#sinners x reader

It’s not uncommon for you to come behind your boyfriend, resting your cheek against his muscular back and wrapping your arms around him. The TV’s on in the distance, but dinner in bubbling on the stove, and your boyfriend is hovering over the meal he’s prepared, wooden spoon in hand to stir the pot.

The a deep chuckle that comes from him, “What’d’you need Mama? Why are you over here?”

The answers always the same, mumbling into the fabric of the undershirt that only makes him look too good. Broad shoulders and large biceps, veins popping out his forearms. You nuzzle your face further into him, “Can’t hold my man now?”

“Didn’t say that doll, love when you do shit like this.” He lifts your hands that are interlocked, his lips gently kissing your fingers once. Twice. He does love it, truly. The small intimacy you give him at the end of a long day of work, in fact, he anticipates it. The days go by longer when you’re not there, always away working hard for the both of you. But its the little messages you leave in his lunchbox, or answering his call during his late shift when you’re tired, and the silly memes and videos you’re sending him during your shift, that makes him need to go, go, go— groan into your shoulder the second he has you in his arms. Sniffing you up and kissing your shoulder blade.

This is what it means to be home, to have a real home.

Even now, the way you’re pressed against him. Feeling his breath knowing he’s there with you. Your fingers will slowly closely trail the line of his spine, dancing at the back of his nap, making him hiss as he gets goosebumps, “Don’t tempt me baby.”

“I’m not, ‘m not.”

But you can’t help but giggle, knowing his heart is pounding louder just from the touch of you, heat blooming below his cheeks as you hold him in your arms, the way the ends of his lip threaten to curve upward. And your boyfriend pull you a little closer, kissing the tips of your fingers while he finishes dinner for the both of you.

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ Toji, Frank, Stack, Smoke, Simon, Sukuna, Keegan.

You’re tangled up in him, the two of you still half-naked, sheets kicked down to your ankles. He’s curled around you like he’s afraid someone’s going to rip you out of his arms, like the last hour wasn’t proof enough that you finally let him in- for real this time.

Remmick always talks after. He needs to. Needs to fill the quiet like he’s afraid it’ll mean something’s changed if he doesn’t.

And God, he can’t shut up.

"I thought about you," He murmurs into the shell of your ear. "Like this. For too long." He’s still trying to catch his breath, but his hands are already roving again- lazy now, just skimming your waist, mapping the softness of your hips with a desperate adoration.

"Every night I’d lie there and imagine this. Not just the sex- I mean, that too, obviously." He snickers, eyes flitting between your entwined bodies.

"But shit, baby, you’re just so... perfect." He nuzzles closer, planting a kiss under your jaw, voice dipping into that velvet tone he only uses when he’s honest. "But this. You letting me stay. Letting me touch you after. Hold you."

You reach back and tangle your fingers in his hair. It’s damp with sweat. He practically purrs at the contact, pressing a kiss to your shoulder like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

"Wasn't too much, was I?” he asks, quieter now. He murmurs with something raw, almost something boyish. But you know better. The smirk in his tone when he says it- he knows. He knows you couldn't get enough.

When you shake your head, he presses another rewarding kiss to your neck, humming in pleasure.

"That's what I thought." He whispers, squeezing you close. "You gon' let me in tomorrow night too, yeah?"

"Remmick-"

"Shh." He hushes you, shaking his head in mock displeasure, a finger coming up to your lips to quiet you. "Just nod your pretty little head."

You think of what could happen- what you're doing. Letting a killer love you like this. But against your better judgement, you nod, looking into those lovestruck eyes he casts on you.

A slow grin spreads across his face. You're already underneath him when he slides back in- half hard, too sensitive, and still not done. The room smells like sex, humid and sweet, and his chest is flushed as he rolls his hips slow, lazy.

"You feel that? Nah, that’s love, darlin'. That’s me loving you so slow, so deep, so damn good no one else could ever even try." His voice is a broken overstimulated growl.

He kisses your spine once. Then again. Then again.

"This is all ours." He urges, baring his teeth, "Never gon' let anyone take it from us." He promises, almost obsessively into your shoulder, letting you feel him stretch you open.

You believe him. You feel it in every lazy, desperate thrust. In the way he wraps himself around you tighter, keeps you locked against him. You briefly realize that you're all he has.

