#the void fluff

With each strike, your room briefly bathed in ghost light–pale and flickering–casting long shadows off your bookshelf, your boots by the door, and the gentle slope of your body beneath the blanket. It wasn’t frightening to you. Quite the opposite. Stormy nights like this always felt like a kind of lullaby, raw and guttural. Primal even. You found comfort in the way thunder rumbled through the walls and rolled deep in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Wrapped in fleece and stillness, you laid curled beneath your blanket, knees drawn to your chest, with the heat of your body sealed tight inside the little cocoon you had made around yourself. The wind whistled faintly through a vent overhead, and the occasional flicker of the power grid gave a soft mechanical hum. But…You were calm, and in your element.

Until you heard it.

A soft, hesitant knock at your bedroom door–barely audible over the storm–and the subtle shift of weight just outside it. You blinked a few times, turning away from the streaked window. The room was bathed in shadow again, pitch-black but for the occasional flicker of lightning that bled through your sheer curtains.

Then, a voice.

“Y/N…Are you in there?” It wasn’t Bob’s voice, there wasn’t that nervous quiver, or shy hesitation. And it wasn’t Sentry’s either–his words always came wrapped in warmth, a golden sort of certainty that only he could project. This voice was lower, hollow in a way that felt like space itself was being sucked into his throat, like silk draped over shadow. It was soft, but heavy in speech.

You knew exactly who it was.

”…Yeah,” You whispered, sitting up slightly, your shirt falling off your shoulder slighrly, “I’m in here.” Silence followed–just the storm beyond your walls, and the far-off rattle of some unsecured vent on the roof being heard. Then, there was a small sound. A scratch. Claws or fingers–gentle ones–dragging softly along the wood grain of your door like he was reconsidering what he was going to ask.

“Can I…” His voice faltered for a moment, before he cleared his throat and tried again, “Can I come in?” You sighed, not with annoyance, but with something close to knowing. A quiet ache of recognition. He had done this before–slipped into your room on nights when he couldn’t sleep, or when he needed the comfort of someone else being close by. He had mentioned it a few times before that hearing someone else breathing within his proximity would ground him a little bit, keeping him tethered to himself even though…He really wasn’t himself in this state.

“Yeah, yeah come in.” The door creaked open slowly, and the dim safety lights of the hallway casted a hazy, golden halo around the figure that emerged. He didn’t step into the room so much as he slipped inside–his form moving like vapour with weight. The vantablack shadow of The Void swallowed light rather than reflected it, a silhouette pulled from the deepest part of the night sky. In his arms: a blanket folded neatly over his arm, and a pillow gripped in his hands that trembled more than he likely realized. His eyes–the only consistent point of reference–blinked at you, pale white pupils suspended in the sea of blackness.

You could barely see the outline of his face where the hallway light kissed the edges of his jaw, but even as you tried to focus in on him, the details blurred. Like trying to look directly at a nightmare you’d already half-forgotten. It was easier to focus on the feeling he brought with him: the sudden drop in temperature, the way the shadows in the corners of your room seemed to lean in toward him like old friends, the scent of ozone and smoke curling into the air.

Then he closed the door, and the room went dark again.

Only the sky lit it now–each bolt of lightning strobing across your walls, throwing strange flickering shadows onto the ceiling. In those brief moments of illumination, you caught glimpses of him–his back arching slightly with a flinch as thunder crashed a moment later, his shoulders tensing, and his hands squeezing around the fluffy pillow.

“…Can I sleep on your floor tonight?” He asked, voice quiet, and ragged at the edges. You nodded, fixing the portion of your shirt that had slipped off your shoulder, before tugging the blanket back over yourself, laying back down against your mattress.

”Of course, whatever you want.” You watched as he shuffled forward, making his way to the far side of your bed–away from the window. He had an odd gait to him tonight, like he had accidentally pulled something and was limping to attempt to not put any weight on it.

When he made it to your nightstand, he let the pillow fall to the ground first, then he unfolded his blanket, laying it out on your hardwood floor with slow, deliberate movements. You watched him carefully, at the way his fingers trembled as he smoothed the corners out with his feet. The quiet, subconscious act of trying to settle things perfectly. Like if he aligned the edges just right, maybe it could bring him a semblance of peace.

He got onto his knees slowly, one hand bracing against your mattress to steady himself, as he moved with deliberate care. Even though he didn’t breathe like Bob did–didn’t need to, at least that’s what everyone assumed–you swore you could hear a kind of shudder pass through him, a ripple through the air like a pressure drop before a storm surge. The blanket under him rustled softly as he lowered himself down inch by inch, his weight making barely a sound despite how massive his presence felt.

Then, another roar of thunder cracked through the air. The whole tower shook with it–metal humming in its bones, and for a split second, the white light from the sky ignited your room in a stark, flashbulb burst. You could see him flinch. It wasn’t just a twitch–but a full body startle. His spine curved in toward himself like a reflex, his hands spasming slightly as if expecting something to strike. You blinked, watching as he froze there for a second, shoulders pulled tight like a coiled spring.

You pushed yourself up onto one elbow, brows raising, “Are you okay?” His glowing eyes snapped to you instantly–two white-hot points in the ink of his face–and he nodded with mechanical sharpness.

“Yeah…I’m fine,” He said quickly, his voice a low rasp matching the volume of the rainfall, “I just…Don’t like this weather.” That gave you a small pause, a look of confusion coming up on your face, tilting your head.

”You’re scared?” His reaction was immediate. He turned his face toward the floor, shaking his head sharply–too proud, too ancient, too wrapped in a million fractals of stubbornness.

”Don’t use that word,” He muttered, quieter now, the shadows curling just slightly closer to his body like they were listening into the conversation, “I’m not scared…I just get jumpy.” You squinted at him.

”Same difference, Void…” You pointed out, your tone wry but not unkind or accusatory. He grumbled under his breath–a sound like coal cracking under pressure–and shifted his weight again, finally sinking down fully onto his bum. His knees pulled up slightly for a moment before he let himself stretch out across the blanket, laying flat on his back with a weary sort of grace. He fluffed the pillow with his hands, smoothing it out before bringing the back of his head down against it.

“It’s not.” He replied flatly, a little petulant, but mostly…Tired. You sighed, and the mattress dipped under your shifting weight as you scooted over, turning so you could look down at him properly. Your blanket slipped slightly with the motion, exposing your shoulder again to the chill air. You didn’t bother fixing it this time. You were too focused on him. He was staring up at the ceiling at first, unmoving but for the rise and fall of flickering lightning across his torso like waterlight over obsidian. Then slowly–almost shyly–his gaze ticked up toward you. Those strange, glowing pupils found yours again, tracking your face with careful precision.

“Why’re you looking at me?” He asked, voice soft now, the bite from before entirely gone. Just a question. Quiet and raw. Your eyes softened slightly, watching the way he tried to lie still even though the tension still radiated off of him like heat from cracked pavement. The storm still crackled beyond the glass, and yet your voice was soft, unshaken, even gentle in contrast.

“I’ve never really seen you this jumpy before,” You murmured, resting your cheek against your bent arm as you continued to peer at him, “So I’m just concerned.” He blinked slowly, that pale white glow of his pupils dimming faintly, almost like candlelight flickering under a glass dome. The lines of his body didn’t shift, but something about the atmosphere did–like the air between you got heavier, charged not just with electricity, but with vulnerability.

“There’s no need to be concerned,” He said, shaking his head once, “I’m not going to lash out or anything…”

You bit the inside of your cheek, then sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, pausing for a heartbeat or two before quietly replying, “That’s not what I was concerned about.” His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, like a constellation suspended in tar. ”I just don’t want you having a heart attack on my floor,” You added, lightening your tone a touch. It was a weak joke, but you wanted to try and make him not feel like a threat. A soft sound left him–like a breath, but not quite. A low, brief huff of air that might have been a laugh in another life.

“You can only have a heart attack if you have a heart…” He murmured, glancing away toward the ceiling. “So that’s another thing you don’t have to be concerned about.” Your lips quirked slightly.

”Just because you don’t think you have one doesn’t mean there’s nothing beating in there,” You shot back, which caused his eyes to return to yours in an instant.

“You want proof?” He asks. You smirked faintly, the corners of your mouth curling as you lifted your brows.

“Maybe I do.” The shadows flickered slightly behind his head–whether from the lightning or the way his body reacted to your challenge, you couldn’t tell. Then he reached out.

“Give me your hand.” His voice was quiet, and gentle. You hesitated for just a second, not out of fear but curiosity–uncertainty. You had never truly touched him before. Not like this. Not with intention. But slowly, you let your hand slip out from beneath the warmth of your blanket, fingers extending toward his. The coolness hit first–not cold like a winter breeze or ice from a freezer. No, this was a cosmic cold. A vacuum chill. The kind of temperature that made your nerve endings go momentarily silent before flooding back with pins and needles, shocked into awareness. His fingers wrapped around your wrist.

You weren’t sure if he realized how careful he was being, how tender. His grip was strong but there was no pressure. Just contact. Connection. His nails were dull, not sharp or threatening, more like curved fragments of something ancient and soft-worn. They dragged every so slightly against the inside of your wrist as he guided your hand downward to himself.

You could feel him tense up, his shoulders flinching slightly, betraying him, as though even the act of being touched startled him despite the fact that he had initiated it. You tried not to breathe too loud, not to disturb the moment. It felt…Sacred. Like watching a lunar eclipse, or pressing your ear to the surface of a glacier to hear the crack of time within it.

As he moved your hand lower, he brought it toward the center of his chest–if you could call it that. His body wasn’t like Bob’s. Not in this form. There were no skin tones, no human temperature gradients. Just dense shadow shaped into a man’s frame, and the faint ripple of cosmic static beneath.

But still, you searched. Your fingers splayed out gently as he let go of your wrist, allowing you to rest your hand just above where his heart should be. Your breath hitched slightly at the contact–cold, like dipping your fingers into the deepest trench of the sea. Your body heat had nowhere to go. It was swallowed whole.

Your fingertips moved lower, finding the spot just beneath his sternum where the pulse would be in someone else–Bob, Sentry, even yourself. But here?

There was nothing.

No thrum. No flutter. No rhythm. No familiar rise and fall.

Just stillness.

Just hollowness.

And yet–it wasn’t empty.

There was something beneath the surface. A pressure. A mass. A quiet, relentless gravity. Not a heartbeat, no–but a pull. Like your hand was resting over a star that had collapsed into itself, refusing to be born into light again. You ran your thumb slowly along the velvety smooth surface of his chest–if it could even be called that. It wasn’t skin like yours, not even close. It was darker than shadow, darker than the absence of light–smooth and seamless, like liquified night made solid. Like ink given breath.

You could feel his muscles tighten, a coil of tension drawing in deep under the surface as your fingers moved gently across him. The storm outside rumbled low and rolling, a threat lingering on the edge of the sky.

“I told you,” He said quietly, his voice hushed and almost…Fondly bitter, like he already knew how this conversation would end. “There’s nothing. No heart attacks can be had.”

The thunder cracked again–closer this time. It boomed like something had split the sky wide open. Your room trembled. The floor beneath him shuddered like steel held breath, and under your hand, his muscles went taut in a split-second response. Not a dramatic jerk, but a small, involuntary bracing–like the thunder was something he knew, something that spoke to him in a language he hated.

His eyes closed tightly. His jaw clenched. The ripple beneath your palm stilled like something locking down deep inside him, and for a moment you thought he might tell you to move your hand. To stop.

But then, he exhaled.

It wasn’t breath, not really. But it sounded like one. Like the kind of slow, exhausted release that happened only after holding something in for far too long.

A second passed.

Then another.

His glowing white irises reappeared, flickering back into view like twin moons surfacing from beneath storm clouds. He looked at you–softly this time, not guarded or sharp. You met his gaze steadily, still cupping the hollow above where his heart would be, and your voice dropped into something even softer, something almost hesitant.

“…Can I come down there?”

His pupils pulsed slightly–like a ripple through liquid starlight–and his whole body stilled.

“You want to come down onto the floor with me?” He repeated, slower this time. The disbelief wasn’t cruel or mocking–it was quiet. Almost childlike.

You nodded, already beginning to bunch up your blanket around you, folding it in toward your chest so you could wriggle your legs free beneath it.

“Yeah,” You said, eyes still on his. “Would that be okay?” For a moment, he said nothing. And for a second, you thought maybe the answer would be no–not out of rejection, but out of protection. Like maybe letting you that close would fracture something inside him he couldn’t fix.

But then, he nodded.

“…Alright.” His voice was low, quiet as the shadows in the corners of the room. But it held the weight of permission. Of trust. Of need. You shifted slowly, careful not to break the delicate quiet that had settled between you. Without fully sitting up, you began sliding down the side of the bed, letting the mattress dip behind you with the motion. Your feet touched the floor first, then your knees, then your palms, your blanket dragging with you like a second skin. The Void didn’t speak–he only moved over a few inches, making room without being asked.

You eased down beside him, bringing the blanket with you, and draped it carefully over both your bodies–his long frame and your smaller one encased now in a shared cocoon of warmth. Your side brushed his, but you didn’t pull back. If anything, you inched a little closer, letting the edge of your thigh just barely press into his.

He was still lying on his back, rigid and unmoving, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the intimacy. So you settled onto your side, facing him, your hand slipping beneath your cheek as you got comfortable against the cool pillow he’d brought in with him. It was faintly scented with something you couldn’t place–ozone and ash, or the sterile, ancient cold of stars long dead.

You watched him for a moment. He looked…Stunned. As if he hadn’t expected you to actually do it. To come down here. To choose to lay beside him.

Then you saw it.

His throat worked once. A slow, deliberate swallow. His head tilted toward you, his eyes catching yours through the dim pulse of stormlight.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked, and then his gaze flickered downward. You didn’t have to follow it to know where it landed. The scoop neck of your sleep shirt had slipped a little lower in the process of getting off the bed. The neckline dipped across your chest, leaving the upper swell of your breasts exposed in the flickering lightning light. You felt the cold air kiss the skin there–nothing new–but the heat of his gaze made it feel different.

He wasn’t leering. Wasn’t devouring. Just…Mesmerized. Starved.

His eyes roamed slowly over your skin, unblinking. It was reverent in the way that made your breath catch in your throat, like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away. As if this was the first warm thing he’d seen in centuries.

Then, finally, he turned. Slow and cautious, like every joint in his body was made of glass. He mirrored your position, shifting onto his side to face you. The movement brought his body even closer–cold against your heat, the blanket now fully enclosing you both like a secret.

“Are you cold?” He asked quietly. You shook your head, barely moving beneath the shared blanket

“Not right now, no.” You kept your gaze fixed on him, and for a long moment, he didn’t move–just watched you. The next flicker of lightning lit the room in a sharp white strobe, and once again, you saw his body stiffen. A small, involuntary flinch rippled down his spine, his shoulders curling in just slightly like he was trying to shield himself from something that was no longer there. You ignored it–not to dismiss it, but because drawing attention to it would make it worse. He knew you saw. That was enough.

Instead, you lifted your hand.

Your fingers found the side of his face, palm cupping his cheek with a quiet and still softness. The chill of him met your warmth instantly, but it didn’t bite. It was…Settling. Like cool air after a long day in the sun. Your thumb rose to trace the smooth curve of his nose, and you watched his eyes flutter closed beneath your touch, those glowing white pupils vanishing under the heavy press of his lashes. He exhaled. Not in sound–but in presence. His body softened by degrees.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He asked, voice raspy and low, almost unsure if he should stop you. But he didn’t. You ran your thumb slowly across his closed eyelid, then down the hollow curve of his cheekbone.

”I’m tracing your face, cause I can’t really see it…Thought I might as well do something that’ll distract you since the storm seems like it’s not going to go away anytime soon.” There was silence after that. But not uncomfortable. Not empty. You felt him lean ever so slightly into your palm, like a cat toward a sunbeam–just a breath of a motion. An instinct.

“I forgot you can’t see my features…” He murmured, almost to himself. “You can only see my eyes.” You nodded, letting your thumb drift lower toward the edge of his jaw.

”And sometimes I can see your teeth, but apart from that…Your features are pretty much invisible to me.” There was something under your touch now–barely-there stubble, like static texture etched into shadow. A tactile memory of Bob’s face, preserved in Void’s shape, but hidden in the dark. You followed it carefully, curiously, thumb ghosting across the edge of his jaw, then back up toward his mouth. You let your thumb pass lightly over his lips.

They parted, just a little. You felt the faintest purse of them–like he wanted to kiss the pad of your finger, like he almost did–but he stopped himself at the last possible second, breath stilling again. His restraint buzzed against your skin like electricity caught under glass.

Then, in the smallest voice, he asked:

“Is it awful…Not being able to see my face?” You stilled for a moment, and your thumb hovered just beneath his mouth. You met his gaze again–eyes barely cracked open now, the twin lights flickering with something hesitant, and raw.

“No,” You whispered. “It’s not awful.” His brows furrowed slightly. You shifted forward, close enough now that the blanket moved with you, cocooning your shared heat against his cosmic cold.

”It’s…Mysterious and strange…And sad sometimes…Because I wish I could memorize you the way you’ve memorized me, but it’s not awful, not even close.” He brought your wrist to his mouth so slowly it was like gravity itself resisted him. As if even the air wanted to keep your hand where it had been, cupping his face. But he overcame it gently and pressed his lips to your palm.

A kiss that wasn’t for seduction, or even for comfort.

It was thanks.

And then he moved in closer, almost chest to chest, his cold form brushing softly up against the heat of your body beneath the blanket. You tilted your face up to meet him, heart thudding a little faster, feeling his presence like a shadow curling into your ribcage.

His voice was a hush against your skin, low and velvet-dark, “Why would you want to memorize something like me?”

You shrugged, your voice soft but certain, with no hesitation or fear, “Because I don’t think anyone else has tried to do it…And you deserve it.” The quiet that followed wasn’t silence–it was weight. Gravity. The kind of pause that makes time itself stretch out around a single truth.

He didn’t speak. But the air around you changed.

That fanned coolness across your lips returned–chilling and soft, like mist rolling in before dawn. His breathless energy brushed against your cheeks, curling around your throat and jaw like a sentient wind, drawn to your warmth like a moth to flame.

And still, you leaned up.

Just a little. Just enough that your nose brushed his. Enough that the edge of your lips hovered just shy of his mouth. You could feel it now–his restraint, his awe, the way every molecule in him seemed to shiver with the effort it took not to devour you in a single blink.

Then, his thumb glided slowly across the inner side of your wrist. A featherlight touch.

