fatalitysficbakery

[fatalitysficbakery]

*whispers* i’m coming back soon <33.

might postpone my next sinners writing because i’m aching to write for smoke again 💔 i’m obsessed. but dw ***** is still in the works.

[fatalitysficbakery]

might postpone my next sinners writing because i’m aching to write for smoke again 💔 i’m obsessed. but dw ***** is still in the works.

[fatalitysficbakery]

every time i say a word with an an r 💔

my friends: hurr?

me: i’m saying hair…

do you ever hear yourself talking and one word comes out very pronounced in you regional accent and you get irrationally embarrassed because oh no now people are going to know i’m from a place

[fatalitysficbakery]

༒☙༒ A Glimpse Of Her —

Elias “Stack” Moore x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: angst???/fluff/SMUT.

warnings: SMUT. MY GOSH WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?

synopsis: you’re back in town, he ain’t missin his chance this time.

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↳ ༒ Fatalitysficbakery Sinners menu ༒.

༒

❝So, you rob trains and banks but you can’t come steal this pussy for a night?❞⁣

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༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

"I lied to you. Yes, I lied to you...I love the blues."

You stepped onto the front lawn of the old sawmill, your eyes held a storm in them, the kind ya wish you could ignore. It couldn't have been seven years since you returned to the delta. It felt like you was just a little girl, running behind them twins like a lovesick puppy. See, Stack had sold you a dream. A dream he wasn't man enough to deliver on.

When you stepped in front of that door, you held your breath and prayed to the Gods you still knew Elias well enough to know his bluffs; Cornbread sho looked at you like ya did. Not a shred of recognition on the man's face, but earlier that day Elias had promised you wouldn't be getting that door; that you should've walked right on back where ya came from, far as he was concerned.

'Look real pretty tonight, miss. Gon make these fellas weak in the knees."

Uh-huh. Jackpot. You couldn't help but giggle at Cornbread's attempt at a gentlemanly greeting; he still looked the same as when you'd left. couldn't quite say the same about yourself. "Oh, drop allat, Cornbread. We ain't never talked to each other like that."

His eyes go all wide, and he takes his hat off, a half smile printed on his lips, hat on his chest as it all came to him. "Know that ain't Genevieve's gal, nie? Girl, I sho ain't recognize ya. Come on in!" He opens his arms, allowing you in for a hug and squeezing tight fore patting ya back and chuckling, "Ain't seen ya since ya last sang for us. Hope them pipes get used tonight."

"We'll see now, Corn. Ima go get me a drink now if that's okay with you." Still looking at you in pure surprise and wonder, he nods quickly and lets you pass, still smiling all big and proud.

"Gon on, girl, it's good to see ya."

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

You knew it wouldn't take long, his eyes had tracked ya since ya entered the room, his hands twitching around the glass of whiskey in his hand. He lets you settle for a moment at least before he makes his way over to you in short, swift strides.

Your finger taps against the side of your glass, looking at him from your peripheral vision. He looked sharper than a knife, good as the night, and clean as hell. You breathe in the scent of musk, smoke, and whiskey when he's next to ya, but you ain't falling for it; he looks irritated as all hell too.

"Y'know, songbird; ya always had a habit of showing up places ya ain't belong. Finish your drink up. Follow me." His body language is tense; you can see the veins in his neck straining, his hand on the glass clenching, and his body stays tense, but he don't look at you; nah, he avoids your gaze like the 14th century plague. Like he can't bear it. Looking your way.

"Following you would lead me to hell, boy. Sides, I gots me a meeting."

Your body steps one inch away from his before he's gripping your wrist firmly, pulling you right up against him, teeth gritted and grills gleaming, his chuckle is as bitter as the beer the patrons are drinking and it sends an absolute shiver through you. "You was going to hell fore ya stepped in this building, woman."

"You left too, Elias. You planned to leave first. Remember that, and get your damn hands off me, dog."

His hold grows tighter, and he has the nerve to shake his head; he stares you down with the heat of a thousand furnaces, his eyes burning through you, and if you didn't know better, you would've thought looks could kill. "Your dog. Seven damn years, seven damn years I ain't seen no sign of you."

"Like. wise." You get out stiffly, but there's that storm again, and this time you ain't got the guts to ignore it.

"You need to dance. Don't ya?" He says after a while and grabs your hand within his, raising it to his lips, and taking a deep breath of your scent. Shit, still smell like jasmine. He ain't never smelt nothing sweeter. "May I?"

You don't know if ya wanna scoff or take him up on that offer, maybe both. You contemplate your options for a moment before remembering what'd ya come here for. Kissing your teeth, your hand settles in his. "I know you'd better still know how to move your feet, Elias Moore."

When your hold releases from his, your figure saunters away to the dancefloor, and he fixes his tie, admiring the view as he follows right on behind ya. Whispering to himself, his eyes roam over you with a heated glaze; the sway in your hips something to stop traffic, "Sho do love to watch you walk away."

"I heard that."

He licks his lips with a smirk on em, "Shyat, I hope ya did."