Imma only be reading Sinner fanfics from black people, cos I just saw a remmick fanfic where it's an x reader, but the reader is the daughter of a plantation owner. WTF. This is the straw that broke the camel's back. Between ignoring the black characters of sinners, centring the white ones, unironically making stereotypes of the black characters and misunderstanding the movie entirely, I've just seen so much trifling behaviour from non black sinners fans. This goes without saying, this is obviously not all white white people or non black people.

mean!smoke who keeps your hands behind your back whenever he has you on all fours. claiming his decision to do that is because you always run whenever you two are in doggy style but really he just enjoyed seeing how helpless and overstimulated you got when you had no choice but to take his dick. he’d angle his hips so he could go deeper into your essence and so he could find that g-spot, and speed his pace up so his mushroom tip could kiss it over and over again.

“nah, you gone take this dick. all of it, ain’t no motherfucking running.”

mean!smoke who’s idea of punishing you when you’ve been bratty is tying you up to a chair and holding a vibrator up to your clit. letting you get so overstimulated and overwhelmed that you can’t even think or talk straight. he does all of this while making you apologize , and manipulating you into thinking if you apologize he’ll stop. instead he ups the setting with every apology you give him.

“tell daddy you sorry, an’ then i’ll take it off mama.”

mean!smoke who when he feels as though you’re bratting on purpose just so he can give you a “funishment” he’ll let you act up for a little, let you think you’re going to get what you want before quickly bending you over his knee, riding up your skit and using his hand to forcefully spank your ass. after a few minutes your ass starts to hurt, which causes you to try and block his hand from your butt. but he uses his free hand to move it and hold your hand down. forcing you to take it.

“you had so much shit to say earlier. you better take this shit.”

❤︎ 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.

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗑𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－straight nasty

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝖧𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎．．．𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾？？？？？

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She always knew Smoke had a switch in him.

Most days, he carried himself like nothing could shake him—quiet, steady, the type of man who didn’t waste words because he didn’t have to. People listened anyway.

She usually did too.

Usually.

But tonight, something in her just wouldn’t sit still. Maybe it was the way he’d been brushing her off earlier, barely reacting to her running your mouth. Maybe she just wanted attention. Either way… she pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

“You act like you ain’t hear me,” she muttered, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.

“I heard you,” he said calmly from across the room, not even looking up at first.

That made it worse.

“Then why you acting like it don’t matter?”

That’s when his eyes lifted.

Slowly.

And there it was—that shift.

Not loud. Just… different.

“You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” His voice stayed even, but it carried weight now.

She rolled your eyes, like that didn’t do anything to her. Like her stomach didn’t just tighten a little.

“I said what I said.”

Silence.

Then he stood up.

The air changed.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t storm over. Just walked toward you with that same steady pace, and somehow that made it worse. Made your heartbeat pick up in a way you refused to acknowledge.

“Say it again,” he said, stopping right in front of you.

Her chin tilted up, stubborn. “You heard me the first—”

Her words cut off when his hand gripped her chin.

Not rough.

But firm enough that it meant something.

“Smoke—”

“Come on.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a shout.

But it wasn’t a suggestion either.

Before she could decide if she was going to fight it, he was already guiding her back toward the couch. Each step felt slower than it should’ve, like her body was suddenly too aware of everything—his grip, his presence, the way he wasn’t letting go.

“Still got something to say?” he asked, sitting down and pulling her with him in one smooth motion.

She barely had time to react before she was on his lap, her knees on either side of him, her hands instinctively landing on his shoulders to steady herself.

The position alone knocked the edge off her attitude.

“You real bold over there,” he murmured, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there. “But now you quiet.”

“I’m not quiet,” she shot back, even though her voice didn’t sound the same.

His thumbs pressed lightly into her hips, just enough pressure to ground her—just enough to remind her exactly where you were.

“Yeah?” His head tilted slightly. “Then why you breathing like that?”

she hadn’t even noticed.

Now she couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m not—” she started, but her words faltered when his grip tightened just a little, pulling her down more firmly against him.

her breath hitched.

There it was.

That reaction she didn’t want to give him.

His eyes darkened just slightly, catching it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly.

She tried to push back, to hold onto whatever attitude she had left. “You doing too much.”

