#sentry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 2 days ago

Text

Shake Me Down

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Fem!Reader!

Summary: Sentry pays you a visit one night at your apartment.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, A hint of Angst, Reader and Bob are in an established relationship.

Smut Warnings: Oral (female and male receiving), Hand Job, Fingering, Praising/Worshipping, Gagging (brief), Biting, Marking, Spitting, Swallowing, Aftercare

Author’s Note: I was so excited to write this idea up, I found it to be so interesting to explore the dynamics between these two and I typed this out so fast it’s not even funny. Soft Sentry for the win lol! Enjoy <3 (also this gif is….AHSHSHHDUIEHIEN)

Word Count: 7,675

The first sound stirred you from sleep like a pebble thrown into a still pond. A light clink. You blinked slowly, completely disoriented from the haze of sleep you were in, the amber glow of your bedside lamp casting a warm blur across the room. You had meant to turn it off but you must’ve passed out with it on again–book on your chest, half-read, with the comforter tangled at your waist.

Then came a rustle of plastic. The distinct crinkling of a chip bag being manhandled, followed by another quiet clang of ceramic against granite. Your brows furrowed, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hand before squinting at your clock.

12:47 a.m.

More rustling echoed through your tiny apartment once more as the fog in your head began to clear, just enough to register the unease that was blooming in your chest. The sounds definitely weren’t from a neighbour, it was coming from your kitchen, and those noises were your mugs being clinked together, and that rustling was your snack drawer being raided.

You sat up sharply, heart stammering in your chest, slipping out of bed and padding barefoot to your bedroom door, instinctively reaching for your baseball bat that leaned against the frame–your faithful, dented aluminum standby from college, which was comforting in your grip even if your hands were slightly trembling. You slowly opened your door, and crept down the hallway, keeping close to the wall, your weight shifting carefully from one foot to the other to make sure your footsteps were light. The apartment was quiet except for those shuffling sounds, and–

Click.

The television turned on, and you froze dead in your tracks. The blue-white flicker illuminated the hallway carpet like moonlight. A documentary narrator’s voice was audible now, but low, a level just above mute–he was saying something about Arctic migration patterns, probably in regards to penguins, or some other animal.

You tightened your grip on the bat, not wanting to let your guard down until you laid eyes on the intruder to size them up. Slowly, you stepped fully into the open area of your living room.

And there he was.

Sentry. Sitting on your brown leather couch like the world’s most exhausted god, half-slouched, boots muddy, with his cape bunched awkwardly against the cushion beside him. The dim light from the screen gleamed off the intricate gold weave of his suit–a textured, armor-like material that hugged his body in angular, segmented panels. It looked almost scaled, patterned with tiny hexagonal ridges that caught the light like hammered metal. The black accents at his shoulders and down his ribs framed his chest like a sculpted plate, the bright golden hue glowing faintly beneath it all, as if it were lit from within. His large belt sat in the middle of his waist bearing his ‘S’ insignia, stark and bold in the midst of everything else. His brown hair was a mess–presumably from flying.

Three different open chip bags littered the coffee table. One laid in his lap, ripped open with the ferocity of someone in pure despair. Crumbs speckled the usually immaculate stretch of his chest, glinting like stardust in the lighting. He looked up at you, startled mid-chew cheeks puffed out slightly, mouth full of chips.

His eyes met yours with the intensity of a solar flare. No soft blue, no traces of Bob. Just molten gold, glowing low and steady like the sun had been caught in his irises–barely restrained. And within that gold were dimmed specks of orange, flickering like sparks from a fire that hadn’t quite been extinguished–like a bonfire left to smolder in silence.

And yet–his expression was nothing but weary. Almost sheepish, as he stared at you with chip dust smeared on his fingers.

”Sentry, what the hell?” You blurted, lowering the bat slowly to your side. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, but now it wasn’t from fear, it was from the fact your partner was sitting in front of you in such an odd form of domesticity. He blinked once, his gaze dipping briefly to the weapon in your hand before flicking back up to your face. His jaw shifted, chewing quickly, and swallowing loudly.

“Hey,” He whispered. The word came out a little rough, but it was the same, quiet rasp that sounded more human than his power ever allowed him to feel. You exhaled a shaky breath, leaning the bat against the bookshelf beside you.

”How did you get in?” You asked. He motioned vaguely toward the balcony with his chip-stained fingers.

”I…Unlocked it,” He murmured, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” You followed the motion and glanced over your shoulder. Sure enough, the glass door was cracked open just slightly–just enough for him to have slipped in unnoticed, silent as starlight. A faint draft of summer night air tugged at the corner of the curtain.