[༒]

It wasn't long, not long at all, till you pressed against Elias just right whilst you danced; he's only a man, a weaker one when it came to you. He stilled you in your place, grunting, "I'm weak, darlin'. Ain't never been nothing but weak around ya."

"I know. Cornbread sho let me in easy enough when I walked up to that door. Thought you was keeping me out?"

"Cornbread ain't got half the brain to listen to me." He lies, knowing darn well he ain't tell the man not to let you in, hell, he barely even mentioned you coming back to the Delta to his own brother. He wanted this all for him. At least for the night, letting out a hiss of air, he drags you away from the floor and into an unused storage room.

He's smooth when he moves, hoisting you up and onto the counter before grabbing your face into his hands, looking you dead in the eyes like he needed you to know every word was real, and they were. He could lie to most, but not to you.

"Ya got that leash pulled too damn tight for me to breathe, darlin. Ain't no way I could've denied you. No matter how long we've been apart."

"Well, I'm still angry with you. I'm furious." His hand is inching up your dress, the roughness of his palm against the soft skin of your thighs, he's smooth as butter; a charming killer. He knows how to use that grin, especially with you.

"But?" He tilts his chin up, adams apple bobbing and that damn smirk still on his face, smug as he'd always been. The Moore way: confident and cunning. Ya ain't never hated and loved anything more.

When your eyes avert from his, it's like he's hit the jackpot. He knows he's got you now. Can feel it in the way ya can't meet his gaze. Always been a cute lil habit of yours he absolutely adored. — His thumb and index finger come up to tilt your chin, get those big brown eyes looking back at him; Lord, he couldn't get enough. "Aht, aht...Ain't nunnadet now, woman. Tell me what you was gon say."

You could punch him, hell, you oughta for all the promises he broke, the nights he had ya wondering if he ever even loved ya in the first place. A hiss of air is let out between your gritted teeth, and y'know he ain't letting you dodge this. "Making me say it?"

"Goddamned right." His hand doesn't remove itself from your chin, head tilted and brow raised; he's waiting patiently, and if he couldn't be patient with anything else, he could when it came to you. You knew he was prepared to do this all night. His eyes light up like a kids on Christmas when you let that resigned sigh out.

And Bingo was his name-o.

"But...Loving somebody else was never an option for me, Elias." Your whisper is like a butterfly kiss, the words a wisp upon his ears when you say them and press your head against his. His hand stops at the edge of your underwear, and the breath that escapes him almost sounds like a plea to God. A plea to keep the man grounded, because you damn sho wasn't. Not when you sounded so sweet admitting you still loved him.

"Them some pretty words ya speaking, sweetheart." His voice comes out rough, and strained with the restraint he was holding onto so damn tightly. His hands grip your hips, and suddenly you're being taken off the counter, the man sighing like he just realized he'd been starving all night. Famished.

"Turn round for me, girl. Finna see what I been missing out on being boneheaded."

"Ask nicely." You tease.

A hiss of air can be heard when you're turned around and bent over the table. Stack's fingers grip the edge like his life depended on it, trying to restrain himself from busting just at the sight of your soft, welcoming thighs. He slots himself between them before he loses the little mind he has left, unzipping his own slacks. His hands spread you open, yanking your panties down a little less gently than he'd intended.

"I been waitin too damn long to ask anything kindly, darlin'. You're lucky I ain't take ya right at that damn train station. Hold onto me."

His hand envelops yours, allowing you to brace yourself in his grasp, the other moving to line himself with your entrance, the feeling so familiar and yet so distantly felt until he's finally sank himself into ya, your walls soft and warm and so damn tight around that it pulls the most desperate grunt from his lips, and a whispered gasp from you.

Lord, he doesn't know just who to thank yet for bringing you on home. His hand slides around the back of your neck, his head finding its way next to your ear, nipping the tip of it; the gold of his grills like heat against your skin, your hand reaches up to bring his face even closer: your breaths mingle, and that first thrust feels like pure freedom.

"Feel just like home in here, girl. Gon get me hooked like a bad habit again, ain'tcha?" Pace slow yet deliberate, he guides your head down, getting you in a position where your head rests on the table, and he could get even deeper inside you. As deep as he possibly could. "Betcha still taste like honey, too. Ain't nowhere near done with rediscovering every part of you."

His words bit at her in the most embarrassing way, lips dripping with slightly whispered moans, keeping mind the party just outside the door; It ain't quite right how smooth he could be, a shuddered whine escaping her like summin she ain't never heard from herself before. It shows in the way her bite becomes reactive. "You sho talk a lot, don't ya?"

"Want me to shut up, huh?" He chuckles, angling his hips just so and rocking into you with a particular roughness that was so simply Elias, it'd almost be funny if it weren't for the way your mouth had fallen open into a moan too loud for your liking, given the location they were in. "Maybe you just need to be a lil louder, princess."

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

Smoke ain't one bit surprised when he sees the two of you running out of the backroom, you giggling whilst Elias leads you out to his truck, the afterglow clear in the way both your clothes were a little wrinkled and tussled up.