And from the center of his chest, in a voice so quiet it felt like a wish spoken to the stars:

“…Can you hold me against your chest?” You could feel your chest tighten slightly at the request, but you found yourself shifting immediately. There was no hesitation in your body, only purpose, only care. You scooted closer, closing the small space between you. Your hand found the back of his head, guiding him down carefully, and he followed–like smoke curling into a lantern, folding into the place you made for him.

His cheek settled against your chest and every fragment of him–his breathless form, his godlike mass, the gnawing tension in his shoulders–seemed to dissolve, melted by the thudding rhythm beneath your skin. Your heartbeat echoed through him, steady and unafraid, a quiet metronome of life that pulsed against the part of him that knew only stillness.

Thump-thump…Thump-Thump-Thump…

His arms came up slowly, almost disbelieving. You felt them circle you in, tentative at first, then firmer–like he was learning how to hold you carefully. Like his body was mapping the shape of you one heartbeat at a time. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, cradling him close, your chin tilting to rest lightly against the top of his head. The blanket tucked in closer around you both, then your fingers slipped into his hair.

It was soft. Silky. Not quite like Bob’s, but eerily close. Like memories rendered through a dream. You dragged your nails gently along his scalp, stroking him in long, slow passes. He exhaled–a ripple more than a breath–and nuzzled his face closer to your chest, tucking into you with slow, instinctive need.

Your sleep shirt slipped further down, baring more of your chest to the cool air, to him. The soft skin above your breast brushed his face fully now, and he froze.

Then slowly, he pulled back just enough to look up at you. The glow of his eyes flickered in the stormlight–twin moons caught in a restless tide. His hand unwound from your waist, trailing up to the collar of your sleep shirt, and his fingertip brushed the soft fabric where it had already slipped down your shoulder.

“Can I pull this down?” Your fingers stilled in his hair, breath catching just a little at the vulnerability in the question–like he half-expected to be denied, like he didn’t trust the moment would stay in his favour.

”Yeah…Go ahead.” His fingertip dipped beneath the fabric with reverence, barely disturbing your skin as he slowly peeled the shirt downward. The blanket shifted with the movement, slipping further off your shoulder, exposing the gentle rise of your chest. Then–your breasts. Your nipples peaked in the chill air, soft skin kissed by the cold, causing them to firm up beneath his eyes while he stared.

His mouth parted slightly–just a fraction. A caught breath. A stammering kind of silence, like he couldn’t believe he was being allowed to witness something so…Human. Your hand came up instinctively, cupping his cheek. You brushed your thumb beneath one glowing eye, grounding him.

”You okay?” You asked quietly. He nodded–sharply at first, then again, slower.

“I haven’t seen anything like this before…” He whispered, as though your body were a miracle spoken into flesh, “They’re beautiful.” A small smile appeared on your lips.

”You can touch them if you want…” You whispered, but he shook his head, just once–his gaze never wavering, and never dropping from the sight in front of him.

”I kind of want to do more than that, but I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.” Your brow furrowed slightly, and your hand tightened gently in his hair. You gave it a subtle tug, not rough–just enough to make him look at you.

“Why?” His eyes flicked away for the first time since the blanket slipped down your body. A faint pulse of shadow curled at the edge of the room like the thought alone made the darkness lean in closer.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He murmured, “I don’t get to touch people that often.” That confession sat heavy between you–sharper than the lightning, heavier than the storm. You let out a soft breath, a sad little laugh that broke the tension just enough.

”Well yeah, but what does that have to do with you touching my breasts?” His eyes snapped back to yours, almost startled by the casual honesty in your tone.

He sighed, and his thumb brushed just barely along the edge of your ribs, like he was trying to explain without unraveling,

“Because I feel like I’m going to just want more…And more and more, and then I’m going to end up doing something that I regret.” He said, voice low and thick with something like guilt. You tilted your head, stroking his cheek once more with your thumb. Then you leaned in just enough to press your forehead to his.

“I think…We should just see where things go.” You whispered, your lips brushing his–just a breath apart. You didn’t kiss him just yet, but you were very close, “How does that sound?” You added. The air stilled around the both of you for a moment–and then he moved. Not hesitantly. Not gently. But with that brand of need that came from centuries of hunger being denied. From eons of reaching out only to be met with retreat. He surged forward the second you whispered those words, and his mouth crashed against yours in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was desperate.

Starved.

Like he’d been waiting lifetimes for permission and now that he had it, he didn’t know how to hold back. His lips dragged across yours in a hungry, open-mouthed press that knocked the air from your lungs. It was clumsy in the way that only something deeply emotional could be–like he wasn’t kissing to impress or seduce, but to feel. His mouth was cool, lips parted, and his tongue slipped out instantly, seeking yours with a kind of frantic reverence, like if he didn’t taste you right now, he’d forget how to breathe.

He moaned softly into your mouth–a low, stuttering sound that vibrated through your chest–and you felt him tremble as your fingers tangled in his hair again. The kiss turned messier, wetter. His lips parted wider, and he kissed you like a man unraveling, like he didn’t know if he’d get another chance. He sucked softly at your bottom lip for a beat too long before releasing it with a quiet, broken sound, as if it pained him to let go.

Then he pulled back, panting softly–though he didn’t need to breathe–and stared at your mouth like it was holy. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated to glowing slivers. He looked undone. Unmoored.

And then he moved downward.

The Void trailed kisses across your jawline with a kind of singular devotion–each one pressed with precision, as if mapping your warmth with his mouth. He kissed beneath your ear, and you felt his nose nuzzle along your skin before he dipped lower, brushing past the curve of your throat with his parted lips. When he reached the hollow of your collarbone, he paused, sucking in a shuddering breath against your skin like the scent of you had short-circuited something in him. Then he licked a slow, reverent stripe across the rise of your chest.

You gasped, hips twitching subtly beneath the blanket, and your fingers clenched in his hair as he kissed down the exposed slope of your breast. His mouth was so cold it almost burned–like dry ice against fevered skin–and your back arched instinctively toward the sensation.

He made a noise then–something between a growl and a whimper. And then he latched.

His mouth sealed around your nipple like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your hand flying to the back of his head as his lips wrapped around you fully and sucked. It was not delicate. It was slow and intense, every pull of his mouth soaked in devotion and desperation. His tongue flattened and circled, dragging around your nipple in tight, rhythmic passes that made your thighs press together beneath the blanket.

You whimpered, the sound soft and shocked–because you hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Like he was drinking you in, not just physically but spiritually. Like he was worshiping the act of being allowed to do this.

His free hand slipped up your side, cold fingers splayed over your ribcage as he held you in place, pulling you subtly closer, as if your warmth was something he could crawl into. His lips sucked harder for a moment, dragging soft, wet sounds from your chest, and you cried out quietly, hand trembling where it gripped the back of his head.

The storm outside cracked again–white lightning flaring against the window–but the only thing you felt was his mouth on you. The wet, reverent heat of his tongue, the ghostly chill of his breathless devotion, the soft pressure of his lips working your nipple with a kind of open-mouthed worship that made your toes curl.

He murmured something then–words lost against your skin, vibrating into your breast like a prayer, like a wish. And then he drew back just enough to lick over the sensitive peak, slow and languid, before dragging his teeth gently along the edge of your nipple and sucked once more with a needy, whimpering groan like he couldn’t stop himself.

”It feels so good on my tongue.” His voice rasped against your skin, fractured and trembling. And then he kissed the curve beneath your breast, mouthing at the flesh there as his thumb grazed lightly over your other nipple, which had stiffened from the cold and the contact. His eyes were glowing slivers beneath the blanket, twin fragments of starlight drifting upward to meet yours through the flickering shadows. His mouth was still wet, glistening softly where he’d just been sucked you with something close to worship.

“…Can you open your legs for me,” He rasped, his breathless voice smooth and steady, “So I can touch you while I suck on the other one?” Your heart gave a startled, fluttering kick inside your chest.

The breath that caught in your throat was soft but audible, a tiny gasp laced with anticipation. His eyes never left yours, watching like a man staring down the miracle of his own undoing. You swallowed thickly, fingers curled in the blanket now pooled around your waist, and gave the smallest nod.

“Okay,” You whispered–barely more than breath. But it was everything.

Slowly–carefully–you bent your top leg, raising it over his hip and resting it there, the inside of your thigh brushing the cool, obsidian curve of his side. You were laid out for him now, chest bare, body warm beneath his shadow, and the softness of your sleep shorts clung to the dampness gathering between your thighs.

He groaned.

A low, guttural sound, like the edges of him cracked open from the inside. And then his hand moved–long fingers slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shirt, trailing down your stomach like he was memorizing the way you felt. Cold fingertips skimmed past your navel, brushing lightly across the waistband of your shorts.

He hesitated for a second, his fingers flexing once, as if bracing himself.

Then, he slid his hand beneath the elastic and dragged his fingers down. You could feel him moan against your skin as he moved his mouth to your other breast, the vibration deep and primal as his lips closed around your nipple and sucked.

It was instant.

His mouth enveloped you with that same hungry devotion, and at the same time, his fingers found your slick heat–wet, warm, and waiting. A gasp escaped your lips, high and broken, as his fingers slid gently through the wetness gathered there, spreading it slowly.

“Fuck,” He groaned into your chest, his voice muffled by your skin, “You’re so wet already…” Your hips bucked slightly, involuntarily, and he groaned again–this time louder, more desperate–his lips latching tighter around your nipple as he sucked, tongue swirling and mouth messily worshiping your flesh like it was sacred.

“You feel like heaven,” He murmured, pulling off your breast with a wet pop, his mouth slick with you, his voice shaking. “Like you were made for my fingers…” You whimpered, head falling back into the pillow, thighs twitching where your leg still rested over his hip.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” He whispered, eyes fixed on the place where his fingers were now buried between your thighs, hidden beneath your shorts. “You’re warm…soft…you’re–” He cut himself off with a low groan as he slipped one long finger through your folds again, pressing down lightly on your clit before dragging lower, slow and deliberate. Then back up. Teasing. Worshiping.

“Void…” You breathed, fingers trembling as they found their way back into his hair, gently threading through the strands. He kissed his way back up your breast, sucking lightly at the skin above your nipple, then licking a wet path back to the peak, tongue flicking it before he sucked it back into his mouth.

“You like this?” He asked softly between licks, his voice muffled and messy and filled with awe. “Me touching you like this…Sucking on your tits while you soak my hand?”

“Y-Yes,” You gasped, voice catching, legs twitching where he cradled you open. “God–yes, you feel so good…” He moaned again, deeper this time. His fingers pushed further, slipping through your folds, finding your entrance but not pressing in just yet–just rubbing slow circles, spreading the slickness, painting himself in you.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me touch you like this,” He whispered, pulling off your nipple again just long enough to look at you. His eyes were glowing, wide, filled with a kind of ache that made your breath catch.

“I’d give you anything you wanted,” You replied, voice soft but certain, hand cupping his cheek again. “You don’t even have to ask.” His lips trembled slightly, then parted in a slow exhale.

“I think I’m falling apart…” He said, voice broken in the most beautiful way. “And it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.” Then he pushed one finger inside you. You gasped, arching into him as he sank in to the knuckle, his mouth finding your nipple again with a groan as he sucked hard, tongue flattening over the peak while his finger curled inside you. Your whole body clenched. And he moaned, guttural and needy, the sound vibrating against your breast as his other hand–still curled around your waist–held you tighter.

“Fuck,” He whispered, pulling his mouth off your nipple just long enough to kiss the swell beneath it. “You feel so good inside…But I think I need to get a taste.”

“Void,” You whispered, voice broken and raw with need. “What about you? I want to do something for you…Please.” His head snapped up at once, those glowing eyes meeting yours like you’d struck a nerve. His lips were wet and glistening in the lighting of your room.

“No,” He said immediately, a slight shake of his head trailing the word like it weighed too much to bear. “I want to do everything for you tonight. I want to show you how much I want you…To make sure you understand how much you mean to me.” Your heart clenched at that. The desperation in his voice wasn’t lust–it was longing, fear, awe, devotion. Like if he gave too little, it wouldn’t be enough to prove he even deserved to be near you.

You tangled your fingers tighter into his hair, pulling his face back toward yours just enough to whisper against his mouth, “You’ve done a lot already.”

He groaned–low and guttural, like the sound scraped out from somewhere deeper than a man should have access to–and shook his head again.

“Not enough,” He replied. “Not enough for me.” And with that, he withdrew his finger from your warmth, slowly, like the separation physically pained him. He pressed a kiss to your sternum, then sat back on his knees between your legs, the blanket falling around his waist like a curtain being drawn open for worship.

His hands gripped the waistband of your shorts, and with a soft tug, he pulled them down your thighs. You lifted your hips wordlessly, breath caught in your throat, as he dragged them all the way off, tossing them aside without looking–his eyes never left your body.

“Lay on your back,” He instructed, voice like velvet dipped in hunger.

You obeyed instantly, scooting down until you were flat against the pillow, spine arching slightly in anticipation. Your legs parted to cradle his hips between them, and he gazed down at you like he was about to taste heaven and ruin in one mouthful. With gentle hands, he reached for the hem of your sleep shirt, his fingers ghosting over your stomach as he began to pull it upward. You raised your arms to let him take it fully off, baring yourself completely to him.

And then, with agonizing slowness, he bent forward, pressing a kiss just beneath your collarbone. Then another. Lower. His lips dragged down the valley between your breasts, painting your skin with slow, open-mouthed kisses as he descended. He murmured things under his breath you could barely catch–fragments of worship, awe, hunger disguised as prayer.

When he reached the slope of your belly, he moaned softly and nuzzled his nose into your skin. He kissed your navel, then lower, dragging his tongue across the soft flesh of your pelvis like it was a sacrament.

Then he spread you.

His hands, large and cold, grasped your thighs and pulled them open wider, settling between them with a slowness that made your pulse pound in your ears. He looked up once–glowing eyes flickering over your face–and then lowered his head to your core.

The first lick made you cry out.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t soft.

It was devastating.

His tongue flattened against you from clit to entrance in one slow, slick stroke, and he groaned–moaned–into your core like the taste of you was something divine. The vibration of his voice sent shockwaves through your thighs.

“Oh…Fuck…Void…” You whimpered, hips jolting upward, and he just growled in response, wrapping his arms under your thighs and holding you down.

“I need it,” He breathed against you, voice soaked in hunger. “I need to taste you so fucking bad.”

Then he dove in.

His tongue licked and curled with filthy abandon, slow at first–exploratory, precise–but growing messier with each swipe. He lapped at your folds with wild hunger, flicking over your clit, then down again to circle your entrance, licking you like he was trying to drink the slick from your soul. You gasped, trembling, your thighs twitching against his shoulders as his mouth worked you over with growing desperation.

“Fuck…You taste like warmth, like life,” he groaned. “So sweet. So soft. So wet for me.”

“God, Void–” You sobbed, hips jerking. He growled again, louder now, and sucked your clit into his mouth like he needed it to live. His tongue flicked fast, then slow, then fast again–no rhythm, just raw need.

“You’re everything,” He whispered between kisses to your folds. “You’re everything. I could stay down here forever–I could drown in this.”

You cried out when his tongue pressed into your entrance, fucking you shallowly with slick, swirling passes before he moved back up to flick your clit again, this time with maddening precision.

Your hand flew to his head, fingers threading into his hair as your back arched. “You’re so good, fuck, baby, you’re so fucking good–”

He moaned into you like he was losing control.

“Say it again,” He begged, voice hoarse. “Please, tell me I’m good at this. Tell me I’m making you feel good…Tell me it’s me–my mouth–doing this to you.”

“It’s you,” You gasped, eyes fluttering. “Your mouth feels like heaven.” He whined and redoubled his efforts, tongue lashing and licking, sucking at your clit with frantic precision while one hand slipped lower to slide a finger inside you again. You sobbed, high and broken, as the added stretch pushed you closer to the edge.

“I need you to cum on my tongue,” He whispered raggedly, “I need to feel you lose yourself for me, please, let me have it…Let me feel it…Please.”

Your legs were shaking. Your whole body was alight with fire, pleasure blooming at the base of your spine like a supernova. His mouth, his voice, his worship–it was all too much.

“I’m…Oh my god, I’m gonna–”

“Cum for me,” He growled, tongue flicking fast against your clit while his finger curled inside you just right. “Cum for me, beautiful, soak my face–show me how good I make you feel…Please.”

You shattered.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your cry strangled and high as wave after wave of pleasure broke over you like a storm surge. You felt your arousal flood his tongue, wet and hot and gushing–and he moaned, loud and wrecked, licking it up like it was his favourite drink.

He didn’t stop though. Even as you trembled and whimpered, too sensitive, he kept licking you, slower now, softer–but still desperate. Still worshiping. Like he couldn’t bear to let go. His lips kissed your folds, his tongue lapped up your release, and his voice came out broken:

“Fuck…I need one more from you, I need to see how far I can push myself before needing to be inside you.” Your chest heaved beneath the blanket, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and raw need. You could barely think–your body still pulsing from the orgasm he’d just wrung from you with his tongue–but even in your hazy, bliss-drenched state, you nodded.

“Y-Yeah…” You gasped, voice wrecked and trembling. “Okay…” His fingers flexed tighter around your thighs in response, and he groaned like you’d just given him a piece of eternity.

And then he dove back in.

This time, there was nothing careful about it. Nothing restrained.

He licked you like he was starving.

His tongue flattened against your folds and dragged through your wetness with a desperation that was downright feral, and the obscene slurp that followed was loud–sloppy and vulgar and devastatingly hot. He moaned again, messily, as his mouth sealed to your pussy and he devoured you with no rhythm, no plan, just raw, aching hunger.

“Fuck!” You cried out, your hands flying to the back of his head, your hips jerking hard against the sheets. The overstimulation was sharp–so much sensation it blurred into a kind of mind-numbing ecstasy. He was everywhere all at once–his tongue flicking, sucking, lapping like his life depended on it.

“You’re so sensitive,” He panted against you between licks, voice hoarse and desperate. “So wet…So fucking warm and twitchy for me–I love how you’re shaking.” And god, you were shaking. Your thighs trembled around his head, your fingers clawed into his hair, and your cries grew louder with every messy, spit-slick stroke of his tongue.

He groaned again–loud and low–and spit on your pussy, a thick strand of it dripping between your folds and catching in his next lick. The heat of your arousal mixed with his saliva in a filthy, glistening mess, and he licked it all back up with a long, wet drag that had your hips thrashing.