“I can hear your heartbeat going a little…Off the charts.” He added softly, like it was an apology. You sighed, rubbing at your temple with slow circles, trying to force your pulse to slow down.

”Ever think of texting before breaking and entering?” You joked, attempting to change the subject. He glanced down at himself again and gestured to his suit.

”Can’t carry my phone if I don’t have pockets.” You groaned softly, pinching the bridge of your nose.

”Right…Forgot Val didn’t think of that when she designed it.” You murmured.

”She said it would ruin the silhouette.” He explained, reaching into the bag again, poppin another chip into his mouth. He crunched quickly, chewing hard–like he was trying to get the action over with before you could say anything else. “It wouldn’t look good if there were pockets, according to her at least.” He added, shrugging as he leaned back awkwardly against the couch. The golden panels of his suit stretched and creased slightly with motion, now showing a bit of strain. He grabbed another larger handful of chips, shoving them all into his mouth, chewing with the same ferocity as before, adding more crumbs to the front of his suit. Your brows lifted in concern.

”Are you alright?” He blinked up at you, mid-chew, then stilled, “You’re stress eating.” You pointed out. To your quiet surprise–he began to blush. The glow in his eyes dimmed just enough to make space for the faint redness that bloomed across his cheekbones, a slow flush spreading against the paleness of his skin like dusk settling into the clouds. He didn’t reply.

You moved toward him gently, stepping over the curve of the rug and brushing the stray chip bags off the coffee table before sitting down on its edge–close, right in front of him. The wood creaked softly under your weight. You didn’t speak at first. You just looked at him. Took him in. Let the stillness settle. His eyes had shifted back down to the crumpled bag in his hands, the edges greasy and dusted orange. He held it like it was shielding him from something. Like it might keep his hands busy enough to stop the burning inside his chest. You let out a breath and leaned forward, closing the space between you with something more solid–more grounding.

Your hand found his thigh. The armor was warm beneath your palm, humming faintly with heat and restrained energy, the hexagonal texture biting just slightly against your skin. He stiffened–barely–but didn’t pull away.

“Sentry…Look at me.” You said quietly, your thumb brushing in slow calming circles. He hesitated for a moment, before bringing his eyes back up to yours. Being within closer range made you see how tired he was. His shoulder sagged beneath the pressure of it, even with all that power braided into the suit and his skin, he was still a mere human beneath it all–inside the god complex that screamed and brooded in the body that belonged to Bob.

“I can see your mind is racing…Tell me what’s going on, Sunbeam.” You watched him closely, the way his lips parted like he might speak and then thought better of it. He bit the inside of his cheek instead. The chip bag crinkled as he rolled it closed with practiced movements, hands working just to keep them busy. Then he leaned forward and set it down gently beside you on the table, sighing through his nose like it physically pained him to say it aloud.

”…They’re thinking of sending me on my own mission in a few weeks.” Your brows lifted at that, and the corners of your lips curled into a small, warm smile, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze.

”Sentry, that’s amazing news…” You shifted forward, your body leaning closer, drawn in by him. The edge of the coffee table dug a little into the back of your bare thighs, but you didn’t care. You were practically hovering, barely balanced, and all your attention was on him–on the fragile look on his face, “Why do you seem sad about it?” You asked softly. He stared at the floor like the grain of the hardwood could provide him with the answers he couldn’t find anywhere else.

”I don’t think I’m cut out to be alone already.” He replied, almost too quiet to catch. You let out a soft, breathy laugh–not mocking, not dismissive. Just surprised by how deeply he doubted himself, even though he was an all powerful god rolled into a man.

”When Yelena calls me she’s always boasting about how good you’ve been doing on missions,” You started gently, “If they didn’t think you were ready, they wouldn’t have assigned you something like this.” He frowned, the glow in his eyes dimming low like embers nearing the edge of exhaustion. And then–slowly, silently–he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to your shoulder. You caught him instantly, like you were expecting the collapse.

The weight of him settled into you with more gravity than it should’ve–like the cape, boots, and plated armor had finally grown too heavy to bear on his own. His body curved in towards yours with a quiet, desperate trust, breath warm against the fabric on your chest, shoulder sagging in a way you didn’t often get to see from Sentry. You could smell him now. Not just the chips and worn leather, and certainly not the heat from the friction of flight. There was something solar to him–metal warmed in sunlight, a touch of ozone and petrichor, the scent of scorched cedar and golden amber caught in the fabric of his suit. It was like you were standing in the middle of a forest during a deathly heatwave.

You exhaled through your nose and brought your arms up around his neck, cradling him against you. One hand slid into his hair–warm and thick with flight-tangled strands–while the other smoothed down the back of his cape. You could feel him inhale shakily, pressing closer to you as he sank further into your arms.

