luhvbot

[luhvbot]

please darlin’

summary: reader is walking home from the jukebox joint when a mysterious man lurking from the shadows offers to walk her home, what they both learn in due time is that the unlock something in other person that they didn’t know was even there

type: black southern fem! reader x remmick

warnings/tags: well he’s a vampire so there’s blood play but i don’t think it’s particularly graphic, biting, dry humping, p in v

author’s note: i used the gif in the images but this post is based on this gif set here and a tiktok i saw that pointed out how HUNGRY this man was during the movie 😭😭 i also asked this question separately and didn’t get a ton of pushback just to reiterate — being attracted to the “antagonist” of the film does not negate my understanding of the film or its cultural and historical importance — im just a criminally horny individual 😛

The juke joint was still humming behind you—low and rowdy, with bass rattling the floorboards and laughter spilling out the crooked windows like steam. You stepped into the thick Mississippi night, dress clinging to the sweat on your back, the heat pressing on your skin like it had weight. The cicadas sang in the trees, and somewhere far off, someone was still blowing blues on a trumpet like their life depended on it.

You didn’t notice the man at first.

He stood in the shadows just past the tree line, his form half-hidden under the crooked lean of a willow tree. A white man, alone, arms crossed over a chest that looked carved out of something strong and stubborn. Brown hair curling in thick tufts, jaw dusted with stubble, and a guitar case slung across his back like a weapon.

Every instinct in you went sharp.

A white man in the Delta after midnight didn’t mean anything good—not for a Black woman walking alone with liquor on her breath and music in her bones. You held your chin high, eyes fixed forward, feet steady on the gravel.

He didn’t speak until you passed him.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he said, slow and honeyed.

That voice stopped you.

Thick with Southern drawl, like warm molasses. He didn’t quite sound like danger. He sounded like moonlight through lace curtains. Like the kind of man you know who’d smile sweet, touch gentle, and still be the end of you.

“I ain’t lookin’ for company,” you said over your shoulder, not stopping.

“I ain’t company,” he replied, stepping out into the moonlight with his palms up. “Just a fella walkin’. Thought maybe I’d keep you safe.”

You turned, slowly.

“From what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled. Slow. Crooked. Full of something too soft to be harmless. “World’s full of bad men, miss. Ain’t no tellin’ who might be out this time of night.”

You looked him up and down. Tall, broad-shouldered, tan from sun exposure, and dressed in linen. That guitar case over his shoulder looked worn, edges frayed like it’d seen more of the South than you ever had.

“And you?” you asked, tone sharp as a razor. “What kinda man are you?”

He didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head with a confident smirk and said, “The kind who calls a woman ‘darlin’ ‘cause she walks like she got secrets I’m dying to know.” His hands clasped in a praying motion, you snuck a quick glance at the veins in them.

“The kind who knows better than to let beauty like yours walk home alone.”

You should’ve walked away.

But instead, you let him follow you. Not close, not touching—but his presence, his footsteps in time with yours, felt… right. Familiar. Like a song you’d heard before but couldn’t name.

When you got to your door, your hand hovered over the knob.

“Well, you best get on home now,” you said.

He nodded.

“Or,” he said, voice softer as he pressed judy up against your back. Not enough for there to be contact but very little room for anything else, “you could let me come in. Just to talk.”

You could feel his eyes scanning your body, though his gaze stayed respectful—it burned. He wasn’t begging. He was waiting.

You opened the door.

The next memory was heat.

Your dress hiked up, his hands on your waist as you crashed on to the bed, his lips slanting over yours with an urgency that stole the breath from your lungs. His body was hard and hot above yours, the curve of his hip pressed into your inner thigh, his belt buckle cold against your stomach. His fingers dug into your hips like he was afraid you’d float away.

He pressed his weight onto you as he came down into your neck , both of you slick with sweat, tangled in cotton sheets and heavy breathing. His tongue worked over a sensitive part of your neck that made you melt to his touch

Then—

Blackness.

The kind of still, shuddering dark that comes after a storm you weathered.

You woke up soaked in your own blood.

Sticky, metallic, warm and wet along your clavicle and down your chest. The bedsheets were ruined. You blinked up at the ceiling, then turned your head.

Remmick was kneeling over you. Mouth stained red. Eyes wide, almost glowing.

His lips, slick with your blood, parted slowly as he looked down at you in wonder. His voice was low, reverent, almost tender.

“This is what you needed,” he said. “Don’t you feel it?”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, your breath shallow. Slight traces of fear in your eyes.

“No more pain, darlin’. No more aging, no more fear. Just you and me, able to roam this earth and the next as we please .”

He brought his palm to your sternum, pressing over your heart like he could feel it trying to outrun your ribs. “I gave you what the world never would,” he proclaimed, brandishing his fangs in his smile. “Freedom.”

Remmick reached for your hand and pressed it to his chest. His heart beat steady beneath your palm—slow, deliberate, like thunder rolling through deep earth.

Your body tensed and then something inside you snapped.

But It wasn’t panic.

And It wasn’t fear.

It was a deep animalistic and hungry need.

Your vision sharpened at the edges. The room around you dulled into haze. All you could focus on was him—his smell, all smoke and sweat and salt, the heat radiating from his skin, the way his breath hitched when your fingers traced down the length of his chest.

You rose—slow, deliberate—until you were on your knees as well. You could feel the new strength coiling in your limbs, the animal instinct buzzing like a fever beneath your skin. He talked on and on about the promises this new life would bring. You flashed him eyes that communicated a nondescript but intense hunger and you swore you could feel his pulse in your mouth.

You trailed your fingers along the line of his collarbone, across the swell of his shoulder, then up—sliding into the soft curls at the base of his neck. He stopped talking altogether, just quiet in anticipation.

You gripped.

His breath caught.

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as your voice dropped to a dark, sultry whisper:

“Bite me again, baby… and make it hurt good.”

He shuddered.

And obeyed.

His mouth descended like a storm, lips finding your neck, tongue lapping once over the curve of your shoulder before his fangs sank in deep. The pain was immediate, but it rolled over into heat so sharp and consuming you arched your back pushing you further into him with a gasp.

Your thighs twitched, your fingers clenched in his hair, and a moan clawed its way up your throat—raw and low. You throbbed everywhere, each nerve ending lit up, humming like your body had been set on fire from the inside out.

He fed, and you held him there, needing every drop, every ripple of pleasure knotted up in that pain. You rocked against him, your core tightening, heartbeat pounding in your ears like a war drum.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were red and his eyes glassy.

Your voice was hoarse and full of smoke when you whispered, “Again.”

—————

Daylight became a stranger to you—an old, forgotten friend you’d grown to miss some days more than others. Some days you wished you could unboard your windows and sit on your porch. But your life was now lived on by moonlight and instinct.

It was the way of things now. You didn’t question it. You just waited.

Every evening brought the same rhythm. The soft knock—three gentle taps at the front door, just after dusk. Sometimes you’d feel it before you even heard it. Something in your chest would tighten, like the pull of tide on sand. And then you’d go, barefoot and breathless, to let him in.

Remmick always stood there like a complete gentleman. Leaning in the doorway with that easy grin, hair tousled from the flight over, chest rising and falling like he’d just run to get to you. Sometimes his guitar was slung over his back, sometimes he’d bring flowers, he carried nothing at all. But he always brought that voice.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he’d say, like it was the first time you ever met him.

Then he’d kiss you. Or he’d bite. Or both.

He’d close the door behind him and walk you backward until the wall caught your spine. His hands would be warm, calloused, possessive in that way that made you weak in the knees. And his mouth — he used it like it was exactly what you needed. Suckling at the place behind your ear, then down the slope of your neck. Drawing blood like honey, always lapping it up before it hit your collarbone.

Sometimes, he got playful. Sometimes reverent. Sometimes both in the same night.

There were evenings he laid you out like a meal, biting slow circles behind your knees or dragging his fangs just barely over the soft of your belly. He’d hum songs from his time while he worked, deep and low, the sound buzzing in your skin.

And you’d laugh. You’d moan. You’d shake.

It didn’t take long before the pain didn’t even register anymore. Only the pleasure.

Each bite felt like being struck by lightning, and each mark bloomed like a secret flower on your skin.

But while you were losing yourself, you started seeing something else. Something new in Remmick

At first, it was just the look in his eye when you pressed your mouth to his neck. The way his lashes fluttered, like he was about to cry. Then there was another time when you opened the door before he knocked, pulled him inside by the collar of his shirt, and kissed him deep. He didn’t push back, didn’t even make a move. Just let you take it.

You shoved him against the wall, your palm flat against his chest, and stared up at him with hunger.

Then, with one hand, you undid his belt. Slipped inside. Wrapped your fingers around him like you owned him.

Remmick’s knees buckled.

He let out the softest whimper—high, shaky, damn near reverent.

You blinked at him. “Tell me you like it.”

His eyes were wide, glassy, mouth parted. “Y-yeah… I do…” he whispered.

The tremble in his voice lit a fire in your belly. It left you soaked and smug and stunned all at once.

A few nights later, you were straddling him on the couch, skirt pushed high, your hips working a slow, torturous grind against the bulge in his slacks. He was breathless beneath you, hands barely touchin’, like he didn’t know where to put them.

So you took his wrist and placed it on your waist.

Then you gripped the length of his neck, thumb draggin’ under his jaw, and squeezed just a little.

His head tipped back. His mouth opened in a gasp. And all he could say was your name—like he wanted to worship and repent in the same breath.

But the moment that settled it deep in your bones came just three nights ago.

Remmick had you laid back on the bed, his shirt open, your bodies tangled in heat. He hovered above you, ready to push inside, eyes locked on yours like he was asking permission.

And then he dropped his forehead to your neck, his voice gone raw and low.

“Please,” he said, and the word shook straight through you. “Please let me make you feel good. Lemme do it right, darlin’. I—I wanna be good for you.”

He didn’t want to dominate. He wanted direction. He wanted to be given, not to take. Wanted to be praised. Ruled. Owned.

And you?

You could do that.

You were already doin’ it.

You leaned in that night and whispered, “Show me how bad you want it.”

He did.

And now, every time you touched him—every time you claimed him—he’d melt into you like sugar on your tongue.

—————

Remmick was doing what he did best—buried between your thighs like a man starvin’ for grace, kissing and sucking like you were made of syrup and moonlight. The room smelled of sex and sweat and something wilder, something old. Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, damp with sheen, while his hands gripped your hips tight—thumbs digging into the softness like he was trying to carve himself a home inside you.

His tongue moved slowly and soulfully. You could feel him moaning against your clit, the vibrations rolled through you like thunder through tall grass.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched clean off the mattress, a cry ripped free of your throat as his mouth sealed tighter, tongue flattening and working you in slow, tight circles.

“Remmick…” you gasped, voice crackling like a lit match. “Shit—baby…”

But just as your body built to that fever pitch, that hot, dizzy place where the edge was near—

It hit you.

Not just the pleasure—but power.

That molten core deep in your belly didn’t just burn for release. It burned to command. You weren’t just his feast.

You reached down and tangled your fingers into that thick mess of brown curls. Then you yanked hard.

Remmick let out a strangled grunt, his mouth fallin’ open as you pulled him off your cunt with a wet, obscene sound. His face was slick with your shine, lips raw and glistening, jaw working like he didn’t know whether to cry or thank you.

He blinked up at you, dazed. Wrecked.

“Darlin’, please,” he rasped, voice sandpaper rough. He tried to lean forward again, his nose just barely brushin’ your thigh like he couldn’t stand the distance. “Let me back. I need—I need to finish you. Please, lemme taste all of you…”

“Ah ah,” you crooned, your grip tightening in his hair until he hissed, until his jaw clenched and his body tensed under your hands. You tilted his head back, just to watch his throat bob with the swallow. “Slow down, baby… we got all night.”

He looked like he was fighting for breath. His chest rose and fell fast, his thighs flexing where they knelt on the bed—like it was taking everything he had not to fall apart.