“N-No, I…Void, I–” You whimpered, writhing now, unable to stop yourself from twisting beneath him as the pleasure built too quickly. “I don’t think I can–”

“Yes, you can,” He growled, pinning your thighs down with both arms now, holding you steady. “You can give me another one. I need you to. I need to taste it, need to feel you lose control for me again.”

And then he sucked.

His lips closed around your clit with brutal precision, and he sucked hard–messy, wet, loud–while his tongue flicked and circled without mercy. The overstimulation was excruciating in the most blissful way, and you screamed.

“Oh my god. Void, oh god…Please–” Your hips tried to lift off the floor but his arms kept you locked in place, his head nestled between your thighs like it belonged there. He was making such a mess of you–his mouth and chin soaked, the sounds so loud and obscene it felt like your brain short-circuited. Your voice broke into sobs of pleasure, your fingers shaking in his hair as your back arched, muscles locking up.

“Please,” He whispered, still licking, still sucking, still moaning, “Cum for me again. Give it to me. Show me how much you trust me.”

And then you shattered.

Again.

Worse this time–deeper–your entire body seizing beneath him as the orgasm ripped through you like lightning through the Watchtower itself. Your thighs clamped around his head involuntarily, your mouth falling open in a voiceless scream as your vision whited out.

You were gushing again–wet and wild–and he moaned into it, licking it up groaning as you rode it out on his tongue.

He didn’t pull back.

Didn’t stop.

Even as your hips twitched and your breath came out in sobbing gasps, he kept licking, slower now, softer–but still possessive, still worshiping. Still trying to memorize the way you tasted while you trembled for him.

And finally, finally, after long moments of breathless silence, he pulled back just enough to rest his cheek on your thigh. His lips were glistening, chin soaked, the blanket half-draped around him like a holy shroud, and his voice was wrecked:

“…You’re perfect…So perfect, like holy wine, I could get drunk off you every night.” Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, still trembling from the aftershocks rolling through your body like distant thunder. The Void’s head rested on your thigh, slick lips parted, chest rising with something closer to longing than breath. You reached for him slowly, your hand finding the back of his head, fingers curling into the soaked strands of his hair.

“C’mere,” You whispered, voice soft and thick, still breathless. He blinked up at you, dazed and glowing, his expression unreadable for a moment–then he rose.

He pushed himself up, shoulders rippling like mist in motion, and crawled over your body in near silence. Your thighs trembled where they brushed his hips, the blanket shifting around you both in a slow, intimate rustle. As he hovered above you, his face came into view again in the flickering stormlight–mouth glossy, chin damp, lips glistening with your slick.

You smiled.

“God,” You breathed, your thumb brushing across his cheek, “You’re soaked.” He blinked, confused for half a second, until you cupped his jaw and dragged your thumb across his bottom lip.

“You made such a mess down there.” Your voice was teasing but affectionate, and it earned a breathless, shaky little laugh from him.

“I didn’t want to stop,” He confessed quietly. You giggled softly, your thumb still tracing his jaw.

“You’re a mess.”

“I know,” He murmured, his voice trembling, reverent. “I’d do it again. I’d stay between your thighs forever if you let me.”

Your smile softened, and your other hand rose to cradle his face fully. You leaned up and kissed him–slowly, deeply. You tasted yourself on his mouth, warm and slick and musky, and you didn’t shy away. You licked into his mouth instead, moaning softly into the kiss.

He groaned–low and broken–and kissed you harder. Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist beneath the blanket.

When you pulled back, foreheads pressed together, you whispered, “I want you to have sex with me.” The words were quiet. Simple. But they hit him like a revelation. His pupils widened, glowing brighter as he stared down at you. And his voice–breathless, velvet-dark–came out barely above a whisper.

“I can do it right now for you…If you want me to.” You nodded, your lips brushing his.

“Please… I want to feel you all over me.” He kissed you again–so softly this time, his lips trembling–and then pulled back slightly, shifting his weight to one side. You watched as his hand disappeared beneath the blanket, and you felt the brush of movement between your thighs. He pushed his boxers down his hips–not all the way, just enough–and you felt the weight of him shift between your legs.

His palm cupped the inside of your knee, nudging your legs open a little further. Your thighs trembled again as you felt the cool draft of air rush in between them, followed by the heat of him–not body heat, but something else. A pressure. A presence. You couldn’t see him–not with the blanket half-draped over your torsos, and not with the way the shadows clung to him like ink. But when he pressed forward and the head of his cock nudged against your soaked entrance, you felt it.

The weight. The width. The stretch.

Even without sight, your body recognized the promise of it–your breath hitched sharply as he rocked his hips once, just enough to let the head of him catch at your entrance, slick with your arousal.

A broken sound left him–half moan, half cry.

“Oh–fuck, you’re so warm…”

He leaned over you as he pushed in, one slow, reverent inch at a time. You felt the way his arms trembled as he held himself above you, the slow drag of his cock spreading you open until you were gasping beneath him.

His body hovered over yours–blanket half-tent, half-coffin–and the sound he made when he finally sank all the way in wasn’t human.

It was a sob.

A full-bodied, desperate groan that punched out of him like he’d been holding his breath for centuries. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, his head falling to your shoulder, his chest pressing down against your breasts as he held himself deep inside you. Slowly, you reached up, tangling your fingers into his hair, and with your other hand, you began to run your palm down his back in long, soothing strokes. His skin was cool beneath your touch.

He was shaking.

Not just from restraint, but from something more primal. Like his whole body didn’t know how to process being held like this—being inside someone who wanted him, who trusted him.

Then his lips brushed against your collarbone.

A soft, lingering kiss.

And then another.

His breathless voice followed, low and frayed at the edges.

“You feel so… So good, Y/N…” He whispered, almost like he was telling a secret he’d buried in the deepest part of himself. “I don’t think I can last, you’re so tight around me, and…Oh god.”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence. You felt his body tense above you–arms trembling, jaw tightening–as he slowly pulled his hips back. The drag of him inside you made your breath catch, the stretch still deliciously overwhelming. And then he pushed in again, slower this time, like he wanted to savor every inch, every second. You gasped softly, your legs instinctively tightening around his hips.

A broken moan left him–raw and shaking. His mouth descended on your throat, lips finding the hollow of your collarbone. He kissed it once. Twice. And then he bit. Not hard. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to leave a mark.

You whimpered, clutching tighter at his back, and he groaned in response–burying his face against your neck like he could crawl into your skin.

“You’re so fucking warm,” He breathed, biting again, sucking harder this time until he knew it would bruise. His hips began to move–slow, grinding thrusts that rocked into you with devastating depth. Not hard. Not rough. But thorough. Like he was pouring everything he had into every motion.

“Every time I push in,” He whispered, lips dragging along your skin, “It’s like you’re pulling something out of me I didn’t know I had.”

You moaned beneath him, your hips lifting instinctively to meet his rhythm. His voice broke again–just a little–as he rutted into you, the sound soaked in disbelief.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” He murmured. His words were wet against your skin–kissed between your breasts, whimpered along the slope of your chest–and you realized it wasn’t just sweat making your skin damp.

It was tears.

Tiny droplets fell from where his face hovered just above your heart, sliding over your ribs, vanishing into the shadows that curled between your bodies. You tightened your arms around him, pressing him closer, and kissed the side of his head as you rocked up into him.

“You deserve this,” You whispered, voice trembling. “You deserve to feel everything, to be wanted. To be loved.”

That word shattered something inside him.

A soft sob tore from his throat, buried against your chest as he thrust into you harder–still slow, still sensual, but deeper now. Needier. Desperate.

His mouth returned to your skin, sucking a bruise just above your breast as his hips snapped forward with each trembling movement.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He rasped, “I can’t–I can’t believe you want me. Like this.”

“I do,” You moaned, cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “I want all of you.” His glowing eyes locked onto yours. Wide. Wet.

“You’re inside me,” You whispered, voice shaking with emotion and pleasure. “You’re in me, and I’ve never felt more safe.”

That broke him.

His rhythm faltered, just for a moment, as another choked sob left his lips. His thrusts stuttered, then resumed, harder now–more urgent–but still careful. His hands gripped your waist, fingers splaying against your ribs like he was afraid you’d disappear. And his mouth–god, his mouth–never left your skin.

He sucked hard on the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing, tongue soothing the bite after.

“You make me feel human…” He admitted, lips dragging to your throat. You moaned for him–high and helpless–your walls fluttering around his cock, and he gasped, eyes slamming shut.

“I’m not gonna last,” He groaned, voice cracking, “You’re so tight…You’re holding me so good, I…Fuck…I’m gonna–”

“Cum for me,” You whispered, your hands clutching his back, your breath hot against his ear. “Let go. Let me feel you fall apart inside me.”

He whimpered and bit your neck as he came, thrust buried to the hilt. His body shuddered against yours, every muscle trembling. And then–

You felt it.

The slow, hot drag of tears down your skin again.

Not just one. Not just two.

But several. Silent, aching tears that fell from his cheeks and streaked down your throat as he pulsed inside you, spilling himself deep, buried in your warmth.

His arms crushed you to him. His face pressed to your neck. And his voice–barely audible–cracked apart as he whispered:

“Thank you…Thank you, thank you, thank you…” His body trembled in your arms, still buried inside you, still shaking from the force of everything he had just poured into your body. Into this moment. Into you.

He wept quietly against your throat, the sound so faint it barely registered above the storm, but you felt it. Felt every warm drop of him that hit your skin, every shuddering breath that wasn’t really breath at all. Just…Presence. Sorrow. Gratitude. Awe.

You cradled him gently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as though trying to shield him from the world itself. One hand threaded softly through his hair, the strands damp and tousled from the effort of his worship. Your other hand drew slow, soothing circles along his back, palm gliding down over the trembling ridges of shadow-made muscle.

“It’s okay,” You whispered against the top of his head, your voice steady and quiet, a balm to his unraveling. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He didn’t speak, but his arms tightened around your waist. You felt the hitch in his chest, the press of his body trying to melt into yours, like if he could just get close enough, he’d finally stop feeling like a ghost.

You kissed the crown of his head softly. Again and again. Your fingers kept stroking through his hair, dragging slow passes through the strands as you murmured against his scalp.

”You are so good Void…So good at everything. And so caring.” A pause. You cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer, letting him cry into your skin like the sky itself had split open.

“And you’re mine now,” You finished, quieter now. Like a promise. Like something permanent.

The shudders eased slowly, like a wave retreating from the shore. He didn’t move right away. Just stayed curled into you, his face pressed against your collarbone, his breathless form held together only by your warmth and the blanket that cocooned you both.

When he finally shifted, it was gentle. Careful. As though he thought too sudden a movement might scare you off.

“I… I need to clean you up,” He rasped, voice thick and ragged from the crying. He pressed a kiss just above your heart, as if anchoring himself there, then slowly withdrew from your body. You whimpered faintly at the loss, and he stilled–just for a second–then looked up at you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead.

“I’m perfect. Go ahead, I’ll be right here.” He rose to his knees–naked from the waist down now, the blanket pooling at his hips–and moved across the room to your tiny ensuite bathroom. The cool air kissed your damp skin, but the warmth of his release still lingered between your thighs, a sweet reminder of everything he had given.

He returned moments later with a warm, damp towel. He knelt beside you again, quiet, solemn, eyes flickering over your body like he couldn’t believe you still looked at him with love.

“Let me know if anything hurts,” He said softly. You just smiled, watching him as he spread your legs slightly and lowered the towel between your thighs. His touch was impossibly gentle. Reverent. He wiped you clean with slow, careful strokes, murmuring apologies when he hit any tender spots.

“I made a mess of you,” He commented, almost to himself. You reached down, cupping his cheek in your palm, thumb stroking the curve of his jaw.

“You didn’t make a mess,” You correctedfirmly. “You loved me. That’s what that was.” He closed his eyes. Nodded. Let your words sink into the parts of him that still didn’t believe they were true.

Once he was done, he set the towel aside and pulled your blanket back up around you, crawling back beneath it and laying beside you–face to face. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you gently into the curve of his body. His chest was still cool, but you welcomed the contrast. His forehead met yours, and you breathed in each other for a moment.

Then, without a word, his hand found yours between your bodies.

He laced your fingers together, palm to palm.

And then he lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Soft. Slow. Meaningful.

You felt his lips tremble slightly against your skin. His fingers tightened slightly around yours.

Then he kissed the back of your hand again.

And again.

And again.

You were curled into the deepest corner of your couch, half-wrapped in a fuzzy navy throw blanket that clung to your overheated skin with static. One leg was tucked beneath you while the other dangled over the side like a limp vine, toes grazing the edge of the coffee table. A heating pad was crammed against your lower stomach tucked under the waistband of your oldest pair of sweatpants–gray, baggy, and speckled with faded bleach stains from an old laundry mishap. Your hoodie was black, and your socks were mismatched. You were also surrounded by tear stained tissues, half-finished tea, and two little individual Tylenol blister packs you couldn’t summon the strength to throw away.

You had messaged Bob earlier, before the cramps got really bad—“Door is open”—and he’d replied quickly, sweetly, with “Okay :)” like the smiley face might soften the guilt you were already wallowing in.

Because truthfully, you had tried to cancel the whole night.

Your period had come four days early, and you were completely caught off guard by the sudden flush of hormones and ferality, the fatigue that hit like a train, and the emotional fog that crept in as if someone had quietly dimmed all the lights inside you. Within the span of a few hours you had gone from feeling excited for your night with Bob–featuring blanket, popcorn, movies, him sleeping over, and of course the subsequent sex that came from it–to being curled up on your couch in a haze of discomfort and self-loathing, texting him “actually I think I have to cancel, I feel really gross, and disgusting” with trembling fingers and wet lashes.

But Bob didn’t hesitate at all in his response.

”I still want to come over. Period or not. You know how much I want to be around you, and I’ll be happy to take care of you.” You stared at that message for a full minute before replying, chest aching. You’d always made it a point to schedule your hangouts around your cycle. You didn’t want him to see you like this–emotional, bloated, sensitive to the point of irrationality. It wasn’t just about the pain. It was the unpredictability of your own mood. The way everything felt heavier. The way you got clingy and quiet and sometimes cried over the dumbest things, and how much you hated being perceived when you weren’t at your best.

This would be the first time seeing you like this and nervous didn’t even begin to cover how you were feeling about that situation.

You flinched at the sound of the front door opening with a soft click. You didn’t move. Just held your breath and stared at the ceiling, heart thudding as you heard the unmistakable rustle of a grocery bag, followed by the quiet shuffle of Bob’s sneakers on the entryway mat. His presence was always warm, always calm. Even now, as he shut the door behind him and moved towards your kitchen counter, you could feel the atmosphere of the apartment shift–like someone had finally cracked a window in a too-stuffy room.

”Y/N? You here?” He called out. Not loud or overly careful. Just softness…As if he already knew you didn’t have the energy for more than that. You groaned and closed your eyes.

”Couch,” You croaked, raising your hand up like a flag, your voice dry and almost pitiful. You could hear him let out a little laugh as the rustling of bags followed his movements. He took your outstretched hand gently,–warm, careful fingers curling around yours as he brought it to his lips and pressed a few soft kisses to your knuckles. Each one was slow and featherlight, like he was afraid of overwhelming you with too much affection all at once.

”Hey, hun,” He murmured, his voice low and sweet, vibrating through your fingertips, “How’re you feeling?” You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it died halfway in your throat and turned into more of a wheeze. Your eyes stayed closed.

”Like garbage,” You croaked, “And…Gross.” Bob let go of your hand with a soft squeeze and circled around the couch until he was crouched in front of you. He set down the grocery bags on the coffee table, the softest rustling of plastic being heard. You could see that there were an array of chips; plain, sour cream, salt and vinegar, all dressed, and if you looked even closer you noticed there were a few bags of candy and chocolate. The other bag seemed a little less full, but you couldn't tell what was in it from the angle you were lying in.

He shrugged off his jacket, and draped it over the back of the couch, before turning his attention back to you with that familiar crease of concern between his brows and his blue irises studying you, scanning over the expression that was plastered on your face–one that he would probably describe as anguish more than anything. You watched him through heavy lashes as he reached out, fingertips brushing against the apple of your cheek.

The touch sent a fresh wave of heat blooming beneath your skin, and you hissed involuntarily, recoiling slightly from the contact. He jerked his hand back immediately in surprise.

”Crap…Sorry. I didn’t mean to–“ You shook your head faintly.

”It’s okay…It wasn’t you. I run super hot when I’m on my person and I literally feel like a raw nerve. You had no idea.” Bob gave a small, guilty sigh and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his light brown hair a little mussed from where the wind had caught it outside. He looked sheepish, lips parted like he might say something else–like another apology–but instead his gaze flicked toward the grocery bags.

”Well,” He started, clearing his throat, “I-I got you some of your favourite snacks. And some painkillers. And another heating pad in case this one gives out.” His voice wobbled on the last bit like he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to say. Your eyes fluttered open just enough to squint at him.

”You did?” He gave a small, proud nod.

”Of course I did.” You stared at him and felt your throat tighten, something warm and tight rising in your chest like a balloon that was being blown too fast. He leaned forward, took your hand again, and brought it back to his mouth. Another soft kiss, right at the center of your palm this time, “That’s what I would want someone to do for me if I was in pa-pain.” He added softly. You squeezed his hand gently, a tired little grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite how miserable you felt.

”You’re too sweet, Bob.” His pale cheeks flushed immediately–the tell-tale pink blooming across his face and up the tips of his ears–and he ducked his head just a little, shying away from the compliment slightly.

”It’s the least I can do…” He stated, brushing his thumb along your knuckles, adding in a quieter voice, “I can also help with the heat issue too…If you’d li-like of course.” You raised a brow.

”Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?” He looked up, shrugging slightly, though his fingers twitched slightly in your grip.

”I can call in the re-reinforcements…” You squinted at him, wary.

”Please don’t tell me you’re gonna let Sentry come out…He almost burned a hole through my sheets the last time you let him take over.” Bob let out a short laugh, rubbing his free hand on the top of his thigh, getting rid of the sweat that was building up along his palm.

”No., no. Definitely not him. He’ll make your situation way worse than it already is. You don’t need a sentient sun snuggling you right now.” You snorted softly, even though the vibration slightly disturbed the position you were in, a slight cramp tingling in your abdomen.

”I was actually thinking…” He hesitated, eyes flicking to yours, watching for your expression, “Y’know…The ot-other guy.” Your brows knit for a second before the connection clicked–and your expression shifted, eyes widening just slightly.

”Oh…” Bob gave a faint, awkward little smile like he wasn’t sure how you’d take the offer, but your response was quiet and calm.

