#sinnersfanfic

[localfanficlover]

Imagine….

Bo flirtin’ with you at work.

(Ugggg I love this man so badddd 😩😩😩)

Pt. 2 yall

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It starts real subtle—his hand brushin’ yours as y’all work behind the counter. Maybe it’s an accident. Maybe it ain’t. He don’t say nothin’. Just looks at you like he’s already undressed you in his head and liked what he saw.

You’re too close now. Shoulder to chest. He leans past you for a jar on the top shelf, and his breath hits your neck—warm, deliberate.

You don’t move.

Don’t dare.

“You gon’ keep pretendin’ you don’t feel me watchin’?” he says, voice low like a storm about to break.

Then his hand find your waist. Big, steady. Possessive.

Pulls you back into him so slow you swear time stops.

And you feel him.

Hard. Hot. Pressed up like he’s been needin’ this—needin’ you—and just ran outta patience.

His mouth grazes just under your jaw, teeth draggin’ soft, and that quiet rumble in his chest damn near melts your knees.

“Been tryin’ to be good,” he whispers. “Ain’t said nothin’ ‘bout you.”

He don’t take you right then and there—but only ‘cause he wants to see you squirm. Wanna make you say please. Wants to hear what that sweet little voice of yours sounds like when it’s beggin’ for him.

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Lemme know what y’all think! I’ve also got a steamier pt. 2.

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[saintsir4n]

SINNERS RANT

some people believe that the criticism of remmick is also hating on irish culture or him celebrating it. wrong! the scene of them all dancing around him when he’s performing a rocky road to dublin is unnerving. he stole everyone’s life and energy, to have them dance and parade around him, like he’s something to be revered. they were his puppets in his personal cult. he was taunting the survivors in the juke, wielding his power whilst showcasing how he could succeed. a hive mindset. his means do not justify his ends. he is an extremely complex character, and his defenders or arguments of him “just wanting his family/ culture back” is stripping him of his layers that burnt away with the rising sun. he was evil, sure the lesser of two evils but evil none the less.

[localfanficlover]

After Hours

(Bo Chow x OC)

(This is pt.2 to this Bo imagine, but you don’t need to read that to read this)

Trigger Warnings:

(rough sex, oral (f. receiving), emotionally intense smut, power dynamics, unprotected sex, possessive tone, p in v)

MDNI below the cut

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He locks the door without a word.

Not hurried. Not frantic. Just decided.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize he’s moved, one hand still firm on your waist, the other slidin’ up beneath your blouse—fingertips hot and sure, rough palms chasin’ the curve of your ribs like he’s feelin’ his way through a dream he ain’t ready to wake up from.

“Ain’t right,” he mutters against your mouth, voice low and wrecked, “but it don’t make no difference no more.”

You nod, but he ain’t askin’.

Then he kisses you like he’s starved—deep, messy, teeth knockin’ a little, tongue possessive. And when he drops to his knees in front of you, you grab the shelf behind you to steady yourself, ’cause the look in his eyes already took the breath outta your lungs.

“Lift it up, darlin’.”

You pull your skirt up with shaky hands, and he wastes no time—grippin’ your thighs like they belong to him, draggin’ you down onto his tongue with a groan that rattles clean through you.

He eats you like he’s missed meals for this. Like he means to memorize every damn sound you make.

And Lord, you make sounds.

Whines and gasps spill from your lips as his tongue moves slow at first, almost sweet. But he don’t stay sweet. He gets greedy. Messy. His mouth workin’ you open while his fingers dig bruises into your hips like he can’t stand not bein’ deeper. And every time you try to pull away from the overload, he growls and pulls you back down onto his face.

You fall apart with a cry he swallows like a man thirsty for it.

And when he stands, slick with you, thumb draggin’ across his mouth like he’s tryin’ to save the taste—he don’t even give you a second to think. Just turns you ‘round, presses your cheek to the cool wall, and pulls his belt loose with one sharp tug.

Zip.

“Told you,” he growls in your ear, pressin’ the thick weight of him between your thighs, “I been tryin’ to be good.”

Then he pushes inside.

Slow. Deep. And you both stop breathin’.

He don’t rush it. No—he grinds, real filthy, hips rollin’ in that perfect rhythm that pulls whimpers straight outta your throat. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish, keeps his chest pressed to your back so close you can feel every breath, every curse, every growl he bites off against your skin.

“Feel how tight you are for me, girl?” he grits out. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this—every night—since the first time you smiled at me like you knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

He fucks you hard. Deep. Til the shelves rattle. Til your legs shake and you come again, clenching around him so sweet he lets out a ragged, broken moan and spills inside you with a low, “Goddamn.”

