CAPTAIN MARVEL

The first thing he saw was your tired eyes, barely open. The slip of your nightgown hanging off your shoulders, and your hair frizzed to the side. You looked like you just stumbled out of bed— probably right on that part.

You opened the door slightly, eyes squinting from the sun peeking past his shoulders, and then gradually opened them— realization crossing through your face.

"…Remmick?" You yawned, pulling the door open wider.

He cleared his throat, tipping his hat down. “Mornin'," he said with a nervous smile on his face.

"You're early." You said softly, turning your head to look at the clock on the wall. "I thought you said you'll be here in the afternoon?"

"I-I know— sorry." He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "I just thought if I came early—" he faltered, embarrassed. "You know what? I could come back—"

"No, No— it's fine." You assured him, covering your mouth to yawn again. “Come on in." You walked back, pulling the door open to let him in.

 He stepped inside, removing his hat immediately. It was dimly lit inside, the curtains drawn closed. There was a hint of cinnamon apple that graced his nostrils, and the smell of Pine-Sol somewhere else. 

"I hope you don't mind the mess— I've been rearranging." You sighed.

"I-It's not a problem—" A flush slowly creeps up his face when he notices your nightgown. It's short, stopping just above your knees. He can see how sheer the fabric is, the shape of your breast outlined, your nipples hard against the material.

He gulped, averting his gaze to the pictures on the walls instead.

"W-Where's the um—"

"Kitchen." You pointed, already moving. 

You led him towards the back of the house and he followed right behind you, keeping his eyes up.

There were different family portraits on the wall: Family vacation, horseback riding, and a high school graduation portrait. He couldn't help but admire how pretty you looked in all of them— Especially the one you took during your last birthday party.

You were dolled up, wearing this tight-fitted dress that he could remember in perfect detail. You had the sweetest perfume on, heels that made you taller, and hair pinned up. He remembered he could barely talk to you without feeling embarrassed. 

"I'm glad you came— regardless if it was early as fuck. I wasn't sure who else to ask." You said softly.

"Y-Yeah…" Besides that, he wasn't going to mention the way he can see the pattern of your panties from the back of the gown either. Pink with white flowers scattered around, lacy trimmings that outlined your curves. How it hugged against the fat of your ass— Shit, he just mentioned it.

“Remmick.”

“What— yeah?” he blinked. Stopping abruptly.

“I said thank you for coming,” you repeated, stepping into the kitchen. “You're the only one who probably won't charge me a ridiculous amount of money.”

"It's not a problem.” he smiled wryly, “I um— I wasn't doing anything today anyway." he continued, stepping into the kitchen as well.

"Clearly,” You noted, leaning against the counter while he strode off towards the sink.

He placed his toolbox on the counter and stood in front of the sink. He checked the faucet by turning the handles back and forth. A low hum alerted him but no water came out. Then, he pulled a flashlight out from his back pocket and leaned over to look inside the drain. When he didn't see anything he quickly got down on one knee.

You continued talking, dragging your eyes over his form. “—Why else would you be here so early if you did?" You teased, watching as he worked.

Remmick glanced at you while he opened the cabinets, pushing a few things to the side. "T-That's not true… I'm always early.”

You raised a brow. "You? Early?"

"Yeah?" his voice wavered, averting his eyes back to the items in the cabinet. He took out dish soap and cleaning products from under the sink, placing them off to the side.

“I have things to do later— stuff,” he said, hoping it doesn't come off cheap.

“Like what?” you pushed. 

 You weren't buying it, but you were amused by how long he could try.

He paused, “I've got other things to fix…like my…like my bed.”

“Your bed?" He was a terrible liar. "What's wrong with it?"

“It's been…um…creaking— like, a lot.”

You quirked a brow. “Wouldn't be creaking if you're not doing things on it,” you said offhandedly but it made Remmick pause, his ears turning red immediately.

“T-Things?” He stuttered, almost knocking over a can of Ajax. "I'm… I'm not... w-what are you implying?"

“Suspicious activities— cardio?" You said out loud, like you were naming things off a checklist.

Remmick reached around to feel the pipes, ducking his head underneath.

"—A lot of movement? Active stuff?" You continued, "You're a man aren't you? I'm sure you don't just sleep on it.”

He almost banged his head against the ceiling of the sink.

"G-Goodness— Darlin' I think ya have me for somebody else." He pulled his head back from underneath the sink and turned to look at you.

"Yeah? Really?"

"I don't—" he stopped, trailing his eyes off to the side. "I don't…um…do those things."

"Things?" You pressed, a small smirk forming over your lips. "Now, what are you implying?"

He gulped. Feeling self-conscious suddenly.

"I-I didn't—"

"You know, I can tell when you're lying."

The kitchen felt smaller— like the walls were moving in on him. 

In the presence of someone like you, always so aware of things—especially him, it made it harder to compose himself. You looked at him like you already knew the next words that were going to come out of his mouth— probably the correct tone of wording as well.

"…How—"

“You do this thing where you look away, like people won't be able to tell what you're thinking if they're not looking straight at you.” You tilted your head, gaze sharp. “…Or maybe you're just that obvious.”

"Obvious?" He scoffed, "ain't nothing about me 'obvious'."

"Yeah?" You questioned.

"Yeah."

Remmick doesn't have anything left to say to that, but he knows you caught him when your eyes shift and the next words out of your mouth sent him into a spiral:

"Why are your ears red then?"

He cleared his throat, trying to calm the growing heat elsewhere. He goes back under the sink, hoping it could hide him away— or at least try to.

"J-Just hot in here— that's all."

You hummed, tapping your finger against the counter.

