shetheabsolute

[shetheabsolute]

If it's an oc then get it the fuck out of the x reader tag

No one cares about your "reach" stop clogging tags & making it harder for people to find what they actually want. If we stumble onto your shit in the tag it won't make us wanna read it it'll make us want you and your shitty oc to die.

Hi! Idk who you are, but I'm going to make an example out of you!! ☺️🙏🏽

If anyone feels this way about anything that I write I'd like you to scroll and move on about your day. It's never been this serious to the point where you feel it necessary to send me a message like this when all I do is produce entertainment for people to enjoy. If you don't like it? Thats okay, love! Just don't bring it to my attention.

I don't tolerate anonymous people coming onto my account and bashing me through wishing me death. As of right now I'm going to turn off the anonymous messages. For the people who use it and aren't rude like this person, sorry to do this. You can still comment and repost though!

Lastly, to whoever this is I hope you have a blessed day and that you find yourself somebody to play with. Love you, mwah 💞

[shetheabsolute]

— Fruit for Thought

(Sinners, 2000s au)

Stack × Original character (Imaan Irie Miller)

Episode 2: Off balance

The door swung open with a loud chime as Grace and I stepped inside, the cool air from the store wrapping around us like a prayer.

I blinked, adjusting to the hum of the refrigerators and the smell of cleaning bleach and something sweet like air freshener, still stuck on what she just said.

“They back? Grace, you playin’ me right now?” I said, stepping over the welcome mat with my heart catching in my throat.

Grace pushed her long silky black hair off her shoulder and gave me that look—half-smirk, half-truth. “I’m serious, boo. Stack and Smoke’s Juke Joint. That’s what it’s gon’ be. Annie say Smoke paid her a lil visit the other night.”

We both froze for a beat, eyes catching. And then—

“Oh I know what visit mean,” I said, grinning wide. “Annie still got them weak knees.”

Grace burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “That woman could raise the dead with the way she do. You know.”

The front door jingled again as Bo came out from the back, holding a clipboard and looking about half-interested in the world around him.

“Imaan,” he greeted with a lazy smile, waving me over as he stepped outside behind a group of teenage boys hauling the crates from my truck bed.

He pointed a finger at one of them—tall, lanky boy with his jeans too low and confidence too high.

“But—aye! Keon!” Bo barked. The boy froze mid-lift. “Don’t none of y’all be tryin’ no funny stuff with my daughter. I know how you get. And don't forget I know y' mama.”

The other boys howled laughing while Keon just rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried ‘bout Lisa, man.”

Bo gave him the look.

“Go on now,” he grunted, jerking his chin toward the crates.

Grace laughed under her breath, swatting Bo’s arm as he came back in.

“Leave them boys alone,” she teased. “Lisa got it handled.”

Bo grinned and pulled her close by the waist, kissing her like other people weren't around. “Mmhmm. And I got you handled.”

“Boy, go somewhere,” Grace murmured, flustered, before turning to me. “He act up all the damn time.”

Bo slapped his hand over his chest. “Now that hurts. Now, Imaan, don’t worry, I’ll pay you good like always. You just keep bringin’ me the best mangoes in the state.”

“Best in the whole South, you mean,” I said with a wink.

Bo headed toward the back again, clipboard in hand, while Grace slipped behind the front counter. I followed without thinking, like I’d done a thousand times, perching myself behind the glass barrier where the peach rings and dried plums lived. My feet swung a little, bare calves brushing the cool metal as Grace flipped through an old issue of Vibe magazine.

I watched the way her eyes scanned the page slow, but I knew her thoughts were still stuck where mine were.

I lingered before asking, “...and you sure Annie said they both back?”

Grace didn’t look up right away. She flipped a page, then nodded slow.

“She said she saw Smoke first. Said he walked in like he ain’t aged a day, talkin’ slick like always, askin’ if her number was still the same.” Grace smirked. “And then she said Stack came in later. Real quiet. Looked a lil tired, but chu know, still him.”

I swallowed something dry in the back of my throat. My fingers traced over the glass counter without lookin’.

“She say anything else?” I asked, voice soft.

Grace tilted her head, finally lookin’ at me. “Just that he was lookin’ for a spot. Said he wanted to ‘build sumn familiar.’ She ain’t know if that meant the Juke Joint idea or…”

“Or me,” I finished for her, eyes unfocused. The word sat heavy in my mouth.

Grace didn’t say nothing for a moment. Just hummed and nodded slow.

“Could be both.”

I leaned back, letting my body rest against the wall behind me. My eyes drifted toward the front window where the kids were still hangin’ around, laughin' and pushin' each other near the truck. But my mind… was somewhere else.

Back on that couch. Back on his mouth, brushing over mine like a secret.

Back on those damn dog tags sitting in the box under my bed.

Grace tossed the magazine onto the counter and leaned her elbow on it, watching me, eyes glinting with mischief. I could tell she was already ready to clown me.

“You gon’ go see him?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. Not yet.

I just stared at the sunlight spilling through the front window, warm and golden and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know if I’m gon’ go see him,” I said, leaning down to adjust the strap of my sandal. “Not if him still messing wit’ the pale lady.”

Grace let out a loud laugh and gently pushed at my thigh with the back of her hand. “Who? Mary? Girl, you a trip. Easy, easy—you know that girl family.”

“To y’all,” I said with a pointed look, twirling my finger in a slow circle. “I do not conversate with her. She still think I was tryin’ to—on quote—steal her man. I mean, wasn’t she married to some white dude at that time?”

“Mhmm,” Grace hummed as she reached below the counter, grabbed a pack of peach rings, and tore it open easily. “But, girl, you know she divorced him. Got his money too.”

My brows lifted. “Really?” I reached over and plucked one of the peach rings from the bag, slow and casual.

“Yup.” Grace nodded like she’d just delivered gospel. “She livin’ up in them big neighborhoods now. Behind the gates. She come through downtown like twice a week. I’m surprised you two ain’t ran into one another.”

“I don’t want to,” I said flatly, chewing slow. “She’s so petty. Act like Stack and me was in a relationship. She catch herself havin’ beef with me. But I don’t beef. I will taze that woman.”

Grace nearly choked, laughing. “Girl hush!”

Just then, the back door creaked open and Bo stepped in with a little notepad in hand, head tilted halfway like always.

“I got my half of the load,” he said, waving the pad. “So I’mma go ahead and write you up a check. You good with that?”

“Yes, Bo,” I said softly, slipping down from the counter to follow him over to the register. “You always treat me right.”

