Sorry but I have to go on a rant rn because I am absolutely sick of the amount of g!p fics I've been seeing lately. Maybe it's just me but I hate going into a wlw space for wlw fics just to see a bunch of people taking a female character and giving her a dick and more masculine features for no reason. What's the point of writing about a woman just to refer to her as a "boyfriend" and "husband?" It feels so disheartening as a queer woman that so many people are leaning into this idea that more masculine women are immediately manly. It's so sad that I spend hours searching for sapphic fics just to see someone changing a woman to write about straight sex. Why aren't we letting these women be women? Why can't we have wlw fics with vaginas anymore? Is there something I'm missing rn bc all I see are people fetishizing these women and then turning around and changing their anatomy, along with refusing to mention they have boobs, and referring to them as male terms for literally no reason. If you want a straight relationship just write about that. Like if people were writing about these women being trans I totally understand but they're not. They are literally just changing these women into men and still claiming it as sapphic. Like honestly am I missing something here?? I just want people to stop being so afraid to let women have vaginas, and let masculine women exist without comparing them to men.
Edit: the problem is that people are taking women who identify as women and giving them male characteristics, such as a dick and referring to them as male terms, there is nothing wrong with fics about a trans character! If this is a butch lesbian, that's great, but they still don't need biological dicks. It feels like nothing but fetishization with misogynistic undertones.
i don't even post but the sinners fandom is already festering.
i dont mind there being a lot of remmick fics, i read some myself. i was excited to see people interacting with black culture except they aren't. instead they've pushed us aside in a movie that revolves around our people, our culture, and our influence. a lot of y'all are doing exactly what the movie warns about in fact.
i saw the movie on saturday and since then i've already seen:
- complete misinterpretations of the movie
- stack x smoke incest, stack x smoke x sibling reader
- SO MUCH sammie x remmick
- daughter of plantation owner reader
- thirsting after bert, a literal klansman
- an underwhelming amount of black reader but so much irish or white american reader
- white saviorism and/or inserting a white character where they don't belong
- overwhelming amounts of smut with zero ties to the plot
- lack of interaction with black characters despite the majority of the main cast being black
dark fiction is one thing but pure ignorance and racism is a whole different thing. i also understand y'all are allowed to ship whatever you want but there are certain power dynamics that cross the line especially in the context of the movie and the history behind it.
please consider how you interact with media surrounding sensitive topics like this even if it is fiction. just my two cents.
Why are all the sinners fanfics about the one white guy in the movieâŠwe have a full black main cast and yet yall only wanna write about remmickâŠmhm đ€„
Elijah âSmokeâ Moore x Y/N (Honey) (Honey is just a nickname smoke uses, itâs still a x Reader)
Genre: angst, fluff
Warnings: None
Summary: Honey gets self conscious, Smoke reminds her of who the fuck she is
The afternoon sun had started to slip low, casting everything in that syrupy golden light as you stood out front with Mary and Pearline. All three of you had just come back from town, brown paper parcels clutched in your arms, dust from the road still clinginâ to your shoes.
It was Maryâs idea â to get matching dresses.
Bright, swingy little things stitched by Miss Callie at the general store, paid for in wrinkled bills and nickels. Yours was a soft shade of cornflower blue, just like theirs. Sweet and simple, catchinâ the light every time you moved.
You stood there laughinâ, watchinâ Mary spin, the dress clinginâ just right to her curves. Pearline gave a shy twirl too, the hem floatinâ around her slender frame.
You pulled at the hem of your own dress, suddenly too aware of yourself. The way the fabric hugged your hips a little too tight, the way your arms looked bared to the sun, the way your middle pressed against the stitchinâ.
Next to Mary â with her pale golden skin, a waist that turned heads without even tryinâ, and curls that framed her face just so â you felt⊠plain. Heavy.
You smiled and laughed, same as them, but somethinâ cold curled up behind your ribs.
By the time you and Smoke got home that eveninâ, walkinâ the dusty road back to your little wood-frame house, your heart was heavier than the bundles you carried.
Smoke noticed.
Of course he did.
You moved âround the kitchen like a ghost, lightinâ the oil lamp, settinâ water to boil, settinâ the table â but with none of the life you usually had.
He watched you from his chair in the corner, his suspenders slack against his chest, a cigarette burninâ slow between his fingers, the radio humminâ low from the shelf.
Finally, when the house was bathed in soft lamplight and the night wrapped thick around the walls, he spoke.
