#void fic

Scott

It happened fast. One second you were teasing him in the Danger Room—“Bet you couldn’t hit a target without your visor”—and the next, a flicker of red light shot past your shoulder. Except it didn’t miss. You hit the floor with a grunt, shoulder scorched, pain blooming deep even if your healing factor already kicked in. Scott was beside you in a second, pale and wide-eyed. “Y/N—shit—are you okay?” You winced, half-laughing. “I mean… technically? Still alive. Jacket’s dead, though.” His hand hovered like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I wasn’t even aiming, I didn’t mean to—God, I’m so sorry.” You caught his hand, voice soft. “Hey. I can’t die, remember? You just gave me a really intense love tap.” “That’s not funny.” “It kinda is.” His jaw clenched. “I’m supposed to protect you. Not hurt you.” “And you do. Every day. Accidents happen, Scott.” You gave him a tired smile. “At least it was me and not, you know, someone fragile.” He pulled you into a gentle hug, still tense. “You’re getting two milkshakes out of this.” “And a new jacket,” you mumbled into his chest. “Deal.”

Bob

It happened in a blink—one second you were walking beside Bob in Central Park, fingers laced, the next your foot caught his as he stepped sideways, and you hit the pavement hard. “Oh—God, Y/N!” Bob dropped beside you in an instant, panic blooming behind his eyes. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t looking—I tripped you—are you okay?” Your palms were scraped, your knees throbbed, but the way his voice cracked hurt worse. “I’m okay,” you murmured, trying to sit up. “It’s not—” But he was already scooping you into his arms like you were made of glass. “No, you’re not,” he muttered, voice low and trembling. “How could you hurt her, stupid… idiot… can’t even walk straight without—” “Bob.” You cupped his cheek weakly. “It was an accident.” He didn’t answer, just held you closer and took off, walking faster back toward the Tower, eyes shining with shame. After arriving he ever so gently laid you in bed, like you’d break if he breathed too hard, and still wouldn’t meet your eyes. You pressed your forehead to his. “I’m fine, Bob. You didn’t break me.” “I could’ve,” he whispered. “And that’s enough to make me hate myself for a while.” You didn’t argue. You just wrapped your arms around his neck and let him hold you like you were the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

Sentry

You’d only touched his arm—trying to ground him mid-panic—and the energy lashed out like a sunflare, knocking you off your feet and sending you skidding across the rooftop. The moment it happened, the gold in his eyes dimmed. Sentry blurred across the distance, on his knees at your side before you’d even groaned. “No,” he whispered, voice trembling like distant thunder. “No, no—Goddess, what have I done…” You blinked up at him, dazed, blood at the corner of your lip. “Hey… it’s okay, I—” But he was already cradling you with such reverence it made your heart ache. His glowing hands hovered, brushing over your skin with featherlight care as if touch alone could heal you. “I didn’t mean to—never to you—how could I be so careless?” he murmured, brow pressed to your forehead. “My radiant one… my light, I nearly scorched the stars from your eyes…” You flushed hard, eyes wide. “I-I’m really okay—” “No.” His voice dropped to a worshipful whisper. “You are everything. And I… I’m fire. Chaos. I don’t deserve to touch you, not even like this.” “Sen,” you said softly—but he wasn’t Bob. Not now. He was something ancient. Divine. Crumbling beneath guilt. And yet he held you like you were sacred. Like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. You were still blushing when he whispered, “You’re my goddess. My only peace.” God help you—you almost melted right there.

Void

He only meant to be kind. You looked tired, worn down. So the Void started the shower for you—hot, blistering, purifying. The way he liked it. He thought you’d appreciate the heat. He didn’t expect the scream. You’d barely stepped in when your voice rang out, sharp and pained—and then came the thud of you hitting the tile. He was there instantly, tearing the curtain aside, catching you as you stumbled back, your skin flushed raw. “The hell were you doing?” you hissed, shaking, clutching your arm. “It’s scalding—” His jaw tensed. “Then maybe you should’ve checked before jumping in like a fool.” You stared at him, stunned. “You started it for me.” “I started it how I thought you’d want it. I’m not psychic.” His voice was sharp, unkind—but his hands were already on you, steadying, inspecting the burns with a cold precision that trembled at the edges. “You’re not made for things like this,” he muttered. “Fragile skin. Warm blood. You expect fire and touch to feel the same?” You flinched at his words—but he caught your chin, tilting your head to meet his glowing gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not Bob. I don’t coddle. I’m not Sentry. I don’t worship.” But even as he said it, his thumb brushed your cheek with infuriating gentleness. “You think I meant to hurt you? That I wanted to hear you cry out like that?” His voice cracked, just for a second. Then, quieter—angrier, but aimed at himself: “Stupid thing. Why would you trust something like me with comfort?” You didn’t answer—just watched him crumble under his own cruelty. He leaned in, lips brushing your temple “I’d burn this world before I let anyone else hurt you,” he whispered. “But you? You walk straight into my fire and act surprised when it burns.” And still, his hand cradled you like something holy. Still, you blushed under his words. Because even in his fury, even in denial—he cared for you, even he doesn’t say it.

