#SAMMIE

[kitskull]

Don’t RUSH me Remmick..I’m just not ready

[nonggom]

I can't shake the fact(If it's not one of his BS) off Remmick being a widower. like whaaaat? It make him a lot hotter and a lot of shameless old man I love it like I can't even think straight... who was she and how many of them before?! Remmick you dog! Drooling over this young, beautiful, innocent young boy bride who has a voice of heaven itself...

[cooper-abbott]

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

SINNERS (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

[snailsfall]

[sleepynegress]

Okay... So I'm in a way right now with the red tide and hormones..... But I did want to say some things about SINNERS while I have a little bit of mental energy.

Stack and Smoke are two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, red and blue, Italian and Irish gang clothing style... etc.

Some people are getting carried away with analysis and it's giving more projection of what you want it to be vs. what is.... Coogler himself has cited great fun tropey horror films and pop culture touchstones like Salem's Lot (the book not the movie) and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (which I love that that's a reference) he has said his most important takeaway is "ownership of art."

The act structure that gave us that classic "caper" set-up of all kinds of characters listening to the plan and then going "you sonavabitch, I'm in." for the juke joint was my favorite part of this TBH.

It is NOT a Christian "Come to Jesus" movie and I LOVE that about it. In fact, it's the opposite.

It's a "be true to self and your gifts in the face of any god or devil", movie.

BOTH women love interests (white presenting and full-figured and unambiguously Black ,--back to that yin and yang of the twins) were beloved by a twin, both fit the elemental nature of said twin, and both had to traverse death to be with their love.

As an aside.... loved hearing a southern accent from our Asian cousins, seeing the "not my problem" energy from the Choctaw hunters, and the reminder that there was actual ancestral cultural community before "whiteness" for white people too, and why many no longer have it...

LOVED LOVED LOVED the cultural details in the character work, setting, energy, etc.... ESPECIALLY Delroy Lindo's vocal cadence.

I loved what Coogler chose to NOT show to make the energy more impactful and palpable in both sensuality and scares.

I'll be the weirdo who prefers the pure blues vs. the remix but I LOVED seeing all the ancestors and descendents come and vibe with the music...I used to have recurring dreams of a multicultural ancestral world jam session, so "that scene" hit me hard.

Remmick just follows in the tradition of Coogler villains being compelling af, but ultimately WRONG because of an essential flaw in their logic (i.e. Killmonger's misogynoir and colonizing techniques and funnily enough Remmick's colonizing techniques, klan and black using vampire telepathy for a faux community peace)

I have seen no one else mention this, but I chuckled at Saul "List of Demands" Williams playing the preacher, aka Sammie's dad

the vampire nerd part of me absolutely rejoiced at all the "traditional" vampire warding aspects, ESPECIALLY the silver, something that is often wrongly asserted as being just for werewolves

loved how filthy and raunchy the language was when it came to desire... because that's real (and I hate purity culture which is very much now tied to the alt-right white Christo-fascist pipeline right now) AND centering women's pleasure and, in many cases audacious initiative. (ahem, I see you Ryan and I see how Zinzi's in the current state she's in, congrats!! *cough* this is the healthiest type of straight man sexual energy BTW)

BE WARY of the takes out there that are overly-projecting. It's neither religious nor hotepy. It's a Southern Gothic fable/folktale about a musician with a gift surviving a magical night....

YES it's full of ancestral energy, but ultimately the central message is about being true to self when it comes to ancestral gifts and community

[marieafronette]

we got not one, but four women who had some good eaters, munchers, cunnilingus experts, up in that cooze. love to see my girls taken care of. thank you, Ryan

[axelboneboy]

I will never get over how he bit his lip when he met Sammie

Yup this man is 100% straight, he definitely wasn’t thinking about turning Sammie out as soon as he left the juke joint lmao

Had to contain himself lmao

[blackgirls4life]

No white Sinners watchers, Remmick didn't want Sammie because he was in love with him

YOU (YOU!!!) just fetishize Black men and Oppressor x Oppressed relationships

You did not get the historical context of the movie

yall would ship a slave and his master as long as one of them were white

stop cosigning Black Media especially when you don't understand Black hardships and struggles through out REAL life history

[scrprints]

"Long ago the men who stole my father's land forced those words upon us"

[novaacanee]

I need more Black people to start writing these Sinners fics. Why I open ao3 looking for a Stack X reader only to find a Sammie X Remmick fic…I hate yall so much sometimes.

ALSO, word on the street there was one where the reader was the Daughter of the KKK Dragon???!? Now why tf??