“I'm gonna go freshen up— I'll be back,” you announced and left without waiting for his response.

He couldn't help the need to glance back and watch you leave. He noticed how the fabric of the gown brushed the back of your knees and swayed with each step you took. You turned to walk up the stairs, stretching your arms, and once you disappeared— he quickly went back to working.

"Your ears are red." Echoed in his head. 

He wasn't that obvious…Well…maybe a little— but that's beside the point.

He opened his toolbox and pulled out a handful of tools, sorting through them with a furrowed brow— trying to remember which one might do the trick. With a heavy sigh, he lowered himself to the floor, twisting to lie on his back and scooting halfway into the cramped space beneath the sink.

The cabinet’s edges pressed into his shoulders as he reached up, entirely too small to fit a grown ass man, and he felt around blindly. The texture felt scratchy against the pad of his thumb, the smell told him that something was wrong.

A few twists here, a turn there— rusted knobs resisting him at every angle.

It doesn't take long to spot the issue: clogged pipes and the wear of an old, neglected house.

He doesn't know when the house was first built but the rusted pipes tell him it's probably no more than 40 years old— maybe more.

No wonder the sink had stopped working.

He tightens his grip on a wrench he pulled from his box, and gives another valve a turn—too far, too fast. A deep rumble shudders through the pipes, and a moment later, a sudden spray of cold water blasts him in the face— drenching the top portion of his body.

Coughing and blinking through the mess, he wrestles the pipe shut, the valves screeching as he cranks it tight. The spray cuts off. A second later, he hears the satisfying gurgle of water flowing properly—this time into the sink above.

He shimmies down, pulling himself back from under the cabinets, and wipes the water away from his face. He stood up slowly, feeling the way his shirt clung to his skin— dripping down onto the floor leaving a wet puddle at his feet.

So much for picking out an outfit today.

He shook his head, like a dog— hair ruffled every which way. He threaded his fingers through his strands, moving some that were stuck to his forehead.

He hears you a few minutes later, trailing down the stairs, humming a soft tune that abruptly stops when you notice that he looks disheveled.

“Remmick?!" You quickly jump the last steps, moving towards him in record time. You could see water dripping from his hair, the wide puddle at his feet.

“What—” your voice goes quiet when he slowly starts to unbutton his long-sleeve shirt, pulling it off his skin.

He was wearing a t-shirt underneath but it left little to the imagination. You swallowed— hard — eyeing the way his biceps bulged through the fabric. His chest was large, his nipples prominent through white. 

The fabric clung to his skin like a glove.

“Loose pipes, old house. The usual when you fix a sink,” he said simply, turning around to ring his shirt.

Your eyes trailed over his back, the muscles working every time he twisted his shirt,  squeezing the water out.

"I did what I could, but you'll have to replace the pipes soon. Maybe in a few months." He turned back around, holding his shirt out. "I don't suppose you have a dryer?"

You smiled sheepishly at him, "Nope, broken." You pause, and then: "But I have a towel?"

"Sounds good to me."

You walked around, opening a few drawers. Rummaging through the contents.

"So, how much will that be?"

"Will what be?" he questioned, watching you intently.

"New pipes? Someone to come fix it?" Suddenly, you remembered where you kept the towels stored.

"Well…Joe's Supplies could probably sell them to you for cheap, but—" Remmick's eyes almost pop out when he sees you bend down, opening a cabinet. 

The sheer nightgown was enough but shorts were overkill. It hugged you tightly, riding up enough to give him a peek at your underwear from the bottom—

"—So what you're really saying, is that I'm fucked?"

He gulped, quickly fixing his posture. His jeans suddenly felt too small. "Y-Yeah."

"What do I do now?" You stood up, towel in hand, and turned to face him.

He cleared his throat— something he's been doing a lot since he's been here. "If you, um, buy the pipes— I could, you know? Probably…replace it for you."

He could see your face light up.

 "You will?"

He nodded when you stepped closer, reaching up to pat the towel against his neck.

"Thank you, Rem." You smiled, patting the towel down his chest. "How much do I owe you?"

Something as innocent as this shouldn't be working him up— but it was.

"F-For?"

"Fixing my sink, duh."

"O-Oh, it's nothing." He smiled softly, leaning back against the counter. "F-For you, it's on the house."

You dabbed the towel over his forehead next, making sure to soak as much water as you could. "Oh? Am I that special—"

"Yes." He said a little too quickly.

When you quirked a brow, he coughed slightly.

"Yes," he tried again, keeping his voice steady. "Just let me know when."

You ruffled the towel through his hair, laughing to yourself when you moved it to see his hair mussed.

"Thank you, I don't know what I would do without you." You grinned, dropping the towel around his neck.

He gave you a face. "R-Really?"

You hummed, nodding to yourself. "What other person I know fixes things as good as you?"

"I-I don't know…"

"You're supposed to say 'nobody' ." You laughed, pulling the towel away.

Remmick gulped, "Sorry—"

"Maybe the right word isn't obvious, but, oblivious." You scanned his face, "Are you always this fidgety?"

He shifted on his feet, "I don't…um…know what you mean."

"You're the only guy I know who struggles so badly when it comes to the signs."

"The signs?"

"You know? When someone takes interest? Like that girl in fifth grade."

Remmick frowned, rolling his eyes like a kid. "Who? Suzie?"

"Mhm, you couldn't tell how much she liked you?"

"She used to bully me— called me a vampire cause she made me spill my mama's famous tomato soup down my face!"

You made a face. "'Famous' is an understatement."

"Understatement?! How— you know what? I'm not even gonna talk about it." He folded his arms, visibly seething in front of you— scrunching his face, biting the inside of his cheek.