âCome here, girl,â he said, voice low and rough like gravel.
You wiped your hands on a worn flour sack towel, heart thumpinâ loud as you crossed the room.
Smoke reached out, catchinâ you by the hips, pullinâ you in close to stand between his knees. His hands were warm, familiar, strong. He tipped his head back to look at you, brows knit tight in that way that said he already knew, but he needed you to say it.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asked, thumb movinâ soft against the side of your waist.
You tried to shake your head, tried to brush it off, but the hurt was too thick to hide.
He waited. Like he had all the time in the world.
Finally, you whispered, âI saw myself standinâ next to them today⊠Mary⊠Pearline⊠and Iââ
Your voice cracked, hot tears pricking your lashes.
âI ainât built like them,â you said, voice breaking smaller. âThey look good in them dresses. I look⊠wrong.â
Smokeâs hands tightened, not rough, just certain, like he was anchoring you there with him.
âLook at me,â he said, low and sure.
You did. Even when it hurt.
He searched your face, those steady brown eyes catching all the pieces you tried to hide. His rough hands slid up slow â reverent â over the curve of your waist, up your ribs, to the bend of your back.
âAinât never seen nothinâ wrong when I look at you,â he murmured. âAinât never felt nothinâ wrong when I got you in my arms.â
He rose to his feet, taller than you, the heat of him sinking right into your skin.
He hooked his finger under the strap of your dress, easinâ it down your shoulder, barinâ your skin to the soft night air. His mouth brushed there, kissinâ the curve of your shoulder, tender like he was kissinâ a prayer.
âThese arms,â he whispered against your skin, voice rough, full of truth. âThese arms held me together when the whole damn world was tryinâ to pull me apart.â
He kissed the crook of your elbow, his hands cradlinâ your wrist gentle like you were made of somethinâ precious.
âThis belly,â he said, hand flattening tender against your middle, thumb strokinâ circles slow. âAinât nothinâ but home. Ainât nothinâ but soft and warm and where I belong.â
He pressed a kiss there too, right over the cloth of your dress, lingerinâ like he wanted the feel of you burned into his mouth.
Then â this man you loved â dropped down to his knees right there on the rough wood floor.
âAinât no other woman built like you,â he said, his big hands slidinâ slow down the sides of your thighs, squeezinâ like he needed the feel of you. âAinât no other woman strong enough to carry what you do.â
He rested his forehead against your belly, breath warm against the fabric. You carded your fingers through his hair, trembling, tears spillinâ hot down your cheeks now.
âYou hear me?â he rasped. âYouâre it for me, baby. Ainât no other woman. Ainât even no other world without you in it.â
You broke then, sobbinâ soft into your hand as you sank to your knees with him, wrappinâ your arms around his neck, holdinâ him like youâd fall apart if you let go.
He gathered you up close, rockinâ you slow against his chest, lettinâ the silence fill with all the words he couldnât say. His heart beat steady against your cheek.
And for the first time that long, heavy day, you let yourself believe him.
The house was still wrapped in that hush, the lamps throwinâ soft golden light against the wood walls. You were still sittinâ there on the floor with Smoke, pressed close to him, when you heard it â the faint crackle and hum of a record startinâ up from the parlor.
Sammieâs voice floated through the house â raw, rich, scratchinâ against the edges like the cotton fields themselves were singinâ through him.
You and Smoke both froze for a breath.
Sammieâd been scratchinâ at his guitar for years, singinâ in juke joints and church halls when they let him, but he finally scraped up enough coins to put down a real record â his first. Yâall bought it from his cousinâs shop, handed over two wrinkled dollars like it was gold.
And now here he was, crooninâ through the cracklinâ speakers.
âAinât no storm gonna break me, no woman gonna leave meâŠâ
Smoke pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand slidinâ up the side of your neck, thumb catchinâ at your jaw.
âCâmere,â he whispered.
He stood up slow, haulinâ you up with him, his arms slippinâ low around your waist. He pressed his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, just breathinâ you in, before he started swayinâ you gentle to the music.
There wasnât no proper dance steps to it. Nothinâ real fancy. Just the two of you movinâ slow, back and forth, feet scuffinâ quiet against the worn wood floor.
You pressed your cheek against his chest, hearinâ the steady thump of his heart under your ear, lettinâ the rise and fall of his breath lull you.