Bo smiled, his hands already scribbling down numbers in his tight, neat handwriting. “You know we appreciate you, Imaan. Ain’t nobody else bring fruit like you do. These mangoes? Got folks thinkin’ we got a tree out back.”

I chuckled, leaning against the counter beside him. “Das love, Bo. Thank you.”

“You got it,” he said, tearing off the check and handing it over. “Give Annie my love when you see her.”

“I will.” I tucked the check in my purse. “Tell Lisa I said bye.”

Grace waved from the counter. “Bye, sugar. Don’t taze nobody!”

“Can't make no promises,” I teased.

The sunlight hit me hot and bright when I stepped back outside. I rounded the corner to the back lot and spotted Keon leaning up on my truck like he paid the note, talking to Lisa with a little too much smile in his face. I slowed my step just enough to watch him hold her hand—Lisa giggling, bashful, twisting one of her strands.

“Oooo...” I called out, smirking as I approached. “Y’all betta hope Bo don’t catch this.”

They jumped back like they got caught stealing. Lisa turned beet red. Keon just laughed nervously, scratching his head.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Miss Imaan. Don't tell daddy,” she said, all innocence.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, pulling open my driver door. “I didn’t see this, for now. Yall take care! And keep yall hands to y' selfs.”

I climbed into the front, the engine coughing once before roaring alive. I cracked the windows back down and began to back out the lot. I hit the main road, the city slowly peeled open more. Pasting faded murals and tall buildings as my mind starts to drift back to Grace’s words.

Stack was back, and with him I just knew the balance I had gained for myself over the years was about to be knocked off its rocks.

masterlist

[shetheabsolute]

— Fruit for Thought

(Sinners, 2000s au)

Stack × Original character (Imaan Irie Miller)

Episode 1 - Ain’t love or Happiness (next)

A week before Stack left for Chicago

Love and happiness...

Make you wanna do right, love’ll make you do wrong…

Al Green floated lazy through my speakers as I swayed barefoot on the cool tiles of my kitchen floor, humming right along with him. The windows were cracked open just enough to let in that slow breeze, thick with something coming. I could feel it.

I moved in rhythm with the song, hips rolling softly beneath my boy shorts, the tee I wore tickles my back as I stirred the pork stew on the stove. A thing of fruits were ripening in a wooden bowl on the counter. The whole house smelled like warmth and me.

That’s when the knock came.

I paused mid-sway, wooden spoon still in hand. Nobody came out this far unless they meant to. I turned the stove down low, wiped my hands on a dishtowel, and walked toward the front door.

When I opened it, there he was—Stack. He was leaning against the doorframe like he was holding up the night, his hands buried in the pockets of his lose jeans, his face clouded in something I couldn't read.

We just stared at each other for a minute. Me with one arm across my chest, the other holding the edge of the door. Him standing there looking like whatever he had to say was stuck at the back of his throat.

I grinned, just a little, and tilted my head. “What bring you way out here, hm? Mary not answerin’ your calls tonight?”

That made him look down for a second, the outline of his tongue pressed to his cheek like he was chewing on something bitter.

“I want you,” he said quietly, eyes flicking back up to mine. “Not her.”

My smile faded into something else. Something softer but no less sharp. I turned my back on the door and walked back inside.

“Close the door behind you. Leave your shoes at the mat.”

I heard the creak of the wood as he stepped inside, the thump of his boots coming off.

“Was just makin’ myself some dinner,” I murmured over my shoulder, checking my pot on the stove. “You hungry?”

He stepped into the kitchen slowly, hands still in his pockets.

“Nah... I just wanted to sit with you. Talk to you.”

That was strange. Stack didn’t do talk. Not real talk, anyway.

I glanced at him, then turned off the stove entirely. Walked to the living room, curled up on one side of my worn velvet couch. He followed, sat close—closer than usual.

I leaned into him slow, deliberate. Rested my cheek against the thick part of his shoulder. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... charged.

“You okay?” I asked softly, voice low. “You actin’ different.”

He took a minute to answer, breathing in deep, his chest rising and falling under me.

“I know we got a kinda odd thing goin',” he started, words steady but rough like they hurt to get out. “But I... I appreciate chu, Mani. More than I ever say.”

My brows pulled together as I pulled back to look at him. There was a slight tremble in his hands as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his dog tags—cold metal catching the lamp light. He took my hand and placed them in my palm like they were something sacred.

He just smiled, small and sad, and didn’t explain. But he didn't have to say anything. I felt like something between us had already happened. Like we were drifting.

“Hold on to these for me.”

I shook my head, heart knocking a little faster now. “Nuh uh. Why you... why you givin’ me these? Stack, I can’t—”

My words cut short when he leaned in, slow, and pressed his lips to the side of mine. Not quite a kiss. He sort of hovered there before moving to peck my cheek. It was gentle, like he didn’t wanna disturb the moment too much. Like he wanted to leave just enough of himself behind without asking for more.

My breath caught in my throat.

And just like that, I knew. He was saying goodbye without saying a damn word.

|●●●

That was the last day I saw Stack.

He kissed the side of my lips like he knew he was leaving for good, and couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. I wasn’t any better. I couldn't bring myself to ask the question. The silence between us was heavy that night with what-ifs, and I guess we both let it be.

After that night, he disappeared.

No phone call. No letter. No more him carrying crates up my porch when I got tired. He was just... gone.

Smoke went with him. People said they left for Chicago to chase bigger money, bigger mess.

I stayed right where I was. Still waiting for that goodbye I never got.

The engine of my old mango truck grumbled beneath me as I rumbled down Highway 39, a thin stretch of sun-baked road cutting through the countryside like a scar. The bed of the truck was stacked with crates of fresh mangoes, swaddled in newspaper and burlap to keep 'em safe from bruises.

Love and Happiness crackled through my speakers again. Same song. Same voice. Same ache.

My stomach turned like bad fruit, and I reached out to turn the dial down with a quickness.

“Mm-mm. Not t'day, Al,” I mumbled.

The trees thinned out as the two-lane road began to widen, gravel giving way to pavement. The country rolled into the edges of town—beat-up mailboxes, patchy lawns, little houses with laundry lines out back. The kind of place where everybody know your business before you even open your mouth.

I turned down Maple Avenue, easing past a row of homes where the sidewalks stayed chalky with kids' drawings. I barely made it past the first stop sign before I heard them.