“What if I make a mistake…” He whispered, the words barely audible against your shirt, “What if someone ends up getting hurt?” You closed your eyes for a second, letting yourself feel it–the way he fit against you even in all that armor, the way his fear wasn’t about himself at all. You started to sway gently, rocking the both of you like you were trying to soothe him.

”It hasn’t happened yet, has it?” You murmured into his hair, and he shook his head.

”No…But it could.”

”You’re overthinking things, Sentry.” He sighed into you, and you felt the movement of it ripple through the solid chest pressed against yours. His arms came up around your waist then–slow and wide. His hands curled across your lower back, his cool armor pressing through your shirt, as he trembled slightly.

”Every time I put on this suit,” He started, his voice breaking on the edges, “It’s like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. And all I can think about is when everything is going to come crashing down around me.” You wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders and turned your head, kissing just below his ear. He shuddered at the contact, his arms tightening around you.

”You’ve been doing this for ten months now, and nothing has come crashing down.” You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, “You’ve come so far, Sentry. You should be proud of yourself.” The golden light in his eyes flickered–briefly brightening, like your words had sparked something inside him. But still, the ache in his expression lingered, like he didn’t know how to let go of the fear even if he wanted to. He drew in a deep breath, arms tightening slightly around your waist as if grounding himself in the curve of your body. And then–with barely a sound–you felt his hands slide lower. Strong palms curved down over the curve of your hips, cupping beneath your bottom. He moved with an ease that belied how heavy the armor must have been, his strength barely registering as effort. You gasped softly as your body was lifted–gently, deliberately–off the edge of the coffee table.

He leaned back into the couch, shifting until the worn leather cushions creaked beneath him, pulling you into his lap like you belonged there. Your knees came to rest on either side of his thighs, bracketing his golden form, your chest brushing his. The glow from the television flickered behind you both, throwing pale blue and amber light across his face as he looked up at you–breathed you in like you were his form of special oxygen. You reached up, cupping his face in both hands. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the faintest sheen of sweat lingering at the edges of his temple, flushed from emotion. You traced the high line of his cheekbones with your thumbs, sweeping in slow, grounding strokes. His golden eyes fluttered for a moment–half-lidded, overwhelmed–and then opened wide, locking onto yours.

”I can’t be proud of myself,” He murmured, “Not when I’m constantly thinking about the possibility of losing control.” Your heart ached at the way he said it–not afraid for himself, but afraid of what he might turn back into. Afraid of the destruction he believed he carried like a second skin. But to you, there was no fear in his touch. No danger in his eyes. Only devotion. Only restraint. Only him. You shifted gently in his lap, drawing closer until your chest pressed to his, your legs tightening on either side of him, and your forehead almost brushed his.

“Well, I’m proud of you,” You whispered, letting the truth hang heavy in the space between you. His hands had stilled on your waist now, his breath shaky beneath you. “And everyone around you is proud of you.”

Your voice softened even further, almost a hush between heartbeats.

“You’ve got all the support in the world…” You leaned in, your nose brushing his, thumbs still caressing along the strong lines of his face. His eyes searched yours like he couldn’t believe the quiet praise–like he was starving for it.

“…You were made to be a hero, Sentry…” Your voice dropped to barely above a whisper, as you slowly closed the space between your mouths. The kiss was slow and firm. His lips were hot and trembling against yours, mouth pliant beneath the softness of your touch. His hands splayed wide across your back, pulling you even closer, shifting your body so you were molded against him. When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe against his mouth, you pressed your forehead to his again. He gulped loudly, his lashes fluttering open, the gold burning brighter than before.

”…Say it again,” He whispered. Your brows knit together slightly, running your thumbs over his cheeks again.

”Which part?” You asked softly, feeling his arms tighten around you.

”…That you’re proud of me.” Your chest caved in a little at that. At how fragile it sounded coming from someone so invincible. You’d never heard him sound so…Gentle. Like he hadn’t gotten those words nearly as often as he should’ve. Like hearing them once wasn’t enough to last through the night. You leaned in again, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks, grounding him with every breath you took. You kissed the tip of his nose, tender and light, before brushing your lips softly against his cheek. His skin was so warm now, flushed beneath your palms like he’d been lit from within, the glow in his eyes low and steady again–no longer storming, just present. And his smile…It was small, a little crooked, but it was real.

“I’m proud of everything you, Bob, and The Void do every day,” You whispered. “I know I don’t say it all the time…And I know I should, but I thought it was obvious.” You leaned in a little closer, voice playful now–threaded with that familiar teasing edge that always made his mouth twitch.