"Aye, where you think you're goin'?" He yells out for his brother, but Elias simply waves him before yelling back.

"Gon go home and show my woman some real lovin'. We a be back."

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

A/N: which sinner is next? i cannot let you know, there is evil watching and they will try to sabotage my plans </33.

[fatalitysficbakery]

MEGAN THEE STALLION The 2025 Met Gala (May 05, 2025)

[fatalitysficbakery]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[fatalitysficbakery]

this was a month for black people. my gosh.

Some of my favorites of the night …. I love black women

[fatalitysficbakery]

༒☙༒ The Secrets To Loving A Black Woman (NSFW Alphabet) — Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Black Fem!Y/n

genre: SMUT/somewhat fluff???

warnings: everything, i suppose.

synopsis: nsfw alphabet. duh.

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༒

❝Your body ain’t forget me.❞⁣

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༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

༒ Smoke is A = Aftercare.

"Come here, girl." Elijah sighs, arm reaching the night table to grab his cigarettes, other arm stretched out, and waiting for your presence by his side. He's utterly satisfied when you take your rightful place beside him, and he can feel your skin against his again.

Y'all could clean up later, right now he just needed to feel the freedom he'd fought like hell for, all with you by his side. "There ya go...That's right." He mutters when you're safely snuggled against his chest, puffing idly on his cig and letting the smoke flow out before pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Smoke's aftercare usually consists of him smoking a cigarette with you in his arms, if tomorrow might bring more challenges — He was happy to hold you for tonight. He'd rather bask in the glow than think too much.

༒ Smoke is B = Body Part

"Hold on now, brotha man. I got my eyes on a prize, sho nuff." Smoke pats Stack's chest, a cat's grin on his usually neutral features when his eyes laid on his woman. The belle of the ball; looked good enough to damn near eat, and fuck, those hips.

They get him every damn time; he stalks up to you in measured steps, his hands immediately reaching for your hips when he reaches you, he pulls ya close, his lips hovered above her ear. "Remind me why I let you out the house looking so damn good, darlin'? Because shit, woman, I'm having my regrets."

Your hips. The man is obsessed with your hips; if you're in his presence, you're in his arms, and his hands are gripping your hips like his life depends on em to keep on breathin'. It's no secret that Elijah adores a thick woman; his hands are always restless when he's near you, but they almost always land on your hips. Like it's muscle memory.

༒ Smoke is C = Cum

Smoke has your body memorized like a fucking book. He knows what pace you like it, what rhythm, and just when to snap his hips to make you see stars. He needs to please you, so when he sees the familiar signs, the dance begins. Your eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows knitted, and legs locked around his waist, but he's gonna change all that. He needs to see your eyes. His hand that's now on your jaw, squeezes gently, and you know exactly what it means; you open your eyes, whimpers, and moans dripping from you like the most beautiful blues Smoke had ever damn heard. He feels his own climax approaching, but he's far too focused on you. "You know what you do to me, mama. Now let me see what I do to you." He whispers, hips snapping up into you, making you scream out his name like he was a God. There's a fucking gleam in his eyes when you start pouring over him like a fountain. He's so focused on you, he barely notices when his seed starts to overflow and drip down your thighs.

Okay, so, Smoke is a pleaser. No one can tell me any different. That's where he derives his own pleasure from, watching you feel good, and even further — watching you come undone from the pleasure. He wants to see how your eyes look as they glaze over; he wants to hear every moan, whimper, and every breath, but again...He wants to see you come undone. Needs to see your eyes, and if they're closed?

He's getting em back open. Usually with a jaw grip, sometimes a muttered "Open 'em." But he makes sure he sees you, when you cum. It's the quickest way to get him to do the same.

༒ Smoke is D = Dirty Secret

His eyes track you like a tiger as you cook, singing to yourself the music that flowed through the juke joint. You worked hard whilst everyone danced the night away, but that didn't mean you wasn't gone catch a vibe all on your own. Smoke saw the way your hips moved to the beat, the way you danced around that kitchen, and the Lord ain't have no fence strong enough to keep Elijah Moore away from you. "You look like yuh havin' fun over here, girl. Got room for another?" He comes up behind you, hands instantly meeting that golden spot, landing straight on your hips. He pulls you back until you can feel his muscled chest against your curves. "C'mon, boy. Now, you know I have work to do. Who you think gone feed all these people?" You protest with a smile on plump lips, but he's already grinning like a Cheshire, that Elijah. "A lil break ain't gone leave em' niggas famished, beautiful."

You. You are literally that man's dirty secret. He's obsessed with you. I've said it multiple times. You are his addiction. Smoke, as quiet. hard, and protective as he is, is a loverboy. You being who you are turns him on like nothing else. Watching you work is his foreplay.

You're lucky on the days he's able to keep his self-control, otherwise, you'd never get nothing done, always being pulled away.