Three kids that always ran after my truck. Two boys and a adorable girl that tagged along with them. Think the boys were brothers, they looked just alike except one was taller than the other; the girl had lemonade braids and colorful beads in her head that I could hear swinging as they ran.

Swear, I could always hear them beads a mile away.

Out my side view mirror I could see the youngest boy pointing and shouting loud. “LOOK, Y’ALL! MANGO TRUCK!”

“MISS IMAAAN!! HIIII!!” Gigggled the little girl.

“Can we stop by yo house still to buy snacks!?” The oldest asked, tapping on the side of the metal truck. Mangoes painted on either side.

I couldn’t help but laugh, wide and warm.

“Yeah. And y’all betta bring money this time!” I called through the open window, giggling as their little feet slapped against the concrete, chasing me a few yards before turning back around.

I rolled on, easing through short downtown traffic, my truck hiccuping every time I tapped the brakes. I grumbled, smacking the wheel gently. “These niggas drivin’ like they got no place to be.”

That’s when I heard it—hammering in the distance and heavy machinery, wood being tossed around. Construction. I looked to my left and squinted. Something was goin’ up on the corner lot, right across from the smoke shop and two doors down from Annie’s old soul food spot.

The building looked like a club or bar—barn-style, painted a fresh black, with the bones of a stage bein’ lifted inside. Red neon sign still covered up with tarp.

Wondered what that's gonna be, I thought.

But I had mangoes to deliver and shit to do.

Bo Chow’s store sat on the corner like it always had. Half-high end convenience store, half-hangout spot, and the only place in town you could get fresh fruit and takeout at the same time. I pulled around the back and parked in my usual spot, dust cloud puffin' up behind me.

Lisa was sittin' on a crate, legs crossed, her eyes glued to her little red Nintendo. The buttons clicked under her fingers like gunfire. Grace was nearby, hauling a bag of trash out with a sigh heavy enough to lift dust.

“Ooo, it’s hot,” Grace said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Uh-oh, look what the cat dragged in.”

I stepped out the truck with a smirk. “Mmm-hm, brought the goods, girl.”

Grace laughed and opened her arms for a quick hug. I pulled her in, our sweat sticking for half a second before we parted.

“Hey Lisa,” I called.

Lisa didn’t look up. “Hi Miss Imaan.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Lisa-Chow! Get up off that game and start takin’ these crates inside. Go tell your daddy the mangoes here.”

Lisa groaned but obeyed, muttering under her breath as she shuffled past me.

Grace and I leaned against the truck, the sun kissing our skin.

“Girrrrrl,” she started with a glint in her eye, “don’t laugh, but… I think I got a crush on Nelly.”

I blinked. “Nelly? Like… rapper Nelly?”

She nodded, all sheepish.

“Nelly Nelly? ‘Hot in Herre’ Nelly?” I said, giggling now. “I didn’t think he was yuh cup of tea.”

Grace shrugged, fanning herself with her hand. “He got that lil Band-Aid, the grills… I dunno. Sumn about him just get me going.”

I was still laughing when I said, “Grace, how do you go from Bo.. to Nelly.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Whatever. He cute. So is my man. I can have range.”

I shook my head, still grinning. “Anyways—on my way here, I saw somethin’ new goin’ up near Annie's spot. You know what that is?”

Grace’s whole face shifted. She sucked her teeth and put a hand on her hip.

“Ooh, honey… you gon’ wanna sit down before I tell you what it is… and who it’s owned by.”

My smile faltered. “Grace…”

She winced. “It’s Stack and his brother. Apparently they back in town.”

I didn’t say nothing right away. Grace just looked at me, eyes soft with sympathy.

The weight of his name sat right in the middle of my chest. Like something hot and heavy I wasn’t ready to hold again.

masterlist

[shetheabsolute]

— Fruit for thought

(Sinners, 2000s era au)

Stack × Original character (Imaan Irie Miller)

Pilot, "Flashback to us" (next)

Seven Years Ago

Imaan’s living room glowed warm like late afternoon honey. A floor lamp draped in orange scarf fabric cast little swirls of color onto the walls. The whole place smelled like patchouli and something sweet simmering from the kitchen. The stereo in the corner hummed low with a scratched-up Lauryn Hill CD, track five: "I Used to Love Him."

Stack was posted up on her couch, one arm lazily draped across the back, legs stretched out like he paid rent there. He didn’t. But he looked too at home. That was his thing—always lookin’ like he belonged even where he didn’t.

Imaan sat near him, cross-legged on the floor, braiding her hair in the mirror propped on the coffee table and laughing at something he said—real soft, one of those breathy, mmm-you-a-fool laughs. She was only one braid in, an oversized tee with the collar slipping off her shoulder, and her shorts had hiked up way past her thighs, not that she cared. Her house, her heat, her rules. Stack? He was watching her with everything she did it.

“Mani,” he lingered, voice just above the music, “if I knew you had all this peace out here, I woulda stopped messin’ with them city girls a long time ago.”

She paused to glance over at him. “I don't like my peace being followed by chaos, Stack.”

"Oh, word? Okay then. Be liked that," He smiled, eyes lazy with that flirtation he always carried like a second skin. “You ever think ‘bout movin’ back to Jamaica?”

“Mm, I dunno,” she mused, fingers twisting. “Only when Mississippi start feeling like it don’ want me here.”

“..I want you here,” he almost cooed the words out. Made Imaan’s insides churn just the way she loved.

She turned away to hide her grin. “You want everything that got a heartbeat.”

“Damn that was cold,” he said, pressing his hand to chest dramatically. “And, that ain’t true.”

“Oh it ain't?” she teased, standing now, walking over slow with the braid half-done, end flying out wild. “You mean tell me you don’ still got Mary tucked way in your back pocket?”

Stack leaned forward, grinning. “Why you steady bringin’ up old stuff?”

“Boy, you know damn well that ain’t old,” she said, slipping between his legs to stand over him, “especially if it’s still in rotation.”

He looked up at her, that dimple pressing deep into his cheek. “You jealous?”

“No,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I’m territorial with my peace, not my options.”

He laughed, his head shaking. “Why you always gotta have a mouth?”

“Cause you always come through my house playing.”

The song switched to “Ex-Factor.” Her hips circle a little with the intro. Slow and teasing without her meaning to do it. That bass always did something to her. Maybe he noticed. Probably did becasue before she knew it his hands ghosted up to her waist, fingers curling against her skin. And she didn’t stop him.

“Imaan,” he called, voice dipped in something sticky. Like he didn’t already have her attention.