[musiciansandmonsters]

Bro stop moaning I’m trying to kill you—

[twistedsistas-stuff]

Candy Licker🍭

Sammie “Munch” Moore

Warnings; He’s Jodi baby 😏(in summary)

You ain’t never had a man go down on you before—not ‘cause you ain’t had a chance, Lord knows you had plenty—but ‘cause you ain’t never had a man. Not a Moore man, at least. You told Sammie that one night, sittin’ on the edge of that old bed in the shotgun house you two shared. The kind that still smelled like cedar and the sweet, smokey scent of tobacco, with that little draft comin’ through the window every time it rained.

You told him, and he just looked at you for a minute, real slow, like he was piecin’ it together in his head. His eyes were steady, dark like deep water. And then, that smile���ain’t no way you could call it nothin’ but dangerous—slid across his face.

"Never had a man go down on you, huh?" he said, voice all low, like he was thinkin’ on it real serious. "Guess I’ll just have to show you how it’s done, then."

And Lord, did he.

He eased you back on them sheets, movin’ between your legs like he was walkin’ into church—slow, reverent, like he was approachin’ somethin’ sacred. His mouth? It was somethin’ else. Soft at first, lips pressin’ against your skin like he was makin’ sure every inch of you was worthy. That mouth of his? Multi-talented in ways that made you forget your own name.

He started with that spot—oh Lord, that spot. He licked and kissed, every part of it, slow and deep, until all you could do was close your eyes and hold on. And once he figured you out, once he knew what made you gasp and moan, he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. Became obsessed, like his whole damn world revolved around learnin’ new ways to unravel you, just like he did when he played that old guitar of his. He played you, and he played you so damn well.

And you? You were helpless.

"Sammie, please… just a second, baby, please," you begged, hands on his head, tryin’ to pull him back for just a second, but he didn’t stop. Not even a little. His hands slid up to your hips, grippin’ tight to hold you in place, and he dived in deeper. Couldn’t even tell if he was breathin’ anymore, and at that point, you didn’t care. He kept at it, makin’ you feel things you ain’t never thought your body could feel, and all you could do was moan his name.

It had been hours. Most women would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You needed him. And then came that combo—his mouth and those fingers, movin’ like he was playin’ a song he knew by heart. He looked up at you, eyes locked on yours, mouth open, chest heaving, and you could barely catch your breath. Then, he slid two fingers in, slow but deep. You gasped, your body shudderin’, and Sammie just watched, smilin’ like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

And then he crook’d them fingers, hit that spot again, and you lost it. You were a mess.

“Yeahhhh, that’s it,” he growled, his voice rough like gravel, then ducked his head, suckin’ on your clit like he was tryin’ to drink you down.

Your legs buckled up on either side of his head, your hips jerked forward, and Sammie took it all in, keepin’ you just where he wanted you. He was shakin’ his head side to side, movin’ his fingers deeper, glidin’ against that spot that made you wanna scream. And you did scream—loud, so loud, like the whole world needed to hear you. But Sammie? He didn’t care. He wanted you loud. Wanted you broken. Wanted your pleasure to fill the room.

He could’ve kept you like that forever, if you’d let him.

Later that mornin’, you were in the kitchen, wearin’ nothin’ but one of Sammie’s old button-ups—soft and faded, like it’d seen better days but still smelled like him. You were makin’ breakfast, hummin’ a little tune to yourself, eggs crackin’ in the skillet, bacon sizzlin’.

You didn’t hear him at first, but you sure as hell felt him.

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and his head tucked right under your chin, his breath hot against your skin.

“Good mornin’,” he rumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

You turned your head, met his gaze, and that low, hungry look in his eyes was enough to make your heart skip. You looked at his lips, then back at his eyes, feelin’ a little caught.

But you stifled a laugh and turned back to the stove, seasonin’ the eggs with a little salt.

“S’pose you’re up early,” you said, just tryin’ to keep it cool, but Sammie? He wasn’t lettin’ you.

He corrected you before you could blink.

“You ain’t sayin’ good mornin’ to me like that, baby girl,” he said, his voice dropin’ deep like honey spillin’ slow. He squeezed your waist, hand goin’ up your throat, tiltin’ your head back like you was his favorite song. “You gonna say it right?”

You swallowed hard, caught in that stare of his, and nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Good mornin’, Sammie,” you whispered, voice catchin’ a little.

That was all he needed. He pulled you closer, kissed you hard—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world. His tongue slipped into your mouth, slidin’ past your lips, demandin’ and patient, like he was takin’ what he wanted and what he was gonna have.

His hand slid up your thigh, tuggin’ at the hem of his shirt that draped over your body. You leaned into him, ready to let it all go.

Then, the smell of burnt bacon hit the air.

You snapped your head around, eyes flyin’ open.