༒ Smoke is E = Experience

You weren't mad at him, you were pissed. You were pissed that he was back again, and you were pissed that you missed him. Like you always did. Protecting him and that twin of his wherever the wind took them whilst in your shop, too far away for your liking. "That all ya come for? A cook?" Your eyes narrow, jaw ticking; you need the truth from Smoke, nothing but, tired of being left behind. They say they staying, but the Moore twins had been saying that since they left for Chicago. "Whatchu want from me, woman?" Smoke steps back when you finally relax, and your blade ain't on his neck no more. He knows what you want, but he also needs to hear it. You were part of the reason he'd come back in the first place. "The truth, boy. Be honest for once in ya life. It'd do ya some damn goo-." Before you could even get your words fully out, he was on you like white on rice, and you were pressed against the nearest wall, his finger trailing down the wet spot he knew was under that dress. "I ain't never forgot you, mama. I loved you then, woman, and I love you now." He presses you even closer to the wall, his breath hot on your ear, "Feels like you ain't forgot me either."

There's no doubt Smoke is an experienced man; he's smooth, cunning, and charming. Handsome as hell, too. He ain't never had to try to hard to get a lil pussy, but all he really wanted was you. Found himself in your bed every time he'd come visit.

Moth to flame, like clockwork.

༒ Smoke is F = Favorite Position

"Look at her. Look at you, girl. Beautiful, ain't ya? Yeah, I know it." He tugs at your hair, forcing you to look into the mirror at yourself getting fucked into before he moved you over to the bed, and laid you back. He hovers over you, looking into those beautiful e/c eyes of yours; he grips your legs and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, adjusting his position, and grunting softly, sliding back into that soft heat only you seemed to possess. He moves your hair from your face. "God took his time with ya, didn't he...? Goddamn..."

Again, yes, AGAIN! Smoke is obsessed with you, yada yada ya, you get it. But seriously, he is. Any position where he can see your face? He's gonna take that over anything 9/10, whether that be fucking you in front of the mirror or having you under him.

He is so outwardly in love with everything that's you, he'd never be able to take it if he had to hide it.

༒ Smoke is G = Goofy

"I love you, Smoke, oh God, I love you." You whisper into nothingness whilst Elijah fucks into you, his thrusts slow and intimate, something he needed after a rough night, to make love to his woman? Oh, he's more than content. "Say that again fa me, ain't hear ya." His hand is gripping your jaw, eyes staring into yours, and taking in every expression. He knows what you said, but it wasn't gone hurt nobody if he heard it again. Your voice is shaky this time, he's hitting that spot that he knows makes you insane, and he knows exactly what he's doing. He's doing it with proper intent. "F-...fuuck, Elijah, I love you." You just barely get out without soundin like your mama ain't teach ya nothing, but that's still not good enough for him. He's biting back a smile, maybe even a chuckle, repeating himself. "Ion think I heard ya, sum ain't right...I said..." A laugh rumbles within his chest, speeding his pace up, "Say that shit again." This time, though joking, he was also serious. 100%. You knew it, even as you giggled along with him, moaning out a weak, "You're a bastard, Elijah Moore. I love you..."

While I feel Smoke is a tad more serious during the intimate moments, that doesn't mean there isn't humor...sometimes. More often than not, however, he's focused on pleasuring you, talking you through it.

༒ Smoke is H = Hair

I personally feel like both Moore boys are well-groomed. Smoke keeps his beard trimmed, and that means he also keeps his bush trimmed. He believes a well-kept man keeps a happy woman, and so far, you've proved him right, so why change the system?

༒ Smoke is I = Intimacy

Your eyes are kept on one another, one hand intertwined with his as the moon shines in on you. You were smiling tonight, hand on his damn throat, and you were smiling at him. He was stroking you slow tonight too, the after effects of a glass of wine or two, he just needed to feel you soaking him. That's all he fucking needed. His other hand is toying with your clit, and he relishes in the way you seem to seek his hand out like a vice, only forcing your pussy down on him even further; He wasn't complaining, in fact, the way his fingers moved? He was more than encouraging.

Now, as I've said, Smoke is a loverboy and a pleaser, so every moment with him, whether it be sexual or non, is an intimate moment, but if we're talking about sex specifically? He's always gonna be looking in your eyes, holding your hands, gripping you, and making love to you slowly.

On the off chance you catch him in a rougher mood, it's still with a slight gentleness to soothe the pain.

༒ Smoke is J = Jack Off

You were working, it was a busy night at the juke joint, and Smoke knew if he interrupted you right now, he'd be in for a scolding, not that that wouldn't make his problem worse. You made his problem worse. He snuck away to another room, the scent of your perfume clouding his every thought; he closes his eyes, envisioning you whilst his hand wraps around his length, letting out a curse, and grunting as he bucks into his hand, imagining it was the warmth of your welcoming pussy.. He has your handkerchief with him, wrapped around him, and aiding in his pleasure. Afterwards, he'd silently slip it into your hand, letting you know that he'd had enough with waiting.

Elijah really only likes you touching him, but on the off chance that that's not what he can have in that moment, and he has to handle himself? He does so with one of your items, your name on his tongue, and your figure in his mind.