She looked down at him, face unreadable. He slowly moved to pull her in closer—like he didn’t want to scare the feeling away if it was real this time. His breath brushed against her mouth and her lips parted, just slightly. One more inch and he woulda tasted h—

A hand raises, single finger pressed to his lips, stopping him right there in his tracks.

“You still messin’ with that white girl?”

Stack blinked, caught off guard. “You know, she not really whi—”

“Whatever she is,” Imaan interrupted, tilting her head down, eyes locked onto his, “if she still on your hip...”

She leaned in, lips so close he could taste the candy on her breath.

“…then you ain’t gettin’ none…”

Her finger slid from his lips down to the underside of his chin, shifting his head up. Then she paused, mouth resting over his, breath warm against him.

“…of this.”

And just like that, she pulled away, smooth and sure, shifting to sit back down on the floor like she didn’t just leave him breathless.

“You messed up for that,” Stack groaned and fell back onto the cushions, dragging a hand down his face.

She smirked over her shoulder. “Told you ion do second.”

【Present Day】

Folks call her Bag Lady.

Not outta spite or mockery—no. It was just how things worked round here. If you lived far off the gravel roads and came to town dressed like Erykah Badu meets thrifted Dior, carrying a red fishnet bag stuffed with poem books, personal grown fruit, and a single carved wooden pipe? You got a name. Became a story.

But Imaan never minded.

The south had a lot brewing in it. It had home written in its air, soul, people–new and old, it had culture. It is the culture. It might not have looked like much to outsiders, especially in the new millennium. Just a stretch of open sky, faded paint on wood porches, and dust that clung to shoes like secrets. But to Imaan, Mississippi had become her quiet place. Her new beginning. Even if it never stopped whispering about her.

She moved to the States from Mandeville, Jamaica when she was eighteen—alone, carrying little but a suitcase, her mother’s anklet, and a purse slung low over her shoulder. That was when people around town started calling her bag lady, half-joking, half-afraid. She didn’t bother correcting them either. She liked to let people talk.

Imaan lived by herself on the countryside. A pretty but worn two-story, off-white house with metal gates surrounding the border and a funny sign on the entrance that let people know she wasn’t someone to be scare of. Wild grass wrapped around the porch, and wind chimes she made from colored glass bottles and metal spoons danced on her window ledge. Imaan kept to herself. Smoked her weed in the morning with tea, read romance paperbacks with dog-eared pages, and grew fruit to sale. Her eyes were soft brown, framed by lashes too perfect to fake, and her skin glowed with the kind of care that comes from loving yourself in private.

Back in the day, there use to be Stack.

They talked sometimes. Not often, but enough to linger in each other’s memory. She liked that he didn't always try to impress her. Sometimes he’d catch her outside while she was watering her herbs or walking back from Bo Chow’s store with her fishnet bag heavy with meat or soap.

He’d lean up on her porch rail, shirt clinging to his sweat, and say something like, "You always smell like sumn sweet, Mani." Or "let me buy you a drink tonight." He was slick that way.

She never let him touch her for too long, though. They may have had their silences, their glances, but she wouldn’t cross that line—not when she knew he had Mary, even if no one else knew for sure. Imaan wasn’t about to play second fiddle to nobody.

So when the twins dipped for Chicago, she knew he wasn’t gonna say goodbye. No letter. No call. Just gone. But still Imaan stood on her porch for a while the next morning, watching the empty road like it owed her something.

Then seven years passed.

People forgot how close Imaan and Stack might’ve been. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Imaan stayed quiet, laid back, kept to her routines like clockwork. But some day's, when she was alone, she still thought about him. Wondered if he was okay. If he still thought about her the way she did him.

She hated that she cared so much. Cared about everything with her heart, not her head. It was cruel when she felt that way about the man who had left her high and dry. Life was fucking cruel.

But that was just how things went. Win some, lose some.

masterlist

[shetheabsolute]

— Fruit for thought

(Sinners, 2000s ERA AU)

Stack × Original character (Imaan Irie Miller)

Summary:

↪ Imaan, the Bag lady, a quiet mango farmer and a soft-spoken island girl with secrets in her garden—he was the local heartbreaker with slick talk, smooth hands, and a girl on his hip he never let go of, not even for Imaan. Back when Stack was still sneakin' around with Mary, he and Imaan would always sit too close, share one too many longing looks, and flirt one too many times through their small talk.

Then, one day, he just up and left with his brother for Chicago without a word, and she let the silence grow roots. Seven years later, he's back with plans for a juke joint and eyes only for her. Old tension simmers, but Imaan? She’s not the same soft thing he left behind. Still, when old tension meets moonshine and slow songs, even time might have to hold its breath.

SOUNDTRACK, to sound check (2000s ver.) ⤵

Just Friends (Sunny) ↔ Musiq Soulchild

Halfcrazy ↔ Musiq Soulchild

Brown sugar ↔ D'Angelo

Lake By the Ocean ↔ Maxwell

Next lifetime ↔ Erykah Badu

Say Yes ↔ Floetry

Charlene ↔ Anthony Hamilton

Nothing Even Matters ↔ Ms. Lauryn Hill, D'Angelo

A Long Walk ↔ Jill Scott

Ms. Jackson ↔ Outcast

Heard It All Before ↔ Sunshine Anderson

More Than A Woman ↔ Aaliyah

(One exception) : Love & Happiness ↔ AI Green

next

masterlist

[shetheabsolute]

Surprise shawtayyyyyyy 😝 we have a new story! Welcome in: "Fruit for Thought" a Stack × Original character ver.

This story takes place in the 2000s time period! Sit back, enjoy, and let me work my magic ☝🏽😫

Find story here ☆

[shetheabsolute]

Would yall give the Quincy McCall idea a try? It's basically a recreation of the story "Love & Basketball" with an OC in replace of Monica. I'll let you know now that my OC, Avaiah (uh-vay-uh) Hassan, is a Somali and African-american woman who is into more things artsy rather than sports, so her point of view won't be centered around sports like Quincy’s will be.

I'll still update the Sinners masterlist religiously!!! I swear the stories on there will get done as well. I just wanted to branch out y'know? Give yall a lil sumn different.

Plus, I loveeee and adore "Love & Basketball." It's alwas been a favorite of mines to watch, if you haven't seen it I highly recommend it. Even though it's a toxic love story (which, ladies & others, we do not condone this kind of love irl) its still a good movie, and in my opinion a reimagined version of it is top ten best ideas teenage me had. I've also had this in drafts since I was sixteen but that's obviously not importanttttt

If you guys are interested in what you read down below please like it and comment weather you're interested in reading more of it. If you do not enjoy what you're about to be teased by then I guess just be that person and go on about your day.