“Or you just not used to a nigga checking you?” he countered, calm as ever.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt. She hated how steady he was. How in control he stayed while she felt like she was slipping just a little.

“I don’t need you to check me,” she muttered.

His hand slid up her side, slow, deliberate, before settling on her lower back.

“You sure about that?” he asked, leaning in just enough that his voice dropped lower, closer.

The warmth of his breath brushed her skin, and her body reacted before her pride could catch up.

She shifted slightly—just trying to get comfortable, she told herself.

His hand immediately adjusted, holding you in place.

“Don’t start moving now,” he warned softly. “You weren't moving like that a minute ago.”

Her lips pressed together.

He noticed everything.

“That mouth get real quiet when I get you like this,” he added, almost like he was thinking out loud.

“I’m not quiet,” she repeated, weaker this time.

“Then say something smart.”

She opened her mouth—

Nothing came out.

Because now all she could focus on was the way his hands were moving again. Not rushed. Not grabbing. Just slow, controlled, like he had all the time in the world to let this build.

Her breathing gave her away before she could say anything else.

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching your face closely. “That’s what I thought.”

She looked at him, really looked this time, and there was no teasing in his expression. No rush either. Just that same quiet control that made everything feel heavier than it should’ve.

“You like acting up,” he said, voice low. “But you know exactly what you doing.”

She swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulders.

“And you know exactly how this ends,” he added.

Her attitude had slipped somewhere along the way, replaced with something softer. Something quieter.

But not weak.

Just… aware.

“I wasn’t even doing that much,” she muttered, though it barely sounded convincing now.

One of his brows lifted slightly.

“No?” His grip tightened just enough to make her breath catch again. “So this don’t got nothing to do with me?”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because now the tension sitting between them wasn’t just about the argument anymore. It was something else entirely—something heavier, slower, pulling tighter the longer she stayed right there on his lap.

His gaze dropped to her  lips for a second, then back to her eyes.

“You done?” he asked quietly.

Her voice came out softer than before.

“…yeah.”

A pause.

Then his hand slid up her back again, slower this time, less about holding her in place and more about keeping you there.

“Good,” he said.

But he didn’t move her.

Didn’t let her go.

Just kept her right there, like he wasn’t in any rush to end it either.

And the worst part?

She didn’t want him to.

𝖶𝖤𝖤𝖪 𝖫𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖱

(𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗇𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗌)

"All fuckin' day, you've been pushin' buttons, mama," he says, his voice gravelly and low, laced with the edge of a man who's on his last nerve . He steps in front of her, his footsteps quiet on the carpet, closing the distance in three long steps. Before she can say something disrespectful, his rough hand wraps around her wrist, yanking her up. He bends her over his lap, her belly pressing into his thighs. Her short skirt comes up immediately, bunching around her waist and showing him her lace panties.

She twists, trying to wriggle free, but his other arm comes across her lower back , pinning her in place. He grunts as he slides you up a bit. "Think you can mouth off to me? Acting like a nigga won´t put you in your place?" He says, making her feel hot all over. He rubs her ass , taunting her or getting her ready, then his hand comes down, smacking her on her ass. It stings, making her yelp, her fingers digging into the couch cushion.

He doesn't give her time to recover. Another slap lands on the left, harder, the impact making her ass turn red. "That's for the attitude at breakfast," he says,  each word coming with a smack—smack, smack—alternating sides. Her thighs press together instinctively, but the growing ache between them betrays her, a slick warmth starting to pool between her thighs. She bites her lip, stifling a whimper, but he hears it anyway "you like that, hm? Ms nasty  gettin' wet from a spankin'?"

By the fifth hit, her ass is red, each new slap  burns her eyes watering. She buck against him, half protest, half plea, but he just tightens his grip on her hip, holding her steady as he delivers two—smack, smack—right where her thighs meet her ass. The pain twists into something hotter, needier, her pussy clenching around nothing as she soaks through her lace panties. "Pa, please—" she whimpers, voice cracking, but he silences her with a firmer swat, his fingers splaying wide to cover more area, his hands rough against her tender skin.