After he cums, he becomes impatient for the real things, and that's usually when you get a cum-stained item of yours handed to you silently, and with nothing more said; the two of you usually slink away.

༒ Smoke is K = Kinks

His thumb presses against your lips, heavily suggesting that you open your mouth to allow him in, his eyes say the very same. When your lips part, his eyes darken, slipping his finger in and immediately probing around, pressing against your tongue, and seeming like he was a hellbent man on a mission, until... Smoke watches the drool finally seep down from your lips and leak down to your chin. He's addicted with the dumb look on your face, eyes glassed over, and pussy clenching down on him like a nice long hug. Fuck, he loved the sight.

Oral fixation. Man loves to look at you, he's addicted to your expressions, and wants to see you go stupid from pleasure. One of his favorite ways is having you suck on his thumb, or seeing your spit connect with his after a kiss, spitting in your mouth, etc.

Anything that had your eyes glazed over, and drool making its way to your chest? He's there for it.

༒ Smoke is L = Location

They'd sent you down to the cellar for more beer, but that ain't matter to Smoke, he'd been eyeing you the entire night, and the man was hungry. When you got down the stairs, he was already there, holding a case of beer. He smiles, grins real wide. "You come get this, come gimme a kiss. C'mon now, girl. Ain't nice to leave a man waiting."

Anywhere. Okay, maybe that's a stretch, some places are off limits but most of the time, he doesn't mind where he can get you...as long as he gets you.

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

༒ Smoke is M = Motivations

Again, you were doing absolutely nothin that could've possibly turned Elijah Moore on; sitting there with a book in your hand, ya looked like the picture of perfection to Smoke. Just gorgeous, and it ain't never got no easier to be around you. "Damn precious, gotta stop doing me so wrong." He clutches his chest, moving to sit next to you with his eyes roaming every feature like he hadn't ever seen you before. "Enlighten me, Elijah. Far as I could tell, I was just sitting myself down reading." His hand grips your thigh, and suddenly you're being pulled closer to him without much effort on the soldier's part, unsurprisingly. "That ain't the damn point, mama. Where I'm sittin, looking twice as fine as the finest wine. That ain't right." He slides the book from your hand and tosses it to the table before leaning you back into the couch. "Just ain't quite right..."

We've been over this. Should I write a paragraph for this or just say the word "You", and hope you understand?

There's nothing else that motivates him like you do, just you; he felt it when you were just around him, looking so peaceful, happy, and comfortable. He liked the look of it on you. Hell, he liked the look of you. Just you.

༒ Smoke is N = No

Now, while I feel Elijah can get rough in bed, I feel like one of his biggest Nos is hurting you. He's not big on impact play unless it be something like a light spanking, maybe a little bit of choking, but he worships the ground you walk on, and he wants to keep it that way.

He could never see himself actually harming you; he's much more aroused by the threat of it. The tease. A knife to your thigh in the gentlest manner possible so you're not cut.

He'd consider gun play, after emptying it, of course. Even still. Elijah's hurt people before, it wasn't a pretty sight to see; He sure as hell ain't gonna hurt you, though. Never that.

༒ Smoke is O = Oral

He gripped your hair tightly within his fist, grunting as he gently pulled your mouth away from his dick, the spit shining on those plump lips of yours, spit and precum connecting you to him? Pretty fucking nice sight to behold if Smoke were to tell it, he could die happy. But that ain't what he wanna see. He was much more invested with what lied when you spread those thick ass thighs. You'd gotten used to the way Elijah pressed you back against the bed, and when he looked into your eyes with that glint in em, you knew he was aiming for one thing, and it was always worth the time. He pushed your legs open and smiled like he'd struck gold, and in his eyes, he had. He licked his lips, eyes darkened and blown with lust. "Ya ain't gone run if I take this here pussy from ya, are ya darlin'?"

It's been established that Smoke is a service dom, he wants you pleased and satisfied always, and if he took his own pleasure from it? So be it, but it was all about you.

He could cum in his pants just from sucking your pussy into his mouth, and that taste had him gone each damn time. And don't worry about him stopping after you cum, he's not stopping until he's satisfied that you're satisfied.

༒ Smoke is P = Pace

"How ya want it, baby? Talk to me." He frames it as a question, though you know it's not, he's telling you to speak up, and you know he's petty enough to stop if you don't. "Just...Make love to me." You ain't ever had to tell that man twice; he was ready to fulfill your requests each time. Eager to even. His rhythm slows down drastically, and pretty soon he's set a pace in tune with your goddamned moans, pulling reactions from you he knew how to get when hitting certain spots, exactly when he needed to. He knew your pussy better than it knew itself. "Look at that shit...Gushing like a slut, baby. I ain't never seen nun more beautiful."

༒ Smoke is Q = Quickie

You had 20 minutes before customers started pouring into the juke joint, and shit, Smoke only needed 15 when it came to you; when he pulled you into the backroom, you couldn't say you were complaining much bout it. You knew your husband, he was a stallion in ways that electrified your very being. You flash him that pretty lil smile of yours, and he's all gone. "Slide 'em down, sweetheart. I got 20 minutes to make your body do that shake fa me, and I plan on using my time wisely."