He looked adorable.

You couldn't help the loud snort that slipped out.

"I'm just teasing ya, Rem."

Silence.

"Rem?"

His nose twitched.

"Rem~" You sang, "come on, Remmy, I was just joking. You really mad at me?"

You placed your hands on his shoulders, smoothing them over his wet sleeves. "Want me to apologize?"

"…Yeah."

"I'm sorry. How's that?"

"You don't…sound sorry."

You pressed closer.

His eyes immediately dropped to your lips.

Obvious.

"I'm sorry, Remmick." You said, hands moving to grab his narrow waist.

His eyes quickly snapped to the side.

Oblivious. 

“Look at me Rem— I'm sorry. Okay?"

The way you were looking at him, eyes soft and lips puckered. Face mere inches away and God— your hands. They were rolling delicate little circles in his side— playful and full of hidden meanings that he was afraid to understand. 

Afraid that it was what he was thinking. 

Could it be? 

It can't…can it? 

"Rem?" You asked, tilting your head. 

If you kept calling him that— he doesn't know what he'll do. 

"Rem, I'm sorry, okay? Can you talk to me—" 

It happened so quickly you barely had time to react. Your eyes widened, mind blank when he pressed his lips to yours. They were slightly cold but it wasn’t unpleasant. 

He doesn't know what came over him, doesn't know why he did it— but it felt right. He leaned forward, his lips on yours— kissing with that sort of clumsiness that made it known that it was real. 

He had to shut his eyes to keep from staring into yours.

His hand snaked behind your back, holding you close like you might vanish— like all those times in his dreams where it played out exactly like this. You, him, alone. Different scenarios but it all ended in Remmick kissing you. Whatever happened after he woke up instantly. 

You dropped the towel and quickly cupped his face in your hands. Just like his lips, his skin was cold but it warmed the minute you pressed your hand against it. 

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, and the moment your tongue pressed against his—  the faint taste of you invading his mouth— he pulled back abruptly, sucking in air like a fish out of water. His hands dropped away like he was just burnt, eyes darting around your face.

His mouth moved before it could stop, "I-I'm s-sorry." He apologized, trembling like a baby deer. "I-I don't know what came over me— Oh m-my — I just couldn't help myself, and you were so close— and you smelled so good— a-and I thought that it was—"

"Rem, slow down." You laughed, shaking your head at the display of nervousness rolling off of him. "Do you see me complaining?"

He blinked. "…N-No?"

"Do you see me getting mad and yelling at you?"

"…No?"

"So, then, it's fine."

"B-But, it's not right for a man to come onto a woman like that— especially someone like you. I-I'm supposed to ask first, make sure you're okay with it, and then—"

"Remmick, if it wasn't okay, you would have been kicked in the balls by now."

He froze. "O-Oh."

A smirk played along your lips, "I'm not so delicate, you know?" You moved into his space again, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"A-All women are—"

"Not me." You said softly, threading your fingers through the back of his head,  fingers twirling the short locks of hair on the back of his neck.

He sucked in a breath.

"There you go again, acting all shy." You quipped. "Obvious, oblivious— maybe you're somewhere in between."

"B-But—"

"Remmick, I like you."

He opened his mouth but no words came out. He was permanently in shock, unsure if he was dreaming or if he was dead in his sleep right now. 

"I asked you to fix my sink— yeah, but also because I think you're cute."

"W-Wait— You do?"

You nodded. "I think you're so hot when you work.” You pressed your chest against his, the wet fabric staining the front of your clothes. “Especially when you get this look on your face when you're trying to figure out how to do something."

He looked like a tomato at this point. 

He slowly wrapped his hand around your waist, still careful and shy. "I think you're also…c-cute."

"I know, it's so easy to tell from you."

"Am I…really that obvious?"

"Yup."

“I-I’m sorry. I just…you make me so… I—“

You chuckled, “You don’t have to apologize.” 

“I-I’m sorry—“ he clicked his tongue. “I mean, I didn’t know you liked me. I just assumed that you thought of me as a friend…only.”

“Want me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

“That I don’t think of you as just a friend?”

“H-How?”

"Easy. All you have to do is keep your eyes on me, Rem.” Slowly, you got down on your knees, the water wetting your skin, and you peered up at him through your lashes. Your fingers hooked through his belt buckle, working them open.

Remmick gulped— his eyes averting off somewhere. But then they snapped back when you tugged his hips forward. 

“What did I just say?” You teased, finally pulling his belt apart.

“I-I’m sorry—“ he took a breath, “ o-okay.”

This can't be real.

He covered his face with one hand, peeking through the gaps of his fingers. His other hand was holding the edge of the counter, squeezing, trying to hold on as you worked him open. 

You pulled his pants down, smiling at how small Remmick was trying to make himself. “You're always so shy, I’ve never seen a man—“ your eyes widened when you pulled his briefs down after. 

He was leaking already, the head of his cock flushed red. Swollen and hard against his naval. He had a vein running along the side of his skin, twisting like a vine. He was big— bigger than you've ever seen. 

Probably the biggest you're ever going to get. 

"I-I know," he said, sighing through his hands. Flustered. "Y-You've probably seen better— something more of your style. I-I'm not normal— probably disgusting—"

"N-No." You quickly said, using the pad of your thumb to run soothing circles against his thighs. "Baby, look at me."

Remmick slid his hand down his face, chest rising and falling with desperation. He looked so scared, afraid that you wouldn’t like it— wouldn’t like him. 

"You're perfect." You smiled up at him.  

He felt warmth slide across his chest. "R-Really?"

"Mhmm, of course. Just look at ya,” you wrapped your hand around him and he jumped. “already weeping for me just from kissing." 