“Especially with the shrine of newspaper clippings I have of every single time an article has been written about you.” His brows ticked up slightly, and you could feel another wave of warmth rush to his face before you even saw the blush that followed.

“…I forgot about that shrine,” He mumbled, clearly flustered at the mention of it. You smirked.

”That’s because I hide it from you. It’s for my eyes only.” The corner of his mouth curled into something lopsided and amused. A breath of a laugh left him–low and soft and stunned like he didn’t know how to process affection that wasn’t conditional, that didn’t come after blood or battle or begging to be understood.

”I’ll find it one day…” He whispered, voice still edged with amusement, fingertips digging just a little deeper into your back like he didn’t want to let you go. You hummed, brushing your nose against him.

”I’m sure you will.” His arms squeezed tighter around your waist, holding you closer, nestling his face into the curve of your neck like it was the only place he felt safe enough to breathe deeply. You felt his lips brush your skin–just once, barely there–but it made your whole chest flutter.

“You always know how to talk me down,” He breathed, his voice warm against your throat.

”Because I see you,” You murmured, your fingers tugging slightly at his hair, “Every single part…Even the ones you hide.” He sighed softly into your neck, the sound barely more than a breath.

“That’s…Why I love you,” He whispered. The words melted against your skin, carried on a current of heat and aching truth. His voice wasn’t grand or booming or wrapped in bravado. It was quiet. Tentative. His hand shifted from your back then, the armor creaking faintly as he lifted it–fingertips brushing along the curve of your shoulder until they reached the hem of your sleeve. He tugged at it gently, coaxing the soft cotton aside to reveal more of your collarbone, more skin for his mouth to map. His lips followed the path with delicate reverence, brushing along the dip of your clavicle like he was kissing something holy.

Your knees pressed a little harder into the cushions on either side of him, and your arms held him close as you whispered back into the space just above his ear:

“I love you too, Sentry.” He paused, just for a moment. You felt his breath catch against your skin–felt the warmth of it and the trembling weight of your words anchoring into his chest like a lifeline. When he pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes were golden and soft, glowing in that way they only did when you were alone. Safe. Needed. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips–a thank-you, a promise, a wordless whisper of comfort folded into warmth. His nose brushed yours when he pulled back, lips curved in the softest smile.

“Think I can catch a shower?” You tilted your head, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Only if I can join you.” That earned a quiet laugh from him. Not one of those deep, belly-deep laughs that came from Bob when he was around the others–no, this one was low and breathy, private. Like it belonged only to you.

“You know I can’t say no to that offer.”

Your grin widened, and you leaned forward to kiss him again, slower this time. You tasted salt and heat and faint chip dust still lingering on his mouth, and he cupped your waist as if he didn’t want to let go. But when you pulled back, your hands slipping from his face, you whispered, “Go get in first. I’ll join you in a bit.” He nodded–reluctantly, like leaving your warmth was its own kind of effort–and you shifted off his lap, the leather beneath you sighing with the change in weight. He stood carefully, the gold panels of his suit gleaming faintly with each movement, his cape slipping down from behind him to drag gently against the rug. His shoulders looked a little less heavy now. A little less burdened. Before turning away, he leaned down to kiss you once more. This one was brief but deliberate, his fingers curling softly beneath your jaw. Then he turned and padded down the hallway, discarding his boots before he tracked dirt through your entire apartment. You heard the bathroom door click open, the quiet thump of it shutting behind him, and then–

The soft rush of water.

You moved quickly, almost on instinct. Clicked off the TV and its low narration about migration patterns, silencing the flickering blue light. Snapped off your living room lamp, casting the space into a velvet-soft darkness broken only by the glow of the kitchen nightlight. You closed the balcony door Sentry had left cracked, locking it with a soft click and pulling the curtain across. The chip bags were next–three of them, all massacred–crumbs scattered like gold dust across the coffee table. You scooped them up and tucked them away, brushing the table clean with the edge of your hand, grabbing a kitchen towel to swipe up the last of the grease.

The apartment was silent now. Peaceful. But not empty.

You padded quietly down the hallway, past the bedroom you’d abandoned, past the soft hum of the fridge, until you reached the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar. Steam curled like fingers through the crack at the bottom. You pushed it open slowly.

The bathroom was dim and dreamy, lit only by the soft glow of your color-changing wall plug-in–cycling slowly from dusky rose to ocean blue to a muted lavender. The haze of steam clung to the air, thick with heat and the scent of water hitting power-warmed skin. The mirror above the sink was completely fogged, reflecting nothing but light and blur. His suit was piled in a careful heap on the floor, the gold and black fabric dulled by the mist, his cape draped over it like a fallen banner.