Smoke is an opportunist, he gone take that chance always. If y'all got a couple minutes to get it in, he absolutely doesn't mind trying. He just wants a piece of you at all times.

༒ Smoke is R = Risks

It didn't matter that it was a dark, starless night, that you couldn't see anybody for miles in the distance out that window. All that mattered was the way it made you feel, how taboo it was being bent over in front of a window, the risk of being caught by eyes below. — It was tantalising, and Elijah couldn't help but tease. "You get off on it, don'tchu darlin? I can feel that pussy squeezing like a vice right now. It get you off knowin anybody can walk past? See you getting fucked nice and slow?" He relishes in the way you spasm around him, his hand around your throat, your back arched, and the prettiest noises he'd ever damned listened to in his ear. "Let 'em see, baby. Let 'em see it all."

It's no secret; neither of the Moore boys was quite shy. In fact, it thrilled Elijah more than anything when he could get you like this anywhere he could. He feels pride in taking you where somebody can see you feeling so good...and all. because. of. him.

༒ Smoke is S = Stamina

He'd finished his cigarette off, ashing it before turning his attention back towards you. He needs to stop looking your way, it's what's gotten ya into this mess in the first place. You still look all beautiful, fucked out and glowing as your pussy leaked with his seed. Goddamn. He feels it in his gut, washing over him like that first glass of scotch. He'll never understand how you have like a little schoolboy without even trying; four, five rounds and still he was aching for more like he'd never left. Lord knows how he survived when he and Stack were still hitting licks back in Chicago. Now that he didn't have to wait, it seemed his body no longer knew how to. "C'mere, woman, put your lips on mine." He murmurs, a strong hand guides itself to your hip, and pulls you on top of him with little effort. He kept his body right just for moments like these, grinning like a Cheshire, he continues, "Want some more sugar." Your giggle fills his heart with something he hadn't felt in a while. pure unadulterated joy. "You always want some sugar." "Damn right." His hands move to grip your asscheeks, pulling you closer, "Damn fucking right."

When it comes to fucking you, it'd take a group of firefighters to pry Elijah off of you. On a calm night, you might go once or twice, but on those nights? — Expect him to be insatiable. 4-5 is the goal, and he'll soothe your pussy with his tongue right after.

Again, insatiable.

༒ Smoke is T = Toys

He has you tied up, hands and feet. You can see him rummaging through the drawers in the room until his hand lands on the right items. You hear him whisper to himself, and when he turns around, he wordlessly walks back over to you with a grin on his face. "You won't mind if I go downstairs and talk to my brother for a second, would ya baby? Got a gift for ya." Your eyes tracked him like a lion to prey, only you were the prey, and Smoke was stalking over to you like he'd found a new meal, and it looked quite divine. Wouldn't take him no time at all to get back to ya, but you knew it'd feel like hours; you could hear it vibrating as he inched it towards your entrance, and he wouldn't stop looking at you, scanning your every reaction. "You's a sick man, Elijah." You whisper, your eyes hold no fear or disgust; however, arousal lowering your gaze, he says nothing for a moment, slipping the black vibrator inside you, to his delight, your back arches into his hold, pulling the rope tight with a sweet moan leaving you. He chuckles in satisfaction. "Never claimed to be a good man, darlin'. Ya gone be good, and wait for me?" When she sends a glare his way, he simply grins, "I'm just messing with you, mama. Don't go causing too much trouble now; Ion mind changing the sheets."

Elijah doesn't mind toys...when he's trying to make a point, or gets interrupted. He hates getting interrupted when making you feel good so you're no stranger to him leaving you with a little gift inside you or buzzing against your clit.

He likes how needy, and desperate it makes you when he comes back; your body writhing with the need to cum. He likes watching you fight against your bindings, glaring at him with tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. Yeah, he could get down with a toy or two.

༒ Smoke is U = Unfair

How long had he been staring? Smoke ain't quite know, all he knew was that in the quest to keep you away from him, teach you some patience; he was ultimately torturing himself in kind. He watched you dance across that floor, and decided he couldn't damn take it no more. "Keep your face neutral and keep dancing, sweetheart. I'm just checking something real quick." You'd been frozen against him before his instructions to keep rhythm, the hand that wasn't squeezing her hip traveling up her thigh; she wasn't wearing panties — Of course, he'd been the one to tell her not to, but it still got him going how bad she could be at his behest. His pretty lil thing. He's got one goal in mind, and when he finds it, his hand tightens round your hip when you gasp, rising to your tiptoes with your chest pressed against the hard planes of his chest; he presses a kiss to your hair, and shushes you, his words whispered in your ear like a lullaby. "Shh, shh, shh...Don't need nobody hearing you. Just need a lil taste." He pulls you even closer to him, tugging his hand away from you when he finds what he's looking for. Makes sure you're looking directly in his eyes when he puts two fingers between his lips, the taste of you on his tongue making him grunt. — He lets you go. You're breathless as he disappears into that crowd again, the music grows wilder, and there's nothing to do except keep on dancing. Keep on feeling the blues till your face turns too.

