Serwaaaaa🤍

Sinners

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

Headcannons

First Time meeting Samuel Moore

Ruth

Man of God

Holy Competition

Say it again

Talking to herself

Sin real good

Make me

No notification

Club opening

Praying Father

Gumbo

He’d hand you…..

Outer Banks

Pope Heyward x Kelce little sister!reader

You and Me

Attack On Titan

Connie Springer x Black!Y/Nreader

cause you havent written anything inna while

I’m fine babes wbu?? I’m here😭 life is good, just chilling. Might have to make a comeback on my stories😏😮‍💨

He’d hand you…..

Modern Sinners Au!

Preacher boy/ Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys I had two drafts, but my friend says that their are too angsty so I had to write new ones… and than I wasn’t feeling it anyway enjoy it😭.

The couch creaked beneath him again. You can hear it from the hallway. Every restless toss, every shift of the weight he couldn’t seem to carry right anymore. The man who used to rest so easy in your presence now couldn’t even find peace in the same apartment.

Good.

You hugged yourself tighter in his shirt, his scent still wrapping around you like a memory you didn’t want to remember. But later on after Dawn called, your feet moved anyway, toward the kitchen.

You were tired. Not just from the day or the rain or the gumbo still sitting heavy in your belly. Tired of the tension. Tired of being near him but feeling miles away.

He didn’t hear you at first. Just stood at the fridge, water bottle to his lips, eyes hollow like he was somewhere else entirely. The second he turned and saw you though his whole body froze.

You knew what he saw.

The hem of the shirt had ridden up with every quiet step you took. You didn’t care to fix it. Black lace peeked through at the top of your thighs, and his eyes dragged down like they didn’t know how to stop.

“You good?” he rasped. His voice was rough, tired. “Why you up?”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying not to shiver under his gaze. “Dawn called. She’s on her way.”

He nodded slow, like he wasn’t quite listening. Or like he was trying to memorize the moment in case it never happened again.

“You could’ve stayed, you know?” he said. Soft. He took a step forward. His hand reached for your waist.

You backed away instantly. “Don’t.”

His hand dropped. So did his expression.

And then you said it again. Sharp like broken glass. “Samuel.”

His jaw clenched. “You still on that?”

You laughed bitterly. “You thought two weeks of silence would earn you your nickname back?”

“I know I fucked up, Y/N.”

“No, you hurt me.” you cut in. “You were hiding. You wanted me one night and the next morning, you ghosted like I was a sin you had to repent for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It never is, Samuel.”

Silence swallowed the room.

Then, like mercy from heaven or hell, you didn’t know which, the doorbell rang.

He moved like thunder to open it, and there she was.

Dawn.

Dripping with rain, hoodie pulled over her head, looking between the two of you like she just walked into a war zone.

“…Damn,” she muttered. “Y’all look like you either just fought or just—”

“Please,” you cut in, voice dry. “Don’t.”

Sammie cleared his throat. “Her clothes are wet.”

Dawn raised a brow. “And do you have something for her to change into?”

He disappeared down the hall before you could answer.

You stood there, arms still wrapped tight across your chest, avoiding Dawn’s knowing gaze.

When he came back, he was holding a folded pair of sweatpants, grey, thick, huge.

He held them out to you without a word.

You snatched them, turned your back and pulled them on right there in the room. No shame. Just fury.

They practically slid off your waist. You rolled them twice, still swallowing your hips whole.

“Whew,” Dawn smirked. “You look like you got drafted by a D1 heartbreak.”

Sammie didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk.

His voice came low, just behind you. “I ain’t mean to hurt you, Y/N.”

You froze.

But didn’t turn around.

Didn’t give him that piece of you again.

“You did though.”

He swallowed. You heard it. Loud in the quiet.

“I ain’t know how to handle it. You… You scare me sometimes.”

Your head turned slowly. “I scare you?”

“You make me wanna do better. And I don’t always know how to live up to that. I messed up. But I swear I wasn’t tryna play you. I ain’t never wanted to play you.”

Your chest squeezed, but your face stayed stone.

“I’m not your fear, Samuel,” you whispered. “I was supposed to be your peace.”

He stepped forward again.

“I still want you.”

You shook your head, turning toward the door with Dawn already waiting. “You don’t even know what to do with me.”

The rain waited outside like it’d been listening too. Soft now. Gentle.

Unlike your heart.

You walked out with his name still stuck between your teeth, your body wrapped in his clothes and all his apologies echoing behind you like a broken hymn.

And he just stood there.

Still reaching. Still too late.

The car is quiet.

Too quiet for two girls who used to scream sing gospel and SZA on long drives like this.

You sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed tight over your chest, Sammie’s sweatshirt drowning you, the drawstring from his sweats wound twice around your fingers like rope keeping you together.

The rain drums a steady rhythm on the roof, but it can’t drown out the tension sitting between you and Dawn like a third passenger.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches the road, hands at ten and two, headlights cutting through the puddles on the asphalt like truth slicing denial.

You’re staring out the window.

Trying not to cry.

Trying not to feel how the fabric clings to your legs, how his cologne still lingers in the cotton. You told yourself it was just clothes. Just dry clothes. But they feel like a goodbye you never wanted.

Dawn finally speaks.

“You gon’ tell me what that was?”

Your jaw tightens.

She sighs. “You don’t have to, but… you were lookin’ at him like you hated him and loved him at the same time.”

You don’t answer.

She waits.

Then, “Y’all sleep together?”

You whip your head toward her. “Dawn.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “I mean just askin’. The tension was damn near tangible. And the way he was lookin’ at you? Baby, if heat had a face…”

Your stomach flips. “No. We didn’t.”

“Okay.”

Pause.

“But you still miss him,” she says softer this time.

You don’t deny it. You can’t. Your silence is loud enough.

Dawn nods like she already knew.

“I just… I don’t get him,” you finally say. “He’s hot, then cold. Says he wants me, then disappears for two weeks like I’m nothing. And then he shows up again begging without words, just eyes and sweatpants and guilt.”

Dawn glances at you, lips pressed together. “That man is a lot of things, Y/N. Confused? Yeah. Stubborn? Absolutely. But one thing he ain’t is indifferent.”

You look at her. “So what? That’s supposed to make it okay?”

“No,” she says. “But it means you’re not crazy for feeling what you feel.”

You blink hard, staring back out the window. Your reflection looks older somehow. Like love aged you.

“I hate how soft I get when I’m near him,” you whisper. “Like I want to fold, but pride won’t let me.”

“You don’t owe him softness right now,” Dawn says gently. “He bruised it.”

You nod.

But your heart’s still aching.

The kind of ache that swells when you don’t know whether to pray it away or write a poem about it.

Your phone buzzes in your lap.

You don’t check it.

You know it’s not him, because he is blocked.

Because if he was really sorry… he wouldn’t just hand you clothes.

He’d hand you consistency.

He’d hand you presence.

He’d hand you answers.

He’d hand you his damn phone and say, “Here! I’m done hiding.”

But he didn’t.

So you breathe in, exhale out and let the silence carry you the rest of the way home.

Even if your body’s dry, your heart is still soaked.

Taglist:

Sinners Modern!Au

Preacher Boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: guys I this is my last draft🥱 gonna write a new one

On a slow, aching Tuesday, two weeks since she’d last set foot in church, Y/N finally decided she needed some different kind of healing.

She’d been drowning herself in Psalms and Proverbs, underlining verses with a shaking hand, scribbling prayers in the margins of her Bible so fierce the pages wrinkled. Spent hours outside, hoping maybe the sun and God’s green earth would do what scripture alone couldn’t.

But the quiet in her room felt suffocating.

So when her heart tugged her toward Annie’s, she listened.

Only catch?

She’d lent Dawn her car for the day.

So she pulled on her long skirt and simple white tee, grabbed her canvas bag and took the hour-long ride and walk to the bus stop, transfer once, then shuffle up the long dusty road to Annie’s place.

When she stepped through that door, it smelled like onions sizzling, fresh herbs, old memories.

Homey in a way that made her eyes sting.

“Look at you, chile,” Annie fussed, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling Y/N in for a hug. “Skin glowin’. Still got them pretty eyes. Sit down, rest them feet. I’m workin’ on some gumbo.”

So she did.

She sat at the little kitchen table, toes curled on the worn linoleum, stirring the pot when Annie stepped out to talk to a neighbor.

It was perfect.

Until the screen door squeaked open behind her.

She didn’t even have to turn. Her spine went stiff all on its own, her breath locking up in her chest.

Sammie.

She could smell him before he even said a word.

There was a long, awkward silence his eyes on her back, her pretending the gumbo needed all her concentration.

Finally, his voice, low and rough:

“You look good.”

She didn’t bother turning. “Mm. Thanks.”

Dry as the Mississippi dirt in August.

He huffed, scratching at his jaw. “I uh… I brought Annie the rest of her money.”

“Cool.”

Still didn’t turn. Still stirred.

Then, like an angel on cue, Annie bustled back in through the door.

“Oh good, you two are meetin’ again. Sammie, sit your hard head down. You stayin’ for supper. Gumbo’s almost done.”

Sammie shifted, clearly about to make an excuse, but Annie gave him a look that brooked no argument.

So he sighed, dropped the cash on the counter and slid into the chair across from Y/N.

Annie set three bowls down, humming while she ladled steaming gumbo over rice. “Look at this. Two young folk who used to run around my place like puppies, now actin’ like strangers. Go on, eat. This’ll fix whatever’s eatin’ ya.”

So there they sat.

Three of them at that tiny round table.

Y/N kept her eyes on her spoon, blowing at the broth like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

Sammie couldn’t stop sneaking glances at her at her bare collarbone, the faint gold chain resting there, the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked too fast.

And Annie?

She just shook her head, smiling softly like she knew exactly how messy it all was, how two hearts could ache for each other across a table, even when neither one wanted to say it out loud.

After a while, Annie leaned back and patted her belly.

“Mmm. Lord, that hit the spot. I’m gon’ go water my herbs. You two clean up, alright?”

And just like that, they were alone again.

Sammie cleared his throat.

“You ain’t been at church.”

She didn’t look up. Just scraped the last bit of rice from her bowl.

“Nope.”

“You… been okay?”

That question sounded like it took a chunk of him to get out.

She finally met his eyes. Hers were shiny, fierce and sad all at once.

“Why do you care, Samuel?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Ran a hand down his face.

“I, Look, I know I messed up. I was mad, jealous, said things I shouldn’t—”

“Do you know, Samuel?” she shot back, voice cracking.

“Yeah. I know. But I—”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes pleading.

“I missed you. I still, I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About us.”

She shook her head, pushing her chair back with a little squeal of wood.

“Boy, don’t. Please. I can’t do this right now.”

Then she stood up and started gathering bowls, hands trembling.

Sammie watched her like a man starved, like he wanted to reach out and pull her right into his lap, beg her to just let him hold her.

But he didn’t.

He only sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands.

And together, in that tiny kitchen that smelled of thyme and regret, they cleaned up the dishes both of them pretending it was just a normal dinner.

But their hearts?

Their hearts were still stuck two weeks ago, in the dark, with her in his lap, whispering things they both couldn’t forget.

A warm rain turned heavy a fat, urgent Mississippi downpour that drummed on Annie’s tin roof like impatient fingers. By the time Y/N peered outside, the dirt road was already dark with puddles, the bus wouldn’t be coming, and she was stranded.

She tried.

She called Dawn first, but Dawn was at some pop-up market with her phone breaking up.

Then her daddy, Lenny, who sounded stressed at work and couldn’t leave.

Even Chris didn’t pick up.

Y/N cursed under her breath, pacing Annie’s tiny living room with her phone pressed to her ear.

Annie leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, one brow raised.

“Girl, you gon’ catch a cold frettin’ like that. Just let Sammie take you.”

Y/N snapped her head up.

“I’d rather walk in the rain, Miss Annie.”

Annie gave her that look the one that said she’d raised three boys tougher than either of them would ever be.

“You gon’ do no such thing. He sittin’ out there waitin’. I done told him to. Now go on. Don’t be rude.”

With her last thread of pride fraying, Y/N snatched up her bag and stormed out into the rain, where Sammie’s old truck sat idling.

He was leaning against the driver’s side, hood up against the wet, watching her like he expected a fight.

When she didn’t say anything, he just opened her door for her.

“C’mon.”

She climbed in without a word, staring out her window as he got in and pulled off.

The first few minutes were quiet except for the wipers working overtime.

Then Sammie tried.

“You still mad at me, huh?”

She didn’t even turn. “Don’t flatter yourself, Samuel.”

He blew out a frustrated breath, tapping the wheel.

“You always gotta be like this? Can’t even give me a real answer?”

“You didn’t deserve one.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Like the rain.

Then he jerked the wheel to the side, pulling off into an empty gas station lot and cutting the engine.

She blinked at him, heart thudding.

“What are you doing?”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on her with that intense, stubborn set to his jaw.

“I ain’t drivin’ another mile till you talk to me normal.”

“Oh please.” She folded her arms tight, nose in the air.

“You think you can make me?”

A slow grin cracked across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Girl, you are the most hard-headed thing God ever put on this earth.”

“Funny. You’re the biggest disappointment He put on it.”

That one actually made Sammie laugh, a bitter, broken thing.

“Aight. Suit yourself.”

And he started the engine again, but instead of taking her home, he pulled out and turned the opposite way.

It took her a few blocks to catch on.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t even glance over.

“Somewhere dry. Since you don’t wanna be civil, you can sit quiet in my apartment instead.”

“Your what?!”

He parked outside his place, hopped out and didn’t look back.

Y/N sat stubbornly in the truck for a good ten minutes, arms still crossed, rain pounding the roof. But when lightning cracked and the thunder rolled so close it rattled her seat, she caved.

With a muttered curse, she grabbed her bag and dashed up the walkway, soaked by the time she reached his door.

Sammie opened it without a word, standing aside so she could slip past him.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

He didn’t try to touch her.

Inside, his little apartment smelled like clean laundry and faint cologne. Her heart twisted painfully.

“Make yourself at home,” he muttered. “I gotta grab you a towel. You’re drippin’ all over my floor.”

And when he walked away, she finally let herself look around, at the scattered guitar picks on the coffee table, the old Bible open on the couch arm, the pictures of him with his cousins.

It hit her all over again how badly she’d missed him.

But pride?

Pride would keep her from saying it.

So she just stood there, cold and wet and stubborn while Sammie, somewhere down the hall, ran a hand over his face and wondered how long it’d take for them to stop hurting each other.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the rain against the windows, like the sky was whispering all their secrets. Sammie came back from his bedroom holding a soft folded big shirt.

He didn’t look smug. Didn’t look teasing. Just tired.

“Here. Bathroom’s down the hall. You gon’ catch pneumonia standin’ there like that.”

Y/N snatched the clothes from him without a word, storming off.

She changed quickly, tugging the oversized shirt over her body, drowning in his scent faint woodsmoke, clean linen, that little bite of cinnamon gum he always chewed.

It hurt. More than she’d admit.

When she came out, Sammie was sprawled on his couch in just some grey sweatpants and a wife beater, elbows resting on his knees.

For a minute, they just stared at each other.

Him, taking her in.

Her, stubbornly glaring, hugging her arms around herself like that could keep him out.

Finally he tilted his head.

“C’mere, Y/N.”

She didn’t move.

So he patted his thigh, slow.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.”

Another long, bitter stand-off.

But something about the way his voice dipped low that mix of weariness and pleading, finally got her feet moving.

She shuffled over, refusing to meet his eyes.

The second she was close enough, he reached up, hands firm on her waist and pulled her down into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N stiffened immediately.

“Tsk. Samuel, don’t.”

“Stop callin’ me that.” His hands slipped around her hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles, voice softer than she expected.

“You know I hate when you do that.”

She tried to twist away, but he just tightened his grip, forcing her to straddle him proper.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head, stubborn jaw set, eyes darting anywhere but his.

“Look. At. Me.”

Finally, painfully, she did.

And oh, he was close. Closer than she could stand. Those dark eyes searching hers, trying to find something he’d lost weeks ago.

“Why you actin’ like you don’t even wanna be in the same room as me?” His voice cracked right at the end, all that bravado from the club gone.

She swallowed hard.

“Because… I don’t.”

His jaw ticked.

“Lie again. Look me in my face and lie again.”

She couldn’t.

So she tried to turn her head, but his hand slid up, palm warm against her cheek, forcing her right back.

“Y/N… don’t do this. Don’t run from me when I’m right here tryin’ to fix it.”

That tore something open inside her, made her eyes sting.

But she bit down on her lip so hard it almost bled, just to keep the words in.

Because if she said how much she missed him, she’d crumble. And he didn’t deserve to watch her break.

So she just sat there, stiff and silent, heart beating too loud.

And Sammie?

He rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in like she was air after drowning.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

It was war and truce and heartbreak all tangled up in one hush, both of them too damn stubborn to say what needed to be said.

Sammie held her there, thumbs pressing gentle on her hips, forehead still resting against hers like he was afraid if he let go, she’d vanish.

Then he sighed deep, ragged, like it clawed straight out his chest.

“Y/N… I’m sorry. Alright?”

His voice cracked.

“For not textin’ you. For not showin’ up how I should’ve. For lettin’ you think you was just some girl I wanted to get up under instead of someone I—”

But she shook her head fast, cutting him off before he could finish that thought.

He closed his eyes, tried again, softer this time.

“I’m sorry, baby. For real.”

For a split second, her face twitched something fragile in her eyes. But she smothered it quick.

And without saying a word, she stood up.

He didn’t stop her. Just watched, helpless, as she padded across his living room in her bare legs and his oversized shirt.

Watched the way she paused in the hall like she might turn around, then kept going.

A minute later he heard the soft creak of his bedroom door, then silence.

Sammie sat there on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands steepled over his mouth like he was praying.