Then there’s nothin’.

Just the two of you—pressed together in the dark, chests heavin’, skin damp, hearts beatin’ too loud.

He don’t move right away.

Just keeps his arms wrapped around you like he needs the contact more than air.

“You alright?” he says against your shoulder, voice softened by the come-down, that Southern twang more tender now.

You nod, still floatin’.

That’s when he turns you around—slow, gentle—til you’re facin’ him again. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushin’ the sweat-slick skin like he ain’t quite believin’ you’re real.

“Ain’t mean to go at you like that,” he murmurs, eyes searchin’ yours, “but I ain’t never wanted nothin’ so bad in my whole damn life.”

You reach up and touch his chest, feelin’ the thunder still rollin’ under his ribs. And when he leans his forehead against yours, quiet as a prayer, you finally see it.

Not just the want.

The need.

“You wrecked me, girl,” he says, barely a whisper. “And I don’t think I want fixin’.”

The silence after is warm. Soft. The kind that says maybe this ain’t just heat. Maybe it ain’t just lust or loneliness.

Maybe it’s the start of somethin’ that’s gonna ruin both of you in the best possible way.

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Since y’all loved the last one so much, here y’all go. I’m working on my Annie request as y’all are reading this so it should be done soon. ❤️

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[localfanficlover]

Baptized in Heat

(Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore x OC)

Trigger Warnings:

(Rough sex, semi-public setting, oral sex (f. receiving), choking, hair-pulling, dirty talk, possessive language, age gap, porn without a plot)

MDNI below the cut

I ain’t ever been shy ‘bout needin’. But the way I needed Smoke? That was a hunger I’d buried deep, somewhere between pride and pain. And now here he was, starin’ at me like he could smell it on me—like he always could.

My breath caught when his hand slipped under my dress. Thick fingers rough from work—slow, sure, confident like a man who knew exactly what he was doin’, exactly what I liked.

He brushed my slit once, twice, just to see how wet I already was. I whimpered, hips twitchin’ and he let out a low, satisfied grunt.

“Hell,” he muttered, voice deep as a well. “You soaked for me already, baby girl?”

I nodded, lips partin’, too breathless to be proud. “You know I am. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ this.”

He looked at me then, real slow. “Ain’t never stopped wantin’ you neither.”

Then he kissed me—hot, hard, greedy. Not gentle, not careful. The kinda kiss you remember more than you should. I melted against him, hands in his hair, body grindin’ close like I could crawl inside him if I just pressed hard enough.

—

Next thing I knew, he had me backed up ‘gainst that rough wood wall. His hand was still between my legs, fingers slidin’ through my folds like he was learnin’ me all over again. Except he wasn’t. He remembered.

“You still got that pretty lil’ moan,” he whispered, lips draggin’ down my neck. “Used to drive me crazy behind that sugar mill.”

I gasped when two fingers curled inside me, deep and deliberate.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” I managed to say, rockin’ my hips to match his rhythm. “You still make me damn near lose my mind.”

He dropped to his knees so fast it stole my breath. One hand hooked under my thigh, liftin’ my leg over his shoulder. He looked up at me from between my legs like he was about to pray—and I was the altar.

—

And then his mouth—

Hot, wet, devastatin’. His tongue slid over my clit slow at first just enough to make my knees wobble, then faster, suckin’ and circlin’ ‘til I was cryin’ out for him.

I tangled my fingers in his hair and rode that mouth like salvation. “Shit, Smoke—please—don’t you stop—”

He gripped my ass tighter, tongue flickin’ harder now, drunk on how loud I was gettin’. He knew what he was doin. He wanted me loud. Wanted the whole damn mill to hear.

When I came, it hit hard and fast—back archin’, thighs shakin’, body slammin’ into the wall like I’d been struck by lightnin’.

And he didn’t stop.

Kept lickin’, kept suckin’, drew it out like he was tryin’ to ruin me for anybody else. And maybe he was. Maybe he already had.

—

He stood, hands slick with me, and I could see the hunger in his eyes. He was hard, straining against the front of his pants and when he unbuckled his belt, the sound alone made my stomach clench.

“You remember how I feel inside you?” he rasped, palming himself slow. “How I stretch you out?”

My mouth watered. “Like I was made to take it.”

He growled. That’s what it was—low and primal. He spun me ‘round, bent me over a crate, and lifted my dress. My bare ass pressed against the heat of him, and I whimpered at the feel of his cock rubbin’ up my folds.

“No panties,” he said again, voice full of grit and lust. “You knew what you was doin’.”

“I hoped you’d do somethin’ about it,” I said.