Now without further ado, here's a sneak peak into.....

Love , Passion , and Pain

↪ Quincy Mccall - Love & basketball reimagined

A teaser

“ ........... he looked right at her.

“So that’s what you be hidin’ under them cardigans and incense, huh?”

Avaiah tilted her head. “You was watchin’ me?”

He smirked. “Everybody in that living room was watchin’ you. Difference is, I ain’t pretend I wasn’t.”

Alani sipped her drink, unimpressed. “Maya made me do it.”

“Oh, so, Maya made you do it like that? Huh?”

She chuckled and looked away. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’ nothin’. I’m just sayin’…” He stepped a little closer, voice dipping low. “You move like you got somethin’ to say.”

She raised an eyebrow, but her lips curled just slightly. “And—what? Lemme guess.. you tryna get back on good terms with me now?”

“Nah, I mean. Maybe. We fell off, but..” he began, his voice smooth like honey. “I’m tryna get back to A and Q. Wanna know why you been actin’ like we from two different planets when you been speakin’ my language this whole time.”

Avaiah paused to glance up at him, eyes narrowed. “I hope you not flirtin’ with me..”

Quincy smiled, cocky and warm. “A lil bit.”

She took another sip of her drink, slow. “Well, Q,” she huffed, “just so you know… my language got a lotta grammar rules. You might not be fluent.”

“That ain't never been a issues. I’m a fast learner,” he said, round eyes not leaving her frame. “Especially when I wanna understand.”

Their eyes locked.

And for the first time since they were kids—back when playing tag in the front yard was the closest they ever got to each other—they stood still, face to face, grown and full of unspoken things. ........... ”

[shetheabsolute]

The Welcome Basket to Sin

(Part V – "First Touches") (next - coming soon)

Temperance’s hand was warm.

So warm Mary swore she could feel that touch through in bone. The way her fingers wrapped around her milky thigh, not rough, but intentional. Like she had been patient since the days they met.

Mary’s breath came out shaky. Her legs parted the slightest bit—barely a shift of muscle—but it was enough. Enough to tell that Mary had been wanting to be touched. Enough for Temperance to notice.

Temperance's fngers slid upward a few inches, tracing the inside of Mary’s thigh through the soft cotton of her dress. Her hand moving to feel that Mary’s skin was hot—burning. Her whole body drawn tight as she gripped the edge of the couch with one hand, her other curling into her own thigh, grounding herself.

“Breathe,” Temperance murmured as she leaned in closer. Her breath brushing Mary’s ear . “..and don't be quiet.”

Her fingers scaled higher, brushing the edge of Mary's damp underwear where she was soaking. Her fingers paused there, unmoving. Letting the pressure build and build, until Mary had to close her eyes just to keep from falling apart.

Her tea was long forgotten. Her fear was long gone. Now, all that mattered was this. Temperance’s other hand rose, gently grazing Mary’s jaw. She tilted her face up so that their eyes locked and thier mouths ghosted over each other.

After a moment her fingers dipped until they found the slick waiting that caused Mary to twitch. Her middle finger easily brushes past Mary's folds, rolling over her clit with practiced ease.

Mary choked on a moan and Temperance’s lips pull her into a measured kiss then. It was slow and deep, claiming Mary like a perfect suffocating hug. Like she was taking a piece of Mary’s soul into her mouth and savoring it. This was the first bite of something she’d waited her whole life to taste.

And Mary—Mary couldn’t think.

Her hips bucked. Her pussy throbbing around Temperance’s fingers as they moved with a new rhythm.

The couch creaked beneath them as Temperance shifted, guiding Mary gently to lay back. She broke the kiss and retracted her hand to tug Mary’s panties down. She hastily lifted her hips, then her legs until the material was thrown thoughtlessly across the room.

Mary sprawled out breathlessly, a leg over the couch back and the other resting on the cushion. Temperance made home in the opening in the blink of an eye—her head nestled there comfortably. The music still hung low on the gramophone. Soft, distant blues winding around them like a prayer.

The look in her eyes was heavy lidded, like Mary was the only thing in the world worth studying. Rolling the other's dress further over her stomach with eyes admiring every ounce of skin revealed to her, resting just below her breasts.

“You alright?” Temperance asked, voice thick as honey.

Mary nodded.

She only raised an eyebrow. “C'mon. Use your words for me, Mary.”

“I’m alright,” Mary said, clearly running out of breath. “I just—you really wanna do this? I mean, you don't gotta."

Temperance licked her lips, her eyes not once breaking eye contact with Mary’s pussy. “Naw baby. I ain’t tasted a woman inna minute.. just keep still.”

Them words and her gaze blew the wind right out of Mary’s lungs. Her middle visibly throbbed that of a heart beat. The sight had Temperance’s ego flaring the longer she looked at it. Her mound wasn't fully bear but the hair was cut like Mary had been intending the night to end this way. Her folds were a shade of dark pink, glistening wet. Blooming like pink glass.

“Quit starin',” said Mary restlessly, her glossy gaze glued on Temperance. She sat up on her elbows now. Her hands balled into fists like every beat of her heart was starting to stir harder between her legs. “Don't tease me right now. I don't wanna be—”

“I’m not teasing,” Temperance’s raspy voice cut Mary's rant short. Hooking a arm under one of Mary's legs, she glides her fingers over her pussy, digits spreading the slick around in lazily circles. She moved so sure of herself Mary was certain she had done this a thousand times before.

She'd wondered what lucky skanks had gotten this kind of treatment from Temperance before herself, but her jealous thoughts were cut short when a quick ptew sound pierces the veil of new sexual highlights for Mary.

Her eyes shot wide like she'd seen a ghost and a gasp so loud, so air consuming, echoes from her throat that it leaves her parched. Temperance’s spit seeped down the valley of her folds and disappeared inside her.

For a few moments she was still as if she couldn't believe her eyes—or that dripping sensation she felt that wasn't her own—truth be told she hadn’t been comprehending much of anything this entire time. It had thrown Mary for a loop. Not because she had never had something raunchy happen to her. She had her fair share of horny nights. There was awe because it was a woman spitting on her and not a man.

That was the first time that night when Mary was forced to truly lay there and realize it. She had a woman between her thighs. Not Stack or some drunk. A eager lady. By the time Mary caught her breath again Temperance had the end of her tongue flickering back and forth over her swollen clit.