Finally, he stood and walked to his bedroom.

He found her there, small in the middle of his big bed, curled up on her side, facing away from the door.

She had tugged the blanket up to her chin, like she was trying to hide from him or maybe from herself.

For a moment he just leaned against the doorway, watching her breathe.

Then, without a word, he turned off the hall light and left her alone, pulling the door almost shut.

He pressed his palm against the wood, closed his eyes.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered so quiet it was nearly a ghost.

Then he left her to sleep, heart heavy with all the things he wished he could fix with just an apology.

Taglist:

Sinners modern!Au

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

The drive home was quiet, heavy. Dawn didn’t say much, just squeezed your hand from the back seat with a little sigh. When Chris finally pulled up in front of the house, she was already half nodding off.

Inside, it was dark and still, everyone asleep. Dawn didn’t even bother going to her own room she just crawled right back into your bed in her big T-shirt and settled against your pillows.

“Night, girl,” she mumbled, already halfway to dreamland.

“Night,” you whispered back, your throat tight.

But you couldn’t sleep. Not with everything twisting up inside you. The memory of Sammie’s hands on your waist, the way his voice cracked, the look in his eyes that said he was losing you even while he tried to hold on tighter.

You grabbed your phone and hit Chris’s name. He answered groggily, voice scratchy.

“Y/N… you good?”

“Chris, I just, I wanted to say I’m so sorry. About Sammie punching you. That was outta line and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Girl.” He actually laughed. “I’m fine. Ain’t the first time some dude thought he could swing on me over a girl he clearly ain’t secure about. I still look pretty, right?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Shut up. Yeah, still pretty.”

“Good. Now go to sleep. I’m serious. You need it.”

“Alright. Love you, Chris.”

“Love you more. Night, troublemaker.”

When he hung up, you stared at your ceiling for a while. Then your thumb hovered over Sammie’s contact. Before you could overthink it, you pressed call.

It rang three times.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, wary.

You didn’t even give yourself time to breathe. “Samuel Moore, I am done with you. You hear me? Done. You can’t come into my life, kiss me, make me feel all this, this stuff, and then disappear and then try to fight people and then say all that shit you said tonight. I’m done. I’m blocking you. Don’t try to call me or show up at my house. Just leave me alone, okay?”

There was silence. A painful, hanging silence.

Then softly, “Y/N, wait—”

But you’d already ended the call. Hands shaking, you blocked his number, dropped the phone face down on your nightstand and crawled into bed beside Dawn.

She stirred just a little, mumbling, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, wiping at your eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

And in the darkness, with the faint rise and fall of Dawn’s breathing beside you, you wondered if your heart would ever stop hurting from loving someone who wasn’t ready to love you right. Sammie sat alone in some room at the club’s little back office apartment, his elbows on his knees, phone dangling from his hands like it was mocking him. That “number blocked” beep still echoed in his ears, louder than the bass thumping from the club floor downstairs.

He’d been trying to call again. And again.

Nothing.

He dropped the phone on the coffee table so hard it slid off and clattered on the floor. He didn’t even pick it up. Just sat there, staring at nothing, his jaw tight, his chest pulling in that same damn ache that had been twisting him up since he’d dragged her into that private room.

“Fuck, fuck…” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He knew he’d fucked up. Knew he shouldn’t have swung on that dude, shouldn’t have grabbed Y/N like that, shouldn’t have said half the shit he said when he was seeing red.

But seeing her dance up on someone else had flipped something ugly inside him.

Across town, Pastor Jedidiah Moore stood by the window of his modest living room, peering out into the night.

He’d stopped by the club earlier against his better judgment, just to see how it was doing. He hadn’t gone inside, hadn’t spoken to Sammie or Stack or Smoke. Just watched from the parking lot for a while, then drove off.

That place wasn’t his scene.

But seeing Sammie step out the back door to take a call, pacing like a caged thing with his shoulders stiff and head down, something had stuck with him.

Now, hours later, he couldn’t stop replaying it.

His son looked… broken.

Jedidiah didn’t know the details.

Truth be told, he didn’t know much of anything about Sammie’s life anymore.

They’d grown distant, not outright estranged but teetering on the edge. Ever since Ruthie, his wife, died the whole family destiny changed, since she was the glue of their little family.

It was Sammie’s business, he told himself. Grown men make their own choices.

But tonight… tonight something in his gut twisted.

He thought about picking up the phone. Calling Sammie.

Asking him flat out: “Son, you alright?”

But pride and old habits won.

Instead, Pastor Moore pulled the curtains shut, sat heavily in his recliner and reached for his Bible.

Maybe, he thought, God would do what he couldn’t seem to.

Maybe God would reach his boy where he couldn’t.

Back in that dim little room, Sammie finally bent over, picked up his phone and stared at Y/N’s contact one last time before it vanished for good.

He leaned back, ran both hands over his hair, and whispered to the empty room,

“Church girl… don’t do me like this…”

But she already had.

And for the first time in years, Samuel “Preacher Boy” Moore felt like praying.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Sammie ended up on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, head dropped low. He was fighting his own storm regret clawing up his chest, guilt simmering under his ribs and that dumb pride still snarling in his ear telling him she was yours, she shouldn’t have been on no other dude.

He dropped his phone again, ran a hand through his curls, tugging until it hurt.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the ice machine clattering in the mini fridge.

Then—

A sharp knock on the door.

Sammie didn’t even move.

The door creaked open anyway and there was Smoke, peeking in, a brow cocked.

“Man, you gon’ sulk all night or what?”

Sammie didn’t lift his head. “Go on somewhere, Smoke. I ain’t in the mood.”

Smoke let out a low chuckle, stepping fully inside. “Yeah, I can see that. Look like you been run over by a Mack truck.”

Sammie shot him a glare but didn’t argue.

Smoke dropped into the chair across from him, long legs sprawled out, fiddling with his lighter.

“Stack is down there countin’ up, says we cleared good money tonight. Annie still cussin’ at the barback. And here you are… sittin’ up here lookin’ like a sad puppy.”

Sammie scoffed, leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“Man, don’t start with me. I ain’t got it in me.”

Smoke tilted his head.

“She blocked you, huh?”

Sammie clenched his jaw. Didn’t respond.

Didn’t have to.

“Look…” Smoke sighed, scratching at his jawline. “I know it eat at you. But that girl, she too good to just be playin’. She was lookin’ at you like you hung the damn moon last week. You know that ain’t changed overnight.”

“Felt like it did,” Sammie muttered, voice low. “She was up on that dude like…”

He shook his head hard, ran a hand over his face again.

“And I get it I fucked up. I know I did. Shouldn’t’ve gone at him like that, shouldn’t’ve pulled her like that… shouldn’t’ve let you wind me up neither.”

Smoke smirked. “Yeah, I’m messy as hell. But that’s on you, lil cousin. You let your jealous ass mouth run faster than your brain.”

Silence stretched.

Smoke leaned forward, voice softening.

“You gon’ reach out to her again?”

Sammie huffed a hollow laugh. “She blocked me. Like blocked blocked. Ain’t no ‘hey big head’ texts gon’ fix that.”

Smoke tilted his head back, thinking.

“Well… sometimes the man gotta humble hisself. If you want her, you gon’ have to show her she more than just your little night out thing. That you care for real.”

Sammie stared at the floor.

He knew Smoke was right.

He also knew he was gonna be up all night replaying every second in that private room. Her pushing at him, her eyes all bright and angry, the way she shoved past him and slammed that door.

Outside, thunder rumbled low over Clarksdale.

Smoke stood up, clapped Sammie on the shoulder.

“Aight, I’m gon’ head. You need anything, let me know. And… don’t do no dumb shit. For real.”

Sammie gave a tiny nod.

Watched Smoke leave.

Then just sat there, eyes burning, leg bouncing.

Meanwhile, across town, Pastor Moore was kneeling by his bed.

He didn’t know why exactly.

Didn’t even know what to pray for.

But somewhere deep in his chest, he said the simplest thing he could.

“Lord… watch over my son.“

And in his own apartment, Sammie finally laid back on his mattress, one arm flung over his eyes, whispering into the quiet like maybe it’d reach her.

“Don’t be done with me yet, church girl. Please.”

But there was only the hum of the fridge and the lonely echo of his own heartbeat.

Taglist:

Sinners Modern!Au

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

You’re sprawled across your bed in your fluffy pajama shorts and a big T-shirt, hair tied up in a pineapple, phone in hand, vibing to a soft gospel track just trying to soothe your overthinking mind. The weekend’s been heavy on your heart church this morning, then silence from Sammie all day.

You’re about to settle deeper into your pillow when your door bursts open without so much as a knock.

Dawn stands there with hands on her hips, striking as ever in a tiny leopard print corset dress that hugs every curve, paired with knee-high black boots. Behind her is Chris, decked out in a flashy leopard print polo, baggy jeans and fresh Timbs. He looks like he stepped out of a 90s rap video, proudly grinning.

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” You pull your blanket over your head.

“Girl, get up!” Dawn laughs, yanking the blanket right back. “We’re going out. New club opening. Chris got us on the guestlist ‘cause he knows the bouncer.”

Chris does a little spin, popping the collar of his shirt. “Cornbread owes me from that time I hooked him up with my cousin, his wife. We’re VIP tonight, baby!”

“I am not going anywhere,” you groan, grabbing a pillow to hide your face. “I wanna sleep.”

“Y/N.” Dawn sighs dramatically. “We are not doing this. You’ve been moping around since church. Sammie who? Outside is calling your name!”

Chris hops onto the bed, nearly bouncing you off. “Yeah, girl. Come on. You can’t let a man have you holed up like Rapunzel. Besides, look at me. I’m too fine for you to waste it.”

You lift the pillow just enough to peek at his exaggerated pout. “I really don’t feel like it, Chris.”

“That’s why you gotta go,” Dawn insists. “Nothing like a little music, some dancing… maybe a free drink or three. Shake that mood off.”

It turns into a full debate, Dawn pacing like a lawyer, Chris chiming in with “periods” and “she right, bestie,” while you stay stubborn. But somehow, after ten minutes of relentless tag team persuasion and Chris guilt-tripping you about “leaving your brother hanging,” you finally give in.

“Fine. FINE! But I’m not wearing anything crazy.”

Dawn’s eyes light up. “Say less!” She rifles through her bag and flings a leopard print halter top and a tiny black mini skirt onto your lap. “Put this on.”

You gape at it. “Girl, this is a napkin and a belt. I am not wearing this outside.”

Dawn smirks. “Funny, wasn’t too much when you were grinding on Preacher Boy in your lil shorts, was it?”

Chris’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “EXCUSE ME?! Y/N, YOU WAS OUT HERE DOING WHAT ON SAMMIE?!”

You groan, pressing your hands over your face. “I hate both of you.”

Chris is now dramatically fanning himself. “The church girl was outside? Ouuu, Sammie got you acting bad, huh?”

“Mind your business, Chris,” you mutter.

“Never!” he chirps back, giggling.

By the time you finally pull on the outfit, complete with some delicate kitten heels that Dawn practically forced on your feet you’re already rolling your eyes at yourself in the mirror. Dawn is hyping you up, telling you to turn around so she can make sure your skirt isn’t tucked anywhere it shouldn’t be.

Meanwhile Chris stands behind you, gathering your curls into a half-up half-down style with a tiny scrunchie he found in your bathroom. His fingers are surprisingly gentle.

“Gotta get my girl right for the streets,” he teases, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“So our innocent girl Y/N,” Dawn jumps in, voice high with excitement, “was moving her hips on a certain preach boy. Girl, you was putting my tutorials to work or what?”

Chris clutches his imaginary pearls. “My sweet, innocent Y/N. Who knew you were a little freak?”

“Okay, y’all are done.” You swat them both away, cheeks hot, but a reluctant grin breaks through.

You glance at yourself one more time in the mirror bold print, legs out, hair cute. Maybe this was exactly what you needed.

Dawn links arms with you, Chris wraps an arm around your shoulders and together y’all march out the door like the damn powerpuff girls, ready to cause a little chaos.

The club was alive lights swirling, music bumping, bodies moving like waves in a storm. You, Dawn and Chris were in the thick of it, laughter spilling over the beats, your worries momentarily washed away in the rhythm. Sammie, Stack and Smoke were tucked away upstairs in the office, eyes glued to the bank of security monitors that flickered with every corner of the club.

Stack, leaning in with a casual grin, was the first to spot it.

“Yo, hold up look at that.” He pointed to the screen, where a swirl of curls and familiar moves caught his eye. “That’s gotta be Y/N.”

Smoke chuckled, zooming in on the screen. “Church girl, huh? Lookin’ like she out here wildin’ in that skirt. Ain’t exactly Sunday service attire.”

Sammie’s jaw tightened. “Don’t call her that. Only I get to call her that.”

Smoke laughed harder. “Man, come on she’s out here with that dude I told you about. The one from dinner, right?”

Stack nodded, eyes still glued to the monitor. “Yeah, that’s him. And ain’t that Dawn with her too? I see Y/N whining on Chris and Dawn ain’t having none of it.”

Sammie’s fist clenched, breath shallow. “Y’all better stop.”

Smoke, grinning devilishly, nudged Sammie with an elbow. “You look like you about to pop a vein, little cousin. Church girl in a hoe skirt, huh? Maybe she ain’t as holy as you think.”

Sammie swung his arm up fast, but Stack stepped between them, holding his cousin back.

“Yo, chill, man. You ain’t gonna solve nothing with your fists. But look, look again.”

The screen caught a close up of Y/N, her head tilted back, laughing, eyes bright and then Dawn teasing Chris, who was trying to keep up with their playful energy.

Sammie’s breath hitched, eyes flicking between the screen and his cousins. “She’s… she’s not—”

Smoke smirked. “She’s living her life, man. You can’t cage her.”

Stack shook his head, half amused, half sympathetic. “You know, if she wants to be with you, she’ll come back. But don’t lose your cool over this. Just… don’t be the jealous fool.”

Sammie’s fists unclenched slowly, but his eyes stayed fixed on the screen, heart torn between pride, protectiveness, and a flicker of doubt.

Smoke leaned back, grinning wider. “Church girl got a whole nightlife, huh? Maybe you gotta keep up if you wanna keep her.”

Sammie let out a low breath. “Man, this ain’t a game.”

Stack clapped a hand on Sammie’s shoulder. “No, it’s not. But sometimes you gotta watch and wait. Let her show you what she’s made of.”

Smoke threw a sly grin Sammie’s way. “Or get ready to lose her to some dude who ain’t scared to dance in the dark.”

The three of them stayed glued to the screens a little longer, the distant thrum of the club below a stark reminder that outside the office, the night was still young and so was the game they all had to play. Down on the dance floor, the world was a blur of lights and sweat and bass. You had your back turned, still giggling with Dawn, swaying your hips in playful challenge while Chris hyped you up. Dawn was the first to spot it, her eyes went wide, her hand shot out and gripped your arm tight.

“Y/N… don’t freak, but Sammie, Stack and Smoke they comin’ this way.”

Chris twisted around, brows shooting up. “Yo, what? Why’s your man lookin’ like he tryna murder somebody?”

You didn’t turn right away, stubbornness biting hard. “I don’t care. He ain’t texted me since the other night. Whatever.”

But then you felt it the shift in the air, the sudden weight of attention. The music might as well have cut off because the look on Sammie’s face stole all the sound. His eyes weren’t playful, weren’t soft. They were dark, blazing with something raw.

Chris lifted a hand, trying to be cool. “Yo, preacher boy, what’s up, bro?”

But before another word could spill out, Sammie’s fist connected with Chris’s jaw. Chris stumbled back, grabbing his face.

“Samuel!” you shrieked, hands flying up, but he didn’t give you a second to react. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you through the crowd.

“Let go of me!” you snapped, digging your heels into the floor, but he was too strong, too focused.

Stack and Smoke trailed close behind, muttering curses. “Man, calm your ass down this ain’t it!” Stack called, but Sammie wasn’t listening.

He finally found an empty side room small, dim, lined with old bottles and a couch nobody wanted to sit on. He slammed the door shut behind you and pinned you against it, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to remind himself you were real.

“Who the fuck is that dude, Y/N?” he rasped, breathing hard, eyes wild.

“You don’t get to ask me that!” you fired back, shoving at his chest. “You ain’t texted me since you had your hands all over me. What was I supposed to think? That you was done with me after you got your little make out in?”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not, nah, don’t twist it. You think I’d just drop you like that? You think I don’t care about you?”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it!”

He pressed closer, crowding you into the wall, his breath hot on your cheek. “You were dancing on him, Y/N. Laughing with him. Wearing this little ass skirt—” his hands squeezed your waist, hard enough to make your breath catch. “You know how that makes me feel?”

“Not my fault you decided to disappear!” you screamed, shoving him again. “You can’t claim me and then ghost me, Samuel. I’m not some girl you can put on a shelf until you’re ready to play again.”

His hands slipped up, cupping your face, voice cracking. “I’m not playing. I swear to God—”

“Don’t. Don’t bring Him into this when you’re out here acting crazy!”

That shut him up for half a second, just long enough for your own tears to pool. You pushed him again, harder this time, breaking free from the cage of his arms.

“You need to figure out what you want, Samuel. And how to treat someone when you want them.”

You yanked the door open, ignoring the way he called after you, voice low and broken. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stormed back into the pounding bass of the club, searching for Dawn and Chris. Your body was still buzzing with his touch angry, electric, desperate.

And for the first time, you wondered if loving Samuel Moore might hurt worse than it could ever feel good.

Taglist:

Sinners Modern!Au

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Clearing up some old drafts🥱 are y’all watching Love Island USA? CAUSE I GOT A LOT TO SAY

When you finally creep back into the house, it’s damn near three in the morning. The rain’s stopped, but your hair’s damp, your lips swollen and your whole body still buzzing with Sammie’s hands, mouth, voice. You’re sure you’re floating.