“I can’t let you do that just yet,” you whispered, leaning down close, your lips just grazing his as your voice curled like smoke around the words. “Not ‘til I get a good look at you like this.”

You dragged your eyes over him—his blown pupils, the tremble in his jaw, the shine on his cheeks. His mouth was still parted, flushed and wet, and you felt the weight of his arousal pressing up against your thigh, stiff and aching beneath his pants.

You kissed him slow—deep and indulgent—relishing in the taste of yourself on his tongue, moaning low in your throat as his hands twitched at his sides, still clutchin’ the sheets like a man on the edge of salvation.

You shifted and now he was under you.

Remmick went willingly. His breath caught in his throat, body folding back onto the mattress like he’d been waiting all his life to be handled just like this. You climbed on top, slid your bare thighs around his hips, your slick heat grindin’ down against the thick ridge strainin’ under his waistband.

He shuddered.

Hands still not touching, he wanted to wait for instruction. They just flexed at his sides like he was praying for permission to reach.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your thumb ghostin’ along his bottom lip, feelin’ the soft tremble there. “You’re being so good for me, aren’t you?”

He moaned—real and helpless—his head fallin’ back against the pillow. “I am,” he panted, chest heaving. “I am, I swear it—all yours, darlin’. I’ll do anything you ask—just tell me what you need…”

What a whiny mess.

Your lips curled.

You leaned down and dragged your tongue slow up the column of his throat, feelin’ him pulse under your mouth. Then you bit—just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to make him need.

“I need you desperate,” you breathed against his skin. “Need you beggin’ for it.”

Remmick let out the softest, filthiest sound—a desperate mix of want and surrender—and your hips ground down harder as he whimpered beneath you.

And baby… he did.

Your lips hovered just above his throat, breath fanning warm over his skin as your hips rolled again—slow and molten, drawing out a ragged moan from deep in Remmick’s chest. The friction was maddening—slick and aching and just shy of too much. You felt his cock twitch under you, felt his whole body tense like a man about to break.

He arched beneath you, head thrown back, jaw slack and trembling. His hands hovered in the air—uncertain, unmoored—like he didn’t know whether to grab your hips or clutch at salvation.

“Please,” he rasped, voice hoarse, lips parted. “I—I c-can’t—”

You smiled, mouth grazing the stubble along his jaw, your voice like silk soaked in wine. “You can.”

You kissed your way down the side of his throat, slow and deliberate, until you felt his pulse jump under your mouth.

Then you moved—reached between you both and undid his belt with one fluid motion, your fingers deft, steady. The leather snapped open. The zipper whispered down. You dragged his pants low enough to free him, and he gasped as his cock sprang out—thick, flushed red, the head already slick and weeping.

His hips jerked into the air, but still—still—his hands fisted in the sheets like he’d been trained to wait for your word.

You licked your palm and then wrapped your hand around him, slow and sure, and gave him a few long, lazy strokes from root to tip.

Remmick’s whole body shuddered. His eyes fluttered. His voice cracked.

“God—”

You rose just enough to align him, his cock sliding through your folds, catching sweetly at your entrance. The head slipped in, and you sank down slow—inch by aching inch—until he was seated deep, your walls fluttering around him as your body adjusted.

And Remmick lost his damn mind.

His back bowed off the bed, a cry tearing from his throat, one hand finally snapping up to your waist like he was drowning and you were the only thing keeping him above water.

“F-fuck—darlin—please—”

You rolled your hips, slow and deep, your thighs clenched tight around him. You watched his face twist in pleasure, that strong jaw slackening, brows drawn like it hurt to feel this good.

He was trying to hold back—trying to let you lead—but his hands betrayed him. They clawed at your hips, gripped tighter, pulled you down harder, like his body had a will of its own and all it knew was need.

“You strugglin’?” you teased, raising your brows, breathless but smug.

He was unraveling. Stammerin’. Shakin’. That smooth southern charm dissolved into raw need. But he tried to mask with a smile the feigned even a shred of dignity.

You leaned forward, lips ghosting over the pulse point in his neck, tongue dragging slow up the sweat-damp skin.

You could feel his chest collapse under you the closer you got to his ear.

“I wanna taste flesh” you whispered against him, voice honey-slick and dangerous.

And then you did.

Your fangs sank in hard, right at the juncture where neck met shoulder, and he screamed—a sound torn from deep in his chest, feral and desperate. His cock jerked inside you, his whole body arching into your bite like he wanted to crawl into it, like the pain was just another kind of prayer.

His blood was hot and copper-sweet, rushing over your tongue in waves. It lit your nerves on fire—made you throb around him, made your hips snap harder, faster, riding him like you’d waited a lifetime to take this.

Remmick was gone.

A mess of sounds—moans and gasps and high, breathless cries—his body thrashing under yours as he gripped your ass like a man possessed. His voice was all broken pleas, all need and surrender.

“Please, darlin’, don’t stop—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

You pulled back from his throat, lips slick with red, grinning down at him with a mouth full of sin.

Your nails dragged slow down his chest, raising goosebumps in their wake.

You rode him hard and deep, taking what you wanted, making him feel it—all of it. His cries got louder. His body shook beneath you. You could feel him throbbing inside you, could tell how close he was from the way he gripped you like he’d fall apart without your body wrapped tight around him.

You bit again—softer this time—just above your first mark, and that was it.

He came undone.

Crying out your name—just your name—like it was the only word left in the world. His release hit in waves, hips bucking helplessly beneath you, cock pulsing deep inside as you fucked him through every twitch, every tremor.

And when it was over—when he was boneless and breathless and soaked in sweat—you kissed his jaw, slid off of him slow, and disappeared into the other room.

You came back with a damp towel, soft as cotton and still warm from the basin. Wiped the blood from his throat, the mess from his stomach, and then let him curl into your lap like a man reborn.

You lit a cigarette and played with his hair, slow strokes at the nape of his neck, offering him a drag every few times.

[luhvbot]

SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[luhvbot]

After Reiner returns to Marley a broken man, he tortures himself with the memory of you, wanting nothing more than to touch you again - would you even let him? - to the point that he swears even his skin aches for the need to feel yours, as if letting his body melt into yours would lift the burden of sadness and self hatred, like only you could clean away the tear- and booze-soaked haze he finds himself in so many nights. He tries imagining you're there with him, safe, forgiving, soft against him. Sometimes it helps him feel something for a few minutes; most times the pain is just more raw when he wonders if you even survived the battle at Shiganshina, much less if he'll ever see you again. And once or twice, when he's half numb from drinking, he even finds a girl whose hair looks just like yours, who's receptive to the advances of a grieving man, and in dim, cold rooms, he looks for solace in burying his face in her hair while pretending it's you underneath him, but it only leaves him feeling so much worse that he shies away from human touch entirely.

[luhvbot]

w: idek, sex? yeah, sex.

hmmm könig acting like an excited but desperate puppy, asking you “does that feel good? do you like it? tell me, is that the spot, my hase?” constantly because he has slight doubt. except he underestimates his size and already, his seemingly ‘slow’ pace is drilling into you so you’re unable to answer him.

now you’re being fucked dumb and you haven’t said anything, by his own knowledge of sex, he simply assumes he’s not pounding you good enough. his ‘slow’ pace becomes almost impossible to take when his thrusts begin to speed up and fuck you deeper.

still, könig is asking if that feels any better but you’re face first burying into the pillow, biting the sheets, given up on asking so you just end up taking his fat cock til you both cum. (aka til you feel like you’ve met death)

[luhvbot]

Pleasure Interlude (nsfw 18+)

❤︎ Remmick (Sinners) x female reader ❤︎ Remmick lets you use him--lucky for you, he loves lying back time to time and watching his girl get greedy, but it's a win-win for both of you. Cause you're both freaks ❤︎ I <3 fucknasty short and sweet porn I need this man on his back sweaty and desperate moaning and acting like a whhhooorreee and I need it STAT ASAP

Remmick's head thumped back, and he smiled to himself, exhaling heavily while his eyes closed and one hand fell limp to his chest. Left only in his gold chain and one yellowed sock with a hole at the heel, his hair was damp and shiny with the sheen of sweat visible on his forehead and flushed cheeks. A chuckle erupted shortly after his last breath. He then glanced down at the sore sight of your mouth working itself over the blushed and agitated sight of his teased erection, your hands planted on his hips as his belly rose and fell gently. One knee splayed open, his lifted the opposite arm and slung his hand behind his head, groaning as your tongue circled and rolled around where he liked it best, causing a tightness in his chest that trickled deeper down into his pelvis, curling around his balls like the vice of a snake about to pump its venom. You could feel the thumping pulse along the bottom of his length, the silken skin tightening as blood gorged his girth and made it so when you released him with an obscene pop! that your favorite, shiny, strawberry red lolli bobbed toward his happy trail with a slight curve toward it that made you bite your lip again and stare down at with a wideness to your eyes that always told him you were about to start squirming.

He loved it when you squirmed, became fidgety, started edging him not out of malice or intention but out of fascination, awe, and your own greed. For a man of his nature, the longer you played with him and the more worked up you got him, the sounds that came out of his mouth became increasingly and surprisingly high-pitched. You'd called him pathetic once, earning a growl that faded into more huffing and puffing as his brows quirked upward and he gritted his teeth. You knew just how to work him right.

Remmick smirked down at you as these thoughts of his beautiful torture passed through your mind. He reached down with his free hand, turning an open palm so you pressed your cheek to it before his fingers curled around the nape of your neck and he yanked at a fistful of your hair, causing your spine to arch like a kitten's while you whimpered and crawled forward, up the length of his body.

"Now, now, I know how to work ya nice and good, too," Remmick murmured, dilated pupils darkening his gaze and his smirk widening, revealing the jaggedness of his teeth. They were hardly human, even when he hid behind the mask of a man. You merely whimpered at the warning, angling your hips over his cock and grinding them downward so your swollen lips pressed against the sides. You both gasped as the sensitive contact, each curve of your pelvis making his tip graze your clit gentle enough it sent your head spinning. Remmick squeezed his fist again, so you lowered your face toward his and met him in an eager kiss, leading him to cradle your skull--releasing your hair--and slip his tongue between your teeth.

Your hands planted above his shoulders and your knees pressing into his sides, the next time you curved your back and rubbed down into his erection, shivering at the way the mix of your saliva and the drool of your pussy's natural lubrication made his cock slip easily between your folds, you did so so that his head stretched the musculature of your entrance and your walls became filled with the first inch, then two, then three of him before you stopped, already panting.

Remmick had pulled his arm from behind his head. His thumb tracing your nipple, pinching it before squeezing one of your breasts and cupping the side of your rib cage, he kissed you rougher, muffling the beginnings of his more desperate noises, until your lungs burned and you opened your mouth to catch some air. You could feel the movement of him inside you with each flinch of his hips as he fought the urge to slam up into you, knowing you'd need a few more moments to adjust. But you wanted to feel that sweet ache, the sting of his intrusiveness. So you fell all the way down, sitting into his lap with a wince and the straightening of your spine. Remmick seemingly coughed, then lengthened his throat with a strained moan, his hands falling to your hips at the same time, a string of curses fell from his agape mouth. You kept them coming by rolling forward, planting your fingers splayed across his pecs and bouncing yourself on him with the squeeze of your thighs and pushing of your knees, clawing at his skin and causing red to bloom in the wake of your touch.