“I-I’ve never—“

"Kissed anybody? So that makes me your first?”

He nodded, shamelessly. 

“It’s okay.”

“Y-You sure?” 

"I wouldn't be on my knees in front of you if I wasn't sure."

“S-Sorry—” and then he huffed when he caught himself apologizing again. “Okay...” 

“I just want you to keep your eyes on me— that means you can’t cover your face and look away.”

“O-Okay, I can do that.” 

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah.”

You pumped him once, getting a feel— watching the way his stomach tensed. He was staring at you with such intense eyes, like he couldn’t believe that you were here— on your knees with his cock in your hand. 

"You're so cute, Remmick." You pumped him again and he swallowed. "You're always so shy, so nice— Unlike any man I've known before."

He sucked in a breath when you leaned forward to kiss the vein pulsing on his skin. 

"Am I the first one to see you like this too?"

"Y-Yes." He answered breathlessly. Honestly.

"A farm boy, nice, his first time— you're just wrapped in a pretty pink bow for someone, huh?” 

“W-What does that—“

You delved forward, sucking him into your mouth and he shuddered. Your tongue lay flat under the weight of his cock, but that didn’t stop you from rolling it underneath. You watched as his face contorted, his eyes darting from your mouth to everywhere else.

You could tell that this was hard for him. 

He gasped when you pulled back just enough to suck the tip of his cock, your hand pumping the base of him. 

He clenched the edge of the sink tighter, "D-Darlin'—" he choked, jolting when you pushed forward to swallow him whole again.

“G-Goodness.” He moaned, “I-I…you're doing so— o-oh.”

You pulled back, his cock slipping out and you grinned at him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” 

“O-Okay.”

You made a show of licking the tip, precum beading against your tongue and he couldn’t help the high-pitched whine that escaped. 

“Darlin’— p-please.” He doesn’t know what he was begging for but the thought of you, the way your tongue kept rolling off of him felt so good— he had to feel more. 

Sensing that, you spit into your hand and grasped him in your hand again— moving your hand back and forth with an antagonizing slow pace. 

“What’cha beggin’ for, Rem? Don’t tell me you thought about this before?” 

“N-No—“

“Liar.” You chuckled. “Your face is already red. I think we’re far past embarrassment.” 

“P-Please— can…can you go faster?”

“Faster?”

He nodded, “Y-Yes.” 

You rolled the pad of your thumb against the slit of his cock and he groaned. “Ask me the right way then.” 

“I-I want your mouth on me—“ he gasped when you cupped his balls with your other hand, rolling them in the palm of your hand. He visibly shuddered when you squeezed, playing with them like stress balls. 

“Keep going. You got it, Rem.” 

“Y-Your mouth— felt so good on me.” He sighed, “A-and your tongue.” 

“Want me to taste you again?”

“Y-Yes please.”

You laughed, going back to pumping him and he moaned out loud. 

“You're so polite, Rem. But I’m afraid you have to tell me exactly what you want.” 

“I-I can’t.” 

“You can. Lemme help you.”

You kissed the tip of his cock, moving to lick the underside of him with messy trails of spit and precum. He felt his stomach tighten, the image of you like this was almost too much to bear. 

“G-Golly—“ his breath hitched when you licked lower, swirling your tongue over his balls, his cock resting on your face. The size of him was so obvious like this. 

You slipped him from your mouth, moving to kiss him once more. “Say it, say you wanna fuck my mouth.” 

He felt his heart skip a beat. “D-Darlin’—“

“Say it,” you demanded.

“I c-can’t—“

“If you don’t, I’ll stop. Leave you here just like this.” You gave him a devilish smirk, clutching the base of his cock without mercy. “Want me to leave?”

“N-No, I don’t want you to—“

“Then say it.” 

He sucked in a breath, trying to find the confidence to repeat your words back. But his hands shot out, fingers interlocking into your hair when you tilted your head back— tongue lulling out to rapidly slap the length of his cock against the flat of your tongue.

It was loud, wet, and obscene. The type you only saw in pornos. He broke eye contact, shutting them closed. Whimpering shamelessly. 

He was putty in your hands. 

"O-Oh— P-Please—" he groaned, rutting his hips forward without meaning to. 

“Please what?” You questioned. 

"C-Can you— can you do that again?" You felt his leg tense. 

You peered up at him, “Watch me then.” 

The moment he finally opened his eyes to look at you, you squeezed him in your hand and slapped his cock against your tongue once more. He let out a low groan, pulling your hair tightly without meaning to. 

“I wanna—“ He curled his hand against your scalp, threading his fingers through your hair. “Wanna f-fuck your mouth.”

“Say it again, baby.” You pushed, watching as he opened and shut his mouth like a fish. 

“P-Please— I wanna— f-fuck your mouth—” 

You barely gave him time to finish before your mouth was on him finally. Pumping what you couldn’t fit into your mouth while swirling your tongue over the tip. 

He rocked his hips forward, watching intently as his cock disappeared and reappeared from your mouth— wet streaks of saliva and cum coating him in a messy show of display. You looked so pretty like this, on your knees, working him over. Face flushed, eyes teary.

 "Darlin— mhm, n-not gonna last—" he moaned, rutting his hips forward. "F-Feels so good— so warm, tight— suckin' me in whole—"

You felt heat pool into your stomach, your cunt clenching around nothing. The sounds he was making were slowly starting to get to you.  

“O-Oh, that’s it,” he groaned. Desperate and needy, holding your head tighter when you pushed forward, making sure that the tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat. 

“R-Right there—“ he moaned, loud and high-pitched. 