Smoke is all about teasing, should be the man's middle name, and while you loved it too, there was a distinct pain in the utter vulnerability in the ways he teased you, but unironically, it was a pain you heavily adored, something you craved.

༒ Smoke is V = Volume

Your nails mark down his back, journeying in a path that stopped when your hands met his ass, pulling him closer and sheathing the man deeper inside your pussy; he stops for just a second, taking a deep breath because you, indeed, had him fucked up. He grunts, taking your hands and pinning them above you before his weight lays into you like a weighted blanket, and he's so deep it has you biting into his shoulder to keep from screaming out his name. He gives you leeway this time, lets you hide your face, too in ecstasy to care much bout anything else; a growl rumbles within his throat, a deep ragged murmur leaving his lips, "Puttin it on me like this...Gone...have my f..ucking babies."

Now, Elijah might not be much of a moaner but he absolutely makes noises, whether it be grunts, groans, the occasional growl, but most importantly...He's the vocal type. Degrading, praising, or talking you through it? Elijah does it all.

He needs you to hear how you're making him feel, very verbally.

༒ Smoke is W = Wild Card

What if Smoke had been turned into a vampire? We already know he's shameless, but walk with me...

The music is once again blaring and the vibes are high, but Smokes eyes are on you, there's hooting and hollering as you begin to step out of that little black dress you wore. His eyes were observant, protective, while he made his way over to you, loosening his tie as he goes; he's smirking. Your thoughts go south, wondering if this is really happening. You'd gotten them all turned once he'd died. When he came back begging to be let in, voice all sweet and southern and smooth talking like he talked, you couldn't resist allowing him in. He'd gone through their friends and family like a man starved, and now it was your turn. The rest start to wake up, reborn of the night, all while he made his way to you like no one else was there. When he gets to you, he sinks down to his knees and slowly spreads your legs. "Imagine, suga... comin back to a show like this. It's gone hurt a lil bit, but think about it...what happens after. It's worth it now. Don't you think, mama?"

༒ Smoke is X = X-ray

I believe Smoke is the more muscled of the twins; he's built and muscular, but in a way that's not too overpowering to look at. He's definitely leaner and a little bigger than his younger twin.

When he takes his shirt off, there's a 6-pack with a well-trimmed happy trail and bush meeting a caramel, lighter brown tipped 8-inch, thick in length. He's more of a grower than a shower, and is definitely uncut, me thinks.

༒ Smoke is Y = Yearning

The end of the night is what Smoke loves best, he loves it best because it's when he finally gets you behind closed door...alone. He ain't gotta worry bout the neighborhood kids, your friends, family, nunnadet. You were finally all his, and he could finally feel you real, and truly honestly sucking him deeper into the gushing pussy he'd been envisioning all day.

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

….

And, finally….

༒

༒ Smoke is Z = Zzz

Honestly, me thinks that you and Smoke lie awake for a little, talking about everything and nothing before even attempting to get any rest. It's when you both debrief and let the outside world go before the morning comes. When he looks at you and sees your eyes shutting is when he knows it's time for bed, but other than that, he absolutely follows your lead on where the night goes after sex.

But that wasn't the best part. The best part was your head on his chest right after, safe and unharmed, and home.

༒

༒ ☽ ☙ ༒ ༒ ༒ ☙ ☽ ༒

authors note: welcome back to the fic bakery! so happy you could make it to the reopening. my very first sinners writing and we feel good about this, don’t we? a lil smoke never hurt nobody.

- fatality/bubbles 🫧.

[fatalitysficbakery]

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

[fatalitysficbakery]

Woke up, still obsessed with Sinners.

Seriously, if you ever wanted to ask/wondered:

What and why our music means so much to the Black community, the roots from the past to the present

Why it's so deeply insulting to deal with the cultural appropriation and disrespect of Black music, given the depth of that meaning

How we use language, history, and context to determine when somebody ain't kinfolk despite pretending

How you might be allowed to forget that you're white, but we aren't allowed to forget that you're white, and that frames our interactions with you

How your allyship can fall oh so uselessly flat, no matter how well intentioned you may be, if you refuse to understand your position within the game

Why what scares you as fantastical is often a living nightmare for people of color, and how that history and social context can weave a horror story that hits close to home (I have a whole lesson on that!)

And more, go watch that movie 🙏🏾

[fatalitysficbakery]

JAYME LAWSON Sinners

[fatalitysficbakery]

Smoke and Annie study :]

[fatalitysficbakery]

People will be writing essays and analyses on Sinners in its regards to music, African American studies, Native American studies, colonization, religion and spirituality, and the diaspora for DECADES to come. And it’s all deserved because that movie was fucking amazing at touching every single one of those points.