“Sammie Moore!” you yelled, shovin’ at his chest. “Bacon is not cheap!”

You whipped around to turn off the stove, but by the time you caught your breath, Sammie was doubled over laughin’, his chest shakin’ with a grin so wide it lit up his whole face.

“Oh, it’s funny, is it?” you said, arms crossed over your chest. Your tone was playful but sharp, and Sammie knew it was time to straighten up. He stood tall, licked his lips slow like he was fixin’ to bite.

“No ma’am,” he said, voice low, his eyes wild with mischief. He walked over to you like a predator and pressed his hand down onto your hips, then slid it down to your ass, squeezin’ it firm.

“Let me make it up to you?” he asked, low and dangerous, the words almost like a challenge.

You didn’t say nothin’—just looked up at him, mouth dry, body already ready.

He smiled, just a little bit, and then he lifted you like you was weightless, set you up on the counter like you was the only thing worth anything in this whole damn world.

And before you knew it, Sammie was down on one knee in front of you, like he was about to propose to your pussy. Serious as hell.

He slid his hand up your leg, lookin’ up at you with that same greedy gaze that made your whole body ache.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, voice thick with lust.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Your mouth,” you said, your voice low and desperate.

Sammie grinned like you’d just handed him the keys to paradise.

And then he dived in.

He kissed and licked you, slow at first but gettin’ hungrier the longer he went. You were beggin’ him not to stop, hips rockin’ toward him, and Sammie just ate it all up, fingers workin’ in and out of you like he knew exactly what he was doin’.

He didn’t stop, not until you were ridin’ his face, legs locked around his shoulders, and you were callin’ his name in that broken, desperate way that only he could make you.

And Sammie? He just kept goin’. Full of your taste, full of your body, his beard slick and his chest wet from the work of it all.

In front of the forgotten eggs and burnt bacon? Hell, you were the only breakfast Sammie Moore needed.

—————

Heyyy yall! A little short something to hold yall over while I work on bigger plots 😏💕

Kisses to all of you who read and like it reblog or comment💕

[gweelczz]

“Baritone”

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI

Warnings: he eats the 🐱like a pro!

Summary: Y/N has always been a sucker for his voice, he’s about to put what Stack taught him to the test

Y/N or Sugar as. Sammie called her was addicted to Sammie’s deep voice, and Lord, he knew it too well. It rumbled low, like slow thunder rollin’ over the Delta fields, sweet and sinful all at once. Sammie, mischievous grin tucked beneath the tilt of his hat, made it his mission to use that voice to his advantage — especially in moments like this one, when he was tryin’ to sweet-talk her into lettin’ him sing to her.

They were loungin’ outside Smoke and Stack’s juke joint, the sun startin’ to dip low, throwin’ gold light across the dusty ground. Sugar was sittin’ pretty on the porch steps, her dress catchin’ the breeze just enough to drive him halfway mad. Sammie leaned against the post, arms crossed, his mouth curled into that easy, lazy smile she hated herself for likin’ so much.

“Come on now, Sugar,” he drawled, that voice slow and syrupy, rollin’ over her like molasses. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lettin’ a man sing for his lady.”

Sugar rolled her eyes, tryin’ — and failin’ — to fight the shiver that went up her spine at the way he said lady. “You just want to hear yourself talk, Sammie Moore,” she said, turnin’ her head away to hide her smirk.

Sammie chuckled low under his breath, the sound of it makin’ her knees weak. He knew he had her, and he wasn’t about to let up.

All that afternoon, he teased her without mercy. Every chance he got, he’d lean close, lettin’ his voice dip low when he whispered in her ear.

“You sure smell sweet today, Sugar…”

Or he’d brush by her, lettin’ the roughness of his hand skim her waist, his voice a murmur:

“Almost sweeter’n honeysuckle bloom in July.”

By the time night fell and the juke joint started hummin’ with music and laughter, Sugar was wound tighter than a fiddle string. Sammie watched her from across the room, his eyes heavy-lidded, his smirk growin’ every time he caught her sneakin’ a glance at him.

She tried to escape it — tried to busy herself helpin’ Stack and Smoke set up in the back — but Sammie wasn’t lettin’ her off that easy.

He found her in the storage room, her back turned to him as she sorted through crates of bottled soda and whiskey. The little oil lamp barely lit the room, makin’ it feel small and warm, the air thick with dust and old wood and that sweet scent of Sugar that drove him half-crazy.

He slipped in, quiet as a cat, and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“Whatcha runnin’ from, Sugar?” he murmured, his voice damn near a growl in the dim light.

She jumped, hand flyin’ to her chest, and when she spun around, her glare could’ve set him on fire if it wasn’t for the way her lips trembled — like she was fightin’ a smile, fightin’ herself.