As soon as he was able to find a way to form words again, Remmick huffed, "mm-fuh-fuck, w-well, damn," his words choppy from the rythmn you fucked him. His hands only helped pull you back down as they kneaded the supple meat and he allowed you to not just fuck him but to fuck yourself on him, use his body to work out anything you needed to. Your face scrunched, your eyes rolling back, brows pulled together in concentration, he didn't have to read your mind or think too hard on it to know you had thoughts going on that needed distraction from. The only thing he corrected was, "look at me, darlin,' if you're gon' use me, look at me," all in his thick accent that swept over you and drew your eyes back to his. "That's it," he praised, "look at what y'do to me," smiling and moaning and giving you a convincing show--because nobody needed convincing. You felt it so deep inside you each time he knocked up into the cushion of your cervix that he was close, his ribs flaring and abdomen tensing, breath becoming more strained, his whimpers, whining, and moaning all becoming pitched higher and mixed together once he stopped trying to fight it. "You-gh-s'fuckin' pretty when y'using-me, all greedy, usin' me up, ah-fuck-fuck! that's, yeah, oh-yeah, that's good, that's so good--"

When he came, he shut his eyes and held you down on him, gritting his teeth and holding his breath, accidentally bucking you up with jagged kicks of his hips before a growl tore from the quivering tension in his body and his warmth leaked from you thick and sticky. His arms then slumped lax at his sides while he tried to catch his breath, all the while you carefully reached down between your legs where he slowly went soft inside you and scooped up a glob of his cum with your fingers.

Holding it out, a few drops dribbled onto his chest, causing Remmick to furrow his brows and look toward your hand. However, without question, once you muttered, "open," and turned your fingers to slip them to the knuckle onto the tender palette of his pink tongue, he wrapped his lips around them and suckled, locking eyes with you and cleaning you up. Not a single heartbeat later, you felt the twitch of him getting hard again, and knew it was your turn to lie on your back and let him work you.

[luhvbot]

Pleeease can you write something where reader takes care of Alfie's psoriasis?? Like he's trying to act super macho about it, like it doesn't bother him but then gets super soft when she starts treating it 🥺

“Loving you”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist

Summary: Alfie can’t help but let his guard down — and his softer side show — when you tend to the skin condition he usually keeps hidden.

WC: 5.1k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk.

The cold air filtered through the open windows of the Solomons’ home. The moonlight painted the room in hues of pale blue, casting long shadows over the heavy wooden furniture and the worn rug underfoot.

Alfie trudged into the sitting room, his broad shoulders seemed to sag slightly, the day’s weight visible in the furrow of his brow. But you noticed something else too, the way his hands flexed at his sides, the subtle shift in his stance. He was uncomfortable, you could see it clear as the day, and you could also see the irritated skin on his neck, raw and red, flaking with scales that trailed down along his flesh.

“Let me guess,” you began, tilting your head to appraise him. “It’s acting up again.”

He stopped short, his face an unreadable mask. “Dunno what you’re on about, woman.” His voice was gruff and dismissive. “I’m bloody fine, ain’t I?”

“Alfred Solomons,” you said, standing to meet him, hands on your hips. “You’ve been scratching yourself like a dog with fleas for days. Let me see.”

“Look,” he began, throwing up his hands defensively, “this ain’t a bloody—what’s the word—interrogation, yeah? Just got home, haven’t I? Thought we’d sit down, have a nice supper, maybe a drop o’ rum after, yeah? Not get a bloody inquisition.”

“Come on, Alfie,” you said gently, breaking the silence. “Sit down.”

He turned to look at you, his brows furrowing. “I told ya, love, it’s nothin’. Just a bit o’ skin, right? Nothin’ to fuss over. I’ve lived with it this long, ain’t I?”

You sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “Yes, you have, and you’ve done a fine job of ignoring it, but it’s bothering you, I can see that. Now, sit down and let me help.”

Alfie’s lips pressed into a firm line, his pride warring with the truth of your words. You’d seen him win fights with men twice his size, talk his way out of impossible situations, but here he was, hesitating like a child caught misbehaving. It was almost endearing if you ignored the fact that he was internally suffering.

Alfie stared at you, his jaw twitching as he weighed his options, he could refuse—he was, after all, Alfie Solomons, a man who answered to no one— but there was only one person who always made Alfie give in, and that was you, his wife. With a grumble under his breath, he lowered himself onto the armchair, sprawling out like a man whose kingdom had just fallen.

“Woman, you’re bloody relentless,” he muttered under his breath, the way he said it lacked any real heat; it was more a gruff acknowledgment of defeat.

“Take off your shirt,” you said softly.

Alfie cocked his head, as a smirk began to slowly form on his lips.

“Right, well, love, if you fancied seein’ me bollock naked, yeah? You could’ve just said so, straight up. Saved us all the fuckin’ theatrics. I’d have you up against that fuckin’ wall by now, makin’ a goddamn mess of things.”

You didn’t even blink, you knew how Alfie’s defense mechanism had always been humor, he’d crack a joke to avoid taking things too seriously. But you knew that behind every laugh, every sarcastic remark, there was a man scared to take a hit to his pride by asking for help. After all, he was forced to carry every burden on his own all his life, that until he met you.

“I’m serious, Alfie.” Voice flat, no smile this time. “Take the shirt off.”

Alfie huffed, his fingers working at the buttons of his shirt with deliberate slowness. “You’d think I was some feeble old man the way you’re carryin’ on,” he grumbled. “I don’t need lookin’ after, love. I’m a bloody force of nature, yeah?”

“Yes, you’re a force of nature,” you agreed with a smile, “but even storms need a bit of care sometimes.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he said nothing, his shirt finally coming off and landing in a crumpled heap beside him. You bit your lip as your eyes roamed over his body, the patches of red, inflamed skin were stark against his otherwise light complexion. Some areas were cracked and dry, while others looked painfully raw.

“Alfie,” you murmured, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s worse than last time.”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply, his tone rough. “Don’t you bloody start, right? I know what it looks like. Just a bit of dry skin, that’s all.”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m not starting anything. I just want to help. Dry skin doesn’t look like this.”

He relaxed under your touch, though he still looked straight ahead, his jaw set stubbornly. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

You knelt in front of him, settling between his legs as he sat back in the worn armchair, the lamplight cast a soft glow over his battered chest, the heat radiating from his skin palpable before you even touched him. He’d ignored it, neglected it for so long that it was the worst you’d ever seen it, and it must be hurting him so much, those angry red patches that bloomed across his torso and shoulders, the edges raw with peeling skin, irritated and roughened by days of stubbornness.

Your fingers moved carefully, barely grazing his side at first, his muscles tensed beneath the contact, a knee-jerk flinch more from instinct than actual pain, as if he was used to bracing for something harsher.

“Not so bad, you said?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He grunted. “I’ve had worse.”

“That why you haven’t even taken your shirt off when we fuck?” you asked, eyes locked on him. “’Cause you didn’t want me to see how bad it got?”

There was a pause, a flicker behind his eyes, something he tried to smother with a scoff. You knew you’d hit a sensitive topic by saying that.

“Well, aren’t you a fuckin’ detective now, eh? Bloody Sherlock Holmes,” he let out a dry, sharp laugh. “Didn’t think you needed to see it. S’not pretty. Nothin’ romantic about it.”

"You shouldn’t feel insecure about it," you said.

"Pfff, insecure? Bollocks, that is," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Men like me—we don't do insecure, right? That's for… for poets and posh lads with too much time on their hands."

But you saw the truth behind his eyes, that split-second crack in the armor, Alfie would never admit to feeling insecure about the way he looked, not even to you, his biggest confidant. And so you decided not to push the subject, you knew better than to fight a war you couldn’t win with words, besides, you had better ways of proving how handsome he was to you, like worshipping him with your mouth, or cunt.

“It must be driving you mad.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smirk. “Got more important things to worry about than a bit o’ itching.”

But you weren’t fooled, beneath his bravado, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as though resisting the urge to scratch.

“Stay still,” you instructed, scooping a dollop of ointment onto your fingers.

He flinched as you began to apply the salve, his usual boldness faltering. “Bloody cold, that is,” he muttered.

“It’s supposed to be soothing,” you said, your voice low, patient. You leaned in, working the ointment into his skin with slow, deliberate movements.

His skin was hot to the touch, the irritation beneath your fingertips angry and inflamed. You moved with care, smoothing the salve in small circles, avoiding the worst of the raw spots. Alfie exhaled through his nose, his body twitching beneath your hands before slowly relaxing, like he couldn’t help but lean into your touch once the sting eased, giving way to relief.

“That stuff smells awful,” he said, wrinkling his nose. There it was that stubbornness again, like accepting help, or letting you soothe the ache, meant weakness. You found it amusing, how in so many ways, this big and dangerous man reminded you of a little boy.

“Doesn’t matter how it smells. It’ll help,” you replied, working your way across his chest, thumbs grazing the curve of his collarbones, tracing along the tender edges with a gentleness that made his throat bob in a tight swallow.

“Still feels like I’m being fuckin’ punished,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to where your hands moved over his ribs.

“You’re not,” you murmured, catching his gaze briefly. “You’re being looked after. Big difference.”

For a moment, the room was silent save for the crackling of the fire. Alfie’s eyes were fixed on a point just above your head, his jaw tight as though willing himself not to react. As you spread the ointment slowly over the worst of the irritation, you felt it happen, the first shift in his breathing, from shallow and tense to something deeper. The slow drop of his shoulders, no longer braced against the tenderness. The subtle release of his clenched fists, his fingers unfurling where they’d been pressed into his thighs.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Of course I do,” you replied without hesitation. “You’re my husband.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Yeah, well. Don’t reckon you signed up for all this, did you? A husband with bad skin and worse manners.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “But I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“You’re good at this,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice softer than usual.

“Good at what?”

“Lookin’ after me. Puttin’ up with me. All of it, really.”

He was so stubborn sometimes, too caught up in his own worries to realize that you didn’t do this out of obligation, you did it because you loved him, because giving him this kind of comfort was something you’d gladly offer every single time he needed it.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you resumed. “It’s not putting up with you, Alfie. It’s loving you.”

He turned his head fully this time, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze took your breath away. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, woman,” he said quietly.

“And you’ve got a heart you try too hard to hide,” you replied, leaning forward to kiss his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch, letting out a deep breath. “Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah? Got a reputation to maintain.”

“All your secrets are safe with me,” you promised with a smile.

For the next hour, you worked diligently, your fingers gentle as they massaged the ointment into his skin. Alfie, for his part, remained unusually quiet, his usual stream of sharp wit replaced by a rare, unguarded vulnerability.

When you were finished, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work, the redness had diminished slightly, the skin looking less angry.

“There,” you said, capping the tin. “That should help.”

He looked down at his chest, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“You’re a good woman,” he said gruffly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Don’t reckon I tell you that enough.”

“You don’t,” you agreed, leaning into his touch.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head, eh?”

The tin of ointment clattered softly against the wood floor as Alfie pulled you up into his lap, the gruff tenderness in his hands making your breath hitch. He didn’t bother with words, not at first, he simply held you there, his rough palms trailing up and down your back, grounding you both in a moment of rare softness.

“Come here, pet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a low rumble in the space between you.

You settled on top of him, your knees bracketing his thighs. His beard scratched softly against your cheek as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the faint lavender oil you always dabbed behind your ears before bed.

He buried his head against your chest, breathing deep like he needed to memorize the scent of you to survive. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a purr, like a satisfied cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. There were only a handful of moments in his life where Alfie Solomons had let the world slip far enough to be this soft, and all of them had been with you, the only person he trusted enough to see this side of him.

“You smell good,” he said, the words muffled against your skin. Relaxing moments like this always softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look younger, almost boyish. You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his beard, and he sighed, the sound deep and contented.

He shifted beneath you, his hands tightening on your hips as though anchoring himself. “Dunno what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

“I don’t like when you say that. You’re not bad, Alf” you replied with a small smile. “Under all that grumbling and growling, you’re a good man.”

It was the truth. Yes, maybe he’d done bad things, things he couldn’t forget, things that haunted him every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror. But you saw more, so much more. You saw a man who had raised himself from nothing, who’d survived when the world tried to break him, who’d watched his friends die in trenches and still found the strength to carry on. You saw a man who’d opened his heart to you, who’d bought you your dream house and treated you like a queen in her own palace. Who had only ever been gentle with you, patient, kind, giving, even when he didn’t know how to be those things with himself.

His laugh was soft, almost self-deprecating. “Not sure half the blokes around here would agree with that one, love.”

“Don't care what they think, they're not my husband,” you said simply. “You are.”