Smokeâs hand rubbed slow up and down your back, gatherinâ handfuls of your dress like he couldnât get close enough. His other hand cradled your head careful, like you were somethinâ breakable and beloved all at once.
âYou my whole world, girl,â he murmured against your hair. âAinât never need to look at nobody else. Ainât never wanted to.â
You squeezed your eyes shut, holdinâ on tighter. Sammieâs voice dipped low and mournful, singinâ âbout love found in the middle of nothinâ â love that was the only thing that kept the walls from fallinâ down.
The night stretched around you, thick and warm. The house creaked now and then, the screen door rattlinâ soft in the breeze cominâ off the fields.
But there wasnât nothinâ outside that little bubble of you and him, swayinâ slow to a song from a man you both loved, in a house you built with your own two hands.
And when Smoke bent his head and kissed your temple, whisperinâ your name like a prayer, you finally believed it â deep down in your bones â that you were enough. That you were his.
No dress, no other woman, no shadow of doubt could take that from you.
warnings: some descriptions of reader, cunnilingus, also munch!smoke because we all deserve it.
notes: this sinners brainrot will not leave me alone and i love it !!! also we hit 100 followers after just a couple days... i love you all so bad đ«¶đŸ
It was around 6 in the evening when Smoke came home to you. He'd been away in Atlanta for two days, a business trip as usual. You knew what he did, the type of people he worked with and what that came with. You didn't really care because at the end of the day, the most important thing to you was your relationship with him.
Everyone knew him as Smoke, but to you he was just Elijah. As soon as he walked through the huge doors to your shared home, he stopped being Smoke and Elijah came out instead.
Whenever he was away, you'd usually occupy yourself with something just fine. Going out with your girls, catching up on your own work, visiting family and so on. Anything to help take missing him off of your mind.
Today, as you waited for Smoke to come back, you decided to get a manicure. A little touch up on your nails could never hurt. It didn't take too long either, a half hour drive there and back in just under two hours. God, did you love your nail tech.
You had them done blue, Smoke's favourite colour on you.
You lounged around the house waiting for him, your only other companion being the small rottweiler puppy that Smoke had gifted to you. He whined as you patted him, rolling over next to you.
"I know, baby, daddy's coming home soon." You frowned, scratching behind his floppy ears.
The sound of keys turning in the door had those floppy ears turning straight real quick. Before you could even turn your head to the door, your puppy was already there, scratching at the back of it whilst Smoke attempted to get through.
"Man, moveâââ" he muttered, trying to get through with a bunch of shopping bags and a puppy nipping at his legs.
You smiled, a part of you exhaling a sigh of relief that he'd come back to you in one piece.
It was never easy to see Smoke leave, the thought of him never coming back to you was always looming over your head. But just like he always reassured you he would, he came back seemingly fine.
You walked towards them, Smoke's facial features gradually relaxing at the sight of you. "Hi," you spoke smoothly, your arms around his neck as you pulled his face towards yours, kissing his lips.
You took a moment to run your hands over his body, the black compression shirt that he wire doing wonders for him. It always drove you crazy.
"Hey, baby," he kissed you back, dropping the bags gently on the floor giving his hands space to grab at your ass. "You been good?"
"Mhm," you answered, letting your nails scratch gently at the back of his neck. That always did the trick. You looked down at the puppy by your feet, breaking away to pick him up. He was getting heavier as each day went by.
You held him up to Smoke's face. "Say hi to your son, Elijah."
"That ugly ass thing ain't my son," he kissed his teeth, waving you off as he started moving the bags into the living room.
Laughing, you carried your puppy to its playpen, giving you snd Smoke some peace of mind for now.
You came back to find him emptying his pocket contents on the coffee table: gun, wallet, keys, and stacks of money. Instead of putting the money on the table with the rest of his stuff, he walked over to you.
He pulled the strap of the tank top that you wore, using it to tuck the money into your bra.
"What's this for?" you smiled, looking up at him. He was always giving you money randomly, various amounts for various reasons.
"For looking pretty," he kissed your cheek. "That's for you too," he nodded his head towards all the shopping bags that he brought in.
Your eyes followed to the bags, feeling so much appreciation overwhelm you. Smoke's love languages were most definitely gift giving and acts of service; he would use any and every opportunity to spoil you, but the minute you bought anything for him, he'd be telling you off for spending your money on him.
"You didn't have to," you pouted, sitting on his lap as you kissed all over his face. "You spoil me too much, I don't even have space for it all."