“Sammie,” she hissed, takin’ a step back, but he was already there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiatin’ off him.

“You know you love it,” he teased, his voice low and slow, velvet-draped and dangerous. His hand slid to her waist, thumb strokin’ the soft fabric of her dress. “You love the way I talk to you, Sugar. Gets you all flustered.”

She opened her mouth to fuss at him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

Sammie dipped his head, brushin’ his lips against hers — feather-light, teasin’ her the same way he had all day.

Sugar whimpered, barely a breath of sound, and that was all it took. Sammie deepened the kiss, pullin’ her flush against him, his hands roammin’ her hips like he couldn’t get enough.

Their mouths moved together desperate, hungrily, years of want pourin’ out between them. Sammie’s hat fell to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten, as he pressed her against the wall, his fingers threadin’ into her thick coils, cradlin’ her like somethin’ precious.

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

His deep voice rumbled against her lips between kisses, a rough, reverent murmur:

“Mine, Sugar… You hear me? You always been mine…”

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

Without breakin’ the kiss, he hoisted her up easy, settlin’ her on the old wooden table in the middle of the storage room. The wood groaned under their weight, but neither of ‘em cared. Sammie stepped between her knees, his big hands slidin’ up her thighs slow, bunchin’ the soft fabric of her dress as he went.

Sugar gasped, breakin’ the kiss, her hands catchin’ at his wrists. “Sammie… wait a minute baby, I-I ain’t presentable down there—”

But Sammie didn’t listen.

Didn’t even pause.

His hands slid up higher, sure and hungry, feelin’ every bit of that sweet, full body he’d dreamt about since he was a boy. His voice rumbled low against her skin, his mouth findin’ the crook of her neck, suckin’ and kissin’ like he couldn’t help himself.

He speaks clearly looking in her eyes, his voice a deep, sinful thing that made her whole body tremble. “You beautiful, I just wanna taste you”

He kissed her again, rougher this time, drownin’ out whatever protest was on her lips. His hands kept movin’, slidin’ up under that dress like he was claimin’ every inch of her, and Sugar — Lord help her — stopped tryin’ to stop him.

Stopped thinkin’ altogether.

There was only Sammie. His voice, his touch, his heart beatin’ right alongside hers, strong and sure and steady.

And there wasn’t no turnin’ back now.

He dropped to his knees pulling her panties down with him tucking them into his pocket, she wouldn’t be need’em right now anyway. He spreads her legs lifting them over his broad shoulders before diving in, going over everything Stack had taught him in his head he dove in head first.

His lips slowly kissed up her thighs sucking and biting the skin at times but never quite touching where she needed him. He blew softly onto her clit swirling his tongue twice before sucking on it harshly pulling off with a pop.

He remembered what Stack told him: “Once you find the button you wanna stimulate both her insides and her button, if you usin ya fingers then curl them upward while lickin on her button. If you just usin ya tongue then curl your tongue upward while making sure ya nose is nuzzling her button.”

He does as told and places a gentle kiss to her clit moving down to slip his tongue inside of her making sure his nose was rubbing her clit. Y/N pants heavily above him slowly leaning back while gripping the shelf next to her, her free hand lifting her skirt so she can see him better.

The sight of him staring up at her like a hungry predator making her heart stop for a second. Sammie speeds up the tempo of his tongue curling it upward while nuzzling her clit and gripping her thighs holding her in place.

Y/N moans quietly, her hips moving against his face slowly riding his tongue. Her chest heaves and her back arches feeling herself getting closer to the edge, “Sammie baby.. I-“ he cuts her off with a look, his eyes dark as he continues to feast on her slurping up her juices that spill. He brings her over the edge making her cry out his name while he swallowed everything greedily, not wanting to waste a drop.

He eats her through it until she’s pushing his head away causing him to pull back with a sly grin. Coming up he kisses her once again allowing her to taste herself before pulling back, “C’mon here, got folks waitin on us”

[amber-aura]

Y'all he IS IN FACT CRYING!!

This is the cry of an ancient traumatized man.

[callmeoncette]

Me personally idgaf if you’re attracted to Remmick or hate his damn guts. There’s WAAAAY worse characters to be attracted to!

BUT!

I will say that just because he spoke of hating racist and his own indoctrination we can’t also ignore that he was using the bodies of black and brown people against their will to get what he wanted. He wanted Sammie solely to get his music and see his family again. He also wanted to create a fellowship that would’ve been a hive mind full of black and brown people and their oppressors (the klans man and his wife) had he succeeded.

He has good intentions sorta and he clearly has trauma of his people being colonized but in his attempt to gain what he had lost he did the EXACT same thing that was done to him and I think that’s something to think about!