quickly, he dropped the pile onto the floor with a muffled thud, pushing them off to the side with a gentle nudge of his foot before stepping fully into the washroom and closing the door behind him with a soft latch, his presence filling the space like a comforting eclipse. He turned on the fan with a small flick of his fingers along the switch, the low hum starting up to overtake the silence, ventilating the air with a breeze that carried away any lingering awkwardness.

“Well…Luckily I have the best ink remover for all the stains on your skin.” He said, coming close enough for you to grasp his hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“Oh yeah? And what’s this special remover called?” You teased, tilting your head up slightly, now that he was towering over you again, his form a magnificent silhouette of shadow and starlight that made the bathroom feel both intimate and widely infinite; you caught a glimpse of his teeth as he smirk–a flash of predatory affection.