Then he slid inside.

—

The stretch burned in the best way—thick, deep, takin’ me all at once. My breath left my chest in a long, broken moan as he filled me. It was too much, it was perfect.

“Still tight,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Still fit me like you was made for me.”

He started slow—deep strokes that made me feel every inch, his hips smackin’ into mine with heavy purpose. One hand grabbed my hair, pullin’ just enough to arch my back, and the other slid ‘round to grip my throat.

“Say my name,” he growled against my ear. “Say who this pussy belong to.”

“Smoke,” I gasped. “It’s yours. Always was.”

He picked up the pace then, poundin’ into me like he was tryin’ to make up for every year we’d spent apart. The sounds we made—skin slappin’, breath catchin’, moans spillin’ out like secrets—filled the room and drowned out the world.

—

I came again with his name on my lips, body clenchin’ around him so tight he cursed under his breath. His grip tightened on my hips as he chased his own release.

And when he finally spilled into me—hot, thick, deep—he pulled me tight against him, buried to the hilt, groanin’ like I’d dragged his soul out through his cock.

—

We stayed like that a long while. Sweaty. Shaky. Silent.

Then he pulled out slow, hands still on me like he wasn’t ready to let go.

“You still trouble,” I whispered, dress half-off, body hummin’.

He smirked, that dangerous glint back in his eye. “And you still worth every bit of it.”

—

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[localfanficlover]

Behind the Joint

(Sammie “Preacher Boy” Moore x OC)

Trigger Warnings:

(Sexual content, public, outdoors, power dynamics, oral (f. receiving))

MDNI below the cut

You hear him ‘fore you see him—Sammie’s quiet breath, the faint shift of gravel under his heel as he waits in the shadows. The juke joint’s still jumpin’ behind you, all sweat and horns and heat, but the second you step through that back door, it’s like you done stepped into a whole different world.

No music. Just the hush of cicadas. The night pressin’ close.

He’s leaned up ‘gainst a tree, shirt open at the collar, damp with the day. His eyes lift when he sees you, slow like molasses spillin’ from a spoon. There’s always been somethin’ unspoken between y’all. It ain’t new. Just never been said out loud.

“You always wait this long to come find me?” you murmur.

He shrugs, voice rough like bark. “You was dancin’. Ain’t wanna steal you from your joy.”

You step in closer. “What if you are my joy?”

He don’t answer with words.

First time he touches you, it’s gentle. Like he’s scared you might vanish if he grabs too tight. Fingers at your waist, breath warm on your neck. You feel him exhale real slow, and it lights up somethin’ deep, somethin’ hungry.

Then—he kneels.

Don’t ask. Don’t say a thing.

Just eases your dress up with them long musician’s hands. Cotton whisperin’ ‘gainst your thighs, night air cool on all the places heat already claimed.

His mouth finds the inside of your knee first. A kiss like a promise. Then higher. Slower.

When he reaches you—really reaches you—it ain’t rushed. Sammie moves like he’s slidin’ into a blues line he wrote just for you. Every lick got purpose. His tongue traces them soft circles ‘til you forget how to stand. One hand against the tree, the other tangled in his hair, hips liftin’ like they got a mind of their own.

He groans low into you, like the taste of you wrecks him a little.

And Lord—it wrecks you right back.

The tension builds quiet, dangerous. Your thighs tremble. Breath catchin’. He holds you there, firm and steady, one hand grippin’ your hip, the other spread wide at the small of your back, keepin’ you grounded while he draws you down into the rhythm he made.

And when you break—chin tipped, mouth open to the stars—he stays right there with you, tender and sure, like a man who knows the difference ‘tween sacred and sinful, and loves you for bein’ both

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I hope yall enjoyed ❤️

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[localfanficlover]

Her Songbird

(Annie Moore x fem OC)

Trigger Warnings:

(queer heartbreak, emotionally charged reunion, religious trauma (briefly mentioned), internalized homophobia, heavy angst, past emotional abandonment, second chances, unresolved feelings)

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You left Clarksdale with nothin’ but a guitar slung ‘cross your back, one suitcase stuffed full’a dreams too wild for this town, and a heart heavy with all the things you ain’t never did say.

And you left Annie with even less.

Just a note.

Folded up real small, like that’d make it hurt less, tucked in between her favorite records like it’d soften the blow. You scribbled it quick, hands shakin’, chest poundin’ like a freight train.

Annie,

This town ain’t big enough for me and my voice both. I’m sorry I ain’t braver.

Yours always,

— Lila

You ain’t sign it like goodbye. But Lord, it was.