That seemed to strike something deep in him. His eyes softened, and his hands moved to cradle your face, his touch reverent. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “I am, ain’t I?”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding at the same time. He kissed you like a man who knew how fleeting happiness and peace could be, who understood the weight of a moment like this.

The kiss deepened, his hands moving with more urgency now as they traced over your body, making you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Christ, woman,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “You make me feel the same way you did all those years ago.”

You laughed softly, a low, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate right through your chest when he leaned to capture his lips into another kiss. It was still slow, languid, the kind of kiss that made time crawl, your tongues sliding together with unhurried precision. His hands kept wandering, greedy and possessive roaming all over your body, gripping the small of your waist to ground you, kneading the soft flesh of your ass, tracing the dip of your spine, splaying wide across your lower back as if trying to brand you to him.

The hard length of him beneath you was impossible to ignore, thick and insistent against the thin barrier of your underwear, and when you shifted again, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, dragging your cunt over him with maddening friction, he let out a raw, broken sound that made your core clench.

“Gonna ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with hunger. Alfie was a man who thrived on control, sure, but when it came to you, he had no problem handing over the reins now and then. In fact, he loved it. Watching his missus bounce on top of him, taking every bit of pleasure she deserved? That was a big, fat yes for Alfie.

You grinned at his reaction, emboldened by the crack in his usually composed demeanor, the way his eyes had gone half-lidded, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint. You reached between your bodies to undo the fastening of his trousers, unable to wait one second more than necessary.

He chuckled low and hungry. “Yeah? Right, well—fuckin’ hell, woman—’course you wanna ride it.” He spread his hands, leaned back like he was bartering with God. “I’m all yours, ain’t I? Go on then, fuckin’ take what’s yours. Ruin me proper.”

He watched you, eyes locked on your hands, on how they were working his pants open, making his chest rise and fall with deep, shaky breaths. His hands didn’t stay behind, his rough fingers were roaming over your ribs, up your sides, then down again to knead your thighs, your ass, as if he truly didn’t know where to land next.

“You’re too bloody good at this,” he muttered, voice all hoarse and reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, how he’d landed such a beautiful woman, convinced her to marry him, and now had her on top of him eager to please him.

"It's the experience, been riding you dumb for ten years," you said with a smirk.

"Mhm," he huffed. "And you get better every fuckin' time, pet."

He loved this, especially on those days when he was bone-tired, when his skin was on fire, his back ached, his knees throbbed, his hips screamed, or the days when he had to deal with “fucking cunts,” as he’d put it. Nothing would make him happier than leaning back, letting go, and having a damn good orgasm by doing absolutely nothing, just watching you take control and do all the work for him.

You’d barely gotten his trousers down before his cock sprang free, slapping against his belly, so thick, so heavy, flushed and glistening at the tip like he’d been waiting all fucking day for this moment. The second your fingers wrapped around him, firm and instinctive, he gasped and his hips jerked like he didn’t give a toss about dignity anymore.

“You’re too bloody impatient,” you shot back with a teasing smirk, stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.

You shifted your weight, lining yourself up, your thighs bracketing his hips as you positioned yourself over him. His hands flew to your hips, holding you steady, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as the head of his cock brushed against your slick heat. Your breath hitched at the contact, at how easily your soaked folds parted to welcome him, at how swollen and desperate you already were.

“Impatient?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “Love, you’ve been teasin’ me for the past ten minutes. If anyone’s impatient, it’s you.”

You rocked your hips just enough to let his head catch at your entrance, not yet taking him, not fully, just dragging your wetness over him, back and forth, until he growled.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” he snapped, his hips jerking up, desperate for more friction, to be buried inside you. “You tryin’ to kill me? Playin' this bloody games with your poor 'ol husband? My fuckin' heart can't take this teasin', It's delicate, It is.”

“But it's too fun to tease you,” you whispered, lowering yourself an inch more. The stretch made you gasp, thick and delicious as always, and you swore you could feel every ridge and every vein of him.

He was watching your face now, intently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen, but you could see how hard he was fighting the urge to slam up into you. “Don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growled. “Be a good girl and sit on it proper.”

You obliged, how could you not when he talked like that? You sank down in one slow, torturous motion, your walls clenching around him inch by inch. The sound he made was filthy, a half groan half praise, guttural and deep. His head fell back, teeth gritted, chest rising with labored breaths as you took every last inch of him, seated fully, snug and wet around him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he rasped. “That’s it. That’s my pet. Perfect fuckin' cunt, still as tight as the day I first filled her up, yeah?"

You moaned, rolling your hips in a slow circle, grinding down with a filthy little twist at the end that made his cock drive right up into that sweet, aching spot inside you. Your breath caught sharp in your throat, eyes going hazy, Alfie groaned low like the wind had been knocked clean out of him, his hands clutched at your hips, guiding you with a kind of reverence, like you were something holy and he was the lucky bastard who got to worship at the altar.

He was trying hard to let you do your thing, let you take your time and move at your own pace, riding him how you wanted, but God, you were squeezing him so tight and dripping all over his cock, that it was almost imppossible to stop himself from thrusting up into you like a beast.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice frayed and reverent. “Ridin’ me like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you shot back, voice breathless, your lips brushing his ear as you leaned in.

Alfie met your movements with thrusts of his own, rolling his hips up hard, deep, making you bounce in his lap with every needy grind. His hands gripped your hips, firm but never too harsh, thumbs pressing into your flesh like he needed to memorize every curve, every quake of your body under his. The coarse trail of hair beneath his navel rubbed right up against your clit with every thrust, each drag of his body with that maddening friction made you jolt and shudder.

"Ohh, Alfie... feels so good," you moaned gasping into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders like you couldn’t get close enough. "Please don't stop, don't stop fucking me like that."

“Not stoppin'. Can’t stop when you’re so bloody perfect,” he rasped, his eyes dropping to where your soaked cunt was swallowing him again and again, wet sounds filling the air with each slap of skin against skin. “Perfect cunt. Perfect tits. Perfect wife.”

His head snapped forward so he could bite at your throat, not hard, just enough to make you whimper. His hands slid up your sides, pushing your slip up with urgency, bunching it around your waist until the fabric was out of his way and he could have a better view of everything, from your body glistening with sweat, your thighs shaking, to the way your soaked pussy kept taking his cock like you needed it.

That was the thing with Alfie, he never knew where the fuck to look, it was all too good. Your supple breasts, so soft and perfect, jiggling with every thrust, just begging to be grabbed. Your face, fuck, your face was so hot, those little pouts you made, the way your eyes fluttered shut when he hit a good spot deep inside you. And the way his thick cock slid in your cunt, coming out so wet and slick, your juices coating his navel and trickling down to coat his balls.

“Jesus Christ, love,” he rasped, voice thick. “You’re grippin’ me so tight—fuckin’ hell…”

You leaned forward, your hands braced against his chest, hair falling around your face as you found the perfect rhythm, grinding down in slow, greedy strokes that made both of you moan. His cock filled you perfectly, thick and hot and stretching you with every thrust of his hips.

Alfie’s attention was drifting, his eyes moved from the place where you two were connected, to the soft bounce of your breasts with every motion, your nipples peeking through the thin, rumpled slip. He licked his lips, rough hands sliding up your waist, over your ribs, until they cupped your breasts and gave them a slow squeeze.

“Look at these fuckin’ things,” he muttered. “Drivin’ me mad, the way they bounce when you ride me like that…”

Then he surged forward, mouth latching onto one of your nipples through the damp fabric, the hot drag of his tongue and the sudden suck of his mouth made you cry out, your hips stuttering as the pleasure hit you like a jolt.

“Alfie—” you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pulled the slip down, baring your chest fully. He didn’t hesitate, he wrapped his mouth around your nipple and sucked hard, filthy sounds filling the air as he groaned against your skin. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak, then he moved to the other breast, biting down just enough to make your back arch.

"I'd kill a man for your left tit," he mumbled, voice muffled, barely undertandable with his mouth still sucking around your nipple. "And then I'd kill another for the right one. Fuckin' perfect things."

“Shit—Alfie—Feels... so good… so full.” you moaned, grinding harder now, the added stimulation on your nipples sending you spiraling, and if that wasn’t good enough, you felt your clit catching on his pelvis with every thrust down, making your walls clench even tighter around him.

“Fuckin’ ride it—show me how needy you are. You like me suckin’ on your tits while you fuck yourself on my cock, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, you were so drunk in the pleasure he was giving you that it was impossible to articulate words, you just let that intense pleasure ripple through you.

“You are mine. Mine, yeah? All fuckin’ mine.”

“Yours,” you choked out, your voice breaking on a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you so perfectly that your body jolted, eyes fluttering shut, vision blurring with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s my good wife. So sweet and tight for me, drippin’ on me lap.”

The praise hit you like a shockwave, heat coiling in your gut, your body was desperately trying to chase your high. Just like as if he’d read your mind, sensing what you needed, his hands gripped your hips with force, lifting you up and slamming you down on his cock over and over again at the same time he thrusted up to meet you with rough, almost desperate violence. You weren't riding him anymore, he was fucking you through it.

“That’s it, love,” he muttered, his voice rough and unraveling. “Take it, my filthy little missus. Show me how good I make you feel. Ride it like you mean it.”

You cried out, the pleasure now becoming unbearable, forcing your body to clench hard around him, making your thighs tremble, the slick sound of your cunt milking him was louder now, filthier, wetter with every thrust. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and hot and perfectly angled to build your orgasm.

“Cum for your husband. Let me know I’m the only bastard who can make you feel like this. Just me. Just your fuckin' man.”

You snapped. Your head fell back, your mouth dropped open in a cry of pure ecstasy as you came hard. Your cunt spasmed around him, soaking him in a rush that made him curse and grip you tighter.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s it, pet,” he groaned, voice strangled. “Milk it. Milk my cock just like that. Gonna leave that pretty cunt drippin’ my cum for for weeks. Fuckin’ ruined.”

Alfie followed you just a couple of thrusts later, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He came with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing inside you, flooding you with his cum as he clutched you tight, holding you in place like he couldn’t bear the thought of you ever pulling away.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting, bodies slick with sweat and sex, his release leaking out of you slowly as his softening cock stayed inside. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, while his lips pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Ahhh—fuckin’ hell, yeah—that’s what a man needs, innit?” he groaned, voice thick and slurred like he was drunk on you. “To come home after a long day of dealin’ with cunts and madness, yeah, and have his sweet little wife sittin' pretty on his cock—riding him like it’s her god-given job.”

"Glad to hear I'm good at my job," you teased, voice raspy, still trying to catch your breath.

"Ohhh, you're the fuckin' best, pet. Not one fuckin' soul like you," he muttered, still breathless. "God broke the mould when he made you, thank fuckin' Christ he did."

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slowing little by little as his breathing evened out. For a long moment, there was just the sound of your shared breaths, the creak of the armchair as he adjusted to hold you closer, with his nose buried in your hair.

Then, softly, quieter than you were used to hearing him, he spoke.

“Thanks for takin' care of me,” he said, a little raw. “Proper, like no one ever has. Not just the shaggin’, love, though—don’t get me wrong, yeah, that’s… exceptional.” He smirked faintly, and you laughed. “But it’s the other things. All the little things you do for me.”

Your throat tightened as he continued, getting to hear this sweet side of him was something you’d never get used to, not because it was rare, he gave it to you more often than he probably even realized, but because it always felt like a little secret, meant only for you.

“I’m not easy, right? I know that. I’m rough and moody and loud as hell. And yet you—you’re always there. Calm. Warm. Always fuckin’ takin’ care of me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “So I just wanted to say thank you. For stayin’ even after all these years. For seein’ the worst of me and lovin’ me anyway.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words could ever manage, and when you pulled back, your voice was thick with emotion.

“You’re not the worst, Alf. You never were.”

He huffed a soft laugh, pulling you tighter against him. Looking at you with eyes that said “I love you. I’d be lost without you by my side.” You felt it in your chest, in your bones. He made you feel like the most loved woman in the world.