Your hand guided back to cup his ass, squeezing him in your hand— pulling him forwards to help him fuck into your mouth more. You wanted to feel him, pull him in deeper. Your moans vibrated against his cock, sending an electric shock through his body. 

"G-God—" he rasped, both hands placed on your head to hold. “ Y-Your so perfect— dreamed about this.” 

You moaned, shutting your eyes, listening while your throat worked around him. 

"Baby— c-can't believe your doin' so well— so perfect—" he thrust into your mouth— once. Pulling your hair gently.

You could feel your cunt leaking, dripping into your panties with no shame. 

"I-I dreamed about this— you." He thrusted up again, kissing your throat with clumsiness. "T-Thought you would be scared of me—mhm, thought you might run away— " another thrust into your throat has your toes curling, stomach lurching forward. 

You clutched the globe of his ass, teetering on the edge of sliding a finger past. 

He locked his hands around your head— a warning not to stop, a silent plea to keep going— on the verge of breaking. 

"I was s-scared— T-Turns out, I should have been scared of you—Oh! K-Keep going." He begged, tipping his head back, jaw slacked. Moaning in broken whimpers of pleasure. "G-Gosh— feel so good— you— feel so good. Takin' me in like this."

You pulled back to pop him out of your mouth, catching your breath,  drool pooling from the corner of your mouth. You kissed the underside of his cock, and then dragged your tongue across the length of him. Coating him once more. 

He rolled his hips forward, his cock gliding over your tongue in one swift motion. "You're gonna— darlin' if you keep— mhm, keep working' me— gonna make me—"

"Y-Yeah?” You breathed, throat slightly sore. “Gonna come?"

He nodded profusely, petting his fingers in your scalp. “A-Almost—“

"Now?" You kissed the slit of his cock, cum coating your lips. 

"C-Close— so close."

“You know what to do.” 

You slipped him back into your mouth and he broke. Holding your hair tight into his hand, jutting his hips once, twice, three times— until he found a rhythm that made him dizzy. 

"I-I'm, darlin' I'm gonna— g-gonna come—"

You moaned around him, digging your nails into the fat of his ass to keep him close. Maneuvering his hips, helping him thrust into your mouth.

"B-Baby— s-soon." He gasped, throwing his head back. "I-I'm sorry for doing this— just, ohh— j-just hold on f'me."

You weren't sure what he meant but you quickly understood when he took a deep inhale and he used both hands that were tight on your head and pulled you forward— shoving himself all the way into the back of your throat, leaving no room for you to breathe. 

The size of him was too much for you to handle— so fucking big, suffocating you— leaving you to gag around him. Tears slipping past and down your cheek. 

A loud, whiny moan slipped from his open mouth. His fingers curled more into your head when your throat clenched around him and he saw white cross his vision. 

He spilled just like that, on your tongue, stuttering his hips— burying himself as deep as he could go. Your throat contracted around him while he rutted forward, trying to keep you in place. Your nose was buried against thick, coarse, hair that tickled. 

“T-That’s it— y-your draining me dry, baby.” He moaned, drenching the back of your throat with everything he had. 

You shut your eyes tightly, gag reflex screaming at you to pull him out— but you refused to. You felt warmth flood your taste buds— too much and still not enough. He groaned out loud, frozen in place, still cumming into your mouth, like you were milking him dry. 

Not once did you move until he was done— his cock spurting its last with his thighs shaking, and loud, breathless moans from his mouth.

He crashed back against the edge of the sink, letting go of your hair, his cock slipping out to lie flaccid against his thigh. 

You opened your mouth, tongue lolling out to show him streaks of white lying on your tongue like a work of art. 

"G-Gosh." He breathed.

He watched as you closed your mouth and visibly swallowed, smiling up at him— face a mess and tears dried against your cheek. 

You stood up, abruptly, dragging his pants up with you, and lazily zipped him back up— belt buckle still hung open, his body twitching every so often from shock. 

You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in close to press his lips against yours. He could still taste the faint traces of himself on your tongue— salty and sweet. 

You placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, resting your hands on his shoulder. He looked so cute, face still red, ears burning— his chest still heaving.

You opened your mouth to speak, "How was that—"

"Incredible." He beat you to it.

"Was I?"

"Y-Yes…"

"Did you like it?"

"A-A lot… like, more than I can describe."

"Yeah?"

He nodded slowly, biting his lower lip.

”I have another sink for you to fix.” you smirked at him, pulling him by the hand. He followed along with you on wobbly legs while you directed him towards the stairs.

“A-Another one?” he questioned.

“Yeah, it's in my bedroom.” You took a step, Remmick trailing behind you.

“Bedroom…?"

You hummed, "This one might be tricky, but I trust you.” You looked back, taking another step. “And lose the shirt, you won’t need it.” 

Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat, the cotton twisting uncomfortably beneath your arms. You were overheating and freezing all at once–skin clammy, spine prickling, stomach coiled so tightly you swore it was tying itself in knots. The pain wasn’t sharp, not exactly–it was deeper than that. A dragging, molten ache that curled low in your abdomen seemed to radiate down your legs and all the way to your back, it was as if your body had been caught in a vice and someone kept twisting the handle and laughing.

Every few seconds at this point, a new wave crested–hot and unbearable–and your hand flew to your lower belly instinctively, fingers pressing hard into the tender flesh like the pressure alone might hold the worst of it at bay.

It didn’t. It never did.

A low groan slipped from your throat as the kettle finally began to whistle–sharp and rising, like it was mocking the sharpness in your gut. But you couldn’t move. Your muscles were locked in place, spine bowed forward, with your knees trembling beneath you.

You just needed one more minute. Just one more wave to pass. Then maybe you could stand up fully and stop the annoying whistling.