A string of short moans jumble out of Mary all at once, bouncing off the wall's of the shack and echoing along to the outside world. Had Temperance lived in town everybody and they mama would have known how desperate Mary could get. That thought alone, of somebody hearing her, even with them out so far in the swamp, had her bottom lip catching tight between her teeth.

Temperance made a grunting noise of irritation into Mary as if to say 'uh uh.' With one last stimulating lick her head pulls back and Mary's glass look turned to stone in seconds.

“Why you stop? You had, it keep going,” she nearly snarled over her words. She didn't mean to sound as hostile as she did, but it had been too long since she had some good head and she hated for it to stop.

“Wanna hear you. Ain't nobody here but me, baby,” she whispered pressing a wet kiss to the crease where Mary’s thigh and hip met, her mouth sticky. Then a peck to her clit made Mary’s hips buckle forward.

“You want more?”

Mary nodded, hips rolling.

But Temperance’s voice stayed soft and steady, like she was walking Mary through a storm. “Say it.”

“I want some more,” Mary breathed. “Please.”

Temperance’s hand dipped between her legs, fingers sliding through her folds, slow and tender. Mary’s hips bucked once more.

“That’s it,” Temperance murmured. “Let it move through you.”

Her arm still hooked, she laid her palm flat on Mary's stomach, holding her steady. “Look at me, beautiful,” she said.

Mary looked.

“I got you,” Temperance told her. “Know you probably been holdin’ yourself together for so long. You ain’t gotta do that with me.”

Mary moaned—low and helpless.

Her head dropped back onto the armrest, mouth open, thighs shaking. Temperance knew how to talk, that was for damn sure. Everything about her words was too sincere, too knowing. Like eating pussy was second nature for her. Things felt like they were getting deeper than just actions.

“Think you gone be able to tell me where you want my mouth?” Temperance asked, her drawl a tease. She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it force its way out of Mary.

“Eat it-” she babbled, “keep eating my pussy, Temperance. Taste it.”

There we go, Temperance thought with a smirk. She was breaking her. Finally. Them confident eyes were starting to roll back. She had Mary out of it. Slippery tongue flat and slowly slurping from entrance to bud until her hips began a continuous rut into the other's mouth.

Temperance just let Mary find her way. Let her gain the rhythm she liked on her own then matched it with a few fast then slow flicks to edge her orgasm. It went on this way until Temperance’s jaw ached, her mouth drooling, and Mary was digging her nails into the undersides of her own thighs.

Some time along the way Mary found herself with her legs tossed up in the air and her eyes so low they nearly looked crossed. She was fucked out, and hadn’t even gotten to the main course yet.

When she felt that familiar feeling of a tongue dipping inside her entrance, she sobbed softly. A little whimper and a tear rolling down her cheek let her know Temperance had the kind of good that made a woman crave it everday. She never cried during sex—not ever. This was something else.

“Mmhm mmhm...” she didn't even know what she was nodding to at this point. All she knew was that it felt too good for this to be a one time thing. “Bab-baby... I think I might squirt. Shi-”

In a swift motion Temperance pulled her head back causing Mary to let out a movie winning cry, rambling like she had lost her head, her vison blurred by tears, “No! Don't stop. Why you stop? Make me cum...”

“Shh, shh. I understand, baby. I got chu,” the taller cooed softly, shushing Mary into little mewls as she trailed open mouth kisses up the middle of her heaving belly. Her calloused fingers gently brushing the fabric of Mary’s dress up over and off her frame.

She was naked now. Fully. The sight had Temperance sitting back on her knees to drink in the full view of her under that yellow lantern lit lighting. Teary eyed, legs folded back, and her pussy—dripping with slick connected to every fold in webs—gaping at Temperance like it was calling her home.

“..I promise I'mma fuck you good tonight. And every night you want it,” she said it like she meant it because she did. Every last word.

For a moment there's silence. Not awkward, despite Mary’s state. It was thick with something uncut. For the first time that night Temperance’s confidence wavered as she glanced to the obvious tint in her pants. Suddenly, she was crushed by reality. She still hadn’t told Mary about how she was born into the world. A part of her couldn't help but almost feel fearful.

There was no telling of how this news would settle on Mary. Would she leave? Would this turn her off even after all they had just done? What if she left and told everybody in town about it? Her palms grew sweaty and clamped. There was no turning back now.

Discarding her top to the floor Temperance's full breasts sit golden and pretty for Mary’s hazy view. The charged air brushing against her dark brown nipples. Mary reaches out to touch the woman in front of her but is soon stopped by a strong yet gentle hand. Their fingers intertwined as Mary’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Don't tell me you getting cold feet after all that,” her shaken voice questioned, a flare of irritation woven into her words but hidden well enough.

Temperance gave a tender, shy grin in response. Her hand in Mary’s guides their palms down the valley of her bust, ghosting over the faint outline of abs on her stomach.

“Gotta show you sumn first.”

Confusion spiked tenfold, Mary’s gaze follows the trail until their fingers halt over the thick outline in Temperance’s slacks. She tensed. Her body visibly freezing in shock. Was that what she thought it was?

“..but you a girl,” Mary choked out. Her hand doesn't move from where its laid.

For the third time that night the question lingers.

“You still sure?”

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

Oh my goshhhh I need more of Sammie and barefoot they are so cute like she’s just so sweet and he’s there letting her be her. also sugar bear is so cuteee like ughhh 😫😫

Rightttt? 🤭🤭 they too cuteee

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Part VI - "To know you") (next - coming soon)

Preacher had a elbow on the bar, and his body close enough to her's where he could feel the heat radiating off her brown skin. His eyes dipped from her face to the long necklace resting against her—wooden, worn smooth at the edges, an ankh swinging gently between her full breasts.

He reached toward it without touching, like it was sacred. “This necklace... it yours?” he asked, voice low, curious in a way that felt deeper than small talk. “Or somebody give it to you?”

Prudence glanced down at it, fingers automatically lifting to cradle the pendant in her palm. Her smile shifted then—softened into something more thoughtful. It didn’t disappear… but it dimmed, just a little.

“My mama gave it to me,” she said, thumb rubbing slow over the ankh’s shape. “She gave me all my jewelry. Every bracelet, every earring I ever wore. She use to say a girl ought to have things that make her feel... rooted. Pretty and strong.”

Preacher watched her, his chest tightening at the quiet in her voice.

“She still back in Louisiana?” he asked gently.