“Well, I’ll tell you what you are,” he murmured. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

AN: Thank you so much for your request!! You gave me the perfect opportunity to write this cause I’ve actually been thinking for a while about a fic where the reader takes care of Alfie’s sciatica, but I absolutely loved your idea🩷🫶🏻

I hope that you and everyone else enjoyed this. Your support means the world to me!!

One more Alfie fic to go and then I’m officially done with requests heheh😮‍💨

@ficthots

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[luhvbot]

"Glory"

Remmick x Black!reader

Prompt: "Oopsy, you weren't supposed to see that"

Notes/Warnings: Smut, Fake Marriage

Search →Location→Gigs→Domestic gigs

Fake Wife needed Compensation: Negotiable

Fake wife needed, single male with a rare and severe sun allergy that makes it impossible to go out in the day looking for a Wife. Pretend to be my wife and deal with social and legal daytime obligations that I may have trouble completing.

Requirements

• Must have a well kept appearance, wear appropriate attire while preforming outside social interactions, to keep up with social expectations.

• Accompany Husband(me) to social events when asked, and keep up agreeable behavior while at said events.

• Stay out of the basement.

Benefits

• Living in a fully furnished home for free.

• Monthly Allowance.

• Full access to house (not including basement) to decorate as desired.

post id: 785XXXXXX posted: about 15 hours ago ♥

You stare at a Gregslist posting that you had stumbled upon, trying to find something quick and easy enough that could help with the rent that was already past due. It screamed Gregslist killer, but if it was real maybe you could get out of this shit hole, maybe you could start over with your life.

The only reason you were even in this situation was because you chose to trust the wrong person; you had both moved from your hometown over a thousand miles away to seek your fortune in the cities. You were supposed to look out for one another but they had ditched you, gotten married to someone of some means and peaced out. And without even paying their share of the rent, forcing you to scramble for ends. You were able to scrounge up the money for the first couple years after their departure, by using your saving and the kindness of your family, but you just couldn’t do it anymore.

This wasn’t living, this was surviving; all your dreams had been thrown out the window when they pulled their bullshit stunt. “I just don’t want to struggle anymore,” this is what they said as they packed, neither of you had been truly struggling, not like you are now. Both of your goals had been close enough to touch, and in a year or so they could have accomplished all that they wanted; they just didn’t want to work anymore. Which you could understand, but how could they leave so easily without even asking if you’d be okay? Everyday that you woke up, would be more heartrendingly painful than the next.

Looking over at the empty pantry that you never seem to keep full, to the empty pet bowl to a picture of a pet that you had to surrender to the state just so they wouldn’t go hungry, to the barren décor; what did you even have to lose? At a certain point who even cared if they were a killer? You weren’t living anyway.Hello,

I saw your listing on Gregslist, and would like to audition for the role as your Wife. Attached are a few pictures of me, if I look like your ideal wife give me a call at (XXX-555-2564) hope to hear from you soon.

A day goes by without any answer so you decide to take a peek at the listing again to see when the last time he was on, and your heart sinks immediately.

Either he chose someone else, or (and the most likely reason) it was a fake ad that got taken down. You’re seconds from crying when your phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Yes…”

“Right now…Shades…”

“Yeah I’ll be there in…”

He wanted to meet you at the 24hour diner down the street from your apartment. The fact that he chose to meet you at a place with witnesses, was a positive sign that he wasn’t a serial killer right? It’s so late at night though, it must be hard to navigate life with an allergy to the sun.

You wasted no time getting dressed and walking to the diner where a man stood off to the side with shades, ‘That must be him’ you walk up to greet him.

“Well, hello there Sweetheart.” You can't place where he’s from, he must travel often enough to develop an ambiguous accent. ‘Was that even possible?’ You had been a little taken back by his easy use of endearments, but maybe that was just something he had picked up like the accent.

You don’t know what you were expecting him to look like but this wasn’t quite it. He did look clean and put together, but he dressed like someone over half a decade older than him, it felt like he was trying to prove… maybe even trying to hide something. The only thing that seemed to be out of place on him, were the pair of tinted shades he had on. You wanted to ask about his clothing, but decided against it, the last thing you wanted to do was shame him for his choice in fashion. Not when you were in stuck in such a deep hole, practically begging for help.

Though he must have already realized you were on your last match, you're guessing that's the only reason he placed an ad on gregslist, only a desperate person would reply. It wasn't like he was hideous, it was actually quite the opposite; since he wasn't completely irredeemable in the looks area, this could only mean that he was so morally bankrupt that no one in his circle wanted anything to do with him.

He cleared his throat snapping you of the mental gymnastics your mind was doing, trying to find out what was wrong with this man. “Would you mind inviting me in?” He smiles “One of my many eccentricities that I’m hoping you’ll have the patience for.”

Was this a kink thing? You wave him forward as inconspicuously as you can, not wanting anyone to witness whatever kink play he was having you perform, no matter how small.

He smiles walking past you, he chooses a seat in the back of the dinner where you both sit in silence, until the waitstaff comes around asking to get you refreshments. You could afford enough for a water, so that's what you order, while he orders ¾ a cup of black coffee. As the waitstaff nods and walks away he can't keep his eyes off you.

“The photos don’t do you justice you are quite beautiful.” You nod thanking him for his complement, but couldn’t see what he was seeing. You hadn’t worn anything special to impress him, just what was clean and made sense. You complemented him back, and wondered if it would be too forward to let him know that he made your pussy clench when you first met, or would that be outta pocket?

Before you can think any harder on the subject, the waitstaff comes back around; they place down your drinks and ask you what you’d like to order. You clam up, you couldn't even afford a proper drink, there is no way you'd be able to afford anything on the menu, maybe if you ask for half a piece of toast.

Noticing your inner struggle, he tells the waitstaff that you'd like more time. Lightly brushing his hand over yours he leans in, “Have whatever you want don’t worry about the bill.” Embarrassed but grateful for his discretion, you nod, thanking him for his generosity. And when the waitstaff comes back around you order something that you know that you'll like, not wanting to waste his money.

You watch as he orders something similar. “So… Remmick what do you do for work?” ‘That was a safe enough question right?’ “Restoration and Preservation” he gives you a smile but says nothing else, your not sure how to follow up with that. He seems content to just sit there in silence enjoying the heat coming from his coffee, though he never seems to take a sip.

Neither of you say another word, not even when your food arrives. You wait a second for him to begin eating, but when he just sits there not moving you decide to start without him, not commenting on the lack of bites he takes from his own plate. This seems to have been the correct thing to do, because when you’re finished eating he smiles at you; ‘Was he a feeder? It wasn’t exactly serial killer behavior but you’d think he’d be upfront with something like that.’

When the waitstaff comes back around to take payment, they notice the food still sitting on his plate, they ask if everything was alright, and if they could make him something different. He just waves them off, asking for a to-go container instead, when they come back with his receipt and containers, he thanks and tips them before they walk away.

When you're finally alone again, he slides his untouched plate over to you, handing you the containers. “Here pack this up for me, Darlin’,” you do as your told, packing everything neatly away, even putting the container in the paper bag that was left on the table for it. He nods and smiles, but you're truly confused to what you've done to put him in such an agreeable mood.

“Yea’ I think this” he says pointing between him and you “Is gon’ work out just fine” He flags down a random worker and asks for a pen and paper, he then writes down an address with a date and time. “I’ll have a moving truck pick you up, just be ready.” He pulls out a few hundred dollars, you eye the money with far more hunger than you mean to. Embarrassed you look away, just so he doesn’t see the desperation in your eyes.

He taps his finger on the diner table to get your attention, your head snaps in his direction and behind his shades, you see he has a hunger too just a different kind. “Here’s fir yer time, and don’t you go on tryin’ to pay the movers, they’ve already been compensated, kay?” He hands you the money with the slip of paper on top of it.

You start to get up to leave, but he gently grabs your hand before you can fully get going. “I don't think we ever gave each other our names,” His hands are freezing making you shiver, no wondered he ordered that coffee. You tell him your name and he nods picking up the bag of left overs, with a couple of fingers he hands them to you. “Name’s Remmick, Remmick O’Connell and I think we’ll be gettin’ on just fine.”

You make your way safely home placing your leftovers in the fridge; you weren’t quite sure what to think about Remmick, he was most certainly a weirdo, but you couldn't figure out what kind. A knock comes from your apartment door, and your heart droops; did he follow you home? Great now he was going to kill you and take his money back, you were going to be broke even in the afterlife.

You quickly walk over to your door to look through the peep hole, you let out a deep sigh not from being relived but from frustration. Standing front of your door was the owner of the property, they never missed a day to harass you, you open your door but before you have a chance to ask them what they want they begin yelling.

“So you have enough money to eat out but not enough to pay me my money?” You begin to message your temples, “Please I just got home, can’t we talk about this later?” Folding their hands over their chest “Fuck no we can’t talk about this later, small town fucks like you always movin’ to the cities to make it ‘big’, causin’ problems for the locals, cus’ all of a sudden you can’t pay rent, this ain’t in the middle of bum fuck, and rent ain’t two cents and bag of corn!”

Not being able to take it anymore, you slam the door in their face and scream. “Just leave me the fuck alone for the night, I’ll have your money soon, then my small town ass will be outta your hair!” You can hear them sputtering behind the door “Ya! you better have my fuckin’ money, don’t forget I know people!” You scoff, that’s what everyone here said, “I know people” ‘Who the fuck cares!’ You hoped more than anything that everything with Remmick worked out, you don’t think you can do this anymore.

As expected the movers had come in the middle of the night; you told them to move silently as not to wake the neighbors, but in truth you had your own selfish reasons for telling them to be quiet.

What you hadn’t expected was for Remmick to show up in tow.

“Can I come in?” He looks almost giddy.

“Yes, of course please come in, what made you stop by?”

Smiling he steps past the entrance taking a look around, “It occurred to me that you might not have a way to get to me on your own, and having a driver pick you up for me felt too… formal, for our kinda relationship.”

“Thank you, I had planned to hitch a ride with the movers, but now looking at the lack of room in their truck, I don’t think I would have fit.” Giving the apartment another once over you begin to grow anxious, Remmick notices and asks if anything is wrong. “Nothing” you give him a tight smile “It would just be best if we left soon.”

From the time that you met Remmick to the arrival of the moving trucks you had been silently packing everything you could, you really do plan to pay the property owner but with a lack of funds all you can do is leave quietly then pay latter, unfortunately nothing got past your property owner, not even in the middle of the night.

Dramatically entering your apartment without even asking, the property owner stomps their way over to where you and Remmick are talking. “Hmph, just like a field mouse, trying to scurry away. listen I don’t know who the fuck ya are, but she ain’t goin’ nowhere without paying whats already due!”

You want to sink into the floor, shame encasing you like amber.

Without even looking your way or pausing Remmick smiles at the scowling asshole in front of you, that’s purposely trying to make you look bad. “Well, how much does my girl owe ya’?”

You wince at the amount.

He just smiles looking over to one of the movers that had been waiting by the door. “Grab my checkbook” as he waits he looks over at the property owner “You do take checks right?”

The owner folds their arms and give Remmick a sharp nod.

“Remmick, you don’t have to-” He places a hand on your shoulder placing a finger in front of his lips “Shh, don’t worry about it Darlin’, this is nothing if it means I can get you home quicker.” He winks at you making your face heat up.

With a flick of his wrist he cuts the check, handing it over to the owner, not even blinking as he erases the debt that had consumed your life, and been the reason for all of your stress.

“If this bounces…” They sneer at Remmick

He rolls his eyes but tries to keep a smile on his face “It won’t” his irritation slowly growing as the property owner just stands there.

You look at the property owner with exhaustion “Can we get a little privacy?”

“Don’t come back” they spit.

“She won’t” “I won’t” You look at each other and he smiles at you but you lower your head in embarrassment.

You hear the door slam, as the property owner makes one last grand exit in your life. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not but thank you for saying so.”