Through the glass door of the shower you could see Sentry with his hands braced against the tiled wall, head bowed beneath the stream. Water cascaded over his hair, flattening the waves, racing in rivulets down the thick line of his shoulders, his broad back. He wasn’t moving much. Just standing there. Letting the heat soak into him like he needed it to soften high tight muscles. You stood still for a moment. Just watching him. Watching the steam rise off his skin, curling like smoke from a fire that hadn’t quite gone out. It was somehow holy. The sight of him–naked, strong, and so desperately human in that quiet moment–was almost too much to look at directly.

You peeled off your sleep shirt slowly, letting the fabric drift from your fingers before it dropped to the tile with a soft whisper. Your shorts followed, pooling around your ankles. Then you stepped forward–silent and barefoot–and eased open the shower door. The air inside was dense and wet, heat sinking instantly into your skin as you stepped inside, sliding the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing the two of you inside the cloud of steam.

You stepped toward him, reaching out to touch the small of his back, tracing up through the slick droplets of water that sat on his skin, following the deep line of muscle to the space between his shoulder blades. He tensed for half a second, breath catching like he hadn’t realized how much he needed your delicate touch, and then you felt the slow exhale ripple through him. Your hands continued to move, smoothing over his back, trailing your nail along the light brown freckles that were splattered all over the plane of his body. His skin was boiling hot, not scalding–but superheated in that strange way he always was after a mission. You closed the space between your bodies, pressing your chest to his back, arms winding around his waist until your palms rested against the taut plane of his abs. The ridges there tensed beneath your touch.

You sighed softly into the damp space between his shoulder blades, your face tilted toward the spray as the water now poured down over both of you. It streamed over your hair, past your shoulders, dripping between your breasts and over the curves of your body, gliding down your legs in tiny little rivers, warming up your skin, and mixing with the heat of his.

His breath hitched the moment your tongue flicked out and traced a single droplet of water from his spine–slow and warm against his overheated skin. The low, shuddering sigh he released was so quiet you almost missed it over the rush of the shower, but you felt it–felt the way his body relaxed into yours, the way he instinctively shifted his weight back so more of him was pressed to you. His hand slid off the shower wall and came to rest gently over yours where your palms were still splayed across his abdomen. His fingers curled between yours, grounding. Grateful. Needing.

You pressed your lips to the middle of his back in a soft, lingering kiss, tasting salt and warmth and something uniquely him. Then, slowly, he turned. The steam parted between you, curling like lazy smoke around his shoulders as he faced you.

And God, he was beautiful.

Hair soaked and dripping, clinging to his temples. Droplets streamed down his jaw, along the dip of his throat, racing over his chest like the very water was eager to kiss him too. His eyes burned gold–glowing through the mist–but softened entirely when they met yours. The kind of softness only you got to see. The kind that turned gods into something mortal. Something yours. You smiled at him, unable to stop the expression even if you tried.

He reached up, slowly, reverently, both hands cupping your cheeks with infinite tenderness. His thumbs brushed the corners of your mouth, then your jaw, as if memorizing the shape of your smile. And then he leaned in.

The kiss was slow. Deep. Unrushed. His lips were plush and warm, wet from the water and your mouth, and they moved against yours like he was tasting something he’d waited all day for. His tongue met yours with a careful tease, never greedy–just savoring. Cherishing.

When he pulled back, he hovered close. His voice dropped low, rough from emotion and heat.

“Love the way you touch me.”

It was a confession, not a compliment. Like your fingertips meant more to him than the whole world’s applause.

Your hands slid from his stomach to his sides, thumbs brushing the sharp lines of his waist. You gave him a slow, playful squeeze, feeling the solid curve of muscle beneath your palms. Then your fingers glided up over the slope of his ribs, just below the swell of his chest, tracing every dip and rise with aching slowness. He inhaled shakily, the breath filling the space between your bare bodies, and let his head tilt just slightly–like the sensation was almost too much.

His hand came down then, warm and deliberate, cupping the underside of your breast with a gentleness that made you shiver. The pad of his thumb dragged over your nipple slowly, feeling it harden instantly beneath his touch. He drew in a breath, eyes flickering between yours and your chest, marveling like it was the first time he’d ever seen you, ever touched you–even though he had done this just a mere forty eight hours ago.

You gasped softly, hips tilting toward him, your body reacting instinctively to the featherlight pressure and the worship in his gaze. He rubbed his thumb over your nipple again, slower this time, watching the way your lips parted, the way your eyelids fluttered with heat.