But soon as you crack your bedroom door open, you’re snatched right back to earth.

Because there, smack in the middle of your bed, is Dawn.

In her faded pink mumu dress, bonnet slightly askew, looking like she’s been posted up thinking deep generational thoughts. Eyes wide, hands folded on her stomach.

You jump, hand flying to your chest. “Girl! You scared me. Why you in here like a lil ghost?”

Dawn squints at you, then sits up slow. “Why you just getting home at three in the morning?”

You ignore that, dropping your purse on the floor. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you been sittin’ with the ancestors.”

She sighs, pats the bed. “Come here.”

You hang your jacket over your stool and crawl in beside her, pulling your knees up. “Alright. Spill. What happened?”

Dawn takes a deep breath. “So… after I left that lil salon? Stack was outside. We talked. It was cool, he was real regular. But then, this woman walked up. With a baby on her hip. Told Stack straight up that’s his child, handed the baby over, then walked off.”

Your eyes snap wide. “What?!”

“Yup.” Dawn flops back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling like it’s got answers. “And he went after her. Left me standin’ there lookin’ dumb. Now I’m over here thinkin’… maybe all them rumors Chris was talkin’ ‘bout? True.”

You bite your lip. You did tell her. But that’s your sister, so instead you rub her shoulder. “Aw, Dawn… I’m sorry, baby. That’s rough. Come on, don’t let it eat you up. It ain’t a reflection on you it’s him. And look, if you wanna stay in here tonight, you can. I don’t mind.”

She nods quickly, sniffling once. “Thank you. I didn’t wanna be by myself.”

So you both shift under the blanket, settling in shoulder to shoulder. It’s quiet for a minute. Then Dawn peeks over at you, eyes narrowing.

“…Where you been, anyway?”

You bust out laughing, face hot. “Oh my days. Okay, okay. Sammie called me after my shower, said he wanted to see me. I told him it was late, he didn’t care. Pulled up on me ten minutes later.”

Dawn sits up on her elbow, instantly nosy. “And??”

You bite your lip, then grin. “He took me to the beach. Had a whole lil picnic set up. We danced… then it started raining so we went in his car.”

“Cute.” Dawn wiggles her brows. “What happened in the car?”

You hide your face in the pillow. “Dawn…”

“Girl! Tell me!”

“…Okay. We were kissing. And then I kinda got in his lap. Started grinding on him.”

Dawn squeals and smacks your arm. “Y/N! I’m so proud of you! Did you do the lil one and two things I showed you? You know the talking, the switching up how you kiss, all that?”

You groan, covering your face. “Yes! I did. And he was losing his mind. Said he wanted to stay like that forever.”

Dawn kicks her feet, giddy. “I trained you well! Look at my Church Girl out here actin’ up.”

“Stop callin’ me that. That’s Sammie’s line,” you mumble, but you’re smiling hard.

Dawn wiggles closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’m really happy for you, Y/N. For real. Even if Stack turn out to be a mess, at least one of us got a man who’s sprung.”

You snuggle closer, pressing your forehead to hers. “You gon’ be alright, Dawn. I promise. Now shut up so we can sleep.”

“Fine… but tomorrow, I want every detail again.”

“Deal.”

And with that, you both drift off, giggling like kids, the best kind of safe.

It’s already Sunday and the air outside the church is thick with summer heat and the sweet scent of someone’s peach cobbler drifting from the fellowship hall. Folks fan themselves on the front steps, catching up on gossip before service. You stand there too, trying to listen to Dawn chatter about some girl’s awful hat, but your mind is far, far away.

Because Sammie’s not here.

He always comes, even if he slips in late, head ducked, giving you that crooked grin like he’s got a secret just for you. But today? Nowhere.

You keep glancing back at the lot, hoping to see that his car roll in. But there’s nothing but old Buicks and deacons’ Chevys.

And it stings.

Because it’s not just that he’s not here, it’s that he hasn’t texted you.

Not once.

Not since that night.

That night in his car when your hands were in his curls and his hands were everywhere, warm and needy, making you forget your own name.

You thought it meant something.

Thought he’d at least send a “you good?” or a “last night was crazy, huh?”

But you’ve got nothing.

So when you sit down in your usual pew, your heart is heavy. Every hymn sounds like it’s about you, every scripture feels like a low blow. When the Pastor Moore says, “Be careful giving your heart to someone who only wants your body,” your throat tightens up so bad you can barely swallow.

You peek over at Dawn, hoping she didn’t notice the way you flinched. But of course she did. She squeezes your hand.

“Still nothing from him?” she whispers.

You just shake your head, eyes glued to the pulpit.

“Girl… you don’t think he just wanted…” She trails off, but you know what she means.

“That’s exactly what I been thinking,” you murmur, voice cracking despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “That he just wanted to… you know. Get me like that. And now he’s done.”

Dawn frowns, squeezing your hand tighter. “Y/N, no. He don’t seem like that. He always looking at you like you’re a blessing he don’t deserve.”

You let out a hollow little laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess I was wrong. Should’ve listened to my own sermons about temptation, huh?”

Dawn bumps your shoulder. “Stop. Don’t do that. You’re allowed to want somebody. And it didn’t seem one-sided to me.”

Still, you can’t shake it. Not through the rest of service, not through the old lady hugs on the way out.

Because your phone stays quiet.

No call.

No text.

No Sammie.

And for the first time, you really wonder if he ever wanted more than just the feel of you in his lap and your mouth on his.

If maybe you were just a warm, pretty thing to make him forget his troubles for a night and now he’s moved on.

And that thought sits in your chest like a stone, heavy and cold, all the way home.

The sun is starting to dip low, painting the sky with streaks of lavender and fire, and the neon sign above the door to the Juke Joint finally hums to life.

Tonight’s the night.

Opening night.

Inside, the club is alive with anticipation bass checks rumble through the floor, lights swirl lazily overhead. People are already milling around outside, waiting for the doors to open. Smoke stands by the DJ booth adjusting wires, Stack is checking the bar inventory, and Sammie? He’s pacing.

He runs a hand through his curls, eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds.

“Boy, you look like somebody’s nervous groom,” Stack teases, wiping his hands on a bar rag.

“Man, shut up,” Sammie mutters, even though a smirk tugs at his lips.

Then the door swings open again and in comes Cornbread, the mountain of a man who serves as their bouncer, fresh from talking to the crowd outside.

“Yo,” Cornbread rumbles, voice low and gravelly. “Y’all got a line out there. They ready. I told ‘em we open in fifteen.”

“Bet,” Smoke nods, adjusting his chain. “Keep it tight, you know how Clarksdale get.”

Cornbread just gives a solemn nod, then disappears back outside.

Meanwhile behind the bar, Annie is wiping down glasses, her thick curls piled on top of her head. She looks tired, like she’d rather be anywhere else, but when Sammie catches her eye she gives him a small smile.

“You owe me for this, you know that right?” she calls over, only half joking.

Sammie laughs, walking over to lean against the bar. “Yeah, yeah. I appreciate you, though. Couldn’t think of nobody else I’d trust on that side of the counter.”

Annie sighs. “Don’t butter me up, Preacher Boy. Just tip me good.”

Stack slides over, snatching a lemon wedge off the bar. “You know he will. Man got a whole church girl on his mind these days, trying to live righteous or whatever.”

Sammie rolls his eyes. “Bruh, shut—”

But just then the door swings open again and in walks Mary.

She’s dressed in a tight little dress that hugs her hips, brown hair cascading down her shoulders. You wouldn’t immediately peg her as someone with Black roots the only clue is the slight curl in her baby hairs.

“Look who the devil dragged in,” Stack mutters under his breath, jaw tightening.

Mary’s eyes land on him immediately. They’re sharp, a little playful, but underneath you can see old wounds.

“Well ain’t this nice,” she purrs, sauntering up to the bar. “Your little place finally opened. You gonna buy me a drink to celebrate, Eli?”

Stack gives her a look like he’s been chewing lemons. “Nah. But you welcome to buy your own.”

Mary laughs, all throaty and mean. “I hear you, Eli. But the next time you want me to come over remember this day.”

Smoke just snickers from where he’s perched on a stool, lighting a cigarette. “Damn. Y’all need therapy.”

Sammie, meanwhile, just shakes his head and tries to keep his mind off of you. But it’s hard especially when Mary throws him a sly wink.

“Hey, Preacher Boy. Tell your cousin here to stop acting like he didn’t cry over me.”

Stack practically growls, turning away, and Sammie just lifts his hands. “Don’t pull me into this mess. I got my own stress tonight.”

Mary leans over the bar, close enough for her perfume to hit Sammie in the face. “Where’s your little church girl at tonight? Heard you finally found someone sweet to ruin.”

Sammie stiffens, eyes going cold. “Watch your mouth, Mary.”

“Ooooh, touched a nerve.” She laughs again, then slides off to find another victim, hips swaying like she knows every pair of eyes is on her.

Annie shakes her head. “Lord, I see why your mama prayed so hard over this club.”

Stack just grunts, turning back to inventory. Smoke blows out a puff of smoke and chuckles.

And Sammie? He leans back against the bar, staring at the door, praying you walk through it. Because tonight was supposed to be perfect music, lights, new beginnings.

But all he can think about is how he messed up not calling you back.

And how maybe, just maybe, he’s gotta fix that before this place really feels like something worth celebrating.

Taglist:

Make me

Sinners modern!au

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Babes I’m back with a lot of drafts soooo😝

Warnings: Dry humping/grinding ig🤭

You’re still rolling lip gloss over your mouth when your phone buzzes again.

Sammie: Come outside, baby.

You suck in a breath, give yourself one last look in the mirror. Tight baby tee that hugs your chest just right, black shorts hugging your hips, hair piled up in a lazy bun. You tell yourself it’s casual, but you know exactly what you’re doing.

When you step out, the night air kisses your skin, cool on your bare legs. There Sammie is leaned against his car with his phone in hand, chain catching the porch light. He smirks the second he sees you.

“Damn.” He walks around and opens the passenger door from his side, hand brushing your waist as you slide in. “You really gon’ wear that out here with me? Knowing I’m tryna behave?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Sammie, it’s literally a T-Shirt and shorts. Be serious.”

“Mmhm. Them thighs ain’t serious. Them thighs a whole joke I’ma have to tell twice.”

You swat at his shoulder. “Boy, if you don’t get in this car…”

He shuts your door, still chuckling, then slides behind the wheel. As he backs out the driveway, your house growing smaller in the mirror, you give him a little side eye.

“You know it’s real bold of you to pull up to my people’s house like this. In the middle of the night. Somebody could’ve been on the porch with a belt or a shotgun.”

Sammie hums like he’s thinking it over, but his hand just slides over to rest on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Thumb brushing slow circles into your skin.

“And if they was? I’d’a said I’m takin’ you to get some air. Church Girl needs fresh air, don’t she?” He shoots you a look that has your stomach doing somersaults. “Plus… I think they like me already.”

You try to look unimpressed, crossing your legs forcing his hand a little higher. “You’re lucky they don’t know you like I do.”

He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh yeah? How you know me then, huh?”

“I know you’re a handful,” you mutter, staring out the window to hide your grin. “A full-time job.”

“Bet. You applying?”

You smack his arm and he just laughs, hand squeezing your thigh in a way that makes your breath catch.

When the car finally rolls to a stop, you look out and your jaw drops. The moon’s sitting over the water, painting the beach silver. There’s a blanket laid out on the sand with a little cooler and a brown paper bag, like something out of a cheesy romance flick.

You blink at him, mouth falling open. “Sammie…”

He leans over to unbuckle your seatbelt, then drops a quick kiss on your forehead. “Come on, hard head. Got somethin’ for you.”

When you step out and walk toward the blanket, you see what’s inside the bag some peach cobbler, chocolate bars, two little cans of mango juice. There’s even sketch paper and colored pencils scattered like he’d been drawing while organising.

“Is this a picnic?” you whisper, suddenly shy. “For me?”

He’s already spreading himself out on the blanket, looking up at you with that lazy grin. “Who else, Church Girl? Sit down. Before I gotta pull you down here.”

You plop beside him, trying to hide how hard you’re smiling. But Sammie notices everything.

He leans close, breath warm on your ear. “I like when you act tough. Knowin’ good and well you soft for me.”

Your cheeks burn. “Sammie, shut up.”

“Make me.”

You swat at him again and he catches your wrist, presses a kiss to your knuckles. “You so pretty. You know that?”

You’re too flustered to look at him, so you fidget with the pencils. “Stop. You just sayin’ that ‘cause I got shorts on.”

“Nah.” His voice drops low. “I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true. You look good in everything. Bet you look even better without it.”

Your head snaps around and he just winks.

“Draw me somethin’,” he murmurs after a moment, nodding to the sketch pad. “Anything. So I can keep it. Tell people that’s my girl’s art.”

Your mouth falls open. “I am not your girl!”

Sammie just smirks, eyes dark and teasing. “Yet.”

You spend the next hour like that him picking at the cobbler, you half doodling flowers and hearts. Every time your hand strays too close, he grabs it and kisses your fingers like he can’t help himself. And every single time, you tell him he’s ridiculous, even while you’re leaning in for more.

Finally he just lays back on the blanket, tugging you down so your head’s on his chest. You can feel his heart, steady under your ear and he strokes your arm in lazy patterns.

“Thanks for comin’ out with me,” he says, voice husky, almost sleepy. “I just wanted to… I dunno. Be with you somewhere quiet.”

You smile into his shirt. “You’re a lot sweeter than you pretend to be.”

He snorts. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” you whisper.

His laugh rumbles under your cheek. Then his hand tilts your chin up and he kisses you slow, deep, like he’s savoring every bit of you.

And when you finally pull back, breathless, Sammie just stares down at you with that soft little smirk.

“Next time,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip, “I’m pickin’ you up earlier. ‘Cause this ain’t enough time for us.”

And you can’t even pretend to be hard no more. Not when your whole heart’s laid out right there on his chest.

It’s Sammie’s idea to put on some music some old school slow jam that drips honey and heartache so he tugs you up and pulls you into a dance right there on the sand. His hands are all on your waist, yours looped lazy around his neck, the two of you swaying under the moon like there’s no one else in the world.

“You really got me out here slow dancin’,” you whisper against his shoulder.

“Mhm. You love it.”

And he’s right. You do.

But then, just as you’re starting to really melt into him, the sky cracks open and fat drops start to fall. Sammie curses, laughing as he pulls his flannel up over both your heads. You squeal and tug his hand, running toward the car with the rain chasing you.

By the time you’re inside, your shoulders are wet, hair frizzing up at the edges. Sammie shakes the water from his curls and starts the engine. The heater kicks on with a sigh.

But you don’t want to go. Not yet.

So you reach over, put your hand on his and turn the key back. The car dies into silence.

Sammie’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s up with you?”

You look at him, heart beating stupid fast, and whisper, “I don’t wanna go home now.”

Sammie tilts his head, mouth curling at the corner. “Yeah? So what you wanna do then, Church Girl?”

You don’t answer. Just crawl right over the console into his lap. His big hands catch your hips automatically, steadying you like its instinct.

He huffs a little laugh, his breath warm against your neck. “Oh? Church Girl got bold now.”

“Shut up.” You swat at his shoulder but you’re already grinning, already leaning in to kiss him.

And when your lips meet, it’s like every thought you had about being good and measured flies right out the fogged up windows. You grind against him slow, feeling him grow hard under you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Damn, baby,” he mutters, hands sliding from your waist to cup your ass, squeezing. “Been wantin’ you like this.”

Your breath hitches when his hands slip under your tee, rough palms warm against your skin. He thumbs over your ribs, then your breasts, groaning when he feels how soft you are.

“You always gotta touch everything,” you tease against his mouth, breathless.

“‘Course I do.” He nips at your bottom lip, hands roaming greedy and wide. “Look at you. How I’ma keep my hands off?”

When you rock your hips again, he tips his head back with a low curse. His hands slip up to cradle your face, pulling you down into another messy, heated kiss. You’re so lost in it you don’t even notice how the rain’s still falling, pattering gentle against the roof, how the whole world’s gone quiet except for you two.

And Sammie, always with his mouth on yours, always with those hands exploring like he’s trying to memorize you, pulls back just enough to murmur, voice wrecked:

“You gon’ be the death of me, Church Girl.”

You smile, cheeks hot, lips swollen and whisper right back, “Guess I’ll have to pray for you then.”

He laughs, low and dark and pulls you back in like he couldn’t even stop if he tried.

His laugh rumbles against your chest, hands gripping your waist tighter, pulling you flush against him.

“Yeah? Pray harder, baby. Might need a whole deliverance service if you keep movin’ like that.”

You roll your eyes even as your thighs tighten around him. “You so dumb.”

“And you so fine.” He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue slick and slow, tasting you like he’s starving. His hands roam from your face back down to your ass, thumbs digging in, pulling you against the hard press of him. “Mmm. Been thinkin’ about this since you slid in my car with them lil shorts on.”

“You only came to see me so you could feel up on me,” you tease, breath shaky.

“That’s not true you know even though I’m not complaining,” he says, grinning, eyes dark. “But I really wanted to see you smile. You light me up, Church Girl. Don’t even know.”

You hate how your heart stutters at that, how your belly flips like you’re sixteen and clueless. So you hide it, press your lips back to his, grind down slow and deliberate. He groans, hips lifting into yours.

“Fuck, Y/N… keep doin’ that.”

“You got no patience,” you whisper against his jaw, nibbling there just to feel him shiver.

“I got patience. Just not when it comes to you.”

His hands slip under your tee again, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your bra, sending a shock straight to your core. You gasp, forehead dropping to his.

“Sammie—”

“Mhm. Say it again.”

“Sammie.”