He looks around at your small barren apartment, a place that always brought you pain until you felt you were suffocating from its existence. “Are ya ready to go Baby girl?” you nod following him and silently prayed you’d never have be in a situation like this again, no matter what. You jump in the passenger side, you wait for Remmick to start driving but he just looks over at you. “Put on your seat belt sweetheart, safety first”

“Of course” you fasten yourself in still in awe of what occurred.

When you finally arrive at his home you take a good look around; he lives in a gated community with cookie cutter homes planted in rows.

Without being told to, the movers park and begin to move your things inside of the house. Remmick came to the passenger side of the car and lets you out, placing his hand on your lower back, he guides you into his home. He looks excited to show you around; from the kitchen and pantry, to the bed rooms and study, and finally the living room passing by the basement.

Your eyes only lingered for a second, but long enough for Remmick to notice, redirecting you to where you are now. “This is one of my favorite pieces in this house.” He says waving towards the coffee table beside your legs “It’s sturdy and reliable, had it for years; refused to get rid of it no matter how far I’ve come”

He seems nervous about something, and you soon find out what, as he gets on one knee in front of you your confused at first until he pulls out a ring box, “You’ll need this to make it, um… Official.” You slowly hold out your hand, he takes the ring and band out of its box placing both on your finger. If you’re shocked that they fit, you don’t show it. Instead you thank him and complement the style of the rings he beams at this. It all seems a little too sentimental to you but you allow it.

It doesn’t take long before your bedroom is ready; you hadn’t asked them to but the movers had to the best of their abilities put all of your things away. You didn’t have much but the things you did have were important enough to have brought them with you. You lay down for the night looking at the ceiling of your room. It’s always hard to fall asleep somewhere new for the first time. But as you let the day wash over you, you let yourself become comfortable, lulling yourself off into a dreamland; you don’t notice your door opening.

In the morning as you’re getting ready, you notice a few pairs of underwear missing, maybe they got lost in the move, but you doubt it. ‘Was this the kind of people Remmick employed?’

You make your way downstairs noticing all the blinds to the house are closed tightly. The only thing keeping the house lit were strategically placed floor lamps, and sconce lights on the walls. Giving off the feeling of it being daytime, but without the danger it could pose to Remmick. Speak of the devil you find Remmick sitting in the living room waiting for you, sitting opposite of him are a couple of people that seem to somehow be related, ‘Maybe cousins?’

They introduced themselves as your personnel seamstress and tailor; they quickly begin to take your measurements as Remmick looks on, amused at how green you are at everything happening. “You’re my wife and you’ll need to look the part” he lists your responsibilities, minding the garden and directing the gardener, talking with neighbors to keep up a friendly appearance, and showing up to meetings he can’t personally attend. This gig was starting to sound more like the job of a personal assistant. You ask him about that but he just laughs, “Aye, I could do that, but I like to think I’m cutting out the middle man this way. Too many people get involved with that kind of arrangement; this just feels more private.”

He looks at you “When you have to live like I do, privacy is something you begin to cherish.” You don’t ask any more questions, and when your new wardrobe arrives you fall into your new assigned role, tending to Remmick’s life during the day time, and in the afternoon relaxing around the house.

After a while he slowly begins to join you, at first he was too shy and assumed he was intruding on your private time. “How can you be intruding, we’re husband and wife.” you joke playfully but after that begins to play his role on his sleeve, giving you flowers out of the blue, and jewelry that he thinks might suit you. You think of stopping him, but decide to just go with it, it wasn’t hurting anyone and it seemed to make him happy.

He finds you in the kitchen one day, prepping a bouquet of flowers he had gifted you, you planned to put them in a vase and place them on the kitchen table. He stands at the entrance just watching you, he liked to do that. His habit of watching you probably stems from a lack of human interactions due to his sun allergy, at least that’s what you believe, but you never see him staring at clients when they stop by, like he stares at you.

Sometimes you feel like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a fox, and wonder if you should run away. But then you look back at him and see that he’s just a puppy, you shake away any feeling of uneasiness that tries to plant itself inside your heart, and instead try to convince yourself that everything is normal.

He smiles at you as you wave him over.

“Thank you again for the flowers they’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” He’s obvious trying to be suave but he come off more like a boy with a crush, you chuckle at him thanking him for the complement.

“Darlin’ I came seeking you out to ask you to attend as my date for a party.” He looks nervous asking you, as if you’d say no. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to, it was in your agreed upon requirements; you noticed he needed your approval for things that had already been agreed upon. Maybe what he really needed was for someone to pretend for him, perform for him. “No where I’d rather be, Honey” You smile throwing his overt use of endearments back at him, you watch him vibrate with excitement.

“Party’s just a short in and out, just business; just invite me in like the first time we met and smile, you can mingle but we won’t be there too long.” After he informs you of what his expectations are, he stands and watches you as you finish doing what you had been doing when he walked in.

Is it bad that you sometimes want to kiss him, feel his lips against yours, like a real couple? You wave the thought away, you’re forgetting why you’re here, ‘Don’t get attached, don’t get attached, don’t get attached.’ You try to snap out of your grand delusions, but it gets harder and harder when he’s like this.

You sigh, trying to dig your heart deeper into your chest, you spend the rest of your day like this with him by your side, just taking up each others time, until nighttime falls and you bid each other goodnight.

That night, you can’t help as yourself as you move your fingertips down your body, pretending that they were his. At first you’d been too self-conscious to do this in his house, but it’s been a while, and any hangups you had quickly melted in your panties the longer you were around him. It’s been so long that it doesn’t take much to find your release, you choke out his name while playing with your body. Even though his room is down the hall you try to be quiet, you didn’t know how thick the walls were.

The walls are thick enough that you never hear the body on the other side of your door, desperately joining you in your release, begging to be let in. You slowly drift to sleep without a clue to the body you’ve wrecked, like soft tides on a sand castle unaware of their destruction, but no lest devastating. He cleans his mess up leaving you to sleep and keeping you unaware.

For the party he calls the seamstress and tailor duo for you again; he let them adorn you with soft silk fabrics until you stand there in all your beauty. Remmick’s eyes never leaving your body, you begin to feel light headed as your pulse quickens and you begin to feel hot all over just from his gaze. The seamstress looks at you then to Remmick with concern “Mr. O’Connell, are you doing alright you have something-” they both motion to the side of his face where you can see a wet shimmer dripping from his chin ‘Was he drooling?’

He touches the side of his chin looking away, “Forgive me y’all’, I have some business to attend to in the study.” He looks back at the seamstress and tailor “Make sure to give my Wife whatever she wants.” After he leaves it doesn’t take long to finish, but you still want his opinion on some of the styles you may want to wear in the future. He had said he’d be in his study; you can hear the muffled sound of his voice. You don’t think to knock, you just quietly enter, not wanting to interrupt him if he was on an important call.

That’s how you come into view of him leaning slightly back in his chair one hand gripping the chair’s arm rest and the other wrapped around his dick. You swear you meant to look away but noticed something in his hands; it was your panties that had gone missing your first night here. You watch as his eyes screw up moaning your name, as his pace picks up. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t look away, and when he finally does notice you standing there, he’s too far gone to stop himself from cumming into the underwear fisted around his cock. “Jesus, fuck” he cries out panting out your name he tries to cover himself.

You turn around a tad to late “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt your private time.” you listen as he makes himself decent but you choose not to turn back around.

“I-I” he tries to stammer out an excuse but there’s nothing that he could say that wouldn’t make this situation worse.

“Please don’t say anything, we don’t have to talk about it, it doesn’t have to mean anything” there is a heavy silence between you.

“Alright.” he sounds so defeated, you wait for him to say anything else but when he stays quiet you decide to leave, pausing you turn back towards him, doing your best not to make eye contact. “I’m not sure if I, uh need to say this but, you can keep them, the panties.” looking at your underwear in his hands, he quickly places them behind his back. You leave quickly just in case he tries to explain himself again.

You spend most of your time in your room after that, only going out to preform your agreed upon duties, and talking with the seamstress and tailor about the attire you’ll be wearing for the gathering. Ever so often you find yourself checking to see if any more panties come up missing; they don’t, and the day for the party slowly approaches. The day before, you take extra care with your hair regimen, so that you can focus on your body.

The night before, after you come out of your bathroom glowing, you find multiple bra and pantie sets laid on your bed; they were definitely more expensive than the cheap pairs that he had stolen, was this an apology?

Should you apologize too? What he did was fucked up, but you didn’t need to continue watching, but you wanted to, you enjoyed watching him come undone with just a pair of cheap panties that you had gotten in a pack on sale.

You wonder if he still uses them; the thought begins to excite you but you can’t waste time fantasizing at the moment. You try not to waste anymore time; you pick out a set of undergarments and put on the final design of the dress, letting the Seamstress and Tailor in to make sure it’s laying right.

He smiles as you make your way towards him. ‘Fuck, he looks amazing’ maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to avoid him all this time, you had forgotten what he did to your body. He says nothing about the gifts he left on your bed, he doesn’t even ask if you were wearing them, you were but it’s nice that he’s gentleman enough not to ask about it. ‘Though not gentleman enough not to steal my panties.’ You wrap yourself around the arm he offers while he walks you to the car, he opens the door for you making sure your settled he places the seat belt on you, closing your door then jumping in the car and doing the same for himself, before hitting the highway.

Handing his keys over to a valet he smiles at you. “Before we go in I want to say something.” ‘Oh god, please don’t let him bring up what happened in the study, oh god please.’ “You look absolutely breathtaking.” You smile at him, giving your thanks; you let him lead you to the house where the social gathering was. Unlike when you first met you don’t wait for him to ask, immediately you invite him in.

Allowing him to place his hand on your lower back, you let him guide you over to a handsome older gentleman, with hair that was graying on his temples, who you can only assume is the Host for tonight. You had assumed that you wouldn’t know anyone here, and you wish that had been the case; but standing right behind him was the person that had got you into this whole mess. You didn’t know whether to punch them or thank them; instead you act like you don’t know them, letting introductions flow freely as if this was your first meeting.

“Where have you been hiding such a lovely wife?” the host remarks.

Remmick caresses your cheek. “Well you know I can be a very jealous man, and shes truly the apple of my eye,” He says looking at you with so much unadulterated love, that you almost look behind yourself to see who he’s talking about. “It’s hard to not want to keep ‘er locked up.” He says with a little to much honesty, that it even makes the host uncomfortable.

They chuckle and start to talk about business, at that you tune them out, every so often glancing around the party. Remmick’s hand never leaves your lower back; as he talks, a possessiveness that you never knew he had shines through, and everyone around could see it.

Remmick leans down and whispers in your ear making you shiver you don’t know if he noticed, but a smirk forms on his lips. “Be right back, remember what I said just an in and out.” You nod, watching Remmick and the host entering doors to the back rooms.

You had hopped your ex roommate would do the honorable thing and just ignore you like you had planned to ignore them, but you weren’t so lucky. They walked straight to you as the two men walked away. “Funny bumping into you here.” You continue to ignore them giving them the barest of acknowledgments.

“It’s good to see you again, looks like you finally followed my lead, and let go of your foolish dreams. Better to give up sooner than to die broke later, am I right?” That was your limit; why couldn’t they just leave you alone? “I never gave up on my dreams, and that is not why I’m here right now, it was you that couldn't cut it, not me.” You try to keep your voice down but they’re making it hard, before they can needle you again, someone that you assumed works for them tries to whisper in their ear, but you catch parts of the conversion. Band arrived but singer left separately, never showed. They look over at you, watching as you try to pretend like you’re not eavesdropping, smirking they point at you.

“We have a replacement right here. Tell the band to get ready, she’ll be on in a few.” The color leaves your face. “What are you doing” You hiss at them. “What, you said you never gave up on your dreams, or was that just a bunch of hypocritical bullshit you were spouting to make yourself feel better about snagging a sugar daddy like me, while still looking down at me from your high chair?” Brushing past them you make sure to bump into their shoulder. “Witness me Bitch” It comes out as playful, you would gladly raise to their challenge.