“You feel so perfect,” He murmured, almost to himself. You smiled at his quiet confession–at the way his voice caught on the word ‘perfect’ like he was totally under your spell. Your eyes fluttered open, and your hand slid slowly from his ribs down the plane of his torso, feeling the taut heat of his muscles flex beneath your touch, tracing the glistening rivulets of water that chased your fingertips like they were jealous of the path they couldn’t follow. You fingers brushed along the base of his cock and you felt the way he twitched under your touch–already halfhard, heavy and warm against your palm. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just below the hinge. Your lips were soft, slow, lingering. From there, your mouth traced the wet heat of his neck–kissing your way down the strong column, pausing at the spot where his pulse beat like thunder against your tongue. You sucked gently, letting your teeth graze just faintly before your lips soothed over it again. A sound escaped him–low and trembling, almost like a growl wrapped in silk.

Your hand curled around him then. A soft gasp left him as your fingers enclosed his girth–your touch firm. You stroked him slowly at first, teasing up to the tip, dragging your thumb gently over the swollen head, catching the bead of precum there and smoothing it back down the length of him. His hips twitched, and his breath caught. He leaned into you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, and then–

He bit down.

Gently. Slowly. His lips parted around your skin, tongue licking lazily at the slope of your shoulder before his teeth grazed and then pressed–enough to make your thighs clench, to draw a low moan from your throat. He sucked the skin there with deliberate intent, marking you with a possessive tenderness that made your breath catch. You whimpered softly, still stroking him, the water cascading over both of you like rainfall in slow motion.

Then his voice broke through the heat–soft, deep, nearly pleading.

”Can you kneel for me?” He asked softly, the word a silken threat pulled taut with longing, “Please?” You looked up at him, and God…He looked wrecked already. Flushed, glowing, his golden eyes hazy with need. You nodded.

Without hesitation, you knelt. The tiles beneath your knees were slick and warm from the shower’s steam, but you hardly noticed. Your focus was entirely on him. He braced himself on the handrail beside you, one hand curled around the cool metal, the other settling on your hair–guiding, but never forcing. You glanced up once more, and the way he looked down at you made your core ache. Worshipful. Desperate. He didn’t speak, but his parted lips and the slight tremble of his jaw said everything.

You leaned in and kissed the head of his cock softly first–your lips plush and warm. Then, slowly, you opened your mouth and took him in. The groan that tore from his throat was visceral–raw and beautiful. His head tipped back, shoulders braced wide, golden skin taut with restraint.

”Jesus Christ…” He breathed, once breaking like thunder in the mist. You took more of him, inch by inch, letting your tongue flatten and curve beneath the weight of him. You gagged once, and he gasped–but your hands gripped his hips and pulled him closer, needing it, savoring it. The way he filled your mouth made your eyes flutter closed, your body buzzing with heat and purpose. Above you, he was trembling–his thighs taut, his fingers pressing tight on the back of your head but still so gentle, trying so hard not to lose control.

“Sweetheart…Don’t stop…You look so pretty like this, down on your knees for me…” You moaned softly around him, the vibration making him buck just slightly–just once–and he cursed, hips jerking before he caught himself. You bobbed your head slowly, cheeks hollowed, spit mingling with the water as you sucked him deeper, letting your tongue swirl and tease. You stroked the base with one hand, twisting in rhythm with your mouth, your other hand cradling his thigh. He was panting now–truly breathless–his golden eyes glowing down at you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.

“Fuck…Y/N…You’re gonna make me cum…I’m not gonna last.” He warned, his voice edging on a high whimper. You looked up, locking eyes with him, and swallowed around him as you took him to the back of your throat again, gagging softly, tears pricking your eyes. His mouth fell open, a moan ripping from his chest that echoed off the tile like it had nowhere else to go.

“Oh fuck–” He gasped, hips jerking once–twice–

And then he came.

His whole body locked above you, muscles tightening, breath catching on a moan that cracked in the middle like he couldn’t quite hold it in. His fingers clutched at your scalp, not pulling, just anchoring–like he needed the feel of you as he spilled down your throat. You swallowed him greedily, never breaking eye contact, moaning softly around him as he gave it all to you.

The sound he made was nothing short of sinful. Desperate and shattered–a sound of a man undone by love and pleasure wrapped in one mouth.

When he finally stilled, cock twitching in your mouth, his legs nearly gave out. He let go of the railing with a shaking hand and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing softly across your flushed, wet skin.

“You’re…” He paused, voice thick and ragged, “Fucking incredible.” You gave him one last, slow lick, letting him slip from your mouth with a soft pop before rising to your feet. He caught you instantly–pulling you back into his arms, pressing kisses to your wet face, your cheeks, and your temple.

Then his voice ghosted across your skin, low and rasped:

“My turn.”