Prudence shook her head once, eyes not quite meeting his now. “Oh. No, sir. She passed some years back… when I was younger. Mama, she… she struggled. Mind wasn’t always kind to her. Some days she was fine, laughing, painting, singin’ to me… but some days she couldn’t get up at all. It got heavy. Real heavy.”

Preacher’s brows pinched together, his voice softer than ever. “I’m sorry.”

Prudence finally looked up, smile returning but faint like the moon behind a cloud. “Annie took me in. After. Been with her since. We left Louisiana and came here… started fresh.” She shrugged a little, hand falling back to her side. “Ain’t talked about that in a while.”

Preacher nodded, the silence settling warm between them like a blanket instead of a wall. He reached out then, not for the necklace, but for her hands—his thumbs brushing the top of hers, grounding.

“I’m glad you told me.”

Prudence looked at their hands, then at him. “Why you wanna know all that anyway?”

Preacher smiled, small and sure. “Because I wanna know you. Not just how you dance or how good you look in a dress. I wanna know the stuff you carry around in your chest. You special, barefoot. I could tell from the first time I saw you.”

Her breath caught—just a little.

Preacher tilted his head, watching her with those soft, dark eyes. The kind of look that didn’t ask for anything but made you want to give everything anyway.

“You wanna know somethin’ about me?” he asked, still ghosting over the knuckles of her hands.

Prudence nodded, lips parted like she was still catching her breath.

“My daddy a pastor,” he said, glancing off for a moment, like he could still see the old man in his memory. “Real proud, loud kind. He don’t care for music outside the church. Said the blues was the devil’s lullaby. Called me his little sinner when I picked up a guitar instead of a Bible.”

Prudence frowned a little, the edge of it touching her brows.

“He ain’t never liked me singin’ the way I do. Tried makin’ me feel small ‘bout it. Guilted me, and made me promise once or twice to quit. But I couldn’t.” Preacher let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and a sigh at once. “I love it too much. The way it hold pain and joy in the same breath. How it tell the truth.”

He glanced back at her. “It’s the only way I ever really knew how to talk.”

Prudence’s eyes were wide and full, lashes heavy as she looked at him like he’d bloomed a second time.

“You… you got a beautiful way of singin’,” she whispered. “It ain’t like how the others sing. Yours sound like… like honey left out in the sun, thick and slow and warm. It make my belly feel strange, like I done swallowed a secret I wasn’t meant to hear. I could listen to you forever, really. Like I—”

Her words were picking up now, tumbling out of her the same way they did when she was fixated on caterpillars or patterns in wood grain. Her eyes weren’t even fully on him anymore, staring somewhere just past his cheek, hazy and enchanted.

“—and when you sat down on stage, I swear the whole barn got quiet ‘cause they felt you, not just heard you. That’s rare,” Her voice trailed off, eyes going a little dreamy. “I don’t think anybody ever made me feel like that before, just singin—”

Preach smiled slowly, heart stuttering a beat. Henlooked at her like she was music herself. She was slipping into her own head again, floating somewhere only she could see—and he recognized it. That faraway look. He knew what it meant.

Without saying anything, right in the middle of her rambling, he brought her hands up and kissed her fingers a few slow times. Thumb brushing her knuckles like he was calling her back.

She blinked. Her breath hitched, just a little, as her eyes fell back into focus on his face.

His thighs brushed up against hers beneath the bar, warm and solid. Their knees touched. He leaned in just a bit more.

“You were floatin’ off, sugar bear,” he said, low and sweet. “Had to bring you back.”

She stared at him, lips parted, skin humming. Her voice dropped into a whisper. “I'm sorry. I get like that sometimes.”

Preach’s eyes dipped to her mouth for just a beat before lifting again, full of something tender. “I don't mind, and you don't needa apologize for it.”

Prudence didn’t say nothing for a while—not with her mouth. But her eyes were saying plenty. Big and shiny and stunned like he’d cracked something open in her without even trying. Her hand stayed in his, her fingers curled slightly like she could still feel the press of his lips on them.

Preacher watched her, taking her in piece by piece like a man starved. But his gaze was careful too. The way a good man might admire his new car. Afraid to touch, but itching to. He leaned in just a little closer, their breaths brushing now.

“You lookin’ at me like I'm a dime piece,” she said, voice barely above a hum.

Preacher smiled, slow and easy. “You startin' to feel like it.”

That made her blink a few times, then duck her head down with a bashful laugh. Her locs slid forward like a curtain, but not before he caught the one dimple in her left cheek popping. He loved it. Loved that he could fluster her like this.

She turned her eyes up at him again. “Why you so smooth, Sammie?”

“I'm smooth? So is you. You don't even know it.�� He nodded at her, his thumb running a slow line along her wrist. “You a sweet, gorgeous lady and you talkin’ to me ‘bout music. You think I wouldn’t be moved by that?”

Prudence stared at him again. She didn’t always know what to say when he talked like that. Didn’t think boys—men—talked like that for real. But there he was, eyes full of want.

She looked down at their hands. “I like this.”

He tipped his head. “This?”

“You.. me.. whatever this is gon' be.”

He pressed his forehead to hers so gently she barely noticed the shift.

“Me and you gon' be close.”

That moment lingered. The air between them was so thick it felt like glue. Full of everything they wasn’t saying yet. She closed her eyes for a second. Just to breathe it in.

Until—

“Mmmhm.” Annie’s voice cut sharp across the space between the bar and them.

Prudence jumped back just a hair too fast, sitting up straighter on the stool like she’d been caught stealing candy. Preach pulled his hand back smoothly, but not before giving her fingers one last squeeze.

Annie stood behind the bar, brow arched playfully, and her arms folded like she already knew everything without needing to hear a word.

“Yall havin’ fun, huh?” Annie said coolly, eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Prudence straightened her spine and blinked fast, trying not to smile too wide. “We was just talkin’,” she said, voice soft, eyes bright. “That’s all. Jus’ talkin’.”

Annie narrowed her eyes, then slid a plate of catfish down for them both just to feed them some more after a long night. “Talkin’ bet not lead to the back of that barn, else I’mma have to put Sammie on a short leash.”

Prudence giggled and Preach grinned into his glass, hiding the chuckle in his throat.

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Part V - "No room for air") next

They rocked with the rhythm—back and forth, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Prudence’s hips started to follow the roll of Preacher’s body without much thought now. The music had taken root inside her bones. Her touch had grown less nervous and more curious. The way she moved, soft and fluid, it held something rich.