His eyes flutter shut like it’s a prayer. He mouths at your throat, sucking gentle marks there, mumbling between kisses, “Could stay like this forever. You in my lap, actin’ all innocent when I know you not.”

You laugh, half breathless, half scandalized. “I am innocent.”

“Liar.” He bites your earlobe, then soothes it with his tongue, hands sliding up your back under your shirt. “You know what you do to me.”

And for a while, that’s all it is hands wandering, mouths chasing, his hips rocking slow under yours like he can’t help it. The car windows fog up completely, rain still tapping a steady rhythm outside.

Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, curls damp at the edges from sweat. “You gon’ sleep over one of these nights.”

You snort, brushing your nose against his. “Who said that?”

“I did. And you ain’t disagreein’.”

You roll your eyes, try to push off his chest, but he just locks his arms around you tighter, grinning all smug. “Look at you. Blushing. My lil Church Girl really out here grindin’ on me in the middle of nowhere.”

“Stop callin’ me that,” you mumble, cheeks hot.

“Nah,” he says, leaning up to kiss you again. “It’s mine. Just like you.”

And right there in that warm car, with the rain still falling and Sammie’s hands still exploring every inch of you, you let yourself believe it. Just for tonight.

Taglist:

Sin real good

Sinners Modern!Au

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: YOUR GIRL GRADUATE😝 sorry that I been MIA but I had to get those grade straight!! Enjoy all my drafts🤍

Stack and Sammie stand in the dim glow of pendant lights, sawdust and fresh paint hanging thick in the air. The bass from the speakers hums low a sound check for next week’s grand opening, but otherwise it’s just the soft drag of brooms on the concrete floor, bar stools still stacked upside down and the faint smell of varnish curling through the club like a warning.

Stack leans against the bar, phone in hand, shaking his head. “Man, I swear on everything. Every time I’m about to get some peace, another woman pops up talking ‘bout ‘this your baby.’”

Sammie laughs, low and hoarse, as he wipes down the glossy counter. “Might be ‘cause it is your baby, nigga. You got enough kids out here to start your own youth choir.”

Stack cuts him a glare. “Watch your mouth, boy. I ain’t the only one in this family that knows how to sin real good.”

“That ain’t the flex you think it is,” Sammie mutters, eyes still on the cloth as he circles it over a water stain. “Maybe you should start steppin’ up. Be somebody’s actual daddy instead of just the rumor.”

Stack lets out a long, slow breath, phone dropping to the counter. “Yeah. You right. Just hard sometimes, you know? Shit catch up with you. Fast.”

The door swings open then, cool air and cigarette smoke rolling in with Smoke, who’s still wearing last night’s attitude.

Stack raises an eyebrow. “Damn. Somebody cut one in here? Air thick as hell soon as you walked in.”

Smoke barks a laugh. “Boy, shut up. That’s y’all guilt floatin’ around.”

Sammie just sucks his teeth. “Ain’t no guilt. Just your big mouth stirrin’ shit.”

Stack looks between them. “What I miss?”

Smoke grins, teeth bright. “Your cousin here still salty ‘cause I saw his lil church girl at that diner. Laughin’ it up with some dude. Looked cozy as hell too.”

Sammie shoots him a deadly look. “Why you keep bringin’ that up like you want me to swing on you?”

Stack laughs, clapping his hands together. “Hold up, hold up you serious about this girl?”

Sammie doesn’t answer at first, just leans back against the bar, jaw working. Finally he sighs. “Yeah. I am.”

Stack crosses his arms, grin lazy. “Then you better go after it, lil bro. Shit since when we let somebody else scoop up what we want?”

Smoke wags his brows. “Exactly. Or keep frontin’. Play tough. Next thing you know, she laid up with dreadhead dude eatin’ chocolate strawberries off her stomach.”

Sammie groans, tipping his head back. “Bruh. Shut. Up.”

“Can’t shut up, cousin,” Smoke teases, bumping Sammie’s shoulder with a smirk. “It’s too much fun watchin’ you squirm. You always been the smooth one now look at you, sweatin’ over some pretty girl who probably got your playlist on repeat.”

Stack chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, for real though. If you like her, don’t just sit here mopin’ ‘bout it. Women know when you serious. And if she’s out with her people, that don’t mean she out there lookin’. Sometimes a friend’s just a friend.”

Sammie sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “Yeah. I know. I trust her.”

Smoke snorts. “Trust is cute. But action’s cuter.”

Stack knocks twice on the counter, then points at Sammie. “Remember what I told you. You let this one slip, that’s on you. Now come on, help me move these damn speakers before I pull something.”

Sammie rolls his eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile there. “Aight. But y’all two gotta promise to shut the hell up about my girl.”

Smoke gives him a shit eating grin. “Church Girl.”

“Man, I swear I’ll toss you out this door head first,” Sammie mutters, grabbing one end of the speaker while Stack grabs the other.

The three of them shuffle across the dusty floor laughing, talking trash, shoulders bumping trying to build a new kingdom in this club, even with old ghosts trailing close behind. And Sammie’s already thinking about you wondering what you’re doing, if you’re smiling somewhere, if maybe he can come see you tonight.

Because he’s not about to let anybody else get there first.

Your morning starts soft. A slow drift out of sleep, sunlight licking your curtains, Gloria humming in the kitchen as the smell of fried plantain creeps under your door. You take your time getting ready white top, jeans, gold earrings, edges brushed to perfection and drive to campus with Dawn in the passenger seat, who wants to be dropped off, both of you singing off key to old afrobeats.

Classes pass in a blur. Same seat. Same creaky desk. Same bored professor droning on about social structures while Chris sits beside you, notebook covered in doodles. Every now and then he leans over, whispering jokes that have you slapping his arm, or sliding you half of his protein bar like it’s a secret deal.

By noon, you’re out of there, waving goodbye to Chris as he disappears into a cluster of classmates. Dawn’s off on her own mission today, promising to call if she found anything interesting.

You head to the library to catch up on readings, while Dawn wanders through town, ducking in and out of little shops with “Help Wanted” signs taped to dusty windows.

That’s when she finds it.

A cozy beauty salon tucked between a tailor and a fruit stand, its sign faded but the inside warm and bustling. The place smells like burning hot combs and mango scented oil, women laughing under dryers. Behind the counter stands an older lady with skin like polished walnut and silver braids twisted into a regal crown. Dawn introduces herself, explaining she’s looking for work, and the woman narrows her eyes studying her edges, her wig install, her hands.

“You do all this yourself, baby?”

“Yes ma’am. And a whole lot more.”

“Mmh. Come back tomorrow. I want to see you work.”

Dawn leaves practically floating. Her phone pressed to her chest, eyes wide with new dreams. She’s halfway down the block when she sees Stack leaning against his SUV, sunglasses on, scrolling his phone.

She takes a breath. Walks over, hip cocked, voice dipped low.

“Well look who it is. Should I start charging you for all these times you keep popping up in my day?”

Stack lowers his shades, smirking. “Maybe I’m just lucky. Or you got a tracking device on me I don’t know ‘bout.”

She laughs, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “What you doing out here?”

“Handling business. Club opens in a week. Contractors still slow as hell. You know how it is.”

“Always working. You ever have fun?” Dawn teases.

Stack lifts an eyebrow. “Depends. Who I’m having fun with?”

She rolls her eyes but her smile is huge, cheeks flushed. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

They’re flirting, gentle and harmless, her laughter tinkling up into the muggy afternoon when suddenly—

“ELIAS!”

A woman’s voice cuts through everything. They both turn. A young woman in jeans and a black tank top stalks over, toddler on her hip, eyes blazing.

“You forgot somethin’.”

She thrusts the child into Stack’s arms. The little boy clings instinctively, wide brown eyes blinking up at Stack. Dawn’s breath catches.

Stack swallows, jaw tensing. “Keisha, we talked about this—”

“I don’t wanna talk. You his daddy. Figure it out.”

She turns on her heel and marches back across the street, not even looking back. Stack calls after her once, twice, but she doesn’t slow down. Finally, sighing so deep his chest caves, he bounces the boy gently, whispering something that makes the kid smile.

Meanwhile Dawn stands there, her heart sinking all the way into her sandals. Those rumors Chris told her? About Stack being the resident heartbreaker with kids all over town? Maybe they weren’t just stories after all.

Stack finally meets her gaze, shrugging helplessly, a tired half-smile on his lips. “I uh… guess we’ll pick this up another time.”

“Yeah…” Dawn forces out, hands fumbling with the strap of her purse. “Yeah, it’s cool. Handle your business.”

As she walks away, her phone buzzes. A text from you, asking if she had found something. And Dawn just sighs, glancing over her shoulder once more at Stack, who’s cradling the little boy on his hip, rubbing his back gently.

The world suddenly feels a lot heavier than it did five minutes ago. And for the first time, Dawn’s wondering if chasing all these complicated men is even worth it.

You’re fresh out the shower, wrapped in your softest towel, bonnet snug over your damp curls. Your skin’s warm and smelling like cocoa butter and you’re in that lazy, floaty mood where you’re ready to slip into bed and scroll until you pass out.

Then your phone lights up.

Sammie.

You hesitate for half a second, butterflies already knocking around in your stomach, before swiping to answer.

“Hey, Church Girl.”

His voice slides through the speaker low and warm, with that deep rasp that makes you bite your lip without thinking.

“Hey,” you say, trying not to sound as happy as you feel. “What’s up?”

“What you mean what’s up?” You can hear the grin in his voice. “I wanna see you. Right now.”

You blink, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. “Sammie… do you know what time it is to be talking like that?”

“It’s time for me to see my girl,” he shoots back, lazy and shameless. “Why you actin’ brand new?”

You drop onto your bed, giggling into the phone. “I am not your girl.”

He lets out a soft laugh, but there’s something smug under it. “Yeah, aight. I’m still pullin’ up. Wear something chill I’ll be there in ten.”

“Sammie, wait—”

But he’s already hung up.

You stare at your phone, heart doing a little chaotic dance. Then you flop back on the mattress, towel still wrapped around you, squealing into your pillow because what the hell.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes to decide if you’re going to be sensible… or put on those gray shorts to show some skin and act like you’re not already halfway gone over this man.

Taglist:

Talking to herself

Sinners Modern Au!

Preacher Boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much love🫶🏾🤍. Here y’all go.

The restaurant’s warm light flickers over the table, casting soft shadows against half eaten fries and plates slick with sauce. A hush of jazz trickles through the air and you’re swirling your straw in your sweet tea, mind halfway between Sammie’s voice in your ear and the way he looked at you like you were his last prayer.

Dawn, meanwhile, is on a mission.

“I swear, every time I looked up, Stack was already lookin’ at me,” she says for the fourth time, pulling her hair behind one ear dramatically. “Like deadass, he had that look.”

You squint at her, unimpressed. “Or maybe he was lookin’ past you. To the chicken. Or the cake. Or Jesus.”

Dawn cuts her eyes. “Okay, hater.”

Chris snorts into his lemonade. “No, no, wait. Hold up. Stack as in Elias Moore?”

You and Dawn both turn to him.

Chris points a fry dramatically. “Girl, he’s the undisputed “fuckboy” of the county. Been like that since I was in middle school. He got kids in four zip codes and ain’t claimed none of ’em officially.”

Dawn glares. “He don’t got no kids—”

“—that he claims,” Chris emphasizes.

You nod toward him. “That part.”

“Y’all just jealous he was lookin’ at me and not y’all,” Dawn mumbles, but even she cracks a grin.

You shrug, half-laughing. “Dawn… he’s in his thirties. You are barely twenty.”

“So?” she tosses her hair. “It’s giving grown. It’s giving stability. It’s giving truck with Bluetooth.”

Chris leans back in his chair, fake-swooning. “God, I love the way you justify red flags.”

You’re all mid laugh when Chris’s face shifts softer now, eyes a little far off. “My ex hit me up last night.”

You blink. “The ex?”

He nods. “The one with the eyebrow slit and the damn nerve? Yeah. Him.”

Dawn groans. “Boy, block him.”

Chris lifts a hand. “I tried. He used his mama’s phone. Said he was checkin’ if I was still breathing.”

You snort. “So romantic.”

Chris flips his braid behind his shoulder. “Right? Like, check your taxes, not me.”

The table quiets for a moment, just chewing and sipping, until Chris looks at you again, mischievous light back in his eyes.

“So… any action with Mr. Preacher Boy?”

Your eyebrows jump. “First of all—”

Dawn cuts you off, eyes wide. “Weren’t you in his car?!”

Chris gasps like he’s watching an episode of Scandal. “Y/N!!!”

You laugh, covering your face. “Y’all are loud as hell.”

Chris fans himself with a napkin. “Since day one, I knew that man had a lil’ Jacob with a side of temptation. Tell me everything.”

You peek over your hands, grin still stuck on your face. “It was just… heat of the moment. He said I looked too good in white and then boom we kissed.”

Chris clutches his chest.

Dawn is fully leaned over the table. “What else?! Tongue or no tongue?!”

You sip your drink, playing coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Chris squeals. “You witch! I need details!”

“He asked me to meet him in his car.”

Dawn drops her fork. “Scandalous.”

“He called me ‘Baby.’”

Chris smacks the table. “This man writes poetry in his sleep, I just know it.”

“And,” you add, eyes glinting, “he fed me a bite of my own cake.”

Chris dramatically wipes an imaginary tear. “I have waited for this storyline for years.”

The three of you are caught in your own sitcom bubble when the check arrives.

Chris grabs it immediately.

“Chris no, we can split—” you start.

“Not on my watch,” he says, chin up. “I’m a gentleman with a scholarship refund. Let me shine.”

You laugh, but let him. The three of you are just gathering your things when the door swings open with a low chime.

In walks Smoke and right behind him?

Annie.

You blink, stunned by how time seems to crumple when old faces appear in new places.

Annie’s eyes widen as she spots you.

“Oh my goodness,” she says, a hand flying up to her chest. “Y/N?”

You nod, a little shy under her wide grin.

“I used to babysit this child,” she tells Smoke, pulling you into a hug that smells like cocoa butter and old memories. “You had them little barrettes always clackin’ around. Lord, you’ve grown up.”

You smile, cheeks warm. “It’s been a minute, Miss Annie.”

Chris raises a brow at you like who is this woman hugging you like an auntie at a wedding.

“And you two…” Annie turns to Chris and Dawn. “Y’all friends? God is good. I always hoped she’d grow up surrounded by sweet folks.”

Smoke sidles up, eyes flicking to you. “Didn’t know you was out with the squad, Miss. Y/N.”

You nod. “Small world.”

Annie squeezes your arm. “I’m tellin’ you this one was always bright. Now she makin’ desserts and catchin’ men everywhere she goes like her grandma.”

You laugh nervously and Chris is beaming, eating it all up.

“Well,” Annie says, stepping back, “you come visit sometime, alright? I’m still at the house down the hill.”

You nod again, heart warm and full in the oddest way. “I will.”

And as you step outside into the early night air, Chris whispers dramatically in your ear—

“She said catchin’ men everywhere like it’s a sport. You got fans, girl.”

You grin, walking to your car like you didn’t got expose.

The ride home is quiet, the kind of hush that follows a storm of laughter. The car hums softly beneath you, Dawn leaning her head against the window, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied little smirk on her face. You’re tired in the best way good food, good gossip and Chris’s dramatic storytelling still ringing in your ears.

When you pull into the driveway, the porch light is already on, casting a warm halo over the front steps. Gloria’s silhouette waits just behind the screen door like she knew y’all would try to sneak in without saying nothing.

“Where y’all been?” she asks as soon as the door creaks open.

You smile, kicking off your sandals. “We went to eat. Chris invited us.”

Dawn chimes in from behind you, “And we saw Miss Annie at the restaurant.”

The house shifts with those words. Like the walls heard it too.

From the living room, Pops leans forward in his chair, remote pausing the rerun of Family Feud. Doris, still tying up her headscarf, peeks around the corner from the kitchen.

“Annie?” Doris says, eyebrows lifting.

You nod, standing a little straighter. “Yeah. She hugged me soon as she saw me. The one who used to babysit me, remember?”

Doris walks in slow, like she’s walking into a memory. “How she look? She still got that thick hair? Them gold bangles?”

“She look good,” you say honestly. “Different, but good. She remembered me right away.”

Pops grunts, rubbing his jaw. “Ain’t seen her in years. Last time I did, she was over at Mabel’s house with some lady talkin’ about energy readings.”

Dawn raises an eyebrow. “Energy readings?”

Doris sighs. “Baby girl went left. After she lost that child, she ain’t never stepped back in the church again.”

Your mama lowers herself onto the couch, her expression soft but heavy. “She used to be up in the youth choir. Sweet voice. Sweet heart, too. But when Elijah left for the military and she found out she was pregnant…”

“She changed,” Doris finishes, voice low. “And when she lost the baby, that was it. She stopped talkin’ to folks. Stopped comin’ ‘round. Word is she started lightin’ candles and talking to spirits. Talking to herself.”

“She don’t talk to herself,” Pops mutters. “She talks to that pain that boy left her with.”

“Elijah Moore,” Doris spits his name like it burned her tongue. “Always walkin’ around with that sly smile. People swore he had a calling but all he did was leave ruin.”

Dawn sinks slowly into the chair beside you, face unreadable.

“Annie used to glow,” Doris says, her voice sad now, distant. “Now… folks don’t even know how to talk to her. They scared. She start pullin’ away. Witchcraft or not, that girl’s been in mourning for ten years.”

Pops grunts again, not out of disagreement but like the memory hurts. “She ain’t lost. Just buried.”

“She ain’t buried. The church just left her when she needed them the most.” Lenny explains while going back to his bedroom.

You swallow, Annie’s bright smile from the restaurant still warm in your memory, but now laced with something heavier. That sorrow that clung to her, barely seen but deeply felt. You’d always thought she was just that nice lady from the past. You didn’t know she’d lost a whole life.