“Well…I mean…I’d be okay with that,” You replied, your voice laced with surprising honesty, “He’s an ice cube so that’ll definitely help…And he’s pretty easy to be around.” Bob huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, squeezing your hand a little tighter

“You know…You still haven’t told me how you made him get all mushy fo-for you,” He muttered, “He gets so angry at the compound when people talk to him, but for some reason he’s a bumbling mess with you, it’s ridiculous.” You shrugged, letting your head tip lazily to the side.

”He’s tethered to you, so technically…He’s just emulating your feelings. Just in a different form. You’re always soft with me and you’re also just…Madly in love with me. So he is too.” You teased, Bob raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, but you weren’t done. “And it’s also probably because I constantly feed him. He practically eats me out of house and home when he’s around.” That made Bob smirk.

”I guess food really is the fastest way to a…Dark entity’s heart.” You both let out tired little laughs, quiet and breathy, the kind that fizzled out gently into a soft silence. There was something tender about it–how even in the middle of your worst pain, you could still laugh with Bob. Still feel the warmth in his presence, the subtle rhythm of comfort his voice offered, like your own nervous system was finally allowed to let go.

Your thumb traced absentminded circles into his palm as the moment stretched, quiet and calm. His fingers were still wrapped around yours, warm despite the cool edge now lingering faintly in the air–residue, no doubt, from the Void’s hovering nearness. Your gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than intended–soft, fond, aching just a little.

Then, leaning forward slowly, careful not to upset the careful position of your heating pad or spark another cramp, you brushed your lips to his.

Just once. A soft, grateful kiss. Chaste, almost–more a gesture of affection than desire. Still, it lingered.

When you pulled back, Bob’s eyes blinked open slowly. The familiar, oceanic blue of his irises struck you all over again, even in the dim light. They were that rare kind of blue–pure and soft, but startling in their deepness and intensity. Almost unreal in a sense, like you’d expect to find this kind of blue painted across the sky on the clearest day of the year. Right now, though, they were a little darker, a little stormier, pupils dilating then constricting ever so slightly as he tried to refocus.

And in the very center of each pupil, you saw it–a pinprick of shifting white. That tiny speck of starlight you’d come to recognize as The Void’s slow, and creeping awareness. You brushed your thumb lightly over the back of Bob’s hand.

“I do want you to stay for a bit though,” You whispered, voice quieter now. “Before you let the ice cube out.” He nodded once, his eyes fluttering shut–hard, purposeful. You could see the tension in his jaw as he exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying his breath, pushing the shadow back down beneath the surface. For now.

“That I can do…” He murmured, his voice a little raspier than before. Then, softer still, “Wa-Want me to hold you? I promise I won’t touch your face again.”

You smiled, heart tugging at the awkward little stammer and the genuine warmth behind his offer. “I’d really like that.”

He didn’t waste time. Just moved slowly, carefully, like you were made of glass. He stood just long enough to toe off his sneakers and ease himself onto the couch beside you. Then, without asking again, he opened his arms.

You curled into his side, rearranging yourself gingerly to avoid jostling your heating pad. Your head settled against his shoulder, your cheek pressing into the soft, worn cotton of his shirt. His arm wrapped around you securely, palm splayed warm and steady across your upper back.

The relief that came from being held like that was immediate. Like a switch being flipped. Not because the pain vanished, but because the isolation of it lifted. You weren’t suffering alone anymore. You were here, in the arms of someone who didn’t flinch from your discomfort or try to fix it with empty words. Someone who wanted to be here, in this quiet, messy moment with you.

You leaned forward again just a little, brushing your lips to his cheek. A brief kiss. Gentle. Grateful.

If it were any other night–if your body wasn’t at war with itself–you knew you’d be all over him by now. He smelled good, like wind and clean cotton and whatever fabric softener he always used that clung to your sheets for days after he left. And he was so close, warm and pliant beneath your hands. There was always something about Bob that pulled at your skin like gravity.

But tonight…Tonight was different.

You felt a familiar ache of desire tug somewhere deep in your core, curling low and hot beneath the cramping you were experiencing still. You knew sex could help–that it might actually alleviate some of the pain. But still, the words stuck in your throat. This was the first time he was seeing you like this, and you didn’t want to risk turning tenderness into tension. Didn’t want him to think you were asking for more than he was ready to give under these conditions.

So instead, you let yourself rest. Let your fingers trace lightly over the stitching on his shirt, your breathing slowly syncing with his. You wondered, idly, if he knew–if he had any idea about the things that could help you feel better. If he’d ever read that article or heard someone say it out loud in passing. But if he did, he wasn’t mentioning it. And you weren’t brave enough to ask.

Not now at least.

You shifted even closer to him with a soft, involuntary hum, the smallest sound of contentment escaping your lips as your body registered the warmth of his side and clung to it. Bob didn’t move, didn’t speak–just tightened his arm around you ever so slightly, his hand resting securely on your back like he was anchoring you to the present, to safety.

You closed your eyes, and breathed him in again. The cramping hadn’t gone away, not completely. But it no longer ruled you. It lingered like a distant storm, rumbling at the edges, while the quiet beat of Bob’s heart offered something steadier to focus on.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

You let the sound cradle you, like a drumbeat in your chest that wasn’t yours but still somehow belonged to you, bringing your leg over his slowly, your hips shifting with the movement. Bob responded immediately to the new position, his own leg adjusting instinctively beneath yours to make a little space for you to settle into.

Your face pressed deeper into the hollow of his shoulder, the heat in your cheeks now less about fever and more about quiet intimacy. You stayed there like that, enveloped in the low murmur of his breath and the steady pulse beneath your ear.

Every now and then, he’d shift slightly to get more comfortable, and the subtle motion–his chest rising, his ribs flexing, his fingertips dragging lightly through the fabric at your back–would draw you back from the edge of sleep, until it finally overtook you.

—————————

The first thing you noticed when you stirred awake was the absence of warmth, and the pressure of arms and hands touching you.

Instinctively you reached for Bob, thinking that maybe in the midst of your nap you had untangled yourself from him, only to find the indentation he’d left in the couch and a faint lingering trace of his fabric softener. The fuzzy navy blanket had slipped down your hip, and the heating pad, long since gone cold, pressed heavy and useless against your lower stomach. You sighed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as your ears registered the low, distant whir of the bathroom fan humming from down the hall.

Slowly, your eyes trailed over toward the clock on the wall.

9:25 p.m.

Somehow it felt later and earlier than that all at once, like time had folded in on itself and it was just an odd loop. You sat up with a soft groan, hands bracing against the couch cushions as you shifted. The cramps had dulled–less a serrated edge now, more a muted throb radiating into your lower back like a tired engine. Still there. Still annoying. But tolerable.

You peeled the cooled heating pad from your skin and dropped it beside the grocery bags on the coffee table, your eyes skimming over them with a faint smile, though you had noticed they weren’t as full anymore.

The all-dressed chips were gone, so were the sour cream ones, meaning Bob must’ve eaten them all on his own. You let out a quiet, amused hum and pushed yourself to your feet, stretching just enough to feel the pull in your shoulders, your hoodie exposing your midriff with the movement.

As you padded across the room, you grabbed the unopened bottle of Advil from the second grocery bag, cracked the seal, and shook out two liquid capsules into your palm, tossing them back and swallowing them dry, wincing slightly at the way they briefly got stuck in your throat.

Then you stood there for a beat, letting everything settle around you.

The apartment was quiet, but not silent. Dim, but warm.

A few lamps cast soft pools of light across the space–one near the couch still glowing amber, another by the kitchen left on at half brightness. The curtains over the windows were drawn tight, muting the outside world to a soft shadowplay of headlights passing every so often. On the kitchen counter, Bob’s keys were resting beside a crumpled receipt and the half-empty bag of gummy worms he had clearly dipped into while you were asleep.

You shuffled down the hallway, arms folded loosely across your chest, each step deliberate and soft. A few hours ago you probably wouldn’t have been able to move like this, so evidently whatever you did had helped.

The further down the hall you went, the cooler the air became–less from the apartment’s thermostat and more from him. That telltale prickle at the base of your neck. Not sinister. Not unwelcome. Just a quiet alertness in the atmosphere. The kind of cold that carried intention.

The bathroom door was mostly shut, but the light bled out beneath it in a thin golden strip across the floorboards. The fan buzzed faintly above it, soothing and constant, and you could hear the quiet sound of water–either running or having just stopped.

You lifted your hand, hesitating only for a moment before gently knocking on the door with the soft part of your knuckles.

“Bob?” You called out, your voice scratchy with sleep. There was a brief pause, and then the fan cut off with a quiet click, and for a moment, all you could hear was the dripping of water and your own breath echoing through your nose.

Then the door opened, and standing in the center of the soft bathroom lighting was The Void. He was unmistakable–tall and defined in that way Bob always was, but rendered in silhouette so precise it looked carved from shadow itself. Smooth and obsidian from head to toe, his features unreadable save for the faint glint of white where his eyes should be–those signature star-pupils glowing dimly in the low light–and the suggestion of a mouth that moved only when he chose it to.

He wore nothing but a towel, slung low around his hips, and the fact that he’d just gotten out of the shower was made abundantly clear by the way water still clung to him in languid droplets, trailing down the lines of his chest and abdomen in slow, shimmering arcs. Each drop disappeared into the dark surface of his skin like ink being swallowed by midnight.

His silky black hair was damp and heavy, hanging over his forehead and temples in wet, tousled clumps. It framed the curve of his jaw, you could see it from the way it flowed out a bit and hung slightly. Somehow, even in his wordless presence, he radiated a kind of calm–but it pulsed with tension just beneath the surface. As if the moment could shift at any second, if he let it.

You blinked, eyebrows lifting, “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.”

He nodded, voice lower and smoother than Bob’s but carrying the same gentle breathiness. “Yeah. Bob fell asleep, so I just…Decided to take over during that.” He paused, tilting his head faintly, water dripping onto the tile from his hair. “Was feeling a bit sweaty though, so I wanted to freshen up a bit. Hope that’s okay.” You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing lightly over your hoodie, a smirk pulling at your lips.

”Well, what’s mine is yours,” You stated casually, “So…Have at it.” You caught a flash of his teeth–just the slightest curve of a grin in that shadowy mouth.

“You have quite the array of soaps,” He replied, tilting his head with mock gravity, “So I certainly had at it.” You let out a little laugh, stepping into the bathroom a bit further, heat curling low in your stomach just from the sheer sight of him in basically nothing but the towel itself.

”I’m sure you did.” You commented, before raising onto your toes and giving him a soft, lingering peck at the corner of his cold mouth.”Hello, by the way,” You added, with a little smirk on your face. He hummed, low and pleased, the sound vibrating in his chest. Then he wrapped his arms around your waist in a slow, measured motion–cool to the touch, but not unwelcoming. In fact, he felt like relief. Like stepping into shade after being in the sun for too long. His hands slid along your back, fingers dipping under the hem of your hoodie where your warm skin met his coolness.

“Hello to you too,” He murmured–and before you could answer, he leaned forward and kissed you properly this time, and it certainly wasn’t the same type of greeting you had given him. It was slower. Deeper. His mouth was cool but somehow still pliant against yours, parting just enough for his tongue to tease the seam of your lips before he gently sucked on your bottom lip, drawing it between his own like he had all the time in the world. You let out a faint, breathy sound against him, your hands gripping the towel at his hips for balance. You could feel the heat in your stomach ignite almost instantly, curling low and sharp, like a spark catching dry kindling. Every glide of his mouth against yours pulled you closer to the edge of forgetting–forgetting your cramps, your exhaustion, your discomfort. Forgetting yourself entirely.

Which was exactly why you had to stop.

With reluctant fingers still curled around the soft edge of the towel at his waist, you pulled away from his lips, your breath catching as your forehead gently rested against his.

“Void…” You whispered, voice barely above a murmur, “I’m on my period.”Your hands lifted, sliding up to press gently against the cool, velvet-smooth skin of his chest–broad and unyielding beneath your palms. His body stilled for a breath, but not with hesitation. He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his white pupils glinting like distant stars as he gazed at you.

“I know,” He murmured, without shame or judgment. “I’m able to smell the blood.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he leaned in before you could, placing a kiss to your cheek, then another just below your jaw. His lips were cool and reverent, trailing slowly down to your neck. One kiss. Another. Then another.

Each one was featherlight and deliberate, lips barely brushing against your overheated skin–and yet your pulse fluttered, your breath hitched, and your head tilted almost instinctively to the side to give him more room. The contrast between your warm skin and his chilled mouth made your toes curl, a tingling shiver running down your spine like lightning.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear, and you exhaled softly.

“You sound like a vampire…” You mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady. Void let out a low, indulgent laugh, the sound vibrating against the hollow of your throat like the roll of distant thunder. Then–without warning–he nipped at your pulse point, sharp enough to make you jump slightly, but not enough to hurt.

“I could be one,” He said slyly, voice curling like smoke. “If you’d allow me to. I already have super senses, so…I’m halfway there…Only thing that’s missing is drinking blood.” The suggestiveness in his tone made your stomach twist into tight, unbearable knots. You were just about to say something back–some equally flirtatious quip to match his vampire fantasy–when he added, entirely too casually:

“Also, with those super senses, I can literally hear your uterus contracting right now. Did I mention that?” You froze. Your head pulling back immediately, brows knitting together in horror as your face twisted into the most incredulous expression humanly possible.

“Jesus,” You groaned, pushing against his chest–not hard, just enough to make him take a step back. “You really know how to ruin a sexy moment.” Void’s mouth curled into a smug smile, the white glow of his pupils sharpening with delight as a low laugh rumbled from his chest.

“Don’t worry,” He murmured, unbothered. “It doesn’t sound weird.”

You stared at him.

“I thought it would be like…Leather gloves squishing together or something–”

“Oh my God–”

“–But it actually registers more like a second pulse of sorts. Slow. Steady. Very, very calming to listen to.” You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled sound of despair.

“You have to learn how to keep things to yourself, Void.” You groaned through your palms. He tilted his head, completely unashamed, the way only an immortal void-being could be.

“I find it to be beautiful,” He said earnestly. “It seems like you’re the one who’s embarrassed by a normal bodily function.” You lowered your hands slowly, one brow arched so high it might’ve shot off your forehead.

“Me?” You asked, pointing to yourself.

”Yes. You,” He replied, pressing a cold fingertip to your nose without missing a beat, “I can practically hear the hum of your sexual frustration in your bones–“

”Void–“ You tried to cut in, though he trampled your attempt.

”–But you’re too reluctant to ask me to take care of you because you’re embarrassed about it.” Your mouth dropped open slightly, almost shocked by the forwardness of his statement. He was staring at you, completely composed and unbothered. You gulped loudly, feeling your heart rate pick up under his steady, unblinking gaze. It felt like he was staring through you–like he could peel back each layer of your composure with just a tilt of his head. Void watched the fluttering of your pulse with mild fascination, his eyes gleaming.

”Am I right or am I wrong?” He murmured. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your lips just parted on a soft exhale, throat working as if your body had forgotten how to form a sentence. Your mouth had gone dry–parched like desert heat–and so you broke eye contact, glanced away from him, ashamed at the burn of arousal coiling through your body in tight, low spirals.

“Void…Listen, I–” He reached up, cold fingers brushing along your jaw until his hand cradled the side of your face. He tilted your chin gently, guiding your gaze back up to his. His touch was soft but steady, almost bordering on firm.

“I asked if I was right or if I was wrong,” He repeated, his voice laced with that subtle, grounding dominance. Calm and unshakeable. “Can you answer me, please?” You stared at him, throat bobbing with another nervous swallow. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. His thumb brushed over your cheek, like he was soothing something only he could sense.

“…Of course I’m reluctant to ask,” You whispered, your voice almost hoarse. “Who wouldn’t be?” He exhaled slowly, a little sigh escaping him–less disappointment, more knowing. He shook his head faintly, and the shadowed strands of his wet hair shifted with the movement.

“Someone who isn’t embarrassed of what they want,” He replied simply, and the smirk that followed was sharp–knowing, dark, fond. You could feel your palms getting sweaty. There was a heat building inside you that had nothing to do with your cramps. It was a different kind of ache now–deep and thick and pressing down on every nerve in your body like it had weight.

“I’m not embarrassed,” You muttered, eyes darting to the floor between you like you were hoping for an escape hatch to open beneath your feet. “I’m just…”

The Void didn’t move nor did he blink. He just waited, and watched you closely.

You glanced up to meet his gaze again, but before the rest of the sentence could fully form, he cut you off–quietly, confidently, like he’d been waiting for the moment to fall apart in your throat.

“Reluctant to indulge in something you want?” He finished your sentence for you, letting the words drop like stones between you.

He leaned forward just slightly, not enough to touch–but enough for the chill of his breath to ghost over your cheeks like frost crawling up a windowpane. You felt it like a current–sharp and soothing at the same time–cutting clean through the haze of your heat-flushed skin. It pulled a shiver from you, involuntary, delicate as a blade of grass bending in the wind. The stars in his pupils shimmered faintly, twin glints of something eternal, patient, and entirely undisturbed.

“…Reluctant to put you in an uncomfortable position,” You corrected quietly, the words trembling slightly as they left your lips. They felt too honest, too exposed–but true all the same. “It’s not that I don’t want to–I do. God, I do. But I’m not gonna beg for something if there’s even a chance it’s gonna make you uncomfortable or…Cross a boundary for you. That’s not who I am. And it’s not fair to you.”

There was a pause–soft and heavy.

Then, he let out a quiet, amused sound. A low, warm chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest and unfurled like black velvet across your skin.

“Y/N,” He started gently, shaking his head. The stars in his eyes brightened slightly. “A little bit of blood would never make me feel uncomfortable.” He dipped closer, the line of his shoulder brushing yours, his mouth nearly at your ear now as he murmured, “You should know that by now.”

Your breath hitched.

His words weren’t mocking or pitying–they were gentle. Certain. Like the idea of your bleeding body repulsing him was so laughably impossible that it didn’t even deserve serious consideration.

He drew back just enough to meet your gaze again, but he didn’t move away entirely. One of his hands trailed down slowly to rest just above the waistband of your sweatpants. The tips of his cool fingers brushed your warm skin where your hoodie had ridden up. The contrast made your stomach twitch.