Ryan Coogler, you’ve done it again king 🫶🏾

[fatalitysficbakery]

it really frustrates me to think about how people are inevitably going to take Remmick’s one (1) singular statement about how much he resents the way the Irish were colonized and forcibly converted to Christianity and use it as fuel for “actually he had a point” and “he was right actually” and “he’s not really the villain here” posts, when the whole point is that Remmick is, through the vampiric hive mind he’s creating, forcibly assimilating people into yet another manipulative and parasitical system. he doesn't value the cultures of the people he assimilates—notice how all the vampires he turns dance to his culture's music using his culture's dances, and how he only uses the languages or knowledge other vampires have to offer when he needs to manipulate someone. Remmick is extremely transparent about the way he sees the people he turns as resources to exploit.

he’s perpetuating a cycle that he claims to hate and resent, and I think the movie is pretty damn clear about the fact that he doesn’t see anybody as valuable or useful to him except as prey and as pawns—otherwise he would just, you know, focus solely on people who actually consent to being turned. but he looked sad in that one scene and he’s an apparently attractive white cis man so people are gonna bend over backwards justifying all the harm he did.

[fatalitysficbakery]

"you twins?"

"nah, we cousins"

[fatalitysficbakery]

remmick and the vampires present a false dichotomy

Hogwood (the man who sold the twins the mill) and the KKK are very obviously bad, they are outright malicious bigotry, they use the n-word and plan to lynch the moore's and their community, they are so blatantly racist and hateful it's unavoidably obvious

remmick and the vampires however say that they believe in equality, say that they want to create a community, and yet remmick's goal throught the movie is to both metaphorically and literally steal sammie's ability for his own goal of reconnecting with his irish ancestors, a white man wants to harm a young and upcoming black man and use talents for his own goals without giving any regard to said black man's autonomy or agency

when sammie sings 'I lied to you' in the juke joint and calls forth the spirits from the past and future, it's a blend of cultures; west african, east asian, native american, and african american song and dance blend together across time and space to tell the stories of blues; where it takes its inspiration from, the music genres it then inspired, the complex history of black american culture and its intersections with other peoples of colour in the USA

when remmick and the vampires kill and turn the people in the juke joint, and then perform rocky road to dublin, only remmick's irish culture is on display, there is no influence from the black and asian people he has forcibly assimilated into his song, it's juxtaposition with the earlier scene is blatant, remmick is more than happy to assimilate people of colour into his 'community' of 'equals', and yet its only whiteness that is celebrated, that is normative

remmick claims that he's doing people a favour by turning them immortal, conviently ignoring that he literally has to suck the life out of them to do so, trapping their spirits on earth, he claims that he's the good guy, that the KKK were gonna come and lynch everyone at the joint in the morning anyways, conviently ignoring that he's doing the exact same thing; a white man leading a mob to kill a bunch of black people

in the final confrontation with sammie remmick repeatedly dunks him into the river, a forceful baptism. both the celtic irish and enslaved west africans had their religions suppressed and destroyed by colonialsm, had christianity forced upon them by the british empire, and in that scene we see remmick repeating that cycle, using christianity to inflict harm, and sammie reclaiming christianity, despite all the complex emotions he has arround it, as many colonised peoples have and still do, when he recites the lord's prayer

remmick and the vampires are no less racist than hogwood and the KKK, are no less predatory or evil, they're just less blantant about their bigotry, they represent the system, the normalised white supremacy that is seeped into the very foundation of culture in america, the point isnt that remmick would call any of the black characters in the movie the n-word, i dont think he would, the point is that his exploitation and desacration and inserting-himself-into-when-he-wasn't-invited of the juke joint is a microcosm of what white people have done to black american arts and culture since ever since there have been black and white people in america, and even before that

theres a reason vultures are shown early on in this movie

[fatalitysficbakery]

this just gave me a major plot idea.

if sinners (2025) taught me anything, it's that it IS actually always about race.

you can be oppressed, and still promote and maintain the very same systems of oppression onto other marginalized people. being oppressed in one dimension doesn't allow you to be exempt from oppressing in other dimensions. the "villain" of the movie, remmick, being from the time period of the english colonization of ireland, all the while wanting to take a piece of sammie's own culture from him, use him for it. and this plot point coming after remmick witnesses the significance of sammie's playing within his culture, for his ancestors and how it would shape Black culture in the future.

even in today's society, ive noticed that people treat Black people like a commodity. our worth is only as much as other people decide it to be, and that's usually dependent on how much the oppressor can take from us. for example, the controversy of"internet slang" and how it is blatantly just AAVE with a bad disguise on

do you listen to Black musicians? do you watch Black movies? do you engage with Black creators? do you defend the racist tendencies you notice in your friends, in your family, or do you stay silent? do you listen when Black people tell you you've said or done something racist? do you actually care about not being racist, or do you just not want to look like you're racist?

i just think people have a very specific take on what racism is, and that if they're not committing KKK-levels of violence on people, then they're not racist. or if you've experienced oppression in one form, you cannot possibly be engaging with oppression in another form. but the ways in which we interact with other people and the world will always be through the lens of race, because that is simply what it means for oppression to be systemic, especially in the US and our current political climate

anyway 10/10 movie. highly recommend