Then. Your ears caught the sound of footsteps, padding in from the hallway behind you.

”O-Oh…Sorry–I-I didn’t think anyone was u-up–“ Your head turned slightly at the sound of his voice, forehead lifting just enough to glance over your shoulder. The amber light from beneath the cabinets spilled across the entrance–and caught Bob standing there in all his soft, sleepy awkwardness.

He froze like a deer in the light, clutching an empty glass in one hand, like he’d just come to get water and stumbled into something he wasn’t sure he should be seeing. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side and wild on the other, and he was swimming in a faded navy hoodie that hung loose around his shoulders. Grey sweatpants clung low on his hips, and his bare feet shifted uncertainly against the tile.

His eyes–still heavy-lidded from sleep–tracked you slowly. From the way your body was braced against the counter to the sweat that began to bead at your temple, to the tremble in your knees. You could see his eyes soften at the sight, almost like he was trying to figure out what was wrong without asking you–because he knew you got frustrated when people were concerned for you.

Bob’s grip tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles paling. You could tell he was trying to play it cool–not alarm you, not smother you–but there was no mistaking the way his mouth parted, just slightly, like he was about to ask something, though he choked it back.

He took a cautious step towards you, shifting his weight to one foot like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go–like he was waiting for some kind of cue from you. He didn’t ask if you were okay. He knew you didn’t like being asked that when you clearly weren’t. Instead his eyes continued to move over you, noticing the grip you had around your stomach. His mind immediately jumped to the conclusion it was something you ate–and the dread settled into him quickly. The chicken was the first thing that came to his head.

He’d insisted on making the team dinner, he had even waved off Walker’s offer to order Thai and physically blocked Ana from touching the stove because he said ‘No, l-let me do it! I-It’ll be a surprise!’

You watched his face slowly twist into a horrified expression. The dawning belief that he’d positioned everyone settling in his bone. That he was the reason you were hunched over a countertop at two in the morning like you’d been run over by a semi.

”I-I didn’t…Oh my god,” He blurted, stepping a bit closer to you, his free hand flailing slightly like he didn’t know where to put it, “I-I knew I shouldn’t have tried to make that recipe from memory. I-I mean I checked the chicken so many times. I-I know it was a little dry but…I swear…Wait…Oh crap…If Y-Yelena wakes up p-puking she’s gonna kill me and b-bury me in the woods I–.” Your laugh cut him off from continuing. A short, low wheeze that hurt to let out–but the kind that broke through your clenched teeth anyway. Your whole body shuddered with it, and you winced, but it was worth doing.

”Bob.” You said quietly, turning your head toward him as best you could, one hand still braced on your stomach, “As much as it was dry, and as much as I needed to chug water just to swallow it…Your food didn’t do this to me.” You added, your eyes snapping shut as another surge of pain twisted your insides around, before returning your forehead to the counter.

Bob blinked like he’d just been slapped with a wet towel–stunned out of his guilt spiral by your laugh, your voice, your reassurance. His posture softened almost immediately. The hand that had been flailing now just hovered awkwardly in the air before slowly lowering to his side, fingers curling around the edge of the counter like he needed something to steady him.

”O-Oh…” He breathed, “S-So then…W-What’s happening with you then?” He asked, reaching over to turn off the whistling kettle, his movements clumsy but quiet, his eyes still locked onto your figure, seeing the way you slowly swayed from side to side.

You lifted your head–only an inch or two–to look up at him again, and that was enough.

When his eyes met yours, everything in his face changed.

Tears were forming. They weren’t falling yet, but they were there–thick and glassy, clinging to your lashes like they were holding on for dear life. Your lips were slightly parted, trembling just enough to betray you, and your breath hitched audible as you tried to blink them away.

His brows pulled together instantly. Deep. Concerned. His whole expression shifted like something was cracking behind it–worry rising slowly, curling under his features like a rising tide. His lips parted slightly, jaw ticking with hesitation, but his eyes…His eyes said everything.

It was the look he got when someone on the team was bleeding but too stubborn to say so. The one he wore when he thought he wasn’t allowed to step in–but he desperately, desperately wanted to.

“It’s just cramps Bob…I’ll be fine. You should just…Get what you need and go back to bed.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes off quickly, averting your gaze from him. For a moment Bob didn’t move, he just stood there, staring down at you like it pained him not to get closer. You tried to be casual about the tears streaming down your face now–tried to pretend like your body wasn’t unraveling.

But Bob just shook his head. The kind of quiet refusal that didn’t come with volume–but from depth.

“W-Why…Would I-I do that when you’re n-not okay?” His voice cracked on the last word, and immediately your eyes returned to his, taken back by the softness in his tone–by the way he wasn’t trying to fix anything yet, and by the way he was just being present.

”I don’t need help,” You said barely above a whisper, “It’s just pain…It’ll pass.” Bob took a moment, and let out a short breath, before putting his empty glass on the counter and leaning forward, bringing himself down so he was eye to eye with you. You could feel his breath mixing with yours in the space between you.

The under-cabinet lighting, soft and golden, carved warm halos along the edges of his face. And for the first time since he stepped into the kitchen, you saw the fullness of his eyes–blue like deep water, not just bright but saturated, with something rich and aching caught beneath the surface. The amber glow softened them, turned the outer rim to shadow but made the center gleam, like starlight reflected off a dark lake.

They shimmered.

Not from light alone–but from the way he was looking at you. From the way he saw you.

Not just someone in pain.

You.

Not just a teammate or a friend–you.

The muscles in your jaw tensed as your eyes welled again.

Bob didn’t blink.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Unsteady.