“All I want is to take care of you…And it would be great if you’d let me.” His voice was low and soft, coiling through air like smoke–cool and deliberate. His fingertips slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants and just rested there, grounding you. You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse quickening. His hand wasn’t moving, wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t trying to talk you out of your nerves, wasn’t seducing you in the typical way–but it still felt seductive, still soothing, the way only Void could be. Your throat worked around the ache in your chest, and your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

“…You really want to do this?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I do.”

No sarcasm. No smirk. Just certainty.

You brought your hands up slowly to press against his chest–cool, slick, still faintly damp from the shower. The sensation sent a little jolt through your fingers. You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

“…Okay,” You whispered. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready at least.” His mouth quirked–barely a smile, but filled with something like affection.

“No problem,” He said, brushing a kiss against your cheek with a softness that made your knees weaken. “I’ll meet you in your bedroom.” And just like that, he slipped past you.

The cool absence he left in his wake was almost startling–the door clicking softly shut behind him as he went. You stood there in the bathroom for a beat, heart hammering, your reflection catching your eye in the mirror.

You looked like a storm had passed through you. Hoodie riding up, eyes sleepy and a bit glossy. Lips kiss-bitten and puffy. You could even feel the shape of his mouth on your neck still. You stared at yourself for a long second, then exhaled hard through your nose and mumbled–

“…What the hell do I do?” Panic flickered just beneath the surface, stuttering hot against your nerves. It wasn’t that you didn’t want this. You did. Badly. Desperately. But then the logistics came crashing in—blood. mess. cleanup. embarrassment. the way your stomach might cramp mid-orgasm. the way you might sob afterward because your hormones were deranged.

You could already feel your anxiety building.

Your gaze darted toward the bottom cabinet beneath the sink, and your body moved before your brain could catch up.

You crouched down and yanked it open, fingers wrapping around a half-used pack of wipes from the last time you’d needed a quick clean-up post-sex. You tossed them onto the counter, then paused.

Okay. Okay. Quick solutions. You’re okay.

You pulled down your sweatpants and underwear, removed your tampon with swift, practiced ease–wrapping it tightly in toilet paper before tucking it deep beneath the mountain of used tissues in the bin. You washed your hands quickly, your fingers trembling slightly beneath the rush of warm water. The stream was too hot on your already overheated skin, but you didn’t care. You needed the sting. Needed the reset.

You paused in front of the mirror again and pushed your hair out of your face, taking a deep breath. You decided to keep your sweatpants off just so they didn’t stain, but your underwear remained on, just for insurance. You tucked the pack of wipes under your arm, before padding back into the hallway, making your way across the hall to your bedroom.

You opened the door to your bedroom slowly, the hinges barely creaking as the light from the hallway spilled across the floorboards in a soft ribbon of gold. But inside–it was all dark.

The only illumination came from the moonlight, cool and silvery, filtering through the slats in your curtains and painting faint stripes across the walls. It caught on the curve of his shoulders first. He was seated at the foot of the bed like a statue carved from night itself, all sharp lines and slick, smooth skin that shimmered faintly under the light.

The towel was still slung low around his hips, just barely clinging to his frame. His posture was relaxed, almost regal, arms resting on his thighs. But the moment he saw you–standing in the doorway, hoodie hanging loose over your body, your legs bare beneath the hem–his head lifted.

Those star-pupiled eyes dragged slowly up your body, deliberate and unhurried. From the tips of your toes, up the line of your calves, your thighs–he lingered there, lips parting ever so slightly–then continued, drinking in every inch of you until his gaze reached your face. The faintest smile curved across his mouth.

“Come here.” His voice was soft, velvety, but there was weight behind it. Command hidden inside kindness. He extended a hand to you, fingers curling ever so slightly, beckoning. You swallowed. Then stepped forward. Your heart beated faster with each movement across the floor, the cool air curling around your exposed legs, your fingertips gripping the edge of the wipe pack a little too tightly. You stopped just in front of him and dropped the pack beside his thigh. He didn’t even glance at it.

He only looked at you.

Your fingers met, and the moment your hand slid into his, his other arm was already reaching to wrap around the backs of your thighs. He pulled you into the cradle of his body gently, slowly, until you stood fully between his knees, the heat of your skin brushing against the coolness of his chest. His hands moved to your ass, slow and possessive–broad palms splaying there with intent. Not squeezing yet. Just holding.

Then he leaned forward.

And kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth was cooler than yours, but it only made the friction sweeter–the contrast sharper. It started with pressure, then parted into hunger. His lips moved with an urgency that surprised you, tongue flicking against yours with teasing precision before deepening the kiss into something that made your knees tremble. He sucked on your bottom lip just enough to draw a gasp from you, one hand slipping higher to squeeze your hip.

You whimpered faintly into his mouth, your fingers finding the slick skin of his shoulders, clinging.

“Void—” You breathed between kisses.

But he just hummed, a low sound of satisfaction, and pulled you forward with firm hands until you had no choice but to straddle his lap. You climbed up instinctively, knees bracketing his thighs, arms looping around his neck. The towel bunched between you, but barely registered. He groaned softly when your weight settled into him, his hands roaming again–palming your ass, your hips, dragging you flush against the line of his abdomen.

“You’re so hot,” He murmured against your mouth, voice dark with awe. “I think I’m going to have to cool you down.” He stood in one fluid, seamless motion–not a jerk or a lift, just a smooth ascension, as if gravity bowed to him. You barely had time to gasp before your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, arms tightening around his shoulders, breath catching in your throat. His hands supported you easily, one cradling beneath your thighs, the other anchoring your lower back.

And then, without warning, he turned.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thump, the air catching in your chest in surprise before it dissolved into a giggle. A real one. Light and unguarded. The kind that cracked through the last of your tension and made your head tip back for a second, even as he hovered above you.

He loomed, dark and cold and beautiful in a way that never stopped stealing your breath. Still damp, water beading faintly across his shadow-black skin, the remnants of his shower gleaming like stardust scattered across him. His hair clung to his temples, longer pieces curling at his jaw, giving him an almost feral softness. His glowing white eyes skimmed over your face, then down your body, before flicking back up, his mouth quirking into a sly, knowing smile as he straightened up above you, his fingers ghosting over the towel on his hips. He held your gaze with that impossible, infinite stillness–like the stars themselves had gone quiet to witness this moment–before slowly tugging the towel free.

“Y’know,” He said, the corner of his mouth lifting, “You really should’ve gotten those black sheets you mentioned seeing at the store the other day…” You raised a brow at him from beneath your lashes, still breathless from the kiss, heart drumming against your ribs, “Because now we’re going to ruin this towel.” He added, lifting it in his hand and motioning to it. You let out a soft, startled laugh despite yourself, rolling your eyes as you lifted your hips ever so slightly.

“Then I wouldn’t be able to find you,” You teased, adjusting just enough for him to slip the towel beneath you, “You’d camouflage into the sheets.” That earned a genuine laugh–a low, smoky exhale that brushed against your throat as he lowered himself over you, his shadowed skin cool against the fire of your thighs.

“Mmm,” He mused, his mouth hovering just above yours, “I’m sure you would manage it.” And then he kissed you again.

Slower this time. Deeper. His weight settled between your thighs with deliberate care, the blanket of cold that clung to him seeping into your overheated skin like an offering. It made you shudder, your fingers curling in reflex around his arms as your thighs instinctively tightened around his waist. The contrast was maddening–your warmth against his chill, his steady hands anchoring you while your body throbbed with need and ache beneath him.

His lips moved with worship, with reverence. Not frantic. Not rushed. Just sure–like every press of his mouth had a purpose. You whimpered softly into him, and the sound made him groan low in his throat, his hands sliding up your sides with slow, dragging strokes.

And then one hand rose to the zipper of your hoodie.

You gasped faintly as he tugged it down, tooth by tooth, the faint sound of the zipper somehow deafening in the quiet. His lips never left your skin as he worked, kissing the underside of your jaw, then lower, nipping gently at the curve of your neck until you squirmed beneath him. The zipper reached the bottom. He opened your hoodie slowly, like parting the petals of a flower. You were in your old, soft sleep bra–barely supportive, thin and stretched from too many wash cycles–but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, the sight of you–barely dressed, and so open to him–made his pupils pulse brighter with starlight.

He leaned back for just a second, letting his eyes devour the view of you laid out for him. You saw the moment it hit him–his breath caught. His gaze dragged across your chest, where your breasts rose and fell with each shallow inhale, visibly heavy with heat and swelling from your cycle, from the hormones that rushed throughout your bloodstream.

“Oh, Jesus…” His voice broke over the words, a rasp of awe and hunger curling low in his throat. His cold palms slid up from your ribs, “You’re burning up so much,” He whispered, his hands cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin fabric. The contact made you gasp, hips twitching beneath him. His thumbs brushed softly over your nipples and you arched faintly into the touch, breath hitching as the friction sent sparks skittering down your spine. He hummed low in his throat, the sound curling like smoke between your ribs.

“Sensitive little thing,” He murmured, his voice velvety and warm despite the chill of his body. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet, and already you’re squirming.”

You let out a soft whimper, and he took that as permission–slipping the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting the cups fall away slowly, exposing the full swell of your breasts to the coolness of his body and the room. The moan that slid out of him was low and long, almost involuntary.

“Look at you,” He breathed, “You look so fucking soft.” He ducked his head without hesitation, brushing his mouth over the top of one breast–just a featherlight kiss at first, then another, then another. His lips were cold but plush, the contrast against your overheated skin making your back arch reflexively off the bed.

Then he sucked.

Not gentle.

Not harsh.

Just deep and slow and possessive, like he was savoring the taste of you, mapping you with his mouth. His tongue flicked at your nipple, then flattened and dragged across it, teasing it into a peak before he latched on and sucked again–deeper this time.

“F-fuck–” You gasped, writhing slightly beneath him. Your thighs twitched, heat pooling low in your stomach like a slow, molten tide. He groaned against your skin, the sound reverberating through your chest.

“You like that?” He asked, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over the wet peak, making you cry out softly. “You’re so fucking sensitive. It’s gorgeous.” His mouth returned to your other breast, lavishing it with the same treatment–licking and sucking, nipping lightly, dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipples until they ached in the most delicious way. He marked you there–soft bruises blooming under the suction of his mouth, kisses that would fade slowly over the next few days. Proof that you were his. That you had been worshipped like something holy.

“You taste like a fucking fever,” He muttered between kisses, “And you make the prettiest little sounds when I suck on your nipples, do you know that?” Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently, breathless and whining as your hips rocked against his abs. You could feel the damp patch at the crotch of your underwear growing wetter by the second–not just from your menstrual blood, but from arousal now as well.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy,” You whispered. “Please…Please–”

“Shh,” He soothed, dragging his mouth down your sternum, licking a path down your belly, “I know. I know, little flame.”

He kissed your stomach next, slow and warmly. You felt the points of his teeth graze your skin as he bit lightly–just enough to make you twitch. Each kiss was possessive and deliberate. Your flesh tingled under every scrape his mouth provided, the tension in your core building to an unbearable level.

“You’re beautiful,” He said between kisses. “All of you. Especially like this.” He nuzzled into your navel, then kissed just below it. “Soft. Swollen. Needy.” Your thighs trembled beneath him as he reached the waistband of your underwear. He paused, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You obeyed without question, breath catching as your muscles clenched and your hips tilted up. His hands gripped the sides of your underwear, and he peeled them down slowly–dragging the fabric over your thighs, your knees, and finally your ankles before tossing them somewhere behind him without ceremony.

Then he stilled, crouched between your legs, and inhaled deeply.

His eyes flickered open–bright white star-pupils pulsing softly with what could only be described as hunger.

“You smell delicious,” He praised, voice dark and rich with awe. His nostrils flared faintly as he leaned closer, dipping his face down toward the apex of your thighs. “I’m going to get so fucking drunk off you.” You whimpered, thighs pressing together slightly at the praise–but he immediately placed his hands on your knees and coaxed them open again, eyes glowing brighter as he gazed down at your slick, glistening core. You knew there was definitely more blood there, mixing with your arousal, but Void didn’t flinch, nor did he hesitate. If anything it seemed like he locked in even more, and his hunger only grew.

His fingers dug gently into your thighs as he leaned closer, his breath skating over your swollen folds.

”Mmm fuck.” He moaned, before leaning in and licking.

A long, deliberate drag of his tongue–flat and firm–starting at your entrance and pulling all the way up through your folds to your clit, where he flicked the tip against the sensitive nub with precise, teasing pressure. The moment his tongue touched you, your entire body jolted, a breathless gasp tearing from your throat as your hips bucked off the bed.

“F-Fuck…Void…”

“Oh, I know,” He purred, already moving back in, his breath cold and steady against your dripping heat. “You’re so fucking sensitive. I can feel it…The way your thighs twitch…The way your heartbeat stutters under your skin…” He buried his mouth back between your legs, licking again–this time slower, messier, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth gently. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping tightly as you cried out. The sound that left him in response was somewhere between a growl and a moan, vibrating against you like thunder under your skin.

He didn’t stop.

He licked through the blood and slick like it was nectar–like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He groaned again, louder this time, tongue plunging deeper, swirling around your entrance before dragging back up to flick over your clit with maddening precision.

”Tastes so fucking good, I wish I could have you this way all the time.” He rasped, pulling back only to speak for those brief seconds. In the moonlight you could see the way his chin was slick. You whimpered, thighs trembling around his head, the pleasure already cresting far too fast. Your body was so sensitive it felt like every flick of his tongue set fire to your nerves. You could feel every nuance of it–every swipe, every suck, every teasing swirl of his tongue through the slick mess between your thighs.

Then he moaned into you again and shoved his face deeper–pressing his mouth hard against your aching core, his tongue working fast and filthy as he wrapped his arms under your thighs and held you still, forcing you to ride his face. You cried out, hips trying to squirm, but he growled–deep and warning–and tightened his grip.

“Don’t run from it,” He grunted against your clit, the vibration making your whole body twitch. “I want you to fall apart on my tongue. Let it happen. Don’t fight it.” One hand pulled free from your thigh and slid beneath him. Two fingers pressed to your dripping entrance, circling once–slick with blood and arousal–before slowly sinking inside you.

You sobbed. The stretch was gentle, but intense–your body already sheened with sweat and tight and overwhelmed. His fingers curled deep, slow at first, dragging against that aching spot inside you with precision only something inhuman could have. Your walls clenched around him instantly.

”Fuck, Y/N,” He muttered, voice dark and rumbling, “You’re so hot inside…Clutching my fingers like you don’t wanna let go.” Then his free hand rose and pressed flat against your lower stomach, right over the ache. Right over the source of your cramps. And it grounded you instantly.

“You feel that?” He whispered, licking your clit with long, slow strokes while his fingers began to pump inside you. “That pressure? That’s me. Right there, where it hurts. Let me fix it, let me fuck it out of you with my mouth.” You choked on a sob, gasping as your hips arched off the bed, the hand on your belly the only thing anchoring you.

His mouth moved faster. His fingers did too–curling, pumping, coaxing the tension in your core into something unbearable. The obscene, wet sound of it all–his tongue working your clit, his fingers squelching inside your soaked cunt, the wet slap of his chin against your blood-slick thighs–it should’ve embarrassed you.

But it didn’t.

It made you dizzy.

It made you cry out his name again, loud and needy and utterly desperate.

“Void…Void, I…Oh my god—”

“That’s it, little flame,” He growled, lips dragging across your clit again, “Give it to me. Let me taste it. All of it. Don’t hold back.” You couldn’t. You were shaking. Gasping. Your thighs clenched around his head as your back arched sharply off the bed, your body locking up like a livewire.

You came.

Hard.

A sob tore from your throat as your body seized with pleasure, tears springing to your eyes unbidden as the orgasm ripped through you. The combination of his fingers pressing deep, the steady weight of his hand against your stomach, and his mouth–cold, slick, merciless–on your clit was too much. You didn’t even realize you were crying until his tongue slowed, and his fingers gentled inside you. He licked you through the aftershocks, slow and soft now, lapping up the mess he’d made of you like it was holy.

And when he finally looked up, his mouth slick, chin gleaming, star-pupils glowing brighter than ever, he whispered–

“Jesus Christ…That was fucking amazing.” He slipped his fingers out of you, before crawling up your body slowly–like a shadow, like a storm, like something that could devour you whole and still beg for more. His mouth brushed your hipbone first, then your stomach, pausing to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel, right where your muscles still fluttered from the orgasm he’d wrung out of you. His breath was cool and steady, his lips slick with blood and arousal. He didn’t bother to wipe them.

He didn’t need to.

He wanted you to taste it.

You could see it in the way his glowing eyes dragged up your body, lingering at every mark, every quiver, every trembling inch of your skin as if committing it to memory. As if this was a prayer, and your ruined body beneath him was a sacred altar.

He reached your chest again, kissing a slow trail up your sternum. You could still feel the faint ache in your nipples from earlier, already hypersensitive again as his mouth brushed them, one after the other. His tongue flicked lazily over one, and he smiled when your breath caught.

“Still so reactive,” He murmured, his voice thick with affection and heat. “You always are. Especially when you’re messy like this.”

He finally reached your throat and hovered there for a moment–just close enough that you could feel the wetness of his mouth against your skin, the blood and spit and come-slick humidity of him.

You were still panting, your cheeks flushed, your limbs limp and boneless beneath him.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice like velvet smoke. “Still with me?”

You nodded faintly, whispering, “Yeah.”

He smiled against your throat and then dragged his lips up your jawline, slow and savoring, until he reached your mouth.

His tongue was cool. His kiss was filthy.

The moment your lips parted for him, he pushed inside–slow and deliberate–letting you taste the blood and slick and heat still coating his tongue. You whimpered at the taste, hips twitching faintly beneath him, even though your body was wrung out and raw.

“There it is,” He breathed, voice breaking as he kissed you deeper. “Taste that? That’s you. All of you. Sweet and bitter and so fucking perfect.”

You groaned into his mouth, hands sliding into his hair, and he moaned like he could live in this–like your kiss, your taste, your breath were oxygen.

His mouth was greedy, slick and open and unrelenting as he pressed closer, slotting his body against yours like he could mold himself into your skin. You could feel the length of him pressing hard between your thighs, his cock thick and pulsing. You grounded up against him lazily, still slick and hot and sore, but wanting.

He pulled back a little bit and looked down at you, letting out a husky laugh against your mouth.

”You’ve got some blood on your face.” He commented. You blinked, dazed and panting, and he grinned—sharp, glowing, haloed in moonlight. He reached behind him with one hand, retrieving the pack of wipes you’d tossed earlier. With a practiced flick, he tore one free and dragged it slowly across his own chin first, wiping away the glistening blood and slick that still coated his mouth. The red stain smeared faintly along the wipe like paint across linen. Then, with the same slow reverence, he leaned in and gently swiped it along your cheek, cleaning where your own blood had transferred to his mouth, then your skin.