You barely had time to part your lips before he kissed you agai–nhungry now, all soft lips and steam-slick skin pressed against you. His mouth claimed yours without rush, but with purpose, with weight. He stepped forward into your space, crowding you slowly, guiding you backward with nothing but his kiss and the firm press of his palms at your hips.

The shower spray misted just behind him now as your back met the cool tile wall with a startled gasp. The contrast of hot skin and chilled porcelain jolted through your spine, but he swallowed the sound with his mouth, never breaking the kiss. His hands slipped from your hips to your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts with a reverence that made your knees weak.

When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, his mouth was pink and swollen from your kiss. You saw the flicker of something darker behind his eyes–hunger and devotion braided together, ancient and aching.

Then he lowered himself.

First with his mouth.

He kissed down your throat, open-mouthed and wet, tongue dragging with lazy heat along the hollow of your collarbone. His lips closed gently around your skin, and then he bit–soft but deep, just enough to make you whimper. You felt the sting bloom, followed by his tongue soothing it with practiced, greedy tenderness.

Then lower.

He mapped a trail down your body with his mouth, pausing to suck and bite, leaving dark kisses that would bloom purple and red and bruise beneath the skin. He groaned as he did it, like the taste of you alone was too much, too holy to take in silently.

By the time he sank to his knees in front of you, his hands were gripping your thighs like they were sacred scripture.

The steam coiled around his body like it was part of him, wrapping his shoulders and golden skin in misted halos. He looked up at you from where he knelt–eyes glowing low and hot, lips parted–and it was all heat and worship and ruin.

“This…” He breathed, voice soaked in reverence, “This is exactly where I belong. On my knees. In front of you. Worshiping every inch I can get to. You were made for this. For me.”

You felt your breath catch. The way he said it didn’t feel like flattery–it felt like prophecy. Like devotion carved into the shape of a man. His hands smoothed up your thighs and over your hips, fingers curling in toward your center like he was restraining himself from tearing you open too fast, too soon.

Then, suddenly–softly–his eyes rose again.

His voice was a low whisper, thick with heat and something darker.

“Spit in my mouth.”

Your lips parted in surprise–your breath hitched. But the way he said it wasn’t crude. It wasn’t barked or demanded. It was pleading. Intimate. Soft. A god asking his altar to bless him.

He tilted his head back just slightly, golden eyes fluttering half-lidded, lips parting in quiet invitation.

You reached out with both hands, cradling his face gently. His skin was hot beneath your palms, flushed from the steam, from the tension, from the need. He stayed perfectly still as you leaned forward.

Your mouth opened above his.

And you let it fall.

A single strand of spit dripped from your tongue, slow and deliberate, and landed on his.

He moaned.

The sound that left him was obscene. Deep, wrecked, like the act alone had made him harder than anything else ever could.

He kept his mouth open for a second longer before swallowing, the motion deliberate. His eyes never left yours.

Then–with a quiet groan–he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder.

The second his mouth met your core, your head fell back against the tile with a gasp that echoed through the mist. His tongue was slow at first–broad and flat, dragging upward through your folds with a heat that burned like worship. He licked you like a man tasting divinity, like this was what he’d been waiting for since the dawn of time.

And then he groaned again the vibration making you jolt, knees buckling against the wide brace of his shoulders.

“So fucking sweet,” He murmured against your slit, voice muffled, devoured, before his mouth dove back in.

He sucked your clit into his mouth with slow, devastating precision. His tongue flicked and circled in patterns that felt ancient, learned, practiced. Like he knew your body better than you did. Like his tongue was carved just for this–for you.

Your hands fisted in his wet hair as your hips bucked into his face, but he only grunted and pulled you closer, lifting your leg higher, forcing you to ride his mouth. His grip was bruised, steady, perfect.

“That’s it, baby,” He groaned between licks, “Use me. Grind against my face…Give it to me…I can take it–I want it so badly.” You rutted into his face with desperate little cries, your head thrown back against the tile as he sucked harder, tongue swirling and lashing. He flattened it and dragged it back through your folds, dipping inside, then returning to your clit to suck you back to the edge.

He kissed your core like it was the holiest thing on earth–like you were. Your legs began to tremble, and you felt the pressure coiling tight and deep inside you, threatening to snap. He moaned again, this time with his tongue buried inside you, and you cried out–loud, broken, utterly undone.

“I want to die between these legs of yours.” He whispered, breath warm against your slickness. In response you grinded against his mouth again, desperate now for more friction. His tongue circled your clit again, faster now, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread, open, his.

And then–

He groaned against you, loud and guttural, before sucking your clit hard, lips sealing around it like he wanted to own the sound of your orgasm.