Bucky

You woke to thrashing. The bedsheets were tangled, Bucky’s chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead as he jerked in place—half-choked whispers spilling from his lips, lost in some nightmare you couldn’t follow. “Bucky,” you murmured, sitting up slowly. “Hey… Bucky, it’s okay, you’re safe.” You reached for him—gentle, careful—but the moment your hand touched his shoulder, he exploded upward, grabbing you so fast it blurred. Cold vibranium wrapped around your throat. You froze—his hand tightening just enough to steal breath, not break bone. His eyes were wide, feral, gone. “Bucky—” you choked. And then the world snapped back into place. His grip released instantly, as if burned. You collapsed against the pillows, coughing. He staggered away from the bed like he’d been shot, back hitting the doorframe, panic etched into every inch of him. “Oh my God—no—no, I didn’t—” You sat up, touching your throat, feeling the bruise already forming. “Bucky, it’s okay, you were dreaming—“ “I grabbed you.” His voice broke. “I hurt you.” “It was an accident,” you said softly, stepping toward him. He backed up like you were the one with the knife. “Don’t. Don’t come closer.” You stopped, heart aching. “I’m not afraid of you.” “You should be.” He looked haunted—like Winter Soldier was still inside him, claws sunk in deep. But you just whispered, “You’re not him anymore.” And slowly, slowly, his back slid down the doorframe until he sat on the floor, shaking. Still breathing. Still here.

John

It all happened in a blur. John hurled the shield at the last merc with a grunt—clean, practiced, perfect form. It hit, bounced off a metal pillar—and then crack. A sharp whimper followed. Not from the enemy. His heart dropped. He turned. You were on the ground, curled halfway on your side, hand cradling your face. Blood streaked through your fingers, dripping from a deep gash running across your cheek and split lips. “Y/N—” You didn’t answer—just whimpered again, eyes squeezed shut, breathing shaky. He froze for half a second—only half—before something in him snapped and he turned on the remaining enemies like a storm. Fists, boots, shield—no hesitation, no mercy. It was fast. Brutal. Over. The second the last one fell, he dropped the shield and bolted to your side. “Hey—hey, look at me,” he said, kneeling hard beside you. “Jesus Christ, I—did I—?” Your fingers shifted, revealing the raw slice along your cheek and the blood pooling at the corner of your mouth. His stomach turned. “I didn’t see—I wasn’t aiming for you, I swear to God—fuck, I didn’t—” “I know,” you whispered, voice cracked and trembling. He hovered there, hands out like he wanted to touch you but didn’t trust himself to. “You’re bleeding. God, I hit you with the shield, I—” “I know,” you whispered again. And finally, his hand landed gently on your back, grounding himself. Voice rough, barely holding it together, he murmured, “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I swear I’ll never let that happen again.”

Logan

You thought you could sneak up on him. Logan sat by the fire, eyes closed, lost in some rare moment of peace. Quiet as a cat, you crept closer, ready to surprise him. But then—his head snapped up. The faintest sound had reached his super-sharp senses. Before you could blink, claws slid out with a metallic shing—and grazed your throat. You gasped, hand flying to the sting. A thin red line bloomed where his claw had nicked you. Logan’s eyes widened. “Shit, Y/N. I didn’t mean” You held up a finger, brushing the cut lightly. “It’s okay. Just a scratch.” His jaw clenched, shoulders tight. “Damn it. I’m sorry.” You smiled, stepping closer, voice soft. “You’re not a monster, Logan. You’re just… always ready.” He grunted, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the stealthiest.” You laughed, wincing as the cut stung. “Guess I’m terrible at sneaking.” He smirked, claws retracting with a final click. “You’re lucky I’m not more violent.” “You’re lucky I love you anyway.” He shook his head, a rare warmth in his eyes. “Hell of a way to say it.”

(Would yall like one where they hurt you during bedroom time??)

Claudio/Yoots for ...discreetly. I got you Anon. Set directly after the I'm no one's pawn/Shut up moment.

The time where I have to subject myself to Voltron Season 8 for the next chapter.

Summary:

There is no up or down in the Void. No forward or back or diagonal.

The Ginnungagap is always hungry.

(In which Loki is falling.)

Notes:

If you were to write a sequel to any story, which would it be and what shape would it take?

Scott

His hands were everywhere, mouth hot on your skin, and the tension between you had finally snapped. But in the heat of it, he gripped your side too tightly, fingers pressing into a sore spot from training with Logan. You gasped, body jerking, and Scott immediately froze—eyes wide, panic creeping in. “Did I—? Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” You shook your head, breath shaky. “It’s okay, just a bruise.” But the guilt was already on his face, his touch retreating like he’d burned you. “You shouldn’t have to flinch when I touch you,” he murmured, voice low and rough with emotion. You cupped his cheek gently, grounding him. “You didn’t mean to. I trust you.” Something in him softened, then shifted—his gaze darkened with quiet need. “Let me make it better,” he whispered, lowering you back against the sheets. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take my time.” And he did—hands reverent, mouth patient, as if he needed to remind both of you that you were safe in his arms.