Three years gone by. Maybe four. Time don’t move the same when you’re runnin’. You sang your way through every backroad bar and sweat-drenched stage from Jackson down to Baton Rouge. Sang ‘til your throat burned raw and your fingers bled. But no matter how loud you got, her name still cut through.

Then June rolled back ‘round.

That thick, breathless kinda Mississippi June—the kind that makes the air stick to your skin like sin. And just like that, you was back. Boots hittin’ that same red dirt. Guitar case in hand. No fanfare. No phone call. Just the kinda homecomin’ ghosts make.

Smoke was standin’ out front the juke. Clocked you with them slow eyes, gave a nod like he been waitin’ on this. Didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside.

Inside smelled like bourbon, sawdust, and sweat. Floor still hummin’ with bass. Same old place.

And behind the bar—Lord—there she was.

Annie.

Laughin’ at somethin’ Stack said, curls wild, head thrown back. She still shined like a damn sunrise. But when she saw you? That light dimmed. Slow-like. Painful.

She ain’t move. Ain’t smile.

You crossed that room like you was walkin’ a tightrope over fire.

“Hey, Annie.”

She looked you over like she couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or kill you.

“Heard you been singin’ down in Lafayette,” she said, voice cool as creek water.

“Somethin’ like that,” you murmured. “Didn’t last.”

“Nothin’ does.”

That hung in the air, thick as smoke.

“I left somethin’ here.”

She raised a brow, sharp. “That so? What’d you leave?”

You ain’t blink.

“You.”

And there it was—that flicker. That little stutter in her breath. She covered it quick, but you caught it.

She didn’t move, just stared at you like she was sortin’ through every year you’d been gone, weighin’ if you was worth the ache.

“You left me with ghosts and bottles,” she said, voice flat. “All you gave me was a damn note.”

Your throat was tight when you spoke. “I thought leavin’ might hurt less.”

“Then you don’t know nothin’ ‘bout hurt.”

You laughed, low and bitter. “Ain’t the first time I been told that.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrow. “You still sing?”

You nodded.

“Then get up there,” she said, chin jerkin’ toward the stage. “Let me hear if I was worth comin’ back for.”

You ain’t argue.

You sang like your soul was bleedin’. Like every note had a piece of her name in it. And when you looked down and saw her leanin’ there, arms crossed, tryin’ like hell not to feel a damn thing—you knew.

You’d always been hers.

The last note faded. The crowd roared.

Annie turned her back and walked away.

You found her in the back hallway, where the shadows clung tight and the air smelled like sweat and cheap cleaner. She was leanin’ against the brick wall, arms folded, jaw tight.

You stepped close.

“Annie…”

“You don’t get to say my name like that.”

You swallowed.

“Like what?”

“Like it still belongs to you.”

That cut deep.

“You think I wanted to leave?”

“You did leave.”

“I was seventeen. Mama said singin’ was a sin and lovin’ a girl was worse. You think I had a real choice?”

She pushed off the wall, eyes flashin’. “You had a choice. You just ain’t choose me.”

Silence thick as summer heat.

You looked at her, eyes stingin’. “I ain’t never stopped thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

She laughed quiet, bitter.

“You think it’s easy forgettin’ the only girl ever looked at me like I was worth somethin’?”

You reached out, fingers brushin’ her wrist. She didn’t pull away.

“I messed up,” you said, voice low. “But I ain’t runnin’ no more. Not unless you tell me to.”

She stared at you hard.

“You still got that song? The one you wrote in my notebook back when we skipped school?”

You smiled, soft and sad. “Yeah. Always kept it.”

She breathed deep. Voice catchin’.

“Sing it. Not for the room. Not for the crowd. Just for me.”

So you did.

You sang that old tune, the one you wrote with her head in your lap and your heart already crackin’. Just a verse. Soft as cotton.

When it ended, she kissed you.

Slow. Steady. Full of all the years lost and every word y’all were too scared to say.

She pulled back just a breath, her voice shakin’ ‘gainst your mouth.

“You best not leave again.”

You pressed your forehead to hers.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sugar. Not this time.”

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I hope y’all enjoyed! Thank you to the person who requested ❤️

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[saintsir4n]

SINNERS FIC PENDING….

[localfanficlover]

so for requests i didn’t know if you wanted something specific or not😭,

but would you be willing to do a Annie x reader, where they were together or liked each other but neither made a move and the reader ends up leaving clarksdale to pursue music because her family didn’t approve of it. The reader only leaves Annie with a note (or really whatever you want😭) and really just them reuniting after reader comes back to town.

Omg yesssss! I have some Bo ones that I’ve already finished coming out soon, but I’ll be getting started on this. Thank you for my first request ❤️❤️