“Elijah the type of man who ruin a woman and don’t even notice,” Gloria says. “Elias ain’t much different. He is even worse, because at the end of the day Elijah came back to fix it Elias still got some fixing to do.”

Dawn stiffens slightly beside you and you feel her body shift.

Pops sighs. “That boy could read the Bible, but he couldn’t stay still. Always chasing something bigger.”

“Left a mess behind,” Doris murmurs. “And now coming back to fix it.”

You sit there, the room now quiet in that thick, knowing way families get when truth gets spilled.

And you wonder just how many women got soft hearts and strong voices turned silent by men like that, men who leave with purpose and return without one.

Doris claps her hands twice sharp, commanding like a judge bringing the courtroom to order.

“Alright now! It’s sleeping time! Y’all better get in them bathrooms, brush them teeth, wrap that hair and be still before I come in there with holy oil and my house shoes!”

“Can’t have no demons creeping in while y’all still running your mouths and scrolling socials,” Gloria adds, already pulling out extra pillows and blankets like a general setting camp.

You and Dawn laugh, shuffling toward your rooms like kids again. The house softens into night. The hum of toothpaste caps clicking, feet dragging against the carpet, the low rattle of Doris in the kitchen packing up leftover food with the quiet care of a woman who’s always thinking of tomorrow’s hunger.

But across town?

The night hums different.

Sammie’s Room

The ceiling fan spins in lazy circles, the only sound in Sammie’s room besides the scratch of pencil on a notebook and the faint buzz of an old Otis Redding vinyl turning on his record player.

He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low, pen between his fingers, legs stretched long across his bed. There’s a certain stillness about him, the kind that comes after a long day of watching you leave his car with your hips swinging in that tight white dress that still has his mind in shackles.

He exhales through his nose.

Then the door creaks open.

Smoke walks in, still in his date clothes a white tee snug across his chest, gold watch flashing with every step.

“Well, well,” Sammie drawls, not looking up. “Look who finally came up for air.”

Smoke flops into the armchair across from the bed, a little smirk on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t start,” he says. “Wasn’t no love scene. Just… catching up.”

Sammie sets his notebook down, eyes narrowing just slightly. “So? How was Annie?”

Smoke sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “She’s good. Beautiful. Still got that fire in her. But I can feel it. Still blamin’ me. Even if she doesn’t say it.”

Sammie shrugs, quiet for a beat before he says, “Can you blame her?”

That lands hard.

Smoke’s jaw ticks. “Damn, lil’ cousin.”

“I mean,” Sammie leans forward, elbows on his knees, “you did leave. You knew she was pregnant and you still bounced. That ain’t something you just come back from like it’s nothing.”

Smoke scoffs. “Ain’t like I ain’t carry that too.”

“You carryin’ it don’t erase her pain.”

That silence gets thick.

Smoke rubs the back of his neck, eyes dark.

“I ain’t say all that to get lectured.”

Sammie shrugs again, but it’s softer this time. He ain’t trying to fight. He just knows the weight Annie’s been holding. And he’s seen what it looks like to stay.

Smoke sighs, then changes the subject. “Saw your girl tonight.”

That gets Sammie’s attention.

His eyebrows rise. “Where?”

“At that little diner off 84. Her, Dawn and this dude. Tall. Dark skin. Dreads. Clean lookin’, too. Looked like he was runnin’ the table.”

Sammie’s eyes narrow. “Who?”

Smoke shrugs like it ain’t much. “Some dude. Never seen him before. But he was sittin’ close. Laughin’ with her. They looked tight.”

Sammie leans back, jaw clenched.

“Don’t call her my girl if you gon’ say stuff like that.”

Smoke grins. “Fine. Church Girl.”

Sammie snaps, voice sharp, “Don’t call her that either.”

Smoke laughs, loud and full. “Damn, you really like her, huh?”

Sammie doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the ceiling like he’s counting stars only he can see.

“I trust her,” he says quietly.

Smoke raises an eyebrow. “But do you trust that dude?”

Sammie turns his head slow. “You tryna start something?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Smoke shrugs. “Looked a little too cozy for just friends. I mean… you kissed her, right? She still out here on dinner dates?”

Sammie’s lips press tight, but his voice stays calm. “You saw them with Dawn. You know it wasn’t no date.”

Smoke chuckles under his breath, watching Sammie wrestle with his own restraint.

“That’s alright, lil’ cousin. You keep tellin’ yourself that. But I’m just sayin’ watch your back. Pretty girls don’t wait long.”

Sammie doesn’t respond. He just grabs his notebook again, pen tapping against the edge like a heartbeat.

But the lyrics on that page?

They’re shifting now.

He doesn’t write love songs.

But for you?

He might just start.

Y’all want one? I wasn’t planning on making one, but if y’all want one, y’all are gonna get one.

Say it again

Sinners Modern AU!

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: awwwwww thank you so much🥺🤍 y’all gonna make me cry ‘cause I thought about deleting my whole page😕. Here y’all go🫦🤍. Also the pics are running LOW😐💔

The smell alone could baptise a sinner.

The Church Fellowship Hall smelt like grease, sugar, butter and bragging rights wafted through the air like incense. Folks laughed and filled their plates like it was their last meal before glory. And you? You were shoulder deep in the custom apron tight, curls bouncing, spooning out mac and cheese like it was your ministry.

Doris stood at the head of the table, shaking hands and hugging necks, talking about,

“Oh that ain’t nothin’. Just a lil somethin’ I threw together while talkin’ to the Lord.”

Across the room, Sister Lorraine and her crew were watching y’all like hawks in blue lace. Her daughters had on matching blouses, stiff with starch and silent judgment. Her grandson just looked hungry and confused.

Your mama, cool as ever, manned the fried chicken, pork chops and catfish like she was born in a skillet. Dawn was three scoops deep into her dressin’ and potato salad, whispering sideways.

“He lookin’ again,” she muttered under her breath.

“Stack?” you asked, handing over a plate with an extra scoop of mac.

“Mmmhmm. He tryna act like he not but he is. I can feel it.”

You hummed.

“Maybe he’s just watchin’ your elbow. You heavy handed with the dressing.”

Dawn rolled her eyes but smiled like she was wearin’ a crown invisible to everyone but her. Then came the noise loud, clumsy, too many jokes at once.

Terrence. Josh. Paul.

They walked up like a pack of poorly trained puppies.

Terrence was the first one to speak. “Girl, y’all got pork and chicken? Is that even legal?”

Josh talking right after his friend, “you cooked this? No way you that fine and that talented.”

Paul just nodded while taking his plate full of food.

You kept it cute, kept it cordial. Smiled and said,

“Y’all enjoy. The Lord bless your appetite and humble your tongue.”

Then he came.

Sammie.

Walking in like temptation. Chain glintin’. Holding his plate like he didn’t even want food just you.

You didn’t say nothin’ at first. Just stared at him while scooping Mac and cheese, your curls bouncing a little as you worked.

He smirked, leaned a little on the table, voice low.

“You over here servin’ up deliverance?”

“Only to the worthy.” You side eyed him. “You tryna get fed or flirt?”

He chuckled.

“Why not both?”

You handed him a plate, firm in the grip, eyes locked.

“You still ain’t earn that kiss. Gas money doesn’t count forever.”

“Then maybe I need to work a little harder.” He tilted his head. “How ‘bout I help you pass out plates?”

“You gon’ wash your hands first?”

“I keep hand sanitizer in the glovebox, baby. I’m saved and sanitary.”

You laughed despite yourself and Sammie just grinned, soaking in the sound like it was his favorite hymn.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, low and close, “and I’ma forget we in church.”

“And if you keep talkin’ like that,” you shot back, “I’ma let Pops hit you with a paper plate.”

Sammie stepped back with a laugh, hand over his chest like you wounded him.

“Now that’s just disrespectful.”

Behind him, Smoke and Stack were elbowing each other, watching the whole exchange like it was their favorite show. Dawn smirked but stayed quiet.

Sammie gave you one more look like he wanted to say more, do more, but he had enough restraint to keep it Sunday clean.

For now.

“I’ma eat this plate. But save me some red velvet. I want mine from your hands.”

“You gon’ say grace first?”

“I already did, baby. Soon as I saw you.”

Soon as everybody finished the line for desserts starts forming like it was heaven’s gates. The folding table shook slightly under the weight of sugar and tension. Your red velvet cake sat center stage, iced to perfection deep red crumb, thick cream cheese frosting laid like silk. Right beside it, Sister Lorraine’s banana pudding gleamed in its glass dish like it had a spotlight and its own choir.

Doris stood behind the dessert table like a general.

“Y’all come get this red velvet before it’s gone. My granddaughter made it from scratch with love and the fear of God.” Gloria was nudging folks in the line with that mom voice, “that banana pudding lookin’ a little store bought to me.” Pops was perched nearby in his folding chair like a retired food critic. “Ain’t no boxed cake beatin’ my baby girl’s velvet. I done raised her on taste.” Your daddy was helping a kid balance a plate but still found time to say, “that pudding? It’s soup. Y’all want a real dessert, come get some cake.”

And Dawn? Dawn was passing out forkfuls like samples in Costco.

“One bite. That’s all it takes. Go ahead, see Jesus.”

You tried to stay cool, smiling polite, handing out slices like you didn’t notice Sister Lorraine scowling from her side, whispering with her daughters like y’all just launched a holy war.

The cake disappeared fast gone slice by slice, folks returning to the line talkin’ ‘bout “Let me just get one more for my cousin who didn’t come today.” One lady clutched her plate like it was gold, eyes rollin’ as she chewed.

“Mmmm. This got that back in the day taste. Somebody’s grandma touched this batter.”

You smirked, quietly sliding a thick slice under the table and covering it with a napkin. Just in time and you knew Sammie would want his serving untouched by fork or rumor.

Just as you handed off your last slice, your phone buzzed.

Sammie Meet me in the car, Y/N. I saved you a seat.

Your pulse jumped, not from nerves but from that specific brand of giddiness he brought around. You glanced around, made sure Doris was distracted swatting Lorraine’s grandson away from the punch bowl, then wiped your hands, grabbed that hidden slice and slipped out the back exit like a thief in the night.

The sun was dropping low, casting golden streaks through the windows as you slid into the passenger seat. His car smelled like cocoa butter, fresh leather and cologne. Sammie sat with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the headboard of the passenger seat.

He looked over with that crooked smile.

“Was startin’ to think you forgot me.”

“You? How could I when you’re always breathing down my neck,“ you lifted the foil wrapped slice like a prize “and I also got your blessing right here.”

Sammie chuckled and took the plate gently, setting it on the dash.

“What I do to deserve this kind of favor?”

You leaned back, watching him unpeel the foil.

“You kept your hands to yourself at the fellowship.”

He forked a piece into his mouth, closed his eyes, groaned low like it hit his soul.

A bite. A deep groan followed low and guttural.

“Mmmph… Lawd.”

You swatted his arm, laughing.

“Stop makin’ them nasty noises, Sammie. You gon’ get this whole parking lot pregnant.”

He smirked and leaned over, real close now, voice dipping into that dangerous space where reverence and ruin live together.

“If you think that’s nasty, Baby… wait ’til I’m between your legs, mouth full of you instead of cake.”

He smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief, while you hide behind your hands.

He glanced at you, slow and sweet. Than his smirk curved at the corner like a promise he wasn’t planning to break.

“Was lookin’ real popular back there, Church Girl.”

You shrugged, coy.

“People wanted a taste of God’s glory, I guess.”

“Mmm.” He tilted his head. “Terrence? Paul? Josh? They all want a slice of you, not that Mac and Cheese.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Don’t start, Sammie.”

But he didn’t drop it. He leaned back a little, tongue sliding across his bottom lip before his fork met the cake again.

“I seen the way Josh leaned in when he asked if you cooked all this. Like he could ever stand a chance.”

He pulled back, all proud of himself, licking frosting from his thumb. You shook your head, biting back your smile, heart tap dancing in your chest like it owed him rent.

“You so dramatic.”

“Nah,” he said, eyes still on you, serious creeping back in. “I just like what’s mine. Don’t like sharin’ not even with church boys who can’t hold a tune or their tongues.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing.

“Ain’t nobody yours, Sammie.”

He paused, looked at you, took another forkful slow this time and said around it, “not yet.”

Your stomach flipped and not from hunger.

He caught you watching him eat and raised a brow.

“You had a piece yet?”

You shook your head, shrugging.

“Nope. Gone before I could grab one.“

He stared for a second. Then scooped a bite on the fork, holding it out to you.

“Say ahh for daddy.”

“Boy if you don’t behave.” You smirked while swatting his arm.

“Come here, Y/N.”

You leaned in, elbows on the console, lips parting as he fed you slow. The cream cheese icing melted sweet against your tongue and he watched you like you were the miracle.

“Mm.” You blinked. “I did that.”

“Yes, you did, Baby.”

He ran a finger along the rim of the foil, licking it like you weren’t seconds away from climbing in his lap.

“See? I’m looking out for you.”

You settled back, resting your head against the seat, but your eyes never left his mouth.

You giggled, a heat creepin’ up your cheeks.

“If you keep spoiling me like this, I’m gonna expect dessert every time I see you.”

He leaned back, cocky but soft.

“Baby, with me, dessert’s always on the menu.”

The air between you thickened, charged with something sacred and electric all at once. You caught his eye, heart skipping. He leaned closer this time, hand grazing your thigh, thumb brushing over your dress. Not pushin’, not pullin’, just a reminder that he sees you.

“You gon’ let me earn it, Church Girl?”

You looked him square, lips parted like a prayer.

“You already are.”

And for a minute, everything stilled. Just you, him, the sunset and that half eaten slice of redemption.

He’s lookin’ out the windshield like the sunset is talkin’ directly to him, but every few seconds, he peeks at you. That little sideways glance like he ain’t sure whether to flirt or pray.

“You gon’ keep lookin at me like that, or you gon’ say what’s on your mind?” you ask, voice teasing but soft.

He hums low in his throat.

“I’m thinkin’ how you lookin’ too good for a girl who been servin’ mac and cheese all day.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

“And you look like sin in a suit and a fitted slacks.”

He grins, full and dangerous.

“Good. I’m tryna tempt you.”

You pause. Let your eyes linger. Let the moment thicken.

And then you smirk, sitting up a little, elbow resting on the console.

“I think you earned the gas money kiss now.”

He stills. Just a breath. Then leans in slow, hand lifting to cradle your jaw like he’s holding something sacred.

“Say it again.”

You blink up at him.

“You heard me.”

“Nah,” he says, thumb brushing your cheek, “I need consent, baby. Out loud.”

You smile. Whisper soft but sure.

“Kiss me, Sammie.”

And he does.

Slow.

Like Sunday mornings and old hymns.

Like every lyric he ain’t wrote yet.

His lips are warm and sure, tasting like red velvet and secrets. One hand at your jaw, the other sliding over your thigh, not greedy just claiming. Your fingers curl in the nape of his neck and for a second, it’s quiet. No choir. No elders. No cousins or competition. Just breath and mouth and the heat of something new blooming fast in the late afternoon.

BANG BANG BANG

You both JUMP as the backseat door whips open and Smoke slides in like he ain’t just caught a scene. “Y’all done? I’m tryna talk to you about the club.” Stack climbs in behind him, grinning like a devil in Jordans.

“I KNEW IT. Sammie been outside too long to just be eatin’ cake. I said he was tongue deep in somethin’, but Smoke said he was bein’ holy.”

Sammie groans, pulling back, arm still around you.

“Man, shut up. Y’all the reason the Lord gave us patience.”

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand, cheeks on fire.

“Y’all could’ve knocked softer—”

“We did, three times,” Stack says, deadpan. “Y’all just was preoccupied with… praise.”

Sammie glares at them both but pulls you in tighter, tucking you closer.

“Next time, I’m lockin’ my doors.”

“Next time?” you repeat, arching a brow and he looks at you with that same smile he wore before the kiss.

“Yeah. Next time I kiss you… I want more than a church lot and company.”

You blink, heart lurching again but before you can answer, Stack asks from the back.

“Y’all still got cake left or what?”

Sammie has his arm against your headboard while talking to Smoke and Stack about some club related things, so you opened the door of Sammie’s car with a soft creak and the last bit of warmth from his car wraps around your legs before the cool afternoon air takes its place. You slide one foot out.

Sammie doesn’t move.

“Why you rushing off?” he asks low, like he’s trying to coax you into staying, voice lazy and velvet slick. “You already gave me the kiss. Might as well give me the company.”

You glance over your shoulder. Stack is finishing the club playlist, using his headphones to check the songs, while Smoke still talks about all the things they need to do before opening up the club. You don’t feel like holding a full blown heart to heart with Sammie while his cousins play background extras.

“You know why,” you say, turning just enough for him to see the side of your face, the tiny smirk you’re hiding. “Ain’t no privacy with y’all stacked in this car like Sunday leftovers.”

Sammie huffs and leans back in the driver’s seat, frustrated but amused. “Still hate to see you leave, Y/N… but love to watch you go.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you step out fully, white dress hugging just right and you know he’s looking. It’s in the way you hear him mutter “Damn” under his breath when you close the door.

You walk to your car, unlock it, and slide in with a sigh. Your phone vibrates right on cue.

Ten seconds later, Dawn climbs in, hair still bounce curled.

She barely shuts the door before she’s talking.

“You saw Stack, right?” she says, twisting in the seat to face you. “Tell me he wasn’t lowkey peepin’. Like, every time I looked up, he was already lookin’. Or am I—”

“Delulu?” you finish, teasing but soft. You start the car.

Dawn squints. “Girl, I hate you. Just say yes or no.”