He dropped the used wipe off the side of the bed without a glance, not caring where it landed.

Then his hand was back at your cheek, cupping it as he leaned in to kiss you again.

It was softer this time—but no less intense. If anything, the tenderness of it made the heat in your stomach roar back to life. Because there was nothing gentle about the way his cock throbbed between your thighs, brushing hot and heavy against your slit. You felt it, solid and insistent, grinding lazily along your folds as he kissed you deep enough to make your eyes roll back.

Then his hand moved between you.

You gasped as you felt his fingers curl around the base of his cock, the head nudging against your clit in a slick, teasing drag. His mouth pulled away from yours with a quiet, wet sound.

“You okay for us to have sex still?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but his pupils flaring bright with hunger. You didn’t hesitate. Your whole body arched into him, your nails curling into the damp skin of his shoulders.

“Fuck, please,” you breathed, desperate and hoarse.

That got a smile out of him. A real one. Dangerous and soft, his teeth faintly visible in the moonlight, a haze of red still staining the tips. His cock dragged through your folds again, and he let out a slow, pleased groan, hips twitching at the feel of your slick, swollen cunt parting for him.

“You’re soaked,” He murmured, dragging the blunt head of his cock over your clit once before sliding it down to your entrance, “Bleeding, dripping, fucking throbbing for me. You need to be filled, don’t you?” His voice was velvet filth, low and coaxing, and you nodded frantically.

“Yes…Yes, fuck, I need you, Void…”

“Then take me…” He whispered, and with one slow, brutal push, he sank inside you. Your mouth dropped open on a silent scream.

The stretch burned–hot and overwhelming–your walls clenching around him so tight he groaned deep in his chest, closing his eyes tightly as he continued. He didn’t stop until he was all the way in–buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you, dragging against the sensitive, swollen walls of your still-sensitive body.

“F-fuck, baby…” Ge rasped, voice fraying. “You’re squeezing me so tight–I can feel every flutter, every pulse.” His hips jerked slightly, an involuntary grind, just enough to drag the thick head of his cock against your most sensitive spot. You gasped, back arching.

“God, Void–” You choked out, your hands clutching his shoulders like you needed him to hold you down before you came apart again.

He dipped his head to your neck, tongue dragging slowly along the column of your throat before he sank his teeth into the skin–not enough to break it, but enough to make your entire body jerk. He sucked there, slow and hard, until the blood surged beneath your skin, and your breath hitched in a broken moan.

“I love how fucking warm you are inside,” He growled against your neck, licking over the bite to soothe it, “You’re so soft, so slick…I could stay buried inside you forever.” You whimpered under him, grinding your hips upward as best you could, desperate for more friction.

“Please,” You begged, breathless and raw. “Move. Fuck me, please–” That shattered his restraint.

He pulled back slowly, just a few inches, letting you feel the full drag of his cock against your swollen, aching walls–and then he drove back in with a filthy, wet sound, his hips smacking against your thighs. You gasped–loud and helpless–and he did it again. And again.

And again.

Each thrust was a perfectly measured, brutal stroke. Deep. Sure. Possessive. Like he was carving himself into your body with every push of his hips.

“That’s it,” He grunted, fucking you harder now. “Let me hear those little noises–God, you make the sweetest sounds when you’re getting fucked…” You were incoherent beneath him, crying out with every stroke, nails digging into his back, legs trembling.

“Y-you’re so deep,” You sobbed, voice breaking, “I can feel you everywhere…Oh my fucking god.” His mouth found yours again, kissing you like he was starving for you—like your breath was his only tether to reality. He moaned into you as he fucked you, his pace relentless now,.

“I want it messy,” He hissed against your lips. “I want to ruin this bed with you–ruin this whole fucking night with how good I fuck you through the pain.” You sobbed again, overwhelmed by the pressure, the stretch, the heat–and the devotion in his voice that made it all unbearable in the best way.

“You want that?” He demanded, snapping his hips into you, making your breath hitch. “Want me to fuck you through the cramps? Want me to use this cock to fix what your body’s doing to you?”

“Yes…Yes, please, Void…”

“Say it,” He growled. “Say you need it.”

“I need it,” You gasped. “I need your cock, I need you to fuck it out of me–fuck the pain out, please, I’m yours, I’m fucking yours…” A sound ripped from his throat. Feral. Wrecked.

His thrusts got messier, harder. The bed creaked beneath you. His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, fast circles, your thighs twitching against him instantly.

“Then cum for me again,” He ordered, voice dark silk. “Cum around my cock while I fill this pretty little pussy…Let me feel you tighten around me.” And just like that–you shattered.

You screamed. Loud. Broken. Beautiful.

Your walls clamped down on him so violently it dragged a curse from his lips, and he snapped his hips into you once, twice, three more times–before groaning like a dying man and spilling into you with a stuttered cry. You felt the warmth of his release, thick and hot, flooding your already filled core, dripping out around his cock.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t even move.

Just stayed there, trembling above you, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking between parted lips.

“Holy fuck…” He whispered. “You…You’re fucking perfect as usual.”

Your body was trembling, your thighs were sticky and our mouth was kissed raw.

But when you opened your eyes, all you saw was him looking at you like you were the center of the goddamn universe.

And in his orbit–you believed it.

The only sound was the slow, ragged rhythm of your breathing–and the way his heart thundered against your chest. Your arms stayed around his neck, fingers tangled in the sweat-damp curls at his nape. His weight settled over you like a blanket, anchoring you, keeping the ache of emptiness at bay while your body slowly came down.

He nuzzled into your jaw with something almost shy in the way he breathed you in–soft, slow, like he was memorizing the smell of your sweat and your blood and your orgasm. You felt the chill of his skin even through your shared heat, the contrast making you shiver just a little beneath him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, slowly, with a dazed little smile curling on your lips. “You definitely fucked the pain away… because all I feel is absolute… euphoria.”

His mouth quirked into a knowing smirk, not cocky—just deeply pleased. His voice dropped low and smooth as he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’m gonna pull out,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice quiet, reverent.

You nodded again, whispering, “Okay.”

He moved slowly, carefully, the way you might handle something precious and fragile. And when he finally slid out of you, the heat of his length dragging against your walls one last time, all you felt was a thick, wet rush between your thighs. A flood of warmth and slick, dripping out in slow, messy streams.

You gasped softly at the sensation, and he let out a quiet, breathy laugh as he looked down between your bodies.

“My god,” He muttered, raking a hand through his damp hair. “We really did make a mess…”

You turned your head slightly and followed his gaze. The towel beneath you was utterly ruined–soaked through in deep streaks of red, streaks of slick and cum painting every fold of the fabric. You groaned, embarrassed but not really.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to use this towel ever again,” He added with a smirk, sitting back on his heels.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, he reached over to the side of the bed, grabbed the pack of wipes, and got to work–without a word, without hesitation. His touch was clinical, but gentle, as if he were caring for a wound he revered more than feared. He wiped between your thighs first, slow and careful, murmuring a quiet “Sorry” whenever you twitched from overstimulation. It took five wipes to get most of it–blood and slick and his cum smeared everywhere.

Then he shifted lower, taking his time with the mess on your stomach, dragging a clean wipe across the smeared trails of red that had bloomed beneath your breasts and along your hipbones. His thumb brushed over one of the kiss-marks he’d left–dark, blooming like a rosebud beneath your skin–and sighed.

“These ones might take some elbow grease,” He teased softly.

You let out a little wheeze of a laugh, your voice still hazy with afterglow.

Once you were clean, he finally turned to himself, wiping himself off gently. He bundled all the used wipes in one hand and walked across the room to toss them into the little trash bin near your dresser.

Then he opened your top drawer, rifled carefully through your neatly folded underwear, and selected a soft cotton pair with tiny stars on them–one of your comfiest ones. He smiled faintly at the print, then turned and opened the second drawer–his drawer. The one you had made for him months ago. He pulled out a pair of his black boxer shorts, slid them on, and returned to your side.

“Alright, little flame,” He murmured, scooping you up again with ease, one hand beneath your thighs, the other steady against your back. “Bathroom time.”

You didn’t protest. You let yourself be carried, sleepy and raw and warm in the cradle of his arms. He padded down the hall with you, silent and sure. When you reached the bathroom, he set you gently down on the toilet seat, then opened up the cabinet under the sink and handed you a pad. You blinked at him, slow and grateful, while adjusting it onto the underwear he’d brought.

He leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching you with the satisfied look of a man who just cured a century-long affliction with his tongue. The white in his pupils pulsed softly, his expression pure mischief.

“I guess now,” He began, tilting his head, “you won’t be so embarrassed to ask to have period sex, hmm?”

You snorted, letting your head fall forward briefly before looking back up at him with a tired grin.

“I think I’m going to want it until it’s done.”

He pushed off the counter with a pleased little hum, leaned down, and kissed your forehead–soft and cold and grounding.

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

He lingered there for a second, his lips pressed against your skin like a promise, his hand bracing gently on your knee. Then he straightened up again, reaching for the plush hand towel on the rack beside you.

“Let’s brush your teeth next,” He said softly, that calm authority slipping back into his tone. “Then I’m putting you to bed.” You laughed, wobbly and fond.

“And after that?” You murmured, blinking up at him.

He grinned.

“Then I’ll hold you all night,” He said, matter-of-fact. “And if your cramps come back…” He leaned down again, voice low and filthy, “…I’ll go down on you until you forget how to spell the word pain.”

Your legs trembled just hearing it.

“Deal,” you whispered.

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.”

A soft, drawn-out groan left your lips as you stretched beneath the covers, the warmth of the sheets pressing against your naked body as you reached your arms above your head, toes flexing downward. You arched your spine against the mattress with a sleepy sigh, trying to ease the stiffness clinging to your muscles from falling asleep at a strange angle and with Bob tangled up in you.

When you rolled onto your side your hand landed in the empty space that was usually occupied by your partner, feeling that it was still hot from his body. The pillow he laid on held the soft impression of his head, molded to the curve of him like it had memorized him. Your fingers brushed against the residual heat, and something in your stomach tightened. Something subtle. Something subconscious. Like there was a small, sudden realization that there was the absence of where your comfort once laid.

You breathed in and decided to listen for what was going on beyond the door of the washroom. For a moment, there was nothing, just the soft ticking of the watch you had on your nightstand–but then, there was the faint click of the faucet.

Followed by the unmistakable, sickening sound of retching. You sat up immediately, the covers falling away from your shoulders as your breath caught in your chest. Concern surged through your sleep-heavy body, cutting through the haze like someone had poured cold water all over you. Your hand instinctively clutched the blanket, pulling it loose from where it was tucked under the mattress as you rose to your feet, draping it around your body like a robe. The fabric pooled at your ankles, trailing after you as you padded quietly toward the door, heart climbing steadily into your throat, pumping right in the center of it, almost making you choke.

You knocked gently on the ensuite door.

”Bob…?” Your voice was soft, slurred slightly by the numbness in your face from where you had pressed too hard against your pillow, “Hun…Are you okay?” There was a beat of silence, and then a muffled response came out.

”Mmm…Yeah. I’m ok-okay.” But the words were punctuated by another dry heave. Your brows knit together, your frown deepening as worry won out over hesitation. You curled your fingers around the doorknob and twisted gently.

”I’m coming in, okay?” You didn’t wait for permission, you just pushed your way through slowly, and turned on the light with a soft him. The warmth of the glow gave way to the crisp, cooler air of the bathroom, and your eyes landed on Bob–slumped on his knees in front of the toilet, one forearm braced against the edge of the bowl, the other trembling slightly as it rested over his stomach. His back rose and fell with uneven breaths, with strands of his damp, light brown hair clinging to the sides of his forehead. His skin had paled even more than his normal tone, and his shoulders were hunched, muscles tensing up like another wave of nausea was passing over him. His eyes were sealed shut and he was mumbling something incoherent to himself as you stepped closer to him.

”Oh, sweetheart…” You whispered under your breath, padding barefoot across the tiled floor, crouching beside him without even thinking. One of your hands gently smoothed up the line of his spine, while the other brushed the sweat-matted hair away from his face. His skin was cool to the touch–almost alarmingly so–even though he felt damp, like he had been running a fever, “What’s going on?” Your voice was gentle as you leaned in closer, brushing your fingers along his damp temple, trying to get a clearer look at him. The overhead light was a little too bright for this hour–cool, sterile–but it caught every detail: the fine sheen of sweat clinging to his brow, the tension in his jaw, the barely-there tremble of his hands.

He looked…Worn through.

That same weightless ache you’d felt earlier bloomed wider in your chest.

Your eyes dropped to his face. The curve of his cheekbone, the dark bruising just beneath his eyes. A shadow too deep to be from exhaustion alone–black, as if it bled up from somewhere inside him, pooling beneath the skin like smoke trying to escape. Right where his under-eyes always puffed slightly when he was run down. But this–this was different.

Bob hunched again suddenly–his arm tightening over his stomach, as if bracing for another wave of nausea–but this time, nothing came. Just a broken sound in the back of his throat, followed by a slow, shuddering breath.

“He’s…He’s trying to come out tonight.” He said hoarsely. You felt your pulse quicken in your neck as your hand continued to rub along his back, gently massaging it with your open palm.

“Void?” He nodded immediately. Tight. Like the words he was trying to form in response wouldn’t be able to escape his mouth. Your hand swept slowly against the freckles that laid on his shoulders, soothing him through the silent confession he had provided, and you sighed.

”What’s going on with him that’s making him do this to you?” You asked quietly, watching as the muscles in Bob’s neck strained slightly while he swallowed, like the bile had burned his esophagus. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, his lashes fluttering open to reveal that the whites of his eyes had gone obsidian. The blue of his irises were in stark contrast against the darkness, and in the center of his pupils were twin white stars, like pinholes torn through a veil. You exhaled softly and cupped the side of his face, the pad of your thumb ghosting over the rise of his cheekbone. His skin was chilled but radiant, flushed faintly with the fever of what he was trying to contain.

“Bob…”

His jaw flexed beneath your palm. Then he sighed, long and low.

“He’s been…Wanting to be let out for a few days,” He murmured, voice shaking but no longer hoarse–just small. “But I’ve been afraid. Because he’s not pushing with anger. He’s not trying to take control or burn anything down. He’s just…” He swallowed again, and the movement of his throat looked painful. “He’s desperate to be with you. He said he wants to be held.” You softened immediately, your fingertips brushing down to his neck.

“Bob… He needs affection too, y’know?” you whispered, eyes locked with his. “He sees through your eyes. Feels what you feel. He watches the way I touch you, the way I kiss you, and he wants that. You both crave connection. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it without making you afraid.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered shut at your words–like hearing them was too much.

Like they hurt.

“I know…” He said quietly. “I know. And I know it’s not fair to keep him locked away. But I–” He paused, hand lifting slowly, shakily, to cover the back of yours. His palm was cold against your knuckles. “I was worried.” You brushed your thumb slowly beneath the bruised curve under his eye–where darkness had begun to pool and move like molasses, blooming in the space between man and entity.

“Worried about what?” You whispered.

“That he’d try to take too much.” You exhaled gently through your nose and leaned in, pressing your forehead to his once more.

“He won’t. And if he tries…I can stand my own ground.” You smiled faintly. “Even though you and I both know…He’s harmless with me.” Bob’s breath trembled between you.

”…You’re right.” You pulled back just enough to look at him again. The blue in his eyes was dimming now and the white pinholes took up more space now, almost like it was dilating from the conversation the two of you were having.

“I think you need to let him through now…” Bob sighed, and nodded, before pulling away from you, leaning his back against the wall behind him. You stayed kneeling on the bathroom floor as the shift began, your blanket now puddled around your waist, one hand still hanging in the air where it had just touched his cheek. Watching. Waiting.

It started in his fingertips.

The color bled from his skin like ink dropped in water–spreading out in dark veins that swallowed up every patch of freckled flesh. As if someone had taken a brush soaked in the purest black and swept it over his hands, up his arms, across his shoulders and throat.

And then his chest–his ribs rising with slow, steady breaths, muscles shifting beneath a surface that no longer looked human. His skin had turned to obsidian. Not flat, not matte–but slick and gently reflective, like polished volcanic glass under moonlight. And it moved, subtly, like the surface of a calm lake catching ripples from something just below.

His light brown hair was the last to go.

It darkened in strands–first the roots, then the mid-lengths, until it turned fully silken black, falling around his face in weightless, flowing threads. The softness of it almost didn’t match the rest of him, but that was what made it stranger. Beautiful. Alien and delicate all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat when the first tendrils emerged.

They slid out from his back and shoulders like smoke given form–reaching and coiling in the air, tasting the space around them. Slow and deliberate. Like stretching after years of confinement. A shiver crawled up your spine as one of them curled gently in your direction, but didn’t touch. Just hovered.

His face–what remained of it–was shadowed but shaped like before, only now marked by the silhouette of a mouth and twin glowing eyes.

The Void knelt before you, fully formed–but so still.

Then, softly:

“Y/N?”

His voice was quieter than before. No distortion. No thunder layered beneath. Just a breathy whisper of your name, tender and unfamiliar in its gentleness.

You barely had time to breathe before he surged forward–not fast, not aggressive, just immediate. Like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t do it a second more.

He wrapped his arms around you.

The coolness of his body hit your skin like a gust of night air. His arms didn’t shake. They didn’t clench or claw. They simply wrapped around you tight–too tight, like he thought you’d vanish if he didn’t pull you close enough. Like he needed your body against his to stay anchored in this world. You gasped softly at the chill, the feel of his skin slick and smooth under your hands, like touching running ink.

But you didn’t pull away.

You brought your arms around his broad shoulders, pressing your cheek to his obsidian throat, and whispered softly into the crook of his neck:

“I’ve got you.”

He exhaled hard–like he’d been holding in air he didn’t need. Like the release made his chest cave in against you.

“I’m sorry,” He breathed into your shoulder. “I tried not to. I tried to wait. But I needed–”

You pulled your hand up, threading it into the black silk of his hair, and cradled the back of his head. You could feel how deeply he leaned into your touch, like your nails tracing his scalp were pulling something human to the surface again. He whimpered quietly. Not dramatic. Not monstrous. Just…Small, like it was so out of place for an entity like him.

“Void…” You murmured, voice low and gentle against the crook of his ear. “You don’t have to apologize. But you need to know something.”

He stiffened slightly.

Your fingers didn’t stop moving.