“When…W-When was the last time someone a-actually took care of you, Y/N?” You swallowed hard.

That was the kind of question that shouldn’t have hit like it did. But it knocked the air from your lungs with its gentleness. The honesty in it. The fact that he wasn’t asking to prove something–he was asking because he saw it.

The exhaustion. The weight. The way you always powered through everything because it was easier than asking. Because you thought maybe you weren’t allowed to ask.

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Your lips parted to try, but no sound came out.

Bob didn’t push.

Instead, he lowered his voice even more–barely audible now, like a secret meant only for you.

“B-Because… I-I want to help. I want to take c-care of you right now. Because I care about you. And I–” He glanced away for a moment, jaw tightening, before forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “And I see you’re s-struggling. And I don’t think you should have to go through this alone.”

The words were simple.

But the sincerity behind them wrapped around you like a blanket–warm and devastating. There was no pity in his voice. No pressure.

Only care.

Only Bob.

You didn’t say anything right away. Your eyes stayed locked with his, and something in your chest cracked open. Not loudly. Not visibly. But something shifted.

Slowly, with a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you nodded.

“O-Okay.” You stuttered, feeling your pulse beating in your throat, “Fine…” Bob gave you a small nod, slow and certain–like your quiet surrender meant more to him than anything else.

”I’ll help you to the couch,” He said, already adjusting his stance, “Then I-I’ll make your tea…That…Which one i-is it again?” You stared up at him.

”The gross raspberry leaf one…” You replied, watching a soft, sheepish smile appear over his lips.

”Y-Yeah that one…And then I’ll steal W-Walkers heating pad from the closet…S-Should help you a bit with the pain, alright?” You nodded at his plan, feeling his arm gently slip under yours, bracing your weight against his side.

”C’mon…I-I’ve got you.” Bob helped you to the couch with a kind of patience you didn’t know anyone still had.

Not rushed. Not overly careful. Just present–his arm braced solid and steady around your waist, one hand hovering protectively near your elbow in case you stumbled. The living room was dim, still cast in that same honeyed glow that the kitchen had, and the couch–your favorite end seat–looked like a sanctuary carved out of lowlight and flannel.

Bob eased you down onto it with a reverence that made your chest ache. His hands didn’t linger, but the warmth of them remained even after they left your skin. You slumped back into the cushions with a breath that felt just a little deeper than the ones before, muscles uncoiling slightly now that you weren’t upright anymore.

“H-Hold on,” Bob murmured, eyes flicking to the side.

He crossed the room in quick, quiet steps and tugged the large fleece blanket off of Walker’s ridiculous leather recliner–one of those overpriced monstrosities with fake cupholders and lumbar massage settings he claimed were “good for his spine.” Bob brought the blanket back and unfolded it gently over your shoulders, tucking it in around your arms like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Then he grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked the TV on, lowering the volume with a few soft clicks before handing it to you.

“News is on, if you want to change it,”He said, crouching beside you. “I’ll be r-right back, okay? Just going to get the tea, heating pad…M-Maybe a hoodie in case you’re still cold.” He added, repeating the list he mentally made in his head.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to say much more than a quiet “Okay.” Bob brushed his hand over the blanket once more before slipping down the hall. You could hear him moving–cupboards opening, the kettle whistling again. The low, comforting clink of a mug set on the counter. The closet door creaked open, followed by a quiet “shit” when something fell off the top shelf.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. Even through the pain. Especially through the pain.

A few minutes passed. The TV played on quietly in the background–some late-night anchor talking about overnight weather patterns and airport closures. It was white noise. Background to the warmth slowly returning to your limbs, to the softness of the blanket around your shoulders. The pain was there still, but it had become a little more manageable with the fabric wrapped around you–which was already a good sign that you would actually get a semblance of sleep tonight.

Then he returned.

He had the tea in one hand–the mug carefully braced with a napkin wrapped around the handle– and the heating pad folded in the crook of his arm with a hoodie covering it. He crossed the room in three steps and set the tea down gently on the side table next to you.

“Still p-pretty hot,” He murmured, “C-Careful.” You watched him as he knelt again beside the outlet and plugged in the heating pad. He held the hoodie out to you, but you shook your head. The little orange light flickered on briefly, before turning a dark red. Bob tested the temperature with his hand, feeling around the flat end with his palm, then he shifted closer to you.

“I-Is it okay if I…” he trailed off, eyes flicking to your abdomen, then back to your face. “If I help you with this?”

You nodded wordlessly, the pain still etched into your features but softened now by trust. You didn’t need to speak for him to see it.

He shifted forward slowly, folding one knee onto the couch cushion beside you. The pad was already warm–radiating a low, comforting heat as he carefully uncurled the cord from around the folded fabric. You could smell him now, fully–clean linen, spearmint, and that faint trace of cinnamon that always clung to his hoodie when he wore it throughout the day. It wrapped around you just as much as the blanket did, thick and soothing.

Bob held the heating pad open and reached for the hem of the blanket tucked around you.

“L-Lift up just a little?” He asked, voice low.

You obeyed, slow and stiff, and he slid the pad forward, pressing it gently across the curve of your lower abdomen. His hands ghosted beneath the blanket, through the thin barrier of your cotton sleep shirt–his fingers warm, a little rough from old calluses, but so careful it made your breath catch in your throat.

He smoothed the pad into place with open palms, applying a light pressure–not too much–just enough to let the heat sink into your skin. His thumbs brushed your sides on the way out, knuckles skimming the soft give of your waist through the fabric before he pulled back.

“D-Does that feel okay?” He stuttered.

“Yeah,” You whispered. “Yeah…It helps.”