You shrug, smiling to yourself. “I ain’t tryna gas your head up just yet. He might’ve been lookin’. Might’ve just been stuck.”

You don’t even get to finish the next sentence before your phone starts ringing. It’s Chris.

You put the phone on speaker. “Hey, what’s up?”

Chris’s voice is all sunshine. “Yo, I’m in town for the weekend. Thought we could catch up maybe dinner tonight? Just somewhere easy.”

You glance at Dawn, raise your brows.

“Can Dawn come too?” you ask.

“For sure,” he says without missing a beat. “The more the merrier. I’ll send y’all the address.”

You hang up, shoot him a quick “okay” text and finally pull out of the church parking lot.

“Chris still cute?” Dawn asks casually, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just plan your outfits in her head.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t like girls.”

Dawn smirks. “Mhm. Still fine, though.”

You both laugh, the car full of that Sunday tired peace. You drive home with the cake still riding in the back like treasure, change into something a little more laidback but still cute and by early evening, you’re parking outside the restaurant Chris picked.

He’s already waiting by the entrance, hands in his pockets, grinning like he’s been standing there for a minute.

And somewhere in the back of your head, even with the light hum of gospel music and catfish memories still buzzing, you wonder if Sammie’s still sitting in that car… thinking about you in that dress.

Taglist:

Sinners Modern Au!

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!reader

A/N: I wrote this with “Man of God” but decided to separate it so it won’t be that long. Here y’all go 🫶🏾

Saturday - 2:00 AM

The whole house was quiet. Not peaceful. Just on pause. That deep silence before the storm hits the kitchen.

And then BAM BAM BAM.

“Let’s go, saints! The Lord is risen and so is my alarm clock!”

Doris’s voice rang down the hallway like the opening notes of a gospel solo. You already knew what time it was, literally. You’d been sitting up in bed for ten minutes, teeth clenched, robe tied, eyes wide open in dread. If there’s anything worse than waking up early, it’s being woken up early by your grandma talking in parables.

From your bedroom, you heard the first victim: Pops.

“Time to rise and pray, husband!” Doris sang, barging into their room. “You gon’ cover this house in the spirit or you gon’ cover it in snorin’?”

You heard a groan. Then the creak of the old floorboards as Pops shuffled out of bed.

“Lord,” he mumbled, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Watch over my girls. Keep our mouths from gossip, our hearts from envy and our chicken from burnin’.”

“Amen,” Doris whispered.

Then she was on the move again.

Next victim: Gloria.

Doris cracked open your mom’s door like a soldier on a mission. “Up and at ‘em, woman of God. Fish ain’t gon’ fry itself.”

You heard Gloria sigh, already halfway awake. “Yes ma’am…”

Then came the most vicious attack of the morning: Dawn.

“WAKE IT UP, MISSY.” Doris threw open her door like she was summoning spirits, flipped the light switch and snatched the covers clean off.

“GRANNY!” Dawn yelped, flailing like a fish outta water. “It’s not even daylight!”

“And still later than I wanted you up,” Doris snapped. “You got potato salad duty and if I see one box of them pre cubed potatoes, I’m callin’ your mama from heaven.”

Dawn groaned into her pillow like she was bein’ punished by the Lord himself.

Doris opened your door and paused.

You were already sitting on the edge of your bed, hoodie on, bonnet secured, face blank like a soldier on the front line.

Doris raised a brow. “Well look at you.”

“I hate being woken up,” you said flatly.

Doris smirked. “Now that’s my girl.”

She backed out, arms crossed, proud as ever. You followed her down the hall and by the time you reached the living room, everybody else was dragging their feet in behind you like sleepy little disciples.

Except Pops, who was already curled back on the recliner with a blanket over his knees, talkin’ ‘bout, “I did my part. I’m restin’ in the Lord now.”

Doris clapped her hands once loud enough to shake the ancestors.

“Alright! We got a mission and we not gon’ fail. Y’all know who you are and what you were born to do.”

She started pointing like she was handing out divine assignments:

“Mac and cheese? That’s me. I already pre-grated the good cheese. Don’t nobody bring up that Kraft mess.”

“Catfish? Gloria. Clean, season, and bless ‘em before the grease even pops.”

“Fried chicken? Gloria again. Don’t double-batter unless you got the Holy Spirit.”

“Pork chops? Me. I got the hand for it.”

“Dressin’? Also me. Ain’t no shortcuts and don’t ask if it’s Stove Top.”

“Potato salad? Dawn. You mess it up, you walk to church.”

“Red velvet cake? Y/N, you know you got the anointing for that. Use that good vanilla extract I keep hidden behind the communion cups.”

You gave her a lazy salute and headed to the kitchen, already smelling like butter, flour and early morning judgment.

Pops snored softly in the recliner, totally unbothered now that his five minute prayer shift was done.

The house hummed with quiet chaos, hands moving, dishes clattering, the air thick with flour and tension. Gospel music floated in low from somebody’s speaker. Gloria started humming along. Dawn was peeling potatoes with the fury of someone who would absolutely talk about you behind your back at the repass.

And Doris? Doris tied on her apron “Doris Made It” stitched in gold and stood at the stove like a general ready for battle.

Tomorrow was the church dinner. The showdown.

And y’all were cookin’ like the soul of the family

was on the line.

The house smelled like heaven, your feet were swollen, your back was talking crazy and your eyes were threatening to quit but y’all did it. Every aluminum tray gleamed under the plastic wrap, each one labeled and boxed, ready to feed the congregation and their cousins.

Doris leaned back in her recliner like a war general post battle, apron stained and eyes half-closed. “That’s what victory smell like,” she said, fanning herself with a church program. “Go ‘head and call Elias.”

You picked up her phone, pick out his name and gave the phone to your Grandma.

“Elias?” Doris said as soon as he answered. “Be a sweetheart and come by in the morning to pick up some food. And tell that brother of yours to behave.”

Sunday Morning – 6:45 AM

Dawn was on fire. Hairbrush in one hand, edge control in the other. She already had your mama lookin’ like she stepped out of a ‘Just for me’ commercial top slick, curls bouncing like they had a testimony.

Granny was next.

The moment Dawn finished that wig install, Doris checked herself in the mirror and gasped. “Whew, Lord. I look like the Proverbs 31 woman and the prize.”

“Granny, stop,” you laughed.

“I’m serious. That wig sittin’ like it just got saved at the altar!”

When it was your turn, Dawn went all out defined your curls, gave them bounce and shine, even fluffed the roots like she was blessing your scalp with holy oil. You glanced in the mirror and had to admit, you were lookin’ good.

Dawn stepped back, eyes twinkling. “Mmm… might have to kiss you.”

“Girl—”

She leaned in, but you dodged and pointed at her forehead. “Get that temptation spirit up off you, we goin’ to church.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, flustered, but still grinning. Her own install a sleek straight wig with a middle part was holding up like it had security clearance.

Everybody had on white, per Doris’s decree: “It’s the color of victory. Purity. The lamb of God. And I look phenomenal in it.”

Even Lenny was suited up in white linen with matching loafers, his car keys twirling on his finger. “Y’all ready to stunt on the saints or what?”

The door rings.

Dawn opened the door and there he was.

Stack and Smoke.

White tee, gold chain, that knowing grin and sleepy eyes that still managed to look fine at sunrise.

“Hey,” Dawn breathed, momentarily forgetting how to function.

Before she could even think to move, Doris popped around the corner, wig bouncing like it had choreography. “Mornin’, sweethearts!”

He blinked. “Well, good mornin’ Miss Doris. You look beautiful today.”

Doris grinned, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

Dawn was frozen like she just saw Jesus walk on water.

Smoke looked at the kitchen, then back at Doris. “Y’all really came through. Whole house smell like the gates of glory.”

Dawn finally spoke up. “I—I helped with the wig. I, uh… did the design.”

Doris raised a brow. “She helped a little.”

From the kitchen, Stack called, “We takin’ the food now before we get too distracted by beauty.”

Stack and Smoke gathered the trays like men on a mission, tossing compliments and thank yous around before they dipped out.

You and Dawn rode together in your car Dawn fixing your edges at every stoplight like y’all were goin’ to the BET Awards instead of church.

Lenny drove your mom and Pops, Doris riding shotgun like she was headlining the pulpit herself.

As you pulled into the church parking lot, the sun hit y’all just right. Doris’s wig bounced. Gloria’s curls gleamed. Your red velvet cake sat like a throne offering in the backseat. The food battle was on. The choir was warming up. The gossip was already brewing.

The sanctuary was filled with people being exiting just like y’all were glowing like the second coming was due before 1 PM. You walked down the side aisle, heels clicking against the church tiles, curls bouncing, voice humming as you found your seat.

Youth Choir pew.

Third row from the pulpit.

Right next to him.

Sammie.

He was already seated at the edge, long fingers resting on his lap, shirt sleeves pushed to the elbow like temptation in cotton. His piano notes from rehearsal still echoed in your ears.

“You came lookin’ like a blessing and a distraction,” he said the moment you sat.

“You look like somebody’s unfinished testimony,” you whispered back, giving him a raised brow.

He chuckled low. “Then come finish me, church girl.”

You blinked. “Sammie—”

But before you could finish Brittnay stood and gave the nod as the choir director.

🎶 “Amazing Grace”

The piano began his hands guiding every key like scripture. His foot pressed the pedal smooth as his smile and the chords filled the room like a river of light.

You sang.

Your voice clear, your heart steady. Sammie played like he was backing you up in more ways than one. When you held that long note, he looked up from the keys right at you. His smile was small, proud, and full of mischief.

When y’all sat down, he leaned over and whispered, “That wasn’t just grace. That was divine.”

“You flirtin’ in the house of the Lord?” you whispered, faking a gasp.

“I’m testifying, baby.”

The church choir had finished and Pastor Jedidiah stepped to the pulpit, Bible open, voice strong.

“Today,” he began, Bible in hand, “we talkin’ ‘bout something the Lord been placing heavy on my heart… how to be a Godly husband and how to recognize one when the Lord sends him.”

The church hummed in agreement.

“You don’t go lookin’ for him, Proverbs 31 women. He finds you.” He continued, eyes sweeping the women, “stop stressin’ tryna find one. ‘Cause Proverbs say he that findeth a wife finds a good thing.”

The sanctuary went wild.

“HALLELUJAH!”

“Say that!”

“Amen!”

“Say it again, Pastor!”

“He sure do!”

“C’mon Pastor!”

Sammie leaned in again, close enough you could smell his cologne fresh linen and something dark and soft underneath.

“A man finds a wife,” he murmured. “And I been lookin’. Real close.”

You blinked at him, cheeks warm. “You sure you not just lookin’ for dessert?”

He smirked. “That too. But I’d say red velvet and Ruth are both worth pursuin’.”

“Now fellas,” Pastor Monroe called, “a Godly man is honest. He’s patient. He works with his hands, leads with his heart. And he honors the women in his life.”

Sammie tapped your hand lightly, playful. “Check, check, check…”

You bit your lip. “You missin’ one.”

“What’s that?”

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Godly men don’t flirt this much on church property.”

He grinned, teeth catching light. “Baby, I’m not flirtin’. I’m plantin’ seeds.”

As Pastor Jedidiah launched into the story of Boaz, you and Sammie sat shoulder to shoulder, hearts beatin’ just a bit louder than the organ.

And when the congregation stood for prayer, Sammie’s hand brushed yours subtle, light, just enough to remind you.

He might play piano for the choir…

But he was makin’ you his favorite key.

Taglist:

Pope Heyward x Kelce little sister!reader

Summary: You and Pope meet when your brother and his friends beat him up. You were there to nurse him, since then you have been in a secret relationship.

Warnings: angst, nsfw, smut (not very detailed)

A/N: Here is a lil sum I wrote a while ago. I’m clearing up my drafts. Enjoy lovers🫶🏾🫦

You only ever saw Pope Heyward in passing at kegger you didn’t want to be at, bonfires your brother Kelce insisted you come to, school events where the Kooks lingered on one side and the Pogues on the other. But even through those stolen glances, Pope lingered in your mind.

You never talked. Not until that day.

When Kelce, Rafe and Topper jumped him out behind the marina, laughing while Pope struggled on the ground. You didn’t even know it was going to happen. You showed up late, already regretting being there and found him slumped against the dock, lip split, face bruised.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, kneeling beside him after everyone left.

He didn’t look at you at first. “Yeah I’m fine.”

You touched his shoulder, gentle. “You’re not.”

That’s where it started.

You sneak him into your house and nursed his wounds that night. In your room. The soft light of your vanity the only thing illuminating Pope’s face as you dabbed antiseptic onto his busted lip.

“You know who I am, right?” you asked.

His voice was low. “Yeah. Kelce’s sister.”

“And you know I could get into serious trouble for this.”

He stared up at you, chest rising with shaky breaths. “Then why are you doing it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t like seeing people hurt or helpless.”

He smiled through the pain. “Guess that makes you the first Kook with a conscience.”

It was all secrets after that.

Late night texts. Quiet drives with the headlights off down backroads where no one would see you. Meetings on the pier when the island was asleep. You kissed him for the first time under a flickering streetlamp, heart hammering in your chest.

He cupped your cheek, tentative. “You sure?”

“I want to,” you whispered, standing on your toes to meet his lips.

That night, you didn’t go home.

You made love in the backseat of his car. His hands trembling with want, yours gripping his shoulders like he might vanish. And in the morning, when the sun bled over the horizon, he showed you the picture he took of you eyes locked, skin pressed together, love written across your face.

He slipped it behind his phone case. “I want to keep you with me. Always.”

You kissed his chest. “You already do.”

You became his protector. A silent shield. You warned him when Kelce or Topper were looking for trouble, gave the Pogues heads up whenever Rafe was spiraling. JJ thought it was luck. Kiara said it was divine timing.

Pope knew the truth.

“Why do you do this?” he asked one night.

“Because I’m not like them,” you replied, tracing a fingertip across his jaw. “Because I love you.”

But the party changed everything.

An unspoken divide, Kooks on one side of the dock, Pogues on the other. You stood near the bonfire with Sofia and some of the other girls, drink in hand, pretending not to search the crowd.

Pope was across the lawn, trying not to stare. Trying not to need you.

JJ nudged him. “Dude. You’ve been looking over there for five minutes. She’s hot, but she’s Kelce’s sister.”

“I know,” Pope muttered.

Topper caught wind and scoffed. “Careful, Heyward. She’ll gut you in your sleep.”

Rafe added, “Or worse, Kelce will.”

That’s when Ruthie walked up, smug as hell.

“Pope Heyward,” she smirked. “Why are you lookin’ at my girl like that? Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on Y/N.”

You whipped your head around. “Ruthie—”

She ignored you, shouting across the fire, “Hey! This Pogue’s got a thing for Kelce’s sister!”

The crowd erupted in chaos.

Kelce’s drink slammed onto the table as he stormed toward Pope. “You’ve got a what?!”

You bolted through the smoke, shoving between them. “Kelce, don’t—!”

But it was too late.

Kelce’s fist hit Pope. JJ hit Topper. Rafe went for John B. It became a blur of fists and screams. Kiara and Sarah pulled at shoulders, tried to separate them. You pushed your way towards Pope, saw him on the ground with blood on his cheek.

“Get off him, Kelce!”

He ignored you.

You grabbed his arm, trying to pull him off — and that’s when it happened.

He turned, flailing and his hand cracked across your face.

You fell. Hard. Your cheek stung, your vision blurred. Someone screamed.

Pope saw red.

He tackled Kelce. Punched him again and again until JJ and John B grabbed him, dragged him off, his fists still swinging at the air.

“You don’t touch her!” Pope roared. “You hear me?! You don’t ever—”

“Come on, man!” JJ snapped. “Let’s go before the cops show.”

As they pulled him away, Pope turned back, blood dripping from his mouth. He saw you on your knees, dazed. Sofia and Kooks surrounded you, asking if you were okay.

But he didn’t come to you. He left.

At the Chateau, the silence was heavy.

John B handed Pope a towel. “You alright?”

“No,” he muttered. “Not even close.”

JJ lit a cigarette, tossed it to the ground, stepped on it. “You wanna tell us why you went full psycho back there?”

Pope sat down, elbows on his knees.

“We’ve been together. Me and Y/N.”

Kiara blinked. “Wait—what?”

“It started after Kelce jumped me. She patched me up. We’ve been seeing each other ever since.”

JJ stared. “Dude…”

“I thought we could make it work,” Pope said, voice cracking. “Even if it was a secret. But after tonight… after what he did to her, what I did, maybe this whole thing was a fantasy.”

He pulled out his phone. Opens his phone case. Looked at the photo. The one of you tangled up in his arms, hair a mess, smile soft.

Then he turned it face down.

The messages started flooding in. One after the other.

Y/N: Are you okay?

Y/N: Please answer.

Y/N: Pope. Talk to me.

Y/N: I love you.

Y/N: Don’t shut me out. Please

He let the phone ring.

Let your name light up the screen.

And didn’t pick up.

Across the island, you sat in your room, ice on your cheek, staring at the same photo, the one he sent you weeks ago, wondering how something so beautiful turned into this.

Wondering if Pope Heyward was ever really yours.

You continue to blow up his phone for hours. Message after message. Call after call. Until your fingers trembled and your voice cracked trying to leave voicemails he’d never listen to.

You sat on your bedroom floor, phone in hand, the bruise on your cheek a ghost of the night before. The one your brother gave you by accident. The one Pope had witnessed, gone feral over, then walked away from.

“Pick up,” you whispered to the phone screen. “Please, Pope. Don’t do this.”

You heard a knock.

Your mom peeked in, followed by your dad. Their faces were tight with worry, eyes darting to your cheek. You quickly angled away, pretending to stretch your neck.

“Honey?” your mother said softly. “You didn’t eat dinner.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping your face quickly.

“Y/N,” your dad said gently, kneeling next to you. “Is it Kelce? Did he…?”