“You can’t hurt Bob like that again.”He tensed further, a breath catching in his throat.

“He’s doing what he thinks is right,” You said softly. “He’s trying to protect both of you. He doesn’t deserve to suffer because you feel left out.”

Silence fell like snowfall–heavy, hushed, still.

Then a broken whisper:

“I…Won’t do it again. I promise.”

He pressed his face deeper into your neck, arms clutching tighter.

“Just please don’t let go of me.” Your heart clenched. He sounded so young and child-like when he said that. So desperate to be wanted. To be told he was safe. You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I’m not letting go,” You whispered. “But we can’t stay like this on the bathroom floor.” You traced soothing lines against the base of his skull, massaging gently with your nails. He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a shiver, and his body started to soften in your arms.

“Let’s go to bed,” You suggested, “Then you can hold me for however long you need. I promise.” He drew in a deep breath and sighed.

”…Alright.” His arms finally loosened around you, reluctantly, like he was peeling himself away from a lifeline. You helped ease his weight back as the two of you pulled apart just far enough to move.

You stood first, adjusting the sheet clumsily around your naked body with one hand while the other reached out to him. His fingers curled into yours almost immediately.

It was strange–how something so terrifying to the world could look so hesitant when you offered him something as simple as help standing up. He didn’t let go of your hand even as he rose to his feet, the cool strength of him rising with a whisper of shadow and grace.

You reached behind and flipped the bathroom light off, blanketing the room in soft dark again. Moonlight washed the floor in silver as you quietly guided him back through the bedroom, bare feet padding across carpet. The air was still cool, but the bed still held the warmth from earlier, soft and inviting, like it had been waiting for both of you.

The Void climbed in first, slipping under the duvet, his black silhouette nearly disappearing against the dark linens, his glowing eyes being the only thing you could truly see of him in the darkness. You let the sheet fall from your shoulders and slipped beneath the covers, the mattress dipping gently under your weight. The duvet rustled softly as you settled into the center of the bed, the crisp sheets cool against your bare legs.

Before you could even adjust your pillow, he moved with no hesitation.

He followed instinctively–curling into you like a wave drawn to shore, fitting himself into the shape of your body with such urgency it made your chest ache. He settled half on top of you, half beside you, his head pressing into the space between your breasts and collarbone, one arm wrapping possessively around your waist like he needed to keep your soul anchored to his.

His skin, still cool and impossibly smooth, pressed against the warmth of your body in stark contrast, but it didn’t make you flinch. If anything, you held him closer.

You adjusted beneath him, shifting just enough to let him rest fully against you, your own arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders. One hand found the base of his skull, and your fingers immediately curled into the silk of his hair, petting him with slow, methodical strokes. The sound he let out was quiet–nearly a whimper. Almost involuntary.

His fingertips–longer than Bob’s, and less calloused–began tracing light, aimless patterns along your skin. Gentle sweeps along the slope of your ribs, the dip of your stomach, the softness of your side. He sighed deeply against your chest, his breath cool and steady where it ghosted across your skin.

“I’m really sorry for hurting Bob…”

You breathed in slowly, and brushed your thumb across the back of his neck.

“I know,” You said softly. “And I’m sure he knows, too.”

The Void was quiet for a moment.

Then he burrowed closer–somehow–nuzzling his face into the curve of your body like he was trying to vanish inside you. His arm tightened around your waist, and one of his legs slid across yours under the sheets, entangling completely, his body melting into your side like warm wax folding into flame.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” He whispered. “He’s kind. And I’m…”

“You’re not a monster,” You interrupted gently.

He didn’t respond right away.

You tilted your head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his black hair, fingers still stroking soothingly through it, combing through the weightless strands.

“You’re just lonely…And you acted out of impulse to try to get what you needed.” His entire body gave a subtle, shuddering exhale. As if your words had reached something buried too deep for even Bob to touch.

The glow of his eyes dimmed slightly, blinking against your skin like he was growing sleepier now that he was safe. Now that he was held. One of his tendrils peeked from beneath the duvet, coiling lightly around your thigh–not tight, not aggressive, just a slow gentle brush.

You felt his lips–just a shadow of a mouth–press against your chest.

“Thank you for letting me come to you,” He whispered, quieter than breath.

You tightened your arms around him and smiled into the dark.

“There’s no version of you I wouldn’t take care of.”

That was the last thing said between you for a long while.

The Void settled entirely then–his limbs heavy against yours, his cheek pillowed to your chest, his body humming faintly with the low vibration of cosmic quiet. He didn’t shift again, didn’t twitch or pull away. He just…Stayed.

Clinging to you like he belonged there.

Like he’d finally found a shape that soothed him.

The first thing you saw was him…The Void. Pressed flush to your side, his arm wrapped around you, his face nuzzled into the space between your collarbone and shoulder like he had claimed the spot, like he owned it–like he had always belonged there. He wasn’t asleep–you could tell by the way he was shifting slightly, by the rhythm of his fingers trailing up and down your skin, by the tilt of his head as if he were listening closely to something–but his eyes were closed to really sharpen his focus on your heartbeat.

His breath fanned against your skin in slow waves, cool but not biting in anyway. He was still made of darkness of course–obsidian, vantablack and impossibly formless around the edges–but his body was more grounded to the room now. Less smoke, and a bit more shape. A man molded from shadows rather than an all consuming void that ate away at it.

You couldn’t help but smile at the image in front of you, the domesticity of it, the beauty of the moment that meant everything encompassed in one small action of being held by something that was seen as violence incarnate.

“You’re still here?” You murmured. Immediately you felt his body tense up a little at your voice, before he nodded.

”Of course.” He replied, his voice rumbling softly against your skin. He lifted his head then, his white eyes gleaming faintly in the golden wash of morning light that poured through the half-open curtains of Bob’s bedroom. He was still all darkness–still a silhouette made of starlit ink–but the freckles were still there. The tiny white constellations you had left all over his face.

They glittered like frost in the sunlight. A map of where you had kissed him, the little markings of you that he now permanently held and displayed to the world. They trailed over his cheeks, his temple, his lips–especially his lips–and over his shoulders like scars, but they were things of beauty.

You could see the shape of his smile forming under your gaze. Not fully though, but the curve of his mouth was barely visible to you, like moonlight grazing soft charcoal. It was a smile made more of intention than form.

“I didn’t think it would be the best idea to have Bob waking up to you looking so…” He paused, searching for the word as he stared at you, “Wrecked.” A laugh caught in your throat, kissed with a hint of tiredness that plagued your mind.

“You’re not wrong…You made a very good choice.” You whispered.

You reached up and touched his cheek–your thumb dragging slowly across the edge of one of the pale little stars that clung to the darkness of his skin. His form remained cool under your fingers, but it wasn’t as frigid as the night before. It had seemed like the mingling of your body heat had softened him in some way, providing a sort of blatant contrast between temperatures. He leaned into your hand with a sigh, lashes lowering and fluttering closed.

”You look so…Beautiful in the sun.” You commented softly, which earned a soft hum from him.

”Could never look as good as Sentry,” He said, almost teasing, “But…I’m glad you look at me that way.” You traced your fingertips over his mouth, feeling the way his lips curved under your touch–still unfamiliar with the softness of your little ministrations, but wholly aware of how much he needed it. He pressed a kiss to them, quietly displaying his devotion to you. Then he sighed.

”When do you want me to…Go?” He asked softly, like the question physically hurt him to say. His hands continued to move–one still stroking slowly up your spine, the trandrils tracing your ribs like music notes on a staff. But now everything paused, unsure. Bracing for an answer. You could feel your lips slowly tilt down at the way he sounded, but you let your touch trail back to his cheek again, brushing his silky skin, feeling him chase your warmth.

”Let’s just relax together for a few more minutes,” You whispered, “Then we can make those decisions…Cause I’m the one that’s going to need to explain this, remember?” You gave him a wry smile, “So I need some peace before the chaos.” He nodded against your palm.

”Okay.” He replied, focusing on the way your thumb traced a slow arc that followed the glowing little novas scattered along his cheek.

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was something deeper, something boundless–but he shifted up then, just a little, until he was face to face with you. His arm tightening around you to pull you closer towards him, your bare skin pressing against his. You could feel his breath brushing against your lips, almost like he was waiting for you to close the space between the both of you, and you instantly took the hint.

You leaned forward and gave him a soft, warm, and quiet kiss, drowning in the stillness of the morning. He let out a loud breath–less of a moan and more of a huff of disbelief, like your affection was still catching him off guard. He pulled back just enough to murmur.

”You’re radiant in the morning, by the way…” Your cheeks warmed at the comment, attempting to fight off your smile from growing wider as he reached up, his cool fingers grazing your jaw, while his thumb swept across the heat that radiated off your cheekbone.

“I understand why Bob dreams of you like this,” He continued quietly, “Why he looks at you all the time when you’re in the sunlight. Why he checks on you at night when he wakes up and you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, even when you’re the one keeping watch over him…It all makes sense…” You let out a small laugh.

”Remind me never to tell you any of my secrets…” His head tilted slightly in amusement, like he didn’t quite understand what you meant, “Because all you’re going to do is blurt them out to everyone.” You continued, teasing now. He chuckled lowly–just a breath of a sound–and leaned to the side, his mouth finding the love bite that he left on you the night before, pressing a gentle kiss on top of it, feeling a snip of pain inch to the surface. His breath chilled the soreness, and it made you inhale through your teeth–but not from pain, just from the memory that it stirred up inside of you.

”I’m allowed to speak the truth,” He claimed, “I am part of Bob, and he is part of me. Technically, his secrets are my secrets too.” You snorted at his words.

”Great. So you’re double snooping.” He kissed the bruise again at the comment. Slower this time, with the kind of deliberate gentleness that made your breath hitch. Then, with no real warning except the cool sweep of air that gusted over your collarbone, he trailed down, nipping at the soft flesh there–just once–before murmuring.

”I promise I’ll keep your secrets…I don’t have many people to tell them to anyways.” You laughed, quiet and fond of the unexpected kisses and nips he began to place on your skin. You pulled back slightly with a grin tugging at your lips, but the shift of your hips brought a dull ache between your legs that hadn’t quite registered until just then. The soreness bloomed like heat, reminding you of just how intense last night had been.

You winced, and immediately he stilled.

“Are you okay?” His voice dropped, no longer teasing–just concerned, genuinely, and deeply, which was something you had never heard from him before to this degree. His tendrils froze mid-air, and his hands pulled away from your skin almost like he thought he had done something to you unknowingly. You nodded quickly, cupping his face as if to reassure him physically.

”Just a bit sore from last night. Moved a bit too fast, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.” You explained. He gulped, letting out a small hum, like he was processing your answer carefully, scanning your face to see if he could tell if you were lying or not. You reached down to his arm and moved it back to your skin, to tell him to resume touching you, feeling his hand returning to the warmth of your back.

“Maybe I can help a bit.” You raised an eyebrow, suspicious of how his voice sounded like he was planning something.

“Yeah? And how are you planning to do that?” He leaned forward and kissed you softly, earning another glowing freckle that bloomed on his bottom lip, warm and silver-white. He held the kiss for a second longer than necessary, then pulled back, his voice dipping into a tone that could’ve passed for flirtation if it wasn’t so soft and slightly hesitant.

“I could…Go down and check if everything’s okay?” You stared at him for a beat, then you snorted, laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep it from echoing off the bedroom walls. You could see the way his eyes widened at you and your reaction that he wanted to probably crawl into himself.

”Oh my god,” You wheezed behind your palm, “If you’re asking to go down on me Void…Just say it. You make it sound like I’m at the doctor’s office.” His head tilted to the side at first, not really understanding what you meant at first, then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. If he could blush in those moments, he probably would’ve combusted.

”I…I was trying to be polite,” He muttered, his voice carrying a hint of flustered warmth, a rare crack in his otherwise measured cadence. You grinned, completely endeared and enamoured by his demeanour.

He cleared his throat, then tried again–more deliberately this time, “Alright…Can I go down on you to ease the soreness?” You bit your bottom lip, the heat in your stomach that had been cooled down from last night warming up again, almost in anticipation.

“Only if you want,” You whispered, hand brushing through the shadows of his hair–silky and cool, like clouded moonlight.

”I want to try you,” He replied quietly. His voice dropped into something heavier, something nearly holy in tone, “So yes. I want to.” His hand traced down from your back to your side, his fingers skating lightly over your hipbone, as if memorizing the way you fit under his touch.

”I want to know the shape of your pleasure,” He continued softly, shifting forward a bit, “How it tastes. How it lingers.” You shivered at the words, feeling his lips press against your jaw, then to the hollow just beneath your ear.

”I want you etched on my tongue,” He whispered, his breath fanning over your skin, bringing up little goosebumps across it, “So I’ll still remember you even in the parts of me that forget time…Or self.” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest now, as you swallowed hard, your throat tightening slightly.

“I want the first thing I learn fully to be you,” He added, voice barely more than a breath now, “And the last thing I taste, when I disappear again…” Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for him, tracing the glowing freckles on his shoulder, the star map of your tether to him, “Did that convince you enough?” He asked, a bit breathless already, you didn’t know if it was due to nerves or excitement, but you nodded.

”Yes…” His lips pressed to your neck again–barely there–as his body began to shift, the cool weight of him moving with deliberate grace. His hands mapped a slow, unspoken permission along your sides before guiding you gently onto your back. The mattress dipped with the motion, and you allowed him to move you, your body yielding beneath the soft pull of his hands, your legs parting just enough to cradle him between them.

He settled there, cushioned between your thighs, one arm wrapped loosely around your hip while the other steadied himself just above your ribs. You could feel his breath hitch slightly–like even now, even after last night, the intimacy of this moment made him pause, made him take it in and drink up every minute.

Then he dipped down again.

Gentle, deliberate kisses began at your collarbone. Then lower. The swell of your breast, the hollow of your sternum, the curve of your belly. Each kiss was slow, placed like a blessing, like each patch of skin he touched was a line from a sacred text that he was committing to himself and to memory. You felt like a holy scripture beneath him, a verse he didn’t want to misquote. A prophecy he’d been waiting to fulfill.

Your hands rubbed up and down the slope of his shoulders, grounding yourself with the feeling of his form–cool, strong, fluid under your fingers. His hair was slightly disheveled from the night before, strands standing on end and hanging forward over his face, and you swept them back gently, revealing the shine of stardust freckles dusted across his cheekbones and temple. He looked…Peaceful. No less inhuman, but deeply softened by presence. By purpose.

And just as he reached the point where he wanted to be–where he could feel the heat of you pressed close and trembling–your fingers pushed the comforter down to your waist. You wanted to see him. To see all of him in the light.

Golden sunlight spilled across the room, painting your skin in warmth and his in faint glitter. It caught on the sharp edges of his face, on the fainter points of his silhouette. And when he glanced up and saw the way you’d pulled the covers away, his lips parted into a small smile. It was shy, almost boyish–if shadows could ever look innocent–and you swore his teeth caught the light like diamonds for the briefest moment.

He kissed your thighs, both of them. Once. Then again. Then a third time. Nuzzling his cheek against the soft flesh there like it soothed him just as much as it did you. You could feel his fingers adjusting your legs, repositioning them until you were fully open to him–utterly exposed and glistening beneath the morning sun.

It was vulnerable in a way that startled you. Not from fear, but from awareness. Awareness of how raw and real and unhidden it all was. There was no hiding in candlelight here. No veil of night to protect your insecurities. Just you. Bare, radiant, and shaking slightly under the watchful eyes of something born from eternity.

He noticed it immediately. The way your breath caught. The subtle tension in your thighs. His head lifted just enough so that he could meet your gaze again, the glowing galaxies in his eyes suddenly soft.

“You okay?” He asked gently, voice low, as if trying not to break the quiet intimacy that had settled around the two of you like a fog.

You let out a short breath, heart hammering just slightly harder now. “Yeah…Yeah, you’re just…Staring.”

His lips curved as he leaned in and kissed the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“I’m staring because you’re beautiful,” He said plainly. “Not for any other reason.” You swallowed hard at that. The words were so honest, so direct, that they unraveled some small knot inside your chest. He wasn’t gawking. He wasn’t objectifying. He was simply… Beholding. His eyes never left yours, even as his lips brushed the inside of your thigh again–lower this time, closer. You could feel the cool, steady warmth of his breath fan against the slick heat of you, and your hips twitched instinctively, a small motion that didn’t escape him.

“Can I continue?” He asked, voice low and velvet-smooth, like he needed you to invite him in.

You nodded–slow, breathless, a tremble in your jaw. “Yes… please.”

His hands found your stomach, large and careful, palms splayed flat against your skin like he was grounding you and himself at once. You watched the way his fingers settled just beneath your ribs, thumbs tucked softly along the dip of your waist as his shoulders nudged higher, easing between your thighs. The backs of them pressed firm and steady to your skin, anchoring you in place as he lowered himself with slow precision.

He kissed right beside your core–just to the side of where you ached for him most–and you felt the low, deep thrum of desire pulse in your belly, blooming warm and eager. The anticipation alone made your thighs tense slightly, your breath catching at the way he paused there, lips pressed to the delicate skin like it was a vow. A beginning.

Then his tongue met you.

Slow. Careful. Reverent.

He licked through your folds with a gentleness that stole the air from your lungs, tasting the way your body still held the remnants of him from the night before. You heard the breath leave his throat–not a groan, not a growl–just a sigh. Pure and content, like he’d been craving this for centuries and had finally been allowed to have it.

His eyes fluttered up to you, heavy-lidded, already looking intoxicated by the taste of you, and his mouth curved against your flesh.

“You taste like every galaxy encompassed into one…I could live forever between these thighs of yours.” Your grip tightened on his thumbs where his hands still rested on your stomach. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding them so delicately until your fingers curled tighter, the pressure grounding you as his mouth returned to you–licking you slowly, firmly, with long, languid strokes that made your spine arch without thinking. His eyes fluttered shut like he was savoring a wine that had aged since the birth of time. He moved like he meant it, every lap of his tongue drawn out with divine patience, the kind that could make someone lose their mind.

You let out a few breathy gasps, soft and trembling, and you felt him hum against you like he could taste the way his pace unraveled you.

His tendrils–cool and alive–began to lift off his back and curl underneath you, sliding beneath the arch of your spine, gently coiling to support you. They helped you lift just enough into him, so that his mouth could stay exactly where he wanted it, where you needed him. Your back arched higher, involuntary, chest rising with each panting breath, and you could feel his rhythm settling into you, molding to the way your body pulsed and moved.