Bob looked at the pad, frowning a little. “Wish these things worked better. I mean, it’s warm, b-but it doesn’t wrap all the way around, y-you know? Just heats the front.” You let out a dry laugh.

”Probably because Walker cheaped out and bought a throw away…” Bob’s smile flickered, small and crooked.

“I c-could’ve made one better in the fifth grade with a sock and a microwave.”

You tilted your head with a smirk. “Yeah? You gonna patent it?”

His eyes met yours and held. “Only if I can put your name on it too.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward–close.

Then, without another word, Bob settled beside you, his body angled slightly so he could still glance at your face while giving you space. The heating pad glowed faintly beneath the blanket, casting soft orange pulses like a heart beating slow and steady in the dark. You took the mug from the side table with both hands—fingers curling around the ceramic for warmth more than anything else.

The raspberry leaf tea was bitter, herbal, not exactly pleasant, but the heat soaked into your chest with each sip, loosening the tightness in your ribs. You cradled the mug and leaned a little into the couch cushions, letting yourself sink further into the moment, into the quiet that had grown easy now between the two of you.

Bob was watching the news like it mattered–eyes narrowed slightly at the forecast ticker running along the bottom of the screen. When he spoke, it was soft, conversational, like he didn’t want to break the atmosphere.

“D-Do you think it’s the s-storms that really c-cause more accidents or if people just…F-Forget how to drive?”

You glanced over at him. His hair was still tousled, his jaw faintly shadowed with very very light stubble. “A little of both,” You said, sipping again. “Storms and stupidity. Dangerous combo.”

He let out a breathy laugh through his nose, then looked down at the mug in your hands. “T-Tea helping?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Not magic or anything, but it’s better.”

You talked like that for a little while. Quiet things. Small things. Bob asked if you’d ever seen a tornado up close. You told him about the one time you had to shelter in a Walmart freezer with a bunch of other customers because they were within a tornado zone. He winced and muttered something about how “no one deserves that.”

Eventually, the tea was gone and you set the mug down with a small sigh, shifting under the blanket to get more comfortable. The pain had dulled but hadn’t left. It had just relocated. Mostly in your back now, a deep, dragging throb nestled in your lower spine.

Bob must’ve noticed your subtle wince, because his head tilted slightly, as concern tugged at his brow again. “Y-You still hurting?”

“Just my back,” You murmured, pressing your palm against the base of it. “Feels like something’s pulling at the muscles though…That’s all.”

He hesitated, then gently peeled off the hoodie he was still wearing. Underneath, he wore a simple black t-shirt–thin enough that you could see the dip of his collarbone, the lines of muscle in his arms. His movements were unhurried, like he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but you still caught the way he swallowed before glancing at you.

”I–I could help with t-that…If y-you want.” He started, seeing the way you tilted your head at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “I-I mean…I run pretty hot,” He said, almost sheepish. “L-Like, body temp-wise. I-It’s…It’s kinda just...How it is. S-Sometimes I sleep with the window open even when it’s snowing ’cause I get too warm.” He paused, looking down at you with hesitant sincerity. “So I thought maybe… I-I could just… Lie with you? J-Just hold you, maybe. Like–with my chest against your back, and the blanket and everything might…Y-You know…I-Insulate the heat.” You considered it for a moment, then gave a slow, small nod.

“Okay,” You whispered. “Yeah. That actually…That sounds really good.”

Relief bloomed on his face so quickly it made you want to reach for him. He gave you a quick, grateful smile and then turned, padding over to the wide sill beneath the living room window. The throw pillows you usually kept for decoration were stacked in a lopsided pile, half-flattened by time and sun. Bob scooped up three and brought them back over, crouching beside you again. He carefully arranged them along the edge of the couch, creating a makeshift bed—just enough space for you to curl into without losing the heating pad or the blanket.

“You sure you’re comfortable lying on your side?” He asked, already adjusting one of the cushions to support your knees.

“Yeah,” You murmured, shifting with his help. The motion was slow, a little stiff, but manageable. You rolled gently onto your left side, facing the TV, wincing as the dull ache pulled through your spine. Bob waited until you were settled, then carefully eased himself onto the couch behind you.

His movements were hesitant, precise.

He slid onto his side, chest brushing lightly to your back, one arm stretching out under the pillow you were lying on–so that his wrist dangled off the edge of the couch, palm up, loose in the open air. The other arm came around you, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand hovered just above your stomach, eyes flicking to yours.

You gave a small nod, shifting your hips back just an inch–enough to close the space between your bodies without making a show of it.

Bob placed his hand gently over the heating pad. You couldn’t tell if his palm was causing the pad to be warmer, but you could feel the temperature change almost in an instant. The newfound heat sank through the fabric of your shirt like a balm, and you felt your muscles instinctively ease.

His touch didn’t wander. He didn’t stroke or squeeze. He just…Rested there. Solid. Steady.

You felt safe wrapped up in his arms, but then again it was Bob…He was always safe to you regardless of everything that happened with The Void and everything.

You let your hand drift slowly, fingers reaching up the curve of the couch until you found his other hand–the one still hanging just off the side. Your fingertips brushed his wrist first, then his palm. He stilled for a moment, startled, but then his fingers curled up and around yours. No hesitation. Just soft, certain pressure.

No words were exchanged and the quiet deepened around you like a hush after a snowfall, the soft cadence of late-night weather reports humming in the background. Your body, which had felt wrung out and trembling before, began to feel like it might belong to you again–bit by bit.

His chest rose and fell against your back, the rhythm slow, soothing. And when his thumb began to unconsciously trace over your knuckles, your eyes fluttered shut.

“Thank you Bob.” You whispered into the dark. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.