"I don't spoil you enough," He mumbled, kissing you back. "Come on, do your lil' try on thing you always do for me." He tapped the back of your thigh.
You giggled, "You mean a haul?"
"Yeah, that."
And that you did. Smoke had gotten you bags, clothes, lingerie, new makeup products... things you already had but according to him, could never have enough of.
You tried on each item, except for the lingerie. You said you wanted to surprise him with it another day, and he wasn't complaining.
At the end of your haul, Smoke helped you put everything away, making a comment to himself about having to expand your walk in wardrobe.
Now you two lay on the bed, cuddled up as a random show was on the TV. You loved moments like these, when he was yours. Not the rough Smoke that everyone else knew him as, but as your soft and loving boyfriend.
"You good?" Smoke stopped rubbing his hand gently on your body when he noticed you let out a sigh.
"I'm more than good," you smiled dreamily, like you were drunk just off of his affection.
He took your word for it, lifting your body onto his. His hands wrapped around your lower back whilst your chin rested on his chest, looking right at him.
"You know I love you, right?" He said.
"Yeah. I love you too."
Smoke smiled, his large hands squeezing at your ass. "And I love this ass too."
"You can never stay serious, can you?" You laughed, reaching back to move his hands. Instead, he flipped the two of you so he was now on too, your hands pinned on either side of your head.
"You know damn well how serious I can be."
And that you did. There was only a handful of times when Smoke had gotten serious with you, times when he was more Smoke than Elijah with you. One of the things he loved most about you was that you brought out the side of him that didn't immediately resort to violence, the one that still had hope that he could be loved like he once thought.
He leaned down, kissing you gently, softly. You kissed him back, your hand pulling his head even closer, nails grazing over his low cut. He caught a flash of blue as he pulled back from the kiss, removing a hand from your side to look at your hand properly.
"Look at you repping me," he teased you, running his fingers over your nails.
"Had to let 'em know," you shrugged.
"Damn straight," he mumbled against your lips. He could never get enough of you, you were like a drug to him.
He kissed from your lips down your neck, to your collarbone, nipping and sucking as he went. He loved marking you, you don't know when it started but you knew sure as hell it wasn't gonna stop.
Smoke let his runs run all over you, until you tugged at his shirt, frowning. "Why you poutin', baby?" He tilted his head, knowing the answer but wanting to drag it out of you.
"Take it off," you said.
"Yes ma'am."
As he pulled his shirt off, you watched on, smiling at your man's toned body. You let your hands rake over his abs as he leaned back down to you. "Your turn," he tapped your side.
You sat up a bit, pulling down the straps of your tank top before taking it off, no bra underneath. Smoke wasted no time, latching onto your breasts before you could even lay back down.
You let out a loud moan, like you haven't felt his touch in ages. Whilst he worked on your breasts, sucking and biting, he let his hand slide inside the shorts you wore, grazing over your clothed pussy. He could feel how wet you were just from a few touches.
"Fat ma missed me, huh?" he joked. You kissed your teeth, groaning as he rubbed gently.
"Elijah... do something," you moaned.
"Aight, baby, lift up for me." he took your shorts off when you lifted your hips, along with your panties. He settled in between your legs, lying down so he was face to face with your seeping pussy. He looked at you, knowing he was absolutely about to devour you.
The first lick had you throwing your head back, your thighs immediately closing around Smoke's head. If he could've died right then, he would've died a very happy man.
As he licked up and down, sucking your clit, you writhed underneath him, struggling to stay still with how he was doing you.
He gripped your hips, forcing you to stay in one spot. "If you keep moving, I'ma stop." he mumbled with his lips still on you, sending vibrations through your body.
You nodded, knowing he was dead serious about that. One thing about sex with Smoke? The overstimulation was real.
He continued to lick bold stripes up and down your fold, kissing at deeply as he went. You could feel that coil deep in you about to snap, your whimpers and moans getting louder as Smoke used his fingers to rub your clit.
"Fuck, baby, I'm almostâââ Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!" you moaned as you came, but Smoke still didn't let up, lapping up all your juices as you rode out your high.
You panted, trying to push his head away, already feeling like you could tap out. But when he looked at you, his moustache and goatee coated in your cum, you knew this was only the start.
"You boutta tap out on me? Hm?" he asked.
You shook your head, guiding him back to your folds. You felt his smirk on you, his lips going back to doing what they did best.
You always did love when he came home to you.
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