You swallowed hard. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Your mother frowned, walking closer. “Was it about a boy?”

Your silence was an answer.

“I just need space,” you whispered. “Please.”

They exchanged a look, your father sighing before placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You can talk to us when you’re ready.”

The next day, the ache in your chest didn’t lessen. You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. You didn’t know what you were thinking when you got in the car and drove.

But five minutes before close, you were parking outside Heyward’s Seafood.

The lights were still on. You stepped in, the bell above the door chiming gently.

“Evening,” came a warm voice from the counter. Bobby Heyward.

You stiffened slightly. He looked kind, but even kindness had layers. His eyes scanned you once, recognizing the Kookness, the clean clothes, the carefully done hair, the car parked outside too shiny for this side of the island.

He smiled anyway. “We’re just about to close in five, but I could still whip you something up. Hungry?”

You hesitated. “I…yeah. That would be nice, thank you.”

Just as you moved to take a seat, footsteps came from the back.

Pope.

He paused mid step the second he saw you. His eyes locked on yours tired, angry, guarded. His jaw clenched.

His dad looked between the two of you, his smile flickering, fading slowly like a flame in the wind.

“I’ll, uh… go check on the fryer.” He disappeared into the back, but the air stayed thick with what he left behind.

Pope didn’t move.

You stood. “Can we talk?”

He stared for a long second, then exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine.”

You followed him upstairs to his room. It was small but familiar the same room you’d snuck into late at night. The same room where he kissed you like you were everything. The same room where he whispered, I love you.

Now, it felt colder.

He shut the door behind you, but didn’t look at you.

“So,” he said flatly, “what is it?”

You clenched your jaw. “Why are you treating me like that?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore.”

That sliced deeper than you expected.

“What?”

“I don’t think we should be together.”

It felt like he took the air right out of your lungs. Your fists clenched at your sides as you stepped toward him.

“Say that again,” you whispered.

Pope met your eyes that same fire in his and repeated, “We shouldn’t be together.”

You shoved him. “You don’t get to take my firsts—”

“Y/N—”

You shoved him again, harder. “You don’t get to be my first kiss, my first time, my first everything—”

“I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“You don’t get to push me away because of my brother!” you cried, voice cracking. “I am not him!”

You shoved him one last time and this time his back hit the door with a thud. His chest heaved.

And then he grabbed your arms.

You froze until he spun you.

Now your back was against him. His hands still on your forearms. Holding, not hurting.

“Don’t,” you whispered, barely breathing.

But he was already leaning in, voice hot at your ear.

“I tried to let you go.”

You turned your head slightly, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “Then why does it feel like you still want me?”

He said nothing. His grip loosened, just enough for you to turn and face him. His eyes were wild, full of frustration, confusion and something darker want.

Your lips crashed into his.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.

It was angry.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this pressed between the door and the boy who shattered your heart only to light it back on fire.

But when his lips crashed into yours again, all that pain turned into heat.

Pope groaned against your mouth, low and guttural, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt like he forgot where your skin ended and he began. His hands were hungry, sure now palming your waist, tracing the dip of your spine as he guided you backward, lips never leaving yours.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. “Every time I close my eyes there you are.”

Your hands were just as greedy, tugging his shirt off, revealing skin you already knew by touch, not by sight. Tonight, you wanted both.

His lips found yours again just before you fell together onto his bed, limbs tangled, heat rising.

You rolled your hips against him, your voice a whisper against his ear. “You still want to push me away?”

Pope’s fingers gripped your thighs, pulling you flush against him. You could feel him, hard and ready, between you.

“God, no,” he whispered, kissing you with a desperation that bordered on worship.

Clothes disappeared between stolen breaths and fumbling hands his shirt, your top, your bra unhooked with practiced fingers, your shorts slid down your legs, panties following, until nothing remained but skin and tension.

He took a moment, hovering above you, eyes roaming your face, down your body, like he needed to memorize you all over again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Even when you’re mad at me.”

Your hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him back down. “Then shut up and make it up to me.”

Pope kissed you like a promise slow and deep at first, then faster, messier, the kind of kiss that left your lips swollen and your chest aching. His mouth moved lower, down your neck, over your breasts, his tongue teasing until your back arched and your hands threaded through his curls.

When he finally slid inside you, it was like coming home.

Both of you let out soft, broken sounds of his name on your lips, yours on his tongue, whispered between kisses and moans.

He moved slowly at first, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension build. His fingers laced with yours as he pressed them into the mattress, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

You whispered it back over and over each word a kiss, each breath a surrender.

The pace quickened, hips meeting hips, your bodies pulling closer, seeking something neither of you could name. His name spilled from your lips like prayer, like promise. He was everywhere his hands on your hips, his mouth at your collarbone, his body pressing you deeper into the bed.

And when you both unraveled, it was together your nails digging into his back, his name broken from your throat, his lips buried against your shoulder as he followed you over the edge.

After, you lay tangled in sheets and silence, your cheek pressed to his chest, his fingers gently tracing your spine.

Neither of you spoke.

Modern Sinners Au!

Preacher Boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

Friday rolled in slow and warm, sun slipping through the trees like it had nowhere in particular to be. You had your music low and your windows cracked as you drove Pops into the city. He gave directions the whole time like you ain’t been driving him.

“Take this left here nah, this one,” he muttered, hand waving out the window like it was guiding the car itself.

You smiled, biting your tongue. “Yes sir.”

You let him out at his old friend’s house, watched him do that slow shuffle up the walkway before turning to Doris in the passenger seat. She had her handbag clutched like it held secrets and prayers, lips pursed in anticipation.

“You ready, Granny?”

She smirked. “I was born ready.”

Next stop: the shop.

Y’all strolled through the aisles like it was a military operation Doris on a mission, you just trying to keep up. Into the cart went elbow macaroni, blocks of sharp cheddar, buttermilk, bags of flour, pounds of catfish, whole chickens, pork chops, sage, celery, sweet potatoes, marshmallows and more.

You blinked at the growing mountain. “Granny…you feeding the church or hosting a revival?”

Doris didn’t miss a beat. “It’s called preparation, baby.”

“Granny, everybody knows you can cook. You don’t have to compete with Sister Lorraine—”

Doris stopped dead in the spice aisle, turned to you like she just heard blasphemy. “You think David wanted to fight Goliath?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

She tilted her head. “Sometimes God gives you the stones to prove the fool wrong.”

You stared and she tossed Old Bay in the cart like it was one of those stones.

What she didn’t say and what you didn’t notice was that somewhere between the yams and the sugar aisle, she’d slipped red food colouring and cream cheese frosting ingredients into the cart. You clocked it at the checkout too late.

“Granny…” you sighed, watching the cashier bag the cocoa powder. “You really brought cake stuff?”

Doris grinned, all teeth. “Your red velvet could raise the dead. I just want folks to remember it before that Lorraine woman’s banana pudding clouds their judgment.”

You groaned but smiled. Deep down, you kinda liked being part of her legacy mission.

As you loaded up the trunk, a familiar low laugh rolled across the lot.

“Miss Doris?”

You both turned. There stood two tall, broad shouldered young men in faded hoodies and gold chains Elijah and Elias Moore. Smoke and Stack.

Doris waved them over like they were kin.

“Well if it ain’t the troubled twins!” she called, grinning ear to ear.

They laughed, walking up like they’d been summoned by heaven and gossip.

“You still callin’ us that, Miss Doris?” Smoke asked, leaning in for a quick side hug.

“You ain’t grown outta it yet,” she quipped back, patting his back. “This is my granddaughter, Y/N.”

Stack gave you a glance over and smiled, dimples showing. “Heard a lot ‘bout you.”

“From who?” you asked, lifting a brow.

They both looked at each other and smirked.

“Our little cousin,” Smoke said.

“Talkin’ ‘bout you like you got wings,” Stack added.

Your stomach flipped. You already knew who they meant.

Sammie.

“Lord have mercy,” you mumbled under your breath, grabbing the last bag and shoving it in the trunk.

Doris chuckled. “Mmhm. Y’all behave now. I got food to beat people with love this Sunday.”

“That’s a holy competition,” Stack said, tipping his chin at you.

You laughed, shook your head and slid into the driver’s seat while Doris said her goodbyes.

As you pulled off, you glanced in the rearview to see them still grinning and waving.

“You think they really troubled?” you asked.

Doris just said, “Baby, everybody troubled. Question is what are they doing with it?”

Back at home, the whole house buzzed like a beehive on sugar water.

Doris wasted no time putting everybody on assignment like it was the Last Supper and she was personally feeding Jesus and his disciples.

“Lenny!” she hollered from her recliner. “You head back to the city and get them fancy cutlery sets from the Dollar General the gold trim ones. Not the silver. Silver look cheap.”

Your dad sighed but grabbed his keys. “Yes ma’am…”

Your mama was already at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled, head tied, muttering ingredients like scripture.

“If I cut the onions now and leave the greens soaking overnight, we can be cookin’ by 2 a.m. sharp…”

Dawn was on the living room floor, wrangling Doris’s bob wig like it was trying to escape. “Granny, why it got so many pins in it?”

Doris peeked over her glasses. “That’s security, baby. That wig ain’t movin’ through praise and sweat.”

Dawn held it up to show you. “It’s been through war.”

You just laughed and kept bagging the groceries.

Then Dawn pulled out the aprons, fresh from her sewing machine, each with big bold letters on the front in gold glitter vinyl: Miss Doris Made It.

One for Granny. One for your mama. One for you. One for Dawn.

“Now we uniformed,” Doris said, nodding like this was an army.

Your job?

“Go pick up your Pops. And make sure he don’t stay out late talkin’ to them old fools.”

“Got it.”

Except… it didn’t go exactly like that.

You pulled up to the house and sure enough, there he was. Pops in a lawn chair with five other men, all in matching button downs and dad hats, drinks in hand, playing some version of dominoes meets poker you ain’t never seen before. They were yelling, laughing, slapping the table like kids who just got recess back.

You stepped up to him, hands on your hips. “Pops. Time to go.”

He looked up and smiled like he hadn’t heard a thing. “One more round.”

“Pops…”

“You can wait. Go sit in the car. We’ll be done soon.”

You narrowed your eyes but turned on your heel. “You better not be here past midnight or I’m tellin’ Granny you was out here drinkin’ ‘apple juice’.”

You slid into your car and leaned back with a sigh, phone in hand. You hit FaceTime and Dawn picked up immediately.

On screen, she was modeling Granny’s wig like it was couture.

“Girl,” you cackled, “why you look like you about to direct a funeral and star in the BET biopic about it?”

“Shut up,” she grinned, flipping the camera to show the apron. “But tell me this ain’t cute. Granny said she wanna debut it during offering.”

You were mid laugh when knock knock came soft on your window.

You screamed. Dawn screamed on FaceTime.

You turned.

And there he was.

Grinning like sin in sneakers Sammie, standing outside your car like he’d just strolled outta a dream and into your Friday night.

You unlocked the door with a sigh. “What in the left behind sequel are you doin’ here?”

He slid into the passenger seat smooth, settling in like he belonged there.

“You always this jumpy?” he asked, kicking his feet up just a little.

“You always sneakin’ up on girls like a villain in a Lifetime movie?”

He chuckled low, rubbing his palms together. “Nah. Only when they owe me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Owe you?”

“Mmhmm.” He leaned closer, eyes glintin’. “I still ain’t got my gas money kiss.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile gave you away. “You really gon’ keep bringin’ that up?”

He shrugged, relaxed and grinning. “If the Lord bring it to remembrance…”

You shook your head. “You play too much.”

“And you like it.”

Silence settled for a moment, soft and comfortable. The street was quiet, the cicadas hummin’, his cologne floating easy between you.

“You look real cute when you bossin’ folks around, by the way,” he added. “Saw you earlier, hand on your hip like a deacon’s wife.”

“You stalkin’ me now?”

“More like… admirin’ from afar.” His voice dropped a note lower. “A very appreciative afar.”

Your cheeks burned and you looked out the window, but you were smiling.

“Mmhm. You want a kiss that bad, Sammie?”

He bit his lip, leaned closer, voice warm as butter on cornbread. “I want whatever you feel like givin’ me.”

Right then, your phone buzzed again. Dawn still on FaceTime, mouth open and shooketh.

“I’m still here!!!” she whisper yelled. “I heard everything!”

Sammie just laughed and leaned back, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.

Sammie leaned back in the seat, arms crossed behind his head like he had nowhere to be but right there, teasing you into sin.

On FaceTime, Dawn was staring at him like she was seeing a ghost in sneakers.

He raised a brow and smirked at the screen. “Hey Dawn. Heard you got yourself on house arrest”

“…Hey.” She blinked. “Boy. Not me.”

“I heard Miss Doris said you got one more ‘practice’ lie in you before she drag you by the ear to confession.”

Dawn sucked her teeth. “It was one time.”

“One too many.” He chuckled. “I’m prayin’ for your freedom, though.”

“You do that,” she snapped, but even she was trying not to laugh.

You cleared your throat and hit the end button real quick. “Bye, Dawn.”

“Wait, wait, wa—” click.

You turned and Sammie was watching you with a look that made your stomach do a backflip.

“What?” you asked, trying to act casual.

“You jealous?” he grinned, voice dipping low and mischievous.

You arched your brows. “Boy, what?”

“Got rid of her real fast.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed. “She was bein’ loud. And rude.”

“Mmhmm.”

You shot him a look but he was already smirking again, turning the air into tension thick enough to cut.

It went quiet for a beat, but not awkward. Just slow, warm… charged.

“Can’t believe you still want that gas money kiss,” you murmured, shaking your head.

“Oh, I want it.” His voice was velvet. “But not ‘cause of the gas.”

“Oh?”

“I just like seein’ you flustered.”

“Flustered?” you scoffed, even as heat crept up your neck.

He leaned in, close enough to catch your breath.

“Yeah… right about now,” he murmured, and you realized he was only inches from your face.

Then his fingers gently touched your chin, tilting your head up not rough, not demanding. Just steady. Sure.

You blinked, breath hitching. He was so close now you could see the gold flecks in his eyes, the curve of that smug little smile.

You leaned in, just a little, barely.

And he grinned.

“Ain’t gon’ kiss you without consent,” he whispered, playful but sincere, voice dipped in reverence. “I’m still a man of God, baby.”

You froze, lips parted, caught somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

He pulled back like nothing happened.

“Be right back,” he said, already opening the door. “Gotta go fetch my uncle before y’all call search and rescue.”

And just like that he was gone, leaving the door swinging open behind him and your heart tap dancing like a gospel drummer.

You sat there in the driver’s seat, jaw dropped, breath stuck in your throat, heat creeping up your chest.

Man of God, huh?

Lord have mercy…

Taglist:

Modern Sinners AU! Preacher Boy / Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: Guys this is just a filler chapter so you all can know all characters the next chapters finna be🫦. My German ass needed 4 days for this😕💔 I’m working to be faster.

“Y/N, get yo’ ass in here!” Grandma hollered from the living room, already halfway standing, one hand gripped tight around Pops, the other waving like she could summon you through walls.

Dawn, still in her bonnet and fuzzy slippers, shuffled in like a sleepwalking soldier, posted up on the other side of Grandma and took her hand like it was routine.

“Where that girl at? I got a long shift ahead of me,” your Mama called out while wrestling the end of her scrub top, badge already clipped, shoes by the door.

“Don’t be hard on her, now. It’s her first time, baby,” your Daddy mumbled, voice low and easy like Sunday morning, sliding his fingers into hers as they stood side by side.

“I’m here,” you muttered, voice still thick with sleep and thoughts of Sammie lingering in the corners of your mind like smoke. Even though you try to push away any imagination that concludes him.

You stepped into the circle, palms up, heart open. The whole house held its breath as you all bowed heads and began to pray over the week, over your steps, over this brand new chapter that was just starting to bloom.

Amen passed through lips like breath and just like that, the morning was moving again your Mama grabbing her keys, Grandma fussin’ over Dawn’s hair and Pops humming an old hymn under his breath.

“C’mon, girl,” your daddy said, nodding his head toward the front door.

You followed him out, the sun shining above the trees, that early light catching the dust in the air like glitter. The ride was quiet, not awkward quiet just peaceful. His old-school Hip Hop playing low on the radio, windows cracked just enough to let the breeze sneak in.

“Got somethin’ for you,” he said as y’all pulled into the gravel lot behind his job. His truck kicked up little clouds of dirt that shimmered gold in the morning.

You raised an eyebrow, still halfway in a dream. “For me?”

He just smiled and nodded toward the back corner where an old but clean car sat shining like it was fresh out the womb. Paint new, tires black like they’d been dipped in ink, and a little bow taped crooked on the hood.

“Went ahead and fixed her up for you. Thought you might wanna drive yourself to the campus instead of waitin’ on me or your mama.”

You blinked. “Daddy…”

“Don’t cry now, you gon’ mess up your face,” he teased, but his eyes were warm, proud. “She ain’t new, but she solid. Just like you.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight like you were seven again, not nineteen and grown. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He patted your back with that daddypat that said I got you, always.

Meanwhile, back home, Dawn was curled up on the couch in Doris’s old bedspread, watching old reruns with Pops. She was still half asleep, letting Grandma braid her hair slowly into cornrows while the house exhaled the rest of the morning quiet.

And just like that, the week began.

The car still smelled like the lemon tree air freshener Lenny stuck in the vent, windows rolled down as you cruised down the two lane road. College campus coming into view like something out a brochure folks laughing, some running late with backpacks halfway falling off, others posted up with iced coffees and opinions.

You found parking easy, took a deep breath and grabbed your tote bag, head held high even though your stomach was doing flips. First day. First class. First real step toward the future you’d been praying on since tenth grade. Social Work 1100: Intro to Human Services. Room B208.