“Give me something worth witnessing” They smile knowing just what to say to rile you up, and for a second it’s as if you both were back in that apartment, two broke kids trying to make it big.

As you’re handed a mic you don’t have time to think if what your about to sing is business friendly, or if it will embarrass Remmick, you just feel the words flow out of you like a firework busting from its casing.

“Glory, glory, glory to the night That shows me what I am..”

You don’t know when Remmick comes back but he’s watching you intently, as you pour your soul out into a party full of strangers, and you hope this doesn’t break your agreement.

“As I go to the party on my knees Saying "Take it all, please"

You lock eyes with him as you sing, and just like that night in the dinner you see that hunger in his eyes, and it was meant for you.

“Glory, glory, glory to the night It shows me what I am”

He smiles as if he had finally found what he was looking for in life, and you realize right at that moment the hunger in his eyes were always meant for you, and that thought scares you, It could mean only one thing.

“I'm not happy or sad, just up or down And always bad”

Remmick had fallen in love with you.

As you finish the song you watch as your old friend walk away probably on their way to find their husband. Remmick walks towards you looking like he wants to kiss you, and you think would have let him if everyone including you weren’t suddenly shocked by a shrill scream that comes from the backrooms. The person that you used to know comes stumbling out of the doors. “He’s dead, please someone help, my husband he’s been murdered, get help!” You watch as people around you slowly begin to try and get help, but stop in their tracks as the host and supposedly dead husband, makes an appearance behind them with an oddly familiar smile.

“Sweetheart, I’m old not dead.” He places a hand on their lower back. “I can’t party like I used to, I need to re-energize somehow, and I’d like to do it without putting stuff in my nose.” He stage whispers making everyone breakout in a nervous laugh. “I apologize everyone, my young spouse here has mistaken my light nap for a visit from the grim reaper.”

Instead of nervously laughing along with everyone else they push their husband, the host away; you hear audible gasps all around as they make their way over to you grabbing you by your arms. Their eyes full of the kind of panicking desperation you only see in horror movies, they try to get you to listen to them “I know what I saw, please, pleas-”

Not sure what to believe you let their husband usher them away, not noticing the light stain on his collar as their screams become more panicked. Remmick quickly guides you out of the party without saying goodbye to anyone. No matter what they did in the past you hoped they would be okay, but you had a feeling in your guts that you just witnessed the death of a memory.

Getting you in the car he hits the highway towards home.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” It was something you wanted to keep to yourself, didn’t want it to be a part of you that you sold, but you couldn’t say that. Instead you say “Didn’t want to bother you with my silly little hobbies.” “It didn’t sound like just a hobby to me, sounded like something special, beautiful, real goddamn beautiful.” You thank him but don’t say anything else on the matter, and for a second it’s quiet as he drives. “Will you do it again, just for me?”

“Is that a request or a demand?” ‘Did that sound bitter?’

He takes a quick glance over at you, making sure to keep his eyes on the road for the most part. He drives in silence for the rest of the trip. Parking the car in the driveway, he softly grabs your hand while looking you in the eyes. “I’m not requesting or demanding but beggin’ ya please sing for me.”

You were only teasing him, you hadn’t planned to sing for him, but his pleading made you smile. He brings is lips to the back of your hand kissing it softly, glancing over at you he must know by now what he did to you, he begins to lean towards you and you know what he wants.

You unbuckle your seat belt not waiting for him you get out of the car, you practically sprinting to the house, you had to get away from him before you did something stupid.

He sprints after you calling your name.

Closing the door behind himself he finds you in the living room, walking towards the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms, but he stops you turning your body towards him, till you’re facing his chest.

“We shouldn’t.” You place your hands on his chest, it felt like a sin to want him so badly.

“Why not?” He says eyelashes almost touching you as he goes in to kiss you again.

“I think I'll regret this.” You start off with slow kisses, but soon you both get desperate, trying to get a taste of each other with every touch of your lips.

He runs down your body with his lips leaving kisses in his wake, as he rips open the front of your dress. The sound of shock leaves your lips, but he covers them with his own moaning into your mouth, as you paw at his belt working it loose with your fingers. He runs his fingers over your exposed bra looking for your nipple, he rips the fabric of the bra kissing and sucking on your breast then to your nipple, when he finally gets your titty free.

You unbutton his slacks, pulling them down far enough to release his dick from his underwear, before you can wrap your hand around him he pulls back from you. You watch as his chest lifts up and down, slowly descending in front of you he looks almost animalistic as he gets on his knees, he lifts your dress up, pulling your panties down. You don’t expect it, so when he pulls you down, pushing your back flush against the coffee table, and dives between your thighs with his tongue, you make a choked noise.

You try to close your legs from the over stimulation but he keeps you open, your legs firmly placed on his shoulders; he wasn’t going to let you go until you gave him what he wanted. Your hips lifting off the coffee table your hand goes to his hair pulling him deeper into your snatch. As you moan his name, you cum on his tongue and feel as he laps the juices off your cunt.

“Oh Fuck sweetheart you taste like heaven.” As you run your hands through his hair you notice that he has natural waves, “Beautiful.” The word leaves your lips as he grabs your hand, kissing the palm of your hands as he pulls you on top of him. You sink slowly on his length, already weeping with pre-cum. You begin to ride him like you were starved for just the taste of him. “Fuck love, please slow down it’s been a while, I’m not gon’ta last!” You look down at him with a smirk on your lips, he gave you no mercy, so why should you give him any? You kick it into over drive, rolling your hips with purpose.

Remmick tries to grab your hips to slow you down, but you grab his hands placing one on the titty he had ripped your bra just to get a taste of and the other on your lips kissing his fingertips. “Fuck so good, I can’t!” He’s practically weeping under you, as you keep rolling your hips in a smooth but relentless motion. You’re closer to the edge than you thought, you cum all over his dick, as he finds release in you. Panting each others names, delirious with euphoria he holds you close as you feel drops of him start to drip out of you.

After that day it feels like you are closer then ever, he lets his natural waves lay on his head, cause he knows you like to play with them and you sing to him in the after noon letting him lay his head on your lap. Everything feels like paradise, that is until you’re doing a little morning gardening and one of your neighbor sees you.

Waving you over they seem nervous at first, saying they weren’t going to bring it up, but you seemed like such a nice and normal couple. “Do you know about the people that your Husband brings home at night?” Blinking, that wasn’t what you had expected them to say. “What-, Mr. O’Connell… My Husband is in the business of restoration and with his sun allergy-” They don’t look convinced just like you don’t feel it. “It’s just that when they leave they look so disheveled, as if they had removed their clothing.” Your fists clench, you didn’t want to hear this. “What are you trying to imply?” “I didn’t mean to offend” “I don’t know what is going on in that mind of yours but I suggest you just forget what you saw.”

You try to breathe but it’s become harder. “Now I have roses to take care of, good day.” You hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but you hadn’t known of any people of the night visiting Remmick. Of course it would have been while you were asleep, and yes there had been times when you woke up to find his side of the bed empty, but he was probably in the basement working on restorations.

Beside it wasn’t your place to question what he did with his time; that’s right, you were just his fake wife, but you were his real lover and the thought of him in the arms of someone else made you so sick. You could barely breathe; you’re quiet for the rest of the week, and if Remmick noticed anything he doesn’t say a word. You can barely look at him without envisioning him making love to some random faceless person, to the point you begin to have nightmares about it.

It’s due to one of those nightmares that you awaken in the middle of the night; your neighbors words getting to you as you reach out for a body that you knew wasn’t there. You glance to the windows getting up when you hear the sound of his car driving into the driveway, you slowly pull back the curtains just enough to stay hidden, but also enough to peek outside.

You watch as he pops out of his car with someone that you’ve never seen before, at least you don’t remember seeing them; could they be someone from the parties he took you to? Your hand covers your mouth as he wraps his arm around their waist, and your heart drops into your stomach; your neighbor had been right, he was bring people home.

You don’t know why but you can’t help yourself as you creep downstairs; you see the basement door ajar and you don’t know what compels you to, but you steadily make your way down the stairs. Every part of your mind is telling you to go back upstairs, ‘what will you even do when you catch him in the act with someone else?’ ‘Are you really willing to ruin everything just to, what, sate your curiosity?’ ‘Please, please, please, turn around!’ Your heart screams at you to stop.

When you make it to the base of the stairs what you expected to see wasn’t there, not completely. They were naked but instead of seeing two people fucking like their lives depended on it, you find Remmick moments away from biting some poor persons throat out, with a Tarp laid neatly on the concrete floor so as not to leave any stains. You try to go back upstairs but a shovel leaning against the wall falls as you bump into it, alerting them both that you saw what was happening. Shocked by your presence Remmick stops dead in his tracks; had his eyes always been that color that was so deeply red, so inhuman? He loosens his grip on his victims body. “Sweetheart I can explain.” As he scrambles to glue together some kind of half lie his victim gets away before Remmick can catch them, running towards the stairs their salvation just feet away.

You grab the shovel off the floor that had been leaning against the wall and in one swift motion you wack the victim across their face; as they fall back you watch as Remmick grabs them by their hair, pulling them back over to the tarp. Both of their eyes never leaving you, one filled with betrayal the other filled with curiosity, you watch as Remmick gets down on his knees, forcing the victim’s head to the side as he bites down on their neck.

His eyes stay locked on you as takes all he can from them. As their eyes roll back losing consciousness and body becomes limp, what you’ve done catches up to your brain. You slowly turn away from him, making your way back up stairs, sitting in the living room. You don’t know how long you wait, but it was long enough that Remmick is walking towards you.

With his Victim a few steps behind him, now fully dressed, they smile at you. They give you a wave as if to say no hard feelings on helping them get murdered; you look at Remmick’s face still covered in blood as he lays a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry baby, you weren’t meant to see that.” You notice that his fingers are still elongated; your eyes snap forward focusing to the object in front of you, it really is a nice coffee table.

If you like what you read check out my other stories from my 'Corner Store' Series where you the readers get to pick the prompt.

Unplanned pregnancy - dhampir

Car broke down in the middle of nowhere

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Jack O’Connell photographed by Jake Saint Love Axler for CERO Magazine

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Jack O'Connell  in “The North Water” (2021)

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"SAMMIE!!!"

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Remmick BTS pt. 6

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This poor poor vampire 🧛🏻‍♂️

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❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

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Forgotten Birthday ~ Avengers

Summary: Being the youngest Avenger usually means you get looked over for missions, but you never thought they'd forget your birthday.

Warnings: Possible swearing, angst, tears, fluff at end.

Reader's age: 17

Being the youngest Avenger had its perks. I could outrun a speeding car, manipulate energy fields, and occasionally, snag the last slice of pizza before Tony could. But it also meant being underestimated, sidelined on the ‘easier’ missions, and treated with a gentle, almost patronising, kind of care. I knew they meant well. They were protective, especially Steve, who saw me as the kid sister he never had. But sometimes, I just wanted to be seen as an equal. A capable, contributing member of the team.

And today, on my birthday, I just wanted them to remember that I wasn't just a little kid anymore.

The day had started like any other. I woke up, expecting at least a mumbled "Happy Birthday" from whoever was awake. Nothing. I figured they were busy, caught up in some impending doom I hadn't been briefed on. I made my own breakfast, a sad, solitary affair with a bowl of cereal and a heavy dose of disappointment.

The day dragged on. Peter came over, rambling on about something that happened in school - the one place I think I was happy I never attended, Tony deciding I could learn at the tower - listened patiently as Sam complained about the lack of decent bird-watching spots in New York, and somehow sat through a lecture from Bruce talking about gamma radiation.

I paced the common room, trying to look busy, hoping someone would notice the date on their phone, the faint decorations I'd secretly put up last night (easily dismissed as late Halloween ornaments, I supposed). The clock ticked with maddening precision, each second a hammer blow to my already fragile hopes.

Finally, around late afternoon, Natasha walked in, her face etched with a familiar weariness. “Rough day,” she sighed, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch.