Bob

Bob had you spread out beneath him, his mouth working you over like he was starved for the taste of you. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers pushed you higher, over and over again until your thighs were shaking and tears pricked your eyes from the intensity. He didn’t let up—not when you gasped, not when your hips twitched away from his mouth. “One more,” he murmured against you like a prayer. “Just one more for me, sweets.” But your body couldn’t take another. Overwhelmed, breath hitched, you whimpered, “Red… Bob—red.” He stopped instantly. Pulled back. Sat up with panic flickering through his eyes. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he breathed, already brushing hair from your face, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. You nodded, panting, voice weak but steady. “I’m okay. Just… needed to breathe.” He exhaled slowly, holding your hand like it tethered him. “Thank you for telling me. Always stop when you say.” After a long pause and the quiet thrum of comfort between you, you smiled up at him, flushed and soft. “I’m okay now.” Bob gave you a slow, reverent look, “Are you sure sweets? We don’t have to continue.” “Yes Bob. I need you.” He leaned in again, his voice low and full of heat. “Then let me make you fall apart gently this time.”

Sentry

Sentry moved above you like a force of nature—his body glowing faintly, muscles trembling with restraint that was slowly slipping. He was lost in you, groaning your name like it was the only word he remembered. But his thrusts grew rougher, deeper—just a little too much—and the heat in your core blurred into a sharp ache. You reached up, gripped his bicep. Once. Twice. Three times. His entire body froze, gold-lit eyes immediately snapping to yours, expression shifting from bliss to wide-eyed guilt. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, breath caught, hands already shaking. Before you could speak, he was easing out of you, murmuring apologies as if every word came from his soul. “You’re not meant to be handled like that. You’re sacred.” He kissed every inch of skin he’d held too tight, lifted you gently into his arms like you were something fragile and divine. Within minutes, he’d drawn a warm bath—scented, calming—and settled you into it, kneeling beside the tub as he stroked your thigh with trembling fingers. “I lost myself,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll remember to never hurt you, my goddess.” And even as your body still ached faintly, all you could feel was love wrapped in golden light.

Void

His hand was tight around your throat, holding you down as he thrust into you with an intensity that bordered on brutal. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t gasp—your body arching beneath him, stars dancing at the edge of your vision. The Void was lost in it, in you, in the way you took every snap of his hips like you were made for it. But your nails clawed weakly at his wrist, not for balance—this time for air. It wasn’t until your eyes fluttered, lashes trembling, that he stilled—jaw tight as he suddenly registered the faint slack in your limbs. His hand released instantly. You gasped, coughing, lungs greedy for breath. He stared down at you, chest heaving, guilt masked with a sneer. “Tch. Look at you,” he muttered, wiping a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Fragile little thing. Can’t even take what you asked for without falling apart.” But there was something softer under the words, in the way he shifted you into his lap, holding you as you calmed, tucking your face to his chest. “I didn’t mean to take it that far.” His tone was sharp, but his grip was steady. Possessive. Protective. “You don’t get to die on me, you hear?” A pause. Then quieter—almost tender: “Next time, use the signal. You breathe when I say you stop, not when your body does.” And yet, his lips still pressed to your temple. Still grounding. Still yours.

Bucky

Bucky had you beneath him, hips rolling slow but deep, skin damp, body trembling under his. But it was your lips—God, your lips—that he kept coming back to, crushing kiss after kiss between ragged breaths. He moaned against your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek as if you’d disappear if he stopped touching you. Then he bit down—too hard. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed across your bottom lip, and you whimpered into his mouth, flinching. He pulled back instantly, eyes wide with panic. Blood welled where he’d bitten you. “Shit—baby, I’m sorry,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lip as if he could undo it. “I didn’t mean to—I just… I get carried away when it’s you.” You shook your head, still dazed, breathless, lips swollen. “It’s okay,” you whispered, even as the sting lingered. He leaned down again, gentler now, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, like penance. “Your lips,” he murmured, voice rough, almost reverent, “they’re my favorite part of you. When I kiss you, it’s the only time my head goes quiet.” His hips never stopped moving, but slower now—less desperate, more devoted. He cupped your face like it was fragile. “Next time I bite,” he said against your skin, voice low and teasing now, “I’ll ask first.”

John

John had you bent forward, you on your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips, fucking you deep and steady from behind with that familiar mix of control and hunger. He reached for your hair, wrapping it around his fist to pull you back into his chest—something he’d done before, something you liked. But this time, the yank was too hard. You yelped, sharp and startled, and the sound cracked through him like a gunshot. He let go immediately, pulling out so fast you nearly lost your balance before he caught you, already flipping you gently onto your back. “Shit—shit, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think—are you okay?” You blinked up at him, breathless but not in pain, hand reaching to cup his jaw. “John, I’m fine. Really.” But he was already sinking down beside you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish. “No, we’re done. I’m not risking hurting you again,” he muttered into your hair. His heart was racing against your back, muscles tense even as he held you. “You trusted me, and I got too rough. That’s not happening again tonight.” You sighed, cuddling into his chest as he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, murmuring half-apologies and promises like he needed to say them more than you needed to hear them.

Logan