“Fuck…” You whispered, barely audible as your head tipped back. “Void…Oh god…”

It was so quiet–barely more than a moan-shaped breath–but it made him groan low against your core, and that vibration made your hips jerk in surprise. He adjusted to it, licking deeper, more intent now. Your fingers released one of his hands to grab at the edge of a pillow, tugging it toward you and shoving the corner into your mouth just in time to muffle the noise threatening to tear from your throat. Your body shook with the effort of holding it in.

His body shifted more heavily into the mattress, weight sinking with purpose between your thighs as he buried his face deeper into you. You felt it instantly–the change, the surrender of his control. It amazed you that this cosmic force of destruction and shadow, was beginning to unravel just from the way your body responded to him. From your taste. Your breath. The sacred warmth he had found between your legs.

And he moaned again.

It wasn’t measured or calculated this time–it tore from him unbidden, low and needy and aching with reverence. The vibration of it rippled through you, seizing something deep in your belly. His lips were wet and swollen now, his jaw flexing as he sucked your clit gently into his mouth and circled it with the tip of his tongue. Soft at first. Then firmer. Then faster.

You gasped around the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets as your thighs trembled around his head. His tendrils moved in tandem with your mounting pleasure, curling up your arms, sliding around your shoulders, cradling you in places his hands couldn’t reach in that moment. They felt like silk and shadow, kissing your skin like they were worshipping every inch of you they could find. As though your body was a temple and they had come to pray, and worship.

Your eyes welled with tears.

You hadn’t even realized how close you were–how overwhelmed you felt–until your throat tightened with the emotion of it. His hands had left your stomach, now gripping your hips, rubbing slow, grounding circles into the flesh there, steadying you, encouraging you. His mouth stayed fixed to you, tongue swirling faster now, messier, wetter, more desperate.

He wanted this.

He wanted you like this.

His tongue flattened and dragged across your clit in firm, deliberate strokes, then flicked in quick succession, a pattern that had your entire body jerking with each pass. You let out another muffled moan into the pillow, your hips bucking against his face as his moans deepened, louder now, uninhibited. He was losing himself, humming like he could barely breathe from how much he was consuming you, how badly he wanted all of it.

And then–you felt it.

The final shift.

The tendrils coiled tighter behind your back. His grip on your hips firmed just a little more. And his mouth latched onto you, driven by a divine hunger that only he could hold, sucking your clit between his lips while his tongue fluttered and lapped with devastating speed.

Your back arched even more.

“J-Jesus Christ–Void–Oh my god–” You whimpered, voice shaking, the pillow slipping from your mouth as your cries escaped unfiltered now. He groaned against you again, as if your voice alone could make him come undone.

Your orgasm crashed into you like a breaking wave–sharp and all-consuming, stealing the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamped around his head, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as you sobbed his name. Your body pulsed against his mouth, twitching with every aftershock as he licked you through it, devouring everything you gave him, like he needed to make sure you finished completely.

You felt how wet his face and lips were as he pressed himself into you more, moaning like it was a blessing. Like he had waited an eternity to be marked by your pleasure and was finally baptized in it.

Your body quivered violently, overstimulated but still desperate for every lingering touch, every flick of his tongue as he slowed his pace, now pressing languid, open-mouthed kisses to your swollen clit–soothing, and full of longing. His tendrils unwound slightly, loosening their grip like they sensed you were drifting down from the heavens again.

He didn’t move immediately. Didn’t speak. He just held you there, mouth resting gently between your thighs, hands stroking your sides, eyes closed as he breathed you in.

And for a moment…There was only silence.

Silence and the echo of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, pounding out a rhythm only he seemed to know. Your chest rose and fell in sharp little waves, like you couldn’t quite catch your breath, body still trembling in the aftermath. You reached up, blinking hard, and swiped your fingers under your eyes–wet. You let out a shaky, stunned little laugh that broke the silence like sunlight through a stormcloud.

That laugh caught his attention instantly.

The Void’s eyes fluttered open–those soft, shimmering galaxies blinking up at you from between your legs. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, and his voice came out low, gentle, like it didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between you.

“…Are you okay? You’re crying.”

You let out a long, breathy sigh, chest still fluttering from the aftershocks, and reached down, fingers brushing into his hair–those strands of living darkness softening under your touch.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, “That was just…Wow.” He let out a quiet huff of a laugh through his nose, the sound warm and disbelieving.

“That good?”

You nodded, hand trailing from his scalp to his cheek, feeling the dampness there–your own slick and sweat from him and tears from your fingers mixed on his skin, and he leaned into it, kissing your palm once like it was a thank-you.

Then he pressed a few more kisses to your inner thigh–slower, softer now, like he couldn’t help himself–before finally shifting up your body. He crawled up with measured grace, his body blanketing yours as he braced himself with one hand and cupped your face with the other.

“No more soreness?” He murmured, eyes scanning you carefully. His thumb brushed across your cheek like he was checking your temperature, memorizing the softness of your skin. You shifted your hips slightly beneath him, stretching your legs out and curling them back again, testing. There was still a little warmth there, but no pain. No sharpness. You shook your head slowly.

“No… I don’t feel anything…But…” You paused. Just long enough for him to notice.

“But?” He asked, tilting his head, his voice laced with quiet teasing. “You want to ruin my work that quickly?” You rolled your eyes at him and reached down, brushing your thigh deliberately against the firm, unmistakable weight pressed against you.

“I can literally feel you Void.” He grinned faintly–barely there, but enough to show in the dim curve of his mouth. Then he leaned forward and kissed the point of your chin.

“It seems like you’re stalling the return of Bob.” His voice softened a little more, brushing against your ear like a confession. “Nervous to talk to him?” You shook your head.

“I just want to feel you one more time before you go.”

He froze for a second. Then his shoulders rose and fell with a breath–steady, quiet, like he was gathering himself–and he nodded slowly.

“Okay…” He whispered. “Okay.”

He shifted again, his lower body sinking more heavily between your legs, and you felt one of his hands slide down, fingers curling around himself. He kept his eyes on you the entire time–those white-gold pupils glowing faintly in the light–as he guided his length down, dragging it slowly through your slick, your body already wet and open for him.

You both gasped–him with a trembling exhale, and you with a sharp breath that hitched in your throat. It wasn’t just physical–it was something more. A moan shaped like a prayer. A breath that came from somewhere deeper than lungs. Like relief, and awe, and surrender all at once.

And then he started to push in.

The stretch made your thighs twitch, your hands flying back up to his shoulders–scratching, clinging, needing something to hold onto as he began to fill you with aching slowness. His jaw clenched with restraint, eyes flickering down to where your bodies met, then back up to your face like he couldn’t choose which sight he wanted more.

Your hips lifted slightly, just enough to welcome him in deeper, and you leaned up to kiss him—hungry, desperate, breathless. Your lips met his like you were sealing something sacred, your moan swallowed into the heat of his mouth as he sank in further.

He pulled back slightly, only to rock into you again–slow, deliberate, the kind of thrust that made your whole body jolt in place from how precise it was. You both let out those quiet, breathy gasps–small and intimate, the kind of sounds no one else was ever meant to hear. The kind that felt like you were in a confessional booth whispering your sins to one another.

And then–

SLAM.

The door cracked open fast. Too fast. A voice, loud and sharp and absolutely not part of your dreamlike haze, tore through the room like a bullet through glass.

“Hey I was just coming to ch–OH MY GOD–“

Void’s head whipped towards the door, your legs instinctively snapping together against his waist before raising your hand and pushing Walker out of the doorway and slamming it shut, locking it this time.

”Fuck.” You whispered, your hand slowly dragged up your face in sheer horror. The Void turned his head back to you.

”…I better bring Bob back…Right?” And you nod instantly.

——————————

The tension in the kitchen was like static–thick, buzzing, just waiting for something to spark.

You and Bob stood beside each other, not quite touching but not apart either, like the gravity between you hadn’t quite settled yet. You had thrown on a random bathrobe that you had found in Bob’s closet, and you were clutching the edge of it. Bob was in a plain t-shirt and shorts, his hair still a little messy, a faint pink hue still riding high on his cheeks. His fingers tapped nervously, rhythmically, against the surface of the granite countertop, like the movement alone could save him from combusting under the weight of what just happened.

Across from you, the rest of the Thunderbolts sat in stunned silence, coffee mugs and half-eaten protein bars abandoned. Yelena leaned forward slowly, her elbow on the counter and her chin resting in her hand, her eyes locked unapologetically on the dark bruise on your neck. She didn’t even try to hide her smirk. Walker looked like death. Pale. Jaw tight. His hands clenched like he was ready to punch a wall or rip out his own eyeballs. Bucky leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, a single eyebrow raised like he was already halfway through processing the absurdity of it all.

And then Bob spoke.

“I th–thought I was having…A sex dr–dream.”

The silence broke like glass.

Your head whipped toward him. His voice was so tentative, so innocent in comparison to the gravity of what had gone down, that it nearly made you choke. He looked…Genuinely hopeful. Like maybe–just maybe–that tiny piece of honesty would land gently enough to break the tension. As if opening with awkward vulnerability might pad the inevitable crash.

It didn’t.

Walker let out a noise somewhere between a gag and a full-body shudder.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That wasn’t a dream, man. I saw it. I walked in on it. You –he was–you were both–” His voice cracked and broke off entirely, like just recounting it would put him into cardiac arrest.

You sighed, loud and heavy, and braced both palms on the counter. Your whole body sagged a little, the exhaustion from both pleasure and stress catching up all at once

“Listen,” You started, voice hard, addressing the entire group, “What Walker saw…Was something he shouldn’t have seen at all.” You glanced up at the table, jaw tight. Walker’s eyes snapped to you, wild with disbelief.

“It shouldn’t even have been happening in the first place, what the hell are you thinking, Y/N?!” You flinched–not from shame, but frustration boiling to the surface like steam from a cracked pipe.

“Can you just hear me out for once, Walker? Instead of listening to your own fucking voice on repeat?”

All eyes were on you.

The weight of it burned against your skin–Bucky’s steady gaze, Ava’s calculating silence, Yelena’s amusement now tempered with curiosity, Alexei’s raised brows, Walker’s barely-restrained rage. And Bob. Bob stood beside you like a shadow trying to turn into something solid. Nervous, but holding.

Then Bucky broke the silence.

“Well…” He said, slowly, voice even, “Can you at least explain yourself? Because from what Walker is telling us…” He flicked a glance toward Walker without finishing the sentence. “It sounds like you were having sex with The Void.”

Bob shifted beside you. Visibly uncomfortable now. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to step in–to protect you, defend you, say anything that might ease the blow–but he didn’t interrupt. Not yet. His presence, though, was enough. The concern in his eyes was carved into every inch of his face–etched into the tightness of his jaw, the dip of his brow, the way his shoulder leaned just slightly toward yours, like he wanted to shield you from the weight of every stare.

You glanced at him–at the man you had grown such love for, and the power that haunted him–and then back at the team.

“Yes,” You replied clearly, firmly, like you weren’t ashamed, “Yes, I was having sex with The Void.”

Walker sucked in a breath like he was about to explode again–but you raised a hand to cut him off, voice unwavering.

“But it wasn’t the one you’ve encountered. He wasn’t out of control. He wasn’t monstrous. He was…” Your voice faltered only slightly as you looked back at Bob, your hand reaching to gently gesture toward him. “He was like him. Just with Void powers. That’s literally it. He wasn’t hurting me. I promise you–he was soft. He was careful. He wasn’t the threat you all think he is.” The group went quiet again, the air so thick it was hard to breathe. Bob had inched closer to you–so close now that his shoulder brushed yours–and for the first time since you walked into the kitchen, you saw him stand a little straighter. Not out of confidence, but out of instinct. Like if anyone moved toward you too fast, he’d put himself in the middle.

Walker, of course, didn’t back down.

“And how do we know that he isn’t going to turn and void us into our shame rooms again?” His voice sharpened, stabbing through the tension like a blade. “You’re playing a sick, twisted game, Y/N. And one day it’s going to get someone hurt.” There was a pause so long it felt like the Earth stopped rotating. Then–

“Walker,” Bucky said flatly, eyes narrowing, “shut the hell up for a minute.”

Walker’s jaw clicked shut.

Yelena, ever the disruptor, swiveled her stool slightly. “Well…If you have control over him,” she said, tapping her fingernail against the counter, “if you’re really able to coax him out like you say…Then do it right now.”

You blinked at her. “Right now?”

She shrugged, smirking a little. “I’m curious. I want to see what version of The Void you’re describing. Let’s meet your…Other boyfriend.” Alexei snorted into his coffee. Ava muttered something that you didn’t quite catch, though she didn’t look away. Everyone’s eyes were glued to you.

You turned to Bob.

He was already looking at you. Nervous. But not scared. Not of you, at least.

“I–If it’ll help you explain,” He murmured, voice a bit hoarse, “I–I can try to have him come out…”

You reached for his hand without hesitation. The contact was grounding. Solid. Your thumb rubbed slowly over the top of his knuckles, skin soft against the calluses there.

“If you can…” You said gently, “That would be good. Please.” You squeezed his hand, your voice low and quiet just for him. “I’ll explain everything afterward. Okay?”

Bob nodded once.

There was a moment of stillness as Bob closed his eyes.

He didn’t move at first–just stood there, your hand still clasped in his. His breaths were deep and even, like he was meditating. Preparing. Then, slowly, the light in the room seemed to shift. Darker–not in color, but in sensation. Like the gravity had shifted an inch to the left and no one could quite stand the same way anymore.

It started at his fingers. Shadows creeping up his wrists like ink spilled into water, rising with a slow, elegant hunger. You felt the air cool between your bodies as the blackness licked up his forearms and bled into his neck, coating his skin in smooth, gleaming obsidian. His muscles tensed slightly beneath your fingers, but he didn’t let go. The sparkles appeared then–soft glimmers, starbursts of light blooming along his throat and cheeks and jawline. They shimmered over his skin like constellations mapped across a dark sky, forming in the exact places your lips had touched him.

You felt the moment shift behind you. The scraping of a stool. The subtle click of someone’s finger grazing a weapon.

They were readying themselves.

You didn’t let go of his hand.

Within minutes, he was fully transformed. Where Bob had stood moments ago, now stood something else–taller somehow, darker, and dripping with restrained power. The Void.

He let out a slow sigh, the breath cool and steady. His white-gold eyes blinked open–and immediately found you.

“I’m back alrea–”

He cut himself off, mid-word, when he realized it wasn’t just you standing there anymore. His head tilted slightly, eyes sweeping the group. You could still see the flicker of surprise cross his eyes, but it was dulled–tempered by your presence, your touch grounding him like an anchor.

“…Is this show and tell?” He asked, looking back at you with the faintest smirk, the little glimmer of teeth catching your gaze. His voice had that unmistakable timbre to it–low, deep, impossibly smooth.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a small, playful push. “Look at them and introduce yourself, please, before they open fire at you.” He blinked. Then gulped. You could almost laugh at how human the gesture was–how unsure he suddenly seemed with all those eyes on him. He turned slowly, facing the kitchen island, where the rest of the Thunderbolts were staring at him like they’d just seen a ghost…And then watched that ghost crack a shy smile.

“Hey…Everyone,” He said, raising a hand and giving them a slow, uncertain wave. “Uh… Good morning.”

There was dead silence for a beat, then all heads swiveled toward you.

“What’s wrong with his face?” Ava asked, her brows furrowing.

You frowned a little, confused. “What?”

She motioned to his cheeks and lips, squinting. “Does he have…Stars on him?” The Void glanced sideways at you, like he didn’t quite know how to answer that himself.

You looked at her and nodded. “Yeah, they’re…From me,” You added after a pause. “It’s everywhere I kissed him.” That seemed to only further stun the group. The Void cleared his throat, taking a tentative step forward–just enough to stand at your side again.

“I am not the same thing you faced in New York,” He said softly, his voice carrying with unnatural ease across the kitchen. “I’m changed. I’m–”

“Rehabilitated?” Yelena cut in, her voice dry.

The Void hesitated. Then let out a breath of something that might’ve been a laugh. “Not exactly. But…I’m different, I know it may not seem like it, but truly…You guys just haven’t given me a chance.” Bucky’s arms were still folded, his posture tense and unreadable—but his eyes were locked on The Void with the kind of hardened suspicion that only came from seeing too much.

“And how can we trust,” He said coolly, “that you’re not just trying to get in good with her so she lets her guard down–and you take advantage of the situation?”

The words landed like a slap.

The Void didn’t flinch, but he did sigh–long and slow, like he’d expected it, like he didn’t even blame Bucky for asking.

“I’m not going to do that to her,” He whispered, quieter now. “She’s… She’s my–”

He stopped.

The word sat there in the back of his throat, heavy, unspoken. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering shut for just a second like the confession pained him somehow–too large to say out loud, too raw to release fully. And then he exhaled and muttered, almost like he hated how serious it made him sound:

“She’s my soulmate.” The silence was deafening. All oxygen in the room seemed to vanish for a moment. “I won’t harm her,” He added, more firmly now. “And I’m not going to hurt any of you–because you’re her friends. And also…” He glanced down slightly, like he was still trying to wrap his head around the feelings threading through him, “Because Bob cares about you guys. So I… I have to care too, and I’ve been trying my best to care.” His glowing eyes scanned them again, this time slower. Less wary. More human.

“Can you guys just…Trust me? Please.” There was another pause.

A long one.

And then, finally–

“You two are soulmates?” Alexei asked, like he had misheard what was said. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

“It’s very confusing, I know. Just…Don’t overthink it. Please. For your own sake.” There was a beat of silence where no one moved–until Bucky finally turned to you, one brow still raised in that infuriatingly calm, world-weary way of his.

“So basically,” he said slowly, “we need to get used to seeing this guy around more often, then?”

You shook your head quickly, hands lifting in a light defensive gesture. “No. No, it’s not like that–at least, not yet. You’ll probably just…See him about as often as Bob. I guess.” You glanced up at the Void, whose glowing eyes were still quietly watching the team like he hadn’t blinked once. “I really don’t know for sure because this literally just happened. We’re figuring it out too.”

There was a pause as the team looked at each other–some with uncertainty, others with resigned confusion. Yelena leaned toward Ava and whispered something that made her snort. Alexei just kept blinking like someone was going to eventually shout gotcha! and reset the universe.

Then Walker finally muttered, “We don’t really have a choice, do we?” He motioned toward the Void, his face still pale. “He’s staring us down.”

“I’m just looking, and judging very very quietly on how I can get out of this a little less embarrassed.” Yelena smirked.