“You could say that,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice neutral.

She glanced at me, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Something up?”

This was my chance. “Just… a little forgotten,” I said, carefully avoiding eye contact.

She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up. “Wait here.”

Hope flickered within me, a tiny, fragile flame. Maybe she remembered. Maybe she was going to orchestrate a surprise party, a cake with seventeen candles, a chorus of off-key "Happy Birthdays."

But no, she returned empty handed, “Tony needs help re-calibrating the repulsors. He’s about to blow up the lab. You're closest. Go.”

My heart sank. The flicker of hope extinguished. I forced a smile. “Sure thing, Nat.”

The lab was, indeed, a controlled chaos. Tony was covered in grease, his usually impeccable hair a mess. He barked orders at a bewildered-looking Peter, who was struggling to hold a wrench twice his size.

“Ah, Y/n! Perfect timing,” Tony exclaimed, without even looking at me. “Hold this. Tight. And don't breathe on it.”

I spent the next hour balancing carefully on a stool, holding a delicate piece of Stark tech, trying not to sneeze, and feeling utterly invisible.

Finally, Tony declared the repulsors “minimally functional,” and Peter, bless his heart, after being dismissed as a “potential explosion hazard,” whispered a quick, “Happy birthday, Y/n!” before scurrying off.

It was enough to make me want to cry.

I mumbled a thank you and slumped back into the common room, defeated. I couldn't even muster the energy to be angry. Just… sad.

The others slowly trickled back in, one by one. Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Bruce, all looking exhausted and preoccupied. Each of them passed me with a cursory nod, completely oblivious.

I decided to retreat to my room, to wallow in self-pity and watch bad reality TV. As I reached the door, Steve’s voice stopped me.

“Y/n, could you…” he trailed off, looking slightly sheepish. "You look a little down. Everything okay?"

"Fine," I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

He frowned. "You sure? You know you can talk to me."

I wanted to scream, to tell him that no, everything was not fine, that it was my birthday, and they had all completely forgotten. But the words caught in my throat, choked by disappointment.

"Yeah, Steve. I'm fine. Just tired." I turned and walked into my room, closing the door softly behind me. I leaned against it, tears welling in my eyes.

A moment later, there was a knock. I ignored it.

The door opened.

It wasn’t Steve. It was Bucky, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Heard you weren’t having such a great day.”

I glared at him, tears threatening to spill over. “What do you want, Bucky?”

He shuffled his feet. “Just… figured you might want this.” He held out a small, rectangular box.

I took it, my fingers trembling. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a silver bracelet. It was simple, elegant, and perfectly me.

"Natasha picked it out," Bucky said, avoiding my gaze. "Said it was…appropriate."

My breath hitched. “But… they forgot.”

Bucky shook his head. “We didn’t forget, kid. We just… we wanted it to be a surprise.”

He stepped aside, and I saw them. Standing in the hallway, all of them, looking sheepish and slightly apologetic. Tony held a half-eaten cake (chocolate, my favourite). Natasha had a stack of presents wrapped in brightly coloured paper. Steve was grinning, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. Sam was holding a boombox, which he promptly turned on, blasting a slightly off-key version of "Happy Birthday."

“Surprise!” they all yelled, their voices blending together in a cacophony of sound.

Tears streamed down my face, but this time, they were tears of relief and joy. I laughed, a shaky, emotional sound.

"You guys…" I choked out, unable to find the right words.

"We may not always show it, Y/n," Steve said, stepping forward and giving me a hug, "but you're an important part of this team. And you're important to us."

Tony clapped me on the shoulder. “Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Cake time! And presents! And then, maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you drive one of my cars.”

The rest of the evening was a blur of laughter, cake, terrible presents (thanks, Tony), and surprisingly heartfelt speeches. I learned that Natasha had been planning the surprise for weeks and that Bucky had spent hours agonising over the perfect gift.

As I sat there, surrounded by my dysfunctional, chaotic, but ultimately loving family, I realised that being the youngest Avenger wasn’t so bad after all. They might forget things sometimes, they might underestimate me, but they would always, eventually, come through. And sometimes, that's all that really matters. Especially on a birthday.

Tags:

@riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl @parkjihoonsnudes @rajah-oliver

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

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Tonys controversially younger gf is so funny to me, he so randomly doesnt pay for things just to mess with her💀

oh fuck anon you hit me right where i needed it.

you're not overly demanding with his money, so when you ask nicely for something and he says, 'no. i'm starting to think you're using me for my money', you're at a total loss.

you've got this little pout on your face as you figure out how to respond, because no, you're not only with him for his money, but damn, it's nice to have at your fingertips. you can take the rejection, you just don't understand why he's saying no, because if anyone in the world is made of money it's tony stark. he loves watching you grapple silently with the 'no' because you don't want to come off as entitled or a gold digger so you don't confront him about it, but you're clearly bothered by the situation because he totally could buy it for you but he's not going to so does that mean you did something wrong?

he watches the wheels turn furiously in your sweet little head and probably has already purchased whatever it was, not that he'll tell you until it arrives. he's just a shithead that likes to mess with you.

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one year ago today we were introduced to this man:

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BIBLICAL

request - none really i think??

pairing - Alfie Solomons x fem!reader

summary - Alfie comes home his wife after a long day at the bakery something he gets easily distracted is by the way you dress, today is no different.

warnings - smut, mild language, fingering, piv, no seatbelt, breeding (slight), cheesy/creative Alfie (if you look at it a certain way), Alfie admiring his wife, Alfie talking mainly, established relationship (married), whipped Alfie (I love whipped men), MDNI 18+

word count - 1k+

masterlist peaky blinders masterlist

Alfie had returned home earlier than usual today, and you had just finished preparing lunch, leaving a plate for him. Where you stood waiting, Cyril came up to you sniffing and licking your hand most likely from the food you had cooked prior. You'd smile and bent down to greet him, scratching behind his ear and feeling his soft fur.

“You had fun today didn't you Cyril?” Alfie had walked in while the interaction was at play, you had got up before he could’ve said anything raising your brow at him, why was he home so early today and why did he look so good, before you can get lost in your head you speak up. 

“Your home early today?” In a questioning tone you walk over slowly before smiling at him, you love to tease Alfie you got a laugh out of it, or more like a kick out of it, it was lighthearted and he was quite the jokester himself so that made it even better. “And you're walking funny, did you drink too much today, is that why?” You tilt your head ever so slightly.

“I can’t see my wife now, is that what is abou’ love?” Alfie had scratched his beard squinting slightly, primarily focusing his attention on the dress you were wearing and completely ignoring what you had said prior, “nah, you're doing this on purpose coz I haven't been here to see you innit?” Alfie motions to your dress. “Right. Okay. What’s all this then? Eh? You.. you standin’ there lookin’ like that… in that dress and you think I’m just gonna walk past ya like you're not tryin’ to commit actual murder on me heart, is that it?” Squinting he steps closer like he’s inspecting a dangerous weapon.

You smile, but before you can mutter a word he speaks up Alfie sure is a talker and you know that. “You’re tryna kill me, is that what it is? You wear this expecting me to have a rational conversation, sit down eat dinner like nothings fucking happenin’? Nah nah nah – ‘cause now, darlin’ i got priorities, yeah?” He steps closer lowering his voice, you had smirked like a minx eyeing him, (it's not like you don’t know what's coming next).

You were sitting on the counter of the kitchen, food long forgotten as Alfie and you were in the middle of a heated makeout session, wrapping your legs around his waist. You deepen the kiss, it’s tempting, so so tempting. He had barely settled in and you two are already getting on Alfie was filthy, disgusting actually moments like these he’d tell you how he’d fuck you on the kitchen counter, on the couch, on the staircase, anywhere for all he cared its not like you cared you’d only say that because it was true.

“You’re practically dripping for me love, been wanting to get a proper fuck for a while, haven’t been here to give you one yeah.” Alfie had his hands under your dress and rested on your inner thigh as he teasingly rubbed your leg still making an effort to kiss you. His other hand resting on your chest.

“Alfie-” Your breath had shortened with his constant touch that made you jolt like it was electric, his eyes filled with desire as he saw the effect he’s causing you to have. He leans in closer his hand lingering on the strap of your underwear.

“Alfie please.” You managed to muster lulling your head back, it came out more of a quiet whisper, the pounding in your chest seemed to be more audible.

Alfie had a way of teasing you when that meant circling your clit slowly making sure you felt evry bit of his way of tease and torture. “Please what love?” His actions continued paying you no mind.

Alfie paused all his movement for a moment, his eyes locked onto yours. “You want this, don’t you love?” His voice is low and gruff. Without waiting for response he greedily pushed his pants and boxers down revealing his growing desire for you. His eyes roamed across your body, taking in every inch of you while you pulled your dress above your thighs discarding your underwear.

“Driving me crazy all the time,” he says, positioning himself up to you. “Can’t get you outta my head, I think about you at work, your cunt, your like Jezebel only holier, but that ain't right the way your actin’ right now nah.” He’d finally gave up on the pint of need and torture and sliding into you with ease. “Fuck me.” Alfie was concentrated burying himself deep inside of you as you arched your back giving in immediately, each thrust felt like heaven he hit that one spot inside of you that made you lose all sense and just give in. 

He had grabbed both your thighs as he did so, your sweaty bodies taking over his pace relentless now as he’d plow into you fucking you like you two were rabbits, pure concentration, no talking of any sorts just heavy breathing and the sound of skin slapping.

“Alfie–” You had spoken out breathlessly, finally mustering words as you pressed on his lower abdomen trying to push him off, but he had been much stronger in the moment. He still couldn’t muster a word the way you had been around him made him stop thinking for a moment it was his turn to breath hard opening his mouth agape.

“Fuck.” He had finally mustered. “Want me to come inside you love, give you a fuckin’ baby, how does that sound?” You had hummed, resting your head on his shoulder tiredly letting him do all the work while you just sat back in pleasure. Your stomach felt like you had tied it in a knot as you came undone, he soon followed after keeping himself buried inside you.

“Look at you, yeah?” All glistenin’ like some bloody goddess outta a storybook they’d never let me read in the synagogue.”  He leans in, lowering his voice slightly.

“You gotta look in your eyes now–like you saw God, or a really good rug dealer, can’t quite tell the difference, love. S’all heavy and dreamy.’ ain’t it? Which by the way is a proper compliment, ‘cause I know I’ve done good when you look like you’ve been fightin’ angels.” He chuckles roughly still managing to crack jokes like he’s the funniest man alive, softening the mood. The air smelt like sex and your eyes were heavily lidded as you smiled slightly still recovering from everything.

“Can’t have you meltin’ away now, c’mere. I ain’t finished admirin’ my aftermath love,” you look not uttering a word and just admiring Alfie as he’d still crack jokes, “now see, that sweat on your eyebrows? The truth is right there. Honest work. Passionate effort. Like a sermon without the preachin’. Should be proud, that face is like art.” He squints again, more theoretically.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that– all eyelids and mystery – I'm liable to forget I’ve got joints that don't bend like they used to.” You had chuckled softly, you were starting to feel sleepiness, you had murmured something even you couldn’t understand, he leaned in. 

“Nah, don’t drift off yet love, yeah? Give me a minute to admire those eyes before they close up shop. Bloody dangerous ones, them eyes. Like looking down the barrel of somethin’ I can’t fight – believe me love I’ve fought everything.” The short pause is almost reverent. “You look peaceful. And that’s sayin’ somethin’ comin’ from me, a man who’s seen more chaos than quiet.”  He then laid a hand on your hip, slowly rubbing circles, grounding you both.

“Your chest rising like a slow hymn, I’ll never get over it. I could use it a bit. Not the mad part, but the aftermath. The warmth, this is the best part love,” “I’ll never deny I ever said that if you tell anyone, gotta keep up my appearances don’t I, enough of that your fuckin’ fallin asleep let’s get you to bed right love?” And just like that the rest of the day had gone by, you and Alfie were tangled in one another as you had drifted of a while ago, and he had done the same.