You came with a cry that echoed through the steam-slicked glass, body shaking, collapsing forward against him. He held you through it–his mouth never leaving your body, his hands still gripping your thighs, his moans swallowed by the taste of you. Even as your body trembled in the aftermath, thighs quaking and chest rising in shallow, dizzy breaths, he didn’t move from between your legs. He kept his face nuzzled against your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin, mouth still swollen and slick with you. You felt his lips press a slow, reverent kiss to the tender flesh just above your knee.

Then another, higher up. Then another.

His mouth worshipped your thighs in soft, languid devotion–nipping and kissing the same way someone might tend to a bloom at the peak of its season, gentle and in awe. You whimpered quietly as he let your leg down from his shoulder, both arms curling around you as he rose slowly to his feet.

You were already sagging forward, boneless and trembling. But he caught you.

The second he was upright, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck like it was the only place he could breathe properly, bringing the both of you under the shower head again. The water cascaded down, streaming in lazy rivulets down your backs, over your shoulders, catching in the mess between your thighs and pooling at your feet.

And he just held you.

His arms circled your waist tightly, one palm splayed against the small of your back, the other pressing between your shoulder blades, anchoring you close. You could feel every inch of him–his chest rising and falling with emotion, the weight of his forehead against your skin, the strength of his arms holding you up like you were made of starlight and smoke.

He kissed your shoulder, softly. Then again, higher up, until his mouth was near your ear.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

You blinked through the fog of pleasure, confusion flickering for a second as your hands clutched his back, nails gently scraping the ridges of muscle there.

He pulled back just slightly to look at you–eyes glowing dimly with warmth now, not fire. And his voice, when he spoke, cracked at the edges like he hadn’t said the words enough to build callouses on them.

“Thank you for…Always letting me be this version of myself with you. For not being scared. For letting me take care of you…And for taking care of me even when I don’t know how to ask for it.” You felt your chest cave in, emotion rising so fast it nearly stung, you were shocked.

“I mean it,” He went on, brushing your soaked hair away from your face. His thumbs wiped water and tears from your cheeks–he didn’t seem to care which was which. “You always know what I need. Even before I do. You see me, and you don’t run. You don’t treat me like a weapon, or a time bomb, or…Something to be afraid of. You talk me down. You let me break. And then you love me like I’m still worthy.” Tears slipped freely down your cheeks now, lost in the rain of the shower, as you took in a few breaths trying to figure out what to say to him but not being able to find the words.

“And when I’m like this…” He murmured, touching his forehead to yours, “When I’m holding you, and you’re shaking, and I can feel your heart beating under my hands–I swear, I feel more human than I ever have in my whole damn life.”

You leaned into him, hands cupping his face, mouth brushing his gently. The kiss that followed was slow and quiet, mouths barely moving, just soft breaths and the shared language of skin and reverence. He pulled back again, just to look at you. To admire you. His eyes roamed over your face like he was tracing the lines of a map he knew by heart but still couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold.

“You’re everything to me,” He whispered, kissing your nose, your cheek, your chin. “Everything. And I don’t ever want you to think I take it for granted.”

You sighed, body still trembling faintly as you rested your head against his chest. His arms came around you again, holding you steady beneath the steady stream of water. The heat soaked into your spine, his heartbeat thundered slow and steady beneath your ear.

”God I love you so much, Sentry…” You whimpered, feeling his arms tighten around you even more.

”Always and forever, my love.” He replied back, kissing your shoulder gently.

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em1i2a3 · 1 day ago

Text

Ordinary Dream

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Fem!Reader!

Summary: The Void comes out one night looking for some comfort from you.

Warnings: Clingy Void? Soft Void? Fluff, A hint of angst, non-sexual intimate touching, reader is naked but nothing sexual happens in this, mentions of throwing up.

Author’s Note: Going through my requests and saw this one and thought this would be a nice little short blurb just to get my brain back into Bob mode after going all out for Todd today ehehe. Anyways. Hope you enjoy this little dude!

Word Count: 3,163

You weren’t sure what woke you that night. Maybe it was the subtle creak of the mattress springs shifting beneath the weight of movement. Or the whisper-soft shuffle of bare feet across the thick, carpeting of your bedroom. The air was still–quiet in the denseness of the late-night, where even small sounds felt magnified, and suspended in moonlight and hush. You peeked through the curtain of your lashes, blinking groggily just in time to see the door to your ensuite ease shut with a soft click–no light flickering on behind it. Just darkness coming from the small space between the door and the floor.

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.

And when you finally drifted off to sleep, your fingers still tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped around you like armor, The Void followed soon after–dreamless and warm, nestled in the softest corner of the universe he’d ever known.

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