The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and somebody’s too strong cologne, but you found your seat near the window and tucked yourself into the corner.

That’s when he walked in dark skin, dreads shoulder length and a low fade with a clean line up. He wore a big tee, cargo pants, Airforces and carried a beat up notebook like it was sacred.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing to the desk beside you.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

He plopped down, sighed like he’d been holding his breath all morning and then turned to you with a quick, lopsided smile. “I’m Chris, by the way. Social work major God help me.”

You laughed, some of the tightness in your chest letting go. “Y/N. Same major. Same prayer.”

“Okay, I like you already,” he said, sliding his phone face down on the desk. “You look like you you don’t play. You say ‘no’ to people, don’t you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m working on it.”

“Aren’t we all,” he grinned. “I got a cousin who think I’m about to fix his baby mama drama just ’cause I took one psych class. I said, sir, I’m not licensed yet call your mama.”

You snorted, trying not to be too loud, but it was impossible around him. Chris had that magnetic energy.

By the time Professor Jenkins walked in, y’all had already traded numbers, cracked jokes about the textbook price and promised to be each other’s emergency class partner.

Monday rolled in smooth like butter on warm toast. You got through your classes, met Chris and even remembered to email that one professor back before midnight. Tuesday was light work just two classes and enough time in between to actually eat lunch and catch up on readings. You were getting the hang of this college rhythm.

By the time Wednesday came around, your head had switched gears. Afternoon sunlight poured into your room, golden and soft, and your calendar had one thing circled: youth choir practice.

You were fixing your hair in your bedroom mirror when Dawn poked her head in. She was already dressed like she had somewhere to be that wasn’t choir tight jeans, lip gloss poppin’ and a sly little smirk on her face.

“Hey,” she started, all casual, “can I use the car after you drove to practice?”

You turned, confused. “What you mean? I thought you was staying for choir?”

Dawn shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah… no. But Daddy still got my car jacked up and I just need it for like… an hour. Promise I’ll be back before it’s over.”

You eyed her, suspicious but tired of arguing. “You better be. And don’t scratch it Daddy just gave me this thing.”

“I ain’t stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her bag. “Thank youuu, sissss.”

The two of you slid into the car, the evening breeze dancing through the windows. You pulled up to the church, parked on the side lot and switched seats so she could slide behind the wheel. As you hopped out and shut the door, you didn’t even see the quick check she did in the rearview or the text she sent before pulling off to see whoever she wasn’t telling the Lord about.

You took a deep breath, walked up the church steps and opened the door expecting voices, laughter, maybe a choir member or two already warming up.

Instead, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

You stepped in and the soft hum of piano drifted from the sanctuary. There he was.

Samuel Moore.

Sammie sat at the baby grand, head tilted down and fingers gliding across the keys like the music was coming straight from his bloodstream. He hadn’t seen you yet or maybe he had and was just pretending not to.

You stood there for a second, heart thumping.

He finally looked up, slow and deliberate, mouth curving into that lazy, knowing smirk. “Look who showed up early.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “I thought practice started at five.”

He chuckled, not missing a beat. “It does. You just couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face burned anyway. “I came to sing, not flirt.”

“Mmhm,” he said, still playing. “You always wear that lip gloss to sing?”

You folded your arms, but your smile was giving you away. “You always come to practice alone just to be a menace?”

He let a final chord linger in the air, then stood, walking around the piano with a kind of slow, deliberate swagger that made your knees wobble a little.

“I came to get ready,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “But now you here… and suddenly I feel real inspired.”

You looked away, biting your lip just a little too hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said low, voice brushing against your neck like a prayer and a warning. “Do you know what that does to me?“

You laughed, stepping back before the air got too heavy.

“Boy,” you said, “go warm up your vocals or something.”

“I’d rather warm up with you,” he said, voice low and syrupy, like he was trying to melt into you right there between the piano chords and stained glass silence.

You gave him a look that should’ve been stern enough, warning, laced with a little holy fire but all he did was grin wider and take one slow step closer.

“Samuel…” you muttered, planting both hands against his chest, palms flat like a benediction, trying to put something, anything, between the two of you.

But space? Space wasn’t something Sammie knew and especially not when it came to you.

Before you could take another breath, he had you gently backed up against the pew. Not rough, not wild just firm enough to remind you that he was there. That he saw you. That he felt all of this, same as you.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, soft but full of warning, like he hated how your voice wrapped around his full name. Like it did something to him.

He took both of your hands in his, warm and calloused from Keyboard keys and old hymn books and he held them right in front of your chest. His thumbs brushed the back of your knuckles slow.

“You know I like it better when you say Sammie.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “You’re not supposed to be this close.”

He smiled again, leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t stand near a beautiful girl.”

“Ain’t no rule sayin’ I can’t swing my purse at you, either.”

That made him laugh quiet and deep, the kind that came from his belly and he leaned back just a little, still holding your hands.

“Fine Y/N,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll behave.”

“For now.”

And he let go, just like that.

But even as he turned away to sit back down at the piano, you still felt the echo of his hands on yours and you still heard the way he said your name like it was part prayer, part problem.

And you weren’t sure which one scared you more.

You were still catching your breath when the old wooden church doors creaked open, the clatter of shoes on tile snapping through the sanctuary like a clapback.

“Hey y’all,” Brittnay called, voice pitched and firm like she’d been born with a mic in hand and a clipboard in the other. Her natural hair was pulled up into a slick bun, edges laid like holy ground. Her eyes flicked over you quick, clipped and cool before landing on Sammie like they always did.

Malik, Terrence, Josh, Paul, Essence, Ruth and a couple other choir regulars spilled in behind her. Laughter and the soft glow of phone screens trailed them like perfume. A few nodded at you. Josh and Terrence? Yeah, they did the most.

“Hey now,” Terrence said, eyes roaming like he was reading scripture on your skin. “Didn’t know the choir was auditionin’ angels.”

You blinked once, slow. “You say that to every girl?”

Terrence let out a sharp laugh, quick and mean. Brittnay gave you the kind of side eye that could curdle communion wine. Sammie, of course, was watching from the piano, one brow lifted like he’d just found his favorite hymn.

Brittnay clapped her hands once. “Alright now, get in place.”

Voices shuffled, shoes scraped and you took your spot near the alto section. Brittnay handed you harmonies like a challenge, but you caught on easy your voice already seasoned by pews and potlucks and a mama who made you sing before you could speak.

Sammie’s hands graced the keys and Amazing Grace rose slow and sweet. His playing was deliberate, like he was coaxing the Spirit out of the strings. You let your voice fall in soft, steady. By the time y’all reached “was blind, but now I see,” even Brittnay had stopped frowning.

Redeemed followed louder, fuller. Ruth belted like she had something to prove. Malik clapped off-beat. Sammie added these bluesy runs between verses, just subtle enough that you noticed. When your voice met his melody, he smiled like he knew you would.

After the last stretch of “His child and forever I am,” Brittnay tapped her phone screen and the music stopped cold.

“I’ll drop the rehearsal vid in the group chat,” she said, already typing. “Y’all know the drill.”

Buzzes filled the room as messages came through. Choir folk grabbed bags and Bibles, hugging, joking, easing toward the door.

Terrence lingered, leaned in close. “You need a ride home or you straight?”

Before you could get your answer out, Sammie slid into the space like he’d been summoned.

“She good,” he said, dangling his keys like temptation. “I offered already.”

Terrence held up both hands. “Say less, preacher boy.”

Brittnay turned to you, smile taut. “Welcome to the choir.”

You gave her a tight nod. “Thanks.” But her voice held no warmth. Felt more like a warning than a welcome.

Some of the group still standing and talking while others went out, voices fading into the humid night air. You turned to Sammie.

“I actually got a ride,” you said, half a lie. “Dawn should be here any minute.”

You stepped out the doors, swinging your hips like you weren’t irritated as hell inside.

But the parking lot was empty. One car left.

Your phone was already in your hand, thumb moving fast.

You tapped the mic and held it close.

“Dawn Elise Whitaker. Where are you? More importantly where is my car? If I don’t hear from you in the next five minutes, I will summon Granny and you know she still got that wooden spoon from 2004. Call me back.”

“You always holler into your phone like that?”

You didn’t even need to turn. That voice? That lil smirk woven into every word? That was Sammie.

You spun around. “Dawn took my car to go God knows where, probably somewhere no Bible touches and now she’s ghostin’ me like a Pharisee in a leggings.”

Sammie laughed, deep and full, like it came from somewhere way down in his ribs.

“Well then,” he said, holding out the passenger door, “Let me be your chariot tonight, church girl.”

You looked up at the sky like maybe God would write no in the stars. But it stayed quiet and dark. And Sammie was already grinning like he knew you’d fold.

You sighed. “Alright.”

He opened the door, still with that look like he was always one second from saying something slick.

“You ready?”

You slid into the seat. “I guess.”

Sammie climbed in behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home before you start second guessin’ this blessing.”

He winked, turned the key, and the engine came alive deep and low, just like your nerves.

And with that, the two of you slipped into the Clarksdale night, your phone still silent in your lap, your heart beating a little too loud for a simple church girl.

The ride started quiet, windows cracked just enough to let in the cicada song and the last breath of sunset. Sammie tapped the wheel with two fingers, watching the road like it had answers he’d been praying on.

You sat with your arms folded, pretending to scroll on your phone but really just waiting for a text that still hadn’t come.

He glanced over, smirk playing soft at his lips.

“You always walk like that after choir practice?”

You looked up, brows furrowed. “Walk like what?”

He leaned back, hand resting at twelve on the wheel, voice a little lower than before. “Like you was floatin’. Swingin’ your hips like you ain’t know half them boys was ’bout to break they neck watchin’.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “I saw Terrence. Lookin’ at you like you was communion and he ain’t ate all week. And that whole ‘you need a ride’ line? Nah. He wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout cars.”

You side-eyed him. “You jealous?”

He didn’t answer right away, just let the engine hum and the night fold around the car like velvet. Then—

“Would it be wrong if I said yeah?”

That shut you up.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. The soft curve of his jaw, the gold chain catching a glint of streetlight, the way his hands gripped the wheel like it was a steering wheel and a prayer all at once.

He caught your stare and smiled. “You be lookin’ at me like that, church girl, I might crash this car on purpose.”

You snorted and turned away, heat rising in your cheeks. “You so full of yourself.”

“I’m full of a lotta things,” he said, voice dipping playful. “But mainly just thinkin’ ’bout you.”

Another silence passed, this one more weighted, like something holy and unspoken was sitting between you both.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite Bible story?”

You blinked. “Wait?! what?”

He shrugged. “I’m serious. You got a favorite? Don’t act like you ain’t grown up around the Word.”

You stared at him, thrown. “I mean… yeah. Ruth, probably.”

That made his smile falter just a little. He looked at you different then softer, like your answer unlocked a door he wasn’t ready to open yet.

“Ruth,” he repeated. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, gaze back on the road. “You loyal. You strong. Got that kind of beauty that don’t ask for attention but still gets it anyway.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before his phone lit up on the dash, screen flashing Brittnay and connecting automatically to the car’s Bluetooth.

Sammie groaned. “Damn.”

He hit the answer button and gave you a quick “Shhh,” finger pressed to his lips.

“Hey Brittnay.”

“Hey Sammie,” her voice came through the speakers sharp and sweet like sugar with lemon juice. “I meant to ask before you left can you get that girl’s number? The new one. Y/N?”

Your eyes widened. Sammie glanced at you, trying not to laugh.

“I wanna add her to the choir group chat,” Brittnay continued, tone going flatter now. “Since apparently she’s in now.”

You leaned closer to the speaker, lips twisted. Since apparently?

Sammie coughed into his fist. “Yeah, I’ll get it to you.”

“Mhm,” Brittnay said. “Well. Night.”

The line cut off, the silence loud.

You raised a brow. “She said that like she didn’t ask me to come and like I snuck in through the back door.”

Sammie chuckled. “That’s just Brittnay. She don’t like when new folks catch the spotlight without askin’ her first.”

“Well tell her I didn’t ask for it.”

“I won’t tell her anything,” he said, while the camera to a stop because of the red light. “You tell her next Sunday with that voice of yours.”

He met your gaze and didn’t look away.

“You really jealous?” you asked again, quieter this time.

His lips twitched. “I’m not used to sharin’ what I want.”

You bit your lip, heartbeat steady and loud in your ears. Before you could answer your phone lit up in your hand.

Dawn calling.

You were only ten minutes from home, the street signs startin’ to look familiar and the sky deepenin’ into that Southern blue black.

You picked up with a sharp inhale, ready to fuss.

Before you could get a word out, her voice came fast and panicked, like she’d been rehearsing it on the ride over.

“Wait don’t go inside yet! Please, Y/N, I need you to meet me at the old corner store. You know, the one near Mr. Lee’s barbershop? I’m pulling up now. I can’t go in alone Granny already think I’m halfway goin’ to hell.”

You sighed and looked at Sammie, who raised his brows at your expression.

“Dawn. Girl.”

“I know, I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, okay? Just help me out. I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

You held the phone away from your ear for a beat, then brought it back. “You better be there when I pull up.”

“I’m already here.”

She hung up before you could argue.

Sammie smirked. “That your Pharisee again?”

You gave him a look. “Yes that’s her.”

“Mhmm,” he said, flipping the turn signal like he already knew where to go. “She gon’ owe you for this one.”

As the car turned down the familiar road toward the corner store, he tapped the steering wheel. “Since I’m still playin’ chauffeur, you might as well gimme your number.”

You squinted. “Why?”

He grinned, leaning into that tease he wore like a second skin. “Well, one you gon’ need a ride again. And two Brittnay want it. Remember.”

“Right,” you said slowly, typing it into his phone when he handed it over. “Only for the choir.”

He looked at you sideways. “Unless you want me to use it for somethin’ else.”

You snatched your hand back, heat pricklin’ up your neck. “Drive the car, Samuel.”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, still smiling.

By the time y’all pulled up, Dawn was leaning against the side of the store, hoodie up, like she wasn’t out here actin’ a whole fool just thirty minutes ago.

She scurried over to your side, knocking on the window. “Unlock it!”

You did, barely rolling your eyes before stepping out.

She grabbed your hand quick. “Okay. We was at the church a little late, right? That’s what happened.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you muttered.

“I know,” she whispered back. “You the realest.”

Before y’all started walking, you turned back to Sammie, who hadn’t pulled off yet.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, voice softer now.

He leaned over the wheel, one arm draped lazy but his eyes locked with yours. “Anytime, Ruth.”

Your breath hitched just a little.

Dawn looked between the two of you, confused and amused. “Y’all flirting or quoting scripture?”

You elbowed her.

And Sammie? He just laughed, like he had all the time in the world to keep teasing you until you gave in.

By the time y’all reached the house, the porch light was still on and the living room window glowed warm behind the lace curtains. Inside, the air was still, thick with that kind of silence that don’t mean peace just waiting.

You and Dawn stepped through the front door like two kids fresh from trouble. Not even five seconds in and you froze, Pops was sittin’ in his favorite chair, Bible closed on the side table, glasses perched low on his nose. Doris sat straight on the couch, arms crossed, face carved in stone.

Both of them looking dead at y’all.

“Evenin’,” Pops said, slow.

You swallowed. “Evenin’, Pops.”

Dawn’s voice cracked a little. “Evenin’, Granny…”

Doris didn’t even blink. “Mmhm. Y’all smell like outside.”

You and Dawn exchanged a glance like that would help, but it only made you more suspicious.

“We were at practice,” you offered.

“Late, huh?” Doris cocked her head, still lookin’ at Dawn.

“Yeah,” Dawn said too quick. “Real late. The choir uh, we recorded stuff and, uh, Brittnay wanted to run a second round—”

“Baby,” Doris cut in smooth. “Don’t lie with your whole chest if your socks tell a different story. You done scuffed up your shoes runnin’ through gravel and your neck still got perfume from somebody else’s bathroom.”

Dawn blinked like she forgot how to use her mouth.

You coughed into your hand, stifling a laugh, but Doris turned to you next.

“You went to practice, Y/N?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Doris squinted, then sighed. “Alright. Go on. Get ready for sleep. Your mama gon’ want to hear how choir’s goin’ in the mornin’.”

“Goodnight.”

You booked it down the hall, still hearing Pops mumble, “You too grown to be actin’ so foolish,” as Dawn shuffled into her seat for the interrogation of the year.

By the time you shut your door, you went straight to the shower and got ready for bed.

Your bonnet was tied and your oversized tee hit just above the knees as you curled into bed, the hum of the ceiling fan lulling you into stillness. You had barely flipped your phone over when the screen lit up.

Unknown Number You make it home alright, church girl?

You smiled, thumb already flying before your brain could catch up.

You I made it. Barely. Dawn almost got me grounded at my big age.

Sammie. Coulda been worse. I coulda drove you straight into temptation.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin stretching wide across your face.

You You already did. Now I gotta pray twice before bed.

Three little dots danced before his reply dropped.

Sammie I like a girl who knows her way to the altar. But I also like a girl who pays her chauffeur. You got some gas money, miss ma’am?

You stared at the message, laughing into your pillow.

You I’ll cashapp you $5. That cover it?

His response came fast.

Sammie Mm. Nah. I don’t take cash.

You Then what you want?

Sammie A kiss. Just one. Payment in full.

Your breath caught a little. Fingers paused mid type. This boy had no business texting like this while you were tucked under your grandmother’s roof.

You You tryna go to hell, Samuel?

Sammie Only if you drivin’.

You threw your phone across the bed and squealed into your pillow, heart knockin’ around your chest like it was trying to break free.

You stared up at the ceiling for a long beat before whispering out loud to no one, “Lord… why he gotta be like this?”

Your phone buzzed again.

Sammie Sleep good, choir girl. Don’t forget to pray. Twice.

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