"Please what? You gon apologize for bein' a bad girl hm?" He asks, tilting his head, his hand rubbing slow, circles over her red ass, kneading the soreness in a way that makes her arch into it despite yourself. But mercy's not his style tonight. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulls  them down her legs, the lace catching her knees before coming down to her ankles. She's fully exposed, her wet pussy glistening in the low light, ass cheeks marked with his handprints.

He exhales a low curse, his fingers tracing the evidence of his work before dipping lower. "Fuck, look at this pussy. Drippin' for big pa." His fingers part her  lips, sliding through her wetness to circle her swollen clit with agonizing slowness.  She whines,her ass pushing back against his hamd  for more, but he pulls away just as she  starts to grind against his hand. He slapped her inner thigh. Making her yelp "Not yet, baby. You gotta earn it." He manhandles her then, flipping her onto her back, her head on the arm of the couch. Her  legs spread open as he kneels between them on the floor, shoving her skirt higher until it's out his way. His hands grip her thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he forces them apart, exposing her pussy to his hungry gaze. His grills showing as he smirks,he leaning close enough for her to feel his nose on her clit.

"Beg for it. Tell me you're sorry for runnin' that mouth." His tongue licks her clit, flat and broad, licking a long stripe from her slit to her clit to her hole. His tongue makes her hips buck,but he pins her hips down with his large hand. "Words, mama'. Don't make pa ask twice."

"I'm sorry, pa," she whimpered, the words tumbling out as his tongue flicks  again, his lips sealing around her clit and sucking with just enough pressure to make her toes curl. Pleasure coils tight in her belly, but he nibbles at her sensitive clit, a sharp reminder of his control, before flicking his tongue inside her. He fucks her with it,  curling it to the right angle,  his free hand squeezed her ass.

She rides his face, her hands holding his head, gripping tightly as she moans his name. He growls against her pussy, the vibration humming on her pussy, he adds a finger—then two—stretching her  walls as he sucks at her clit. She can feel the tightness in her belly, her breaths coming in ragged pants. "Fuck, pa... please, I need—"

He pulls away quickly, licking his lips, his eyes filled  with lust and anger. "You need to remember who owns this pussy," he says, his voice  rough as he unties his sweatpants. The sweats drop, and he shoves his boxers to his knees, his dick hitting his stomach —thick, veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. He wraps a fist around it, stroking once, twice, watching her squirm. "Spread wider. Show me how bad you want pa dick."

She listened, hooking her knees over the couch cushions, baring herself completely. He rubbed his fat head against her hole, teasing her clit with slow rubs before pushing into her slowly. He stretches her, her pussy clenching around his fat dick as he bottoms out, balls pressed against her ass. "That's it—take it like the good girl you can be," he grunts, pulling back only to thrust  in again, harder, the couch moving slightly due to his thrust.

He sets a fast pace,  his hips snapping forward as he plunges himself in her. Each thrust hits deep, his dick dragging against her walls, his fat tip hitting that perfect spot inside. she cries out, her nails digging in his back, leaving red welts  on his chocolate,inked skin. He holds her face with his hand, looking into her eyes as he fuck her, his weight pressing her into the leather. "Say it—tell me this pussy mine. No more actin' up."

"Yours! I'm yours, Pa—oh my goodness" She silently screams as he angles his hips, pounding harder, his free hand sliding between their bodies rubbing her swollen clit. Sweat slicks her skin where they connect, the wet sounds of him fucking her filling the room alongside his groans and her moans. He lets her face go to grab herthroat—not choking, just holding, thumb stroking your pulse as he watches her face twist every time he thrust into her .

The pressure builds, her orgasm comes hard, her pussy fluttering and squeezing him in rhythmic pulses. She screams his name, back arching off the couch as her eyes roll back. He doesn't stop, pushing  her through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own nut. "Gonna fill you up—mark my pussy so you know who it is," he snarls, bottoming out inside her deep one last time. His dick throbs, hot cum flooding her pussy spilling out of  him as he grinds against her oversensitive pussy.

Finally done, he lays on top of her his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily. He pulls out slowly, watching his nut drip from her pussy with a satisfied smirk, then pulls her against his chest. His arms wrap around her, one hand gently massaging the lingering ache in your ass while he presses a kiss to her neck. "That's my girl. No more bullshit tomorrow, hm?" His voice softens just a bit, the edge of dominance giving way to that rare tenderness he saves for you.