Preacher’s hands, still resting gently on her hips, guided only when she faltered. But he wasn’t leading anymore. He was keeping up.

“You doin’ it right,” he said, low and tender behind her ear. “You movin’ so good, baby… real smooth,” he added, and she felt him exhale through his nose like he was holding back the full weight of what he wanted to say.

Her lips parted in a quiet gasp, just a breath, but she didn’t stop moving. She only leaned into him more, her back brushing his chest with every shift of her weight.

She tilted her head slightly, and their eyes met over her shoulder.

They were just looking at each other now. Eyes locked, breath mingling, like they were falling in love or something.

Prudence’s lashes fluttered slow, her gaze full of wonder and a hint of shyness that hadn’t left her since they stepped onto the floor. But Preacher’s look… it was deeper than sweet. It was quiet, focused—like he was studying her the way a man studies good food he wants but can't figure out how to make it yet.

Then he moved. His arm gently wrapped around her to rest just under her breast. It felt natural, like he didn’t even think twice about it. And when she didn’t stop him, didn’t shift away, he let his other hand guide her movements again.

His gaze wandered back down. And Lord, when his gaze landed on the soft sway of her ass under the material, something in him tensed. The way the fabric clung to her, and the way it rolled along with his hips—slow and unbothered—damn near made his heart stop beating.

Prudence, feeling his breath hitch behind her, looked down too. She watched where their bodies met, how his hips glided with hers, how he cradled her in the middle of it like she was made to be there. Her neck went hot again, but she didn’t stop moving.

His brows drew together, not in shame—but in awe. The kind that made his mouth go dry. He caught himself, blinking, pulling his eyes away before he lingered too long.

But she noticed.

Her voice, small and sweet, floated back to him. “Why you lookin’ like that?”

Preacher paused—just a breath—and then he smiled into the curve of her shoulder.

“You so beautiful,” he said, quiet, like it was a truth he couldn’t keep from spilling. “Nothin’ wrong with admirin’ when it move like that.”

That made her laugh, soft and bashful, body tingling from head to toe.

“You two dancin’ or bout to start somethin’ that need a chaperone?” came Stack’s voice, loud and playfully judgmental.

Prudence jumped like she got caught stealing from a cookie jar. Preacher turned halfway to his cousin, his lips curling into a guilty grin as Stack and Mary passed through their haze.

Mary just giggled behind her palm, whispering something into Stack’s ear that made him smirk wider.

Stack tipped his chin toward Preacher with a pointed look. “Boy, you better back up off her like that. Leave sum room for air. Annie been eye-scannin’ from the whole bar like she sense sumn.”

Preacher laughed, low and sheepish, but didn’t let go of Prudence yet. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’ but showin’ her how to keep time, cous,” he said.

Stack raised his brows, grin wide as they began to walk off to the back. No doubt to do something nasty. “Well she keepin’ it too good, preach. You bout to get both y’all pulled by the ear.”

Prudence couldn’t help but laugh too, face hot as she stepped forward just a little, giving them an inch of space. But not too much.

She glanced back at Sammie with that bashful smile again. “He ain’t wrong, you know.”

Preacher leaned into her with a sweet voice. “Maybe..”

Prudence eased out of his arms with a breathless laugh still clinging to her lips, and he reluctantly let her go. He was still feeling the shape of her body in his palms.

“Come on,” she whispered, nudging him with her elbow. “'Fore Annie come over here and call me fast in front of everybody.”

Preacher chuckled low. “You worried ‘bout her, I'm worried 'bout this between us.”

She didn’t reply. Just gave him a look, playful and shy all at once, before grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd toward the bar.

Annie spotted them from the end of the counter, already side eyeing. She was wiping her hands on her apron, arms crossed under her chest, lips pursed like she’d been watching the dance floor the whole time. She had.

Prudence beamed, body thrumming with adrenaline from the warmth of Preacher’s hands and the heat of the juke. But the smile wasn’t for him now—it was for Annie. Big and bright like nothing could go wrong.

Preacher, though… he only had eyes for her in that moment.

His grin was smaller, softer. But just as full, like the corners of his mouth were pulled up by some string tied to his heart. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

And Annie for sure didn’t miss it.

“Mmhm,” she muttered, one brow lifting high as they came to lean on the bar. “You over here grinnin’ like a fox, barefoot. That mean you havin’ fun… or you bein’ fast.”

Prudence bit her lip, tried to school her face into something pure, sweet. “We was just dancin’, Auntie.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “Uh huh. And he was just… holdin’ your hips to keep you close, right?”

Prudence blinked, wide-eyed like a deer. “No ma’am! He was showin’ me how to dance to the music like how the other people was doin’. Nothin’ else.”

Preacher turned to cough into his fist, tryin’ not to laugh.

Annie side eyed him. “You betta not be teachin’ my niece none of them fast ass dances, Sammie. I mean that.”

“Naw I wouldn’t dare,” Preacher said. “Ain’t nothin’ fast ‘bout how she move.”

That made Prudence’s face go hot all over again.

Annie caught it, lips twitching like she wanted to smile but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. “Mhmm.”

She turned and reached for a dish rag, muttering, “Y’all stay in eyesight.”

As she walked off, they sat on barstools and Preacher leaned in a little closer to Prudence, his voice just above the music. “You did real good out there.”

“Think so?” she whispered, still watching Annie’s back.

“Promise you did.”

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Part lV - "He dance you through it") next

They lingered there outside. The silence between them full, tense with something good. Sumn' fresh.

Prudence closed her eyes for a moment, letting the air cool her cheeks. She could still hear his song echoing somewhere in the hollows of her chest. A soft background noise feeding the charged air.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but then Preacher shifted and he looked sideways, his voice low, his tone dipped in charm.

“Come on back inside wimme, Sugar bear,” he said, tilting his head toward the barn. “Lemme hold you for a song or two.”

Prudence’s eyes opened slow. “I don’t know...” she murmured, her round eyes filled with hesitation that bloomed like it always did in moments like this.

“...just for a lil while,” he said, that slow smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Have fun. Ain't that why we all here?”

"Yeah.." she answered, her grin shy. He offers her his hand and she takes it with a skiddish giggle.

They stepped through the door again just as the band struck up a woman's voice—sultry, heavy, the kind of sound that dripped and pulled folks by the hips to the floor.

“Let me ride that river, baby,

Let me sink into your tide...

Hold me close and don’t you whisper,

Ain’t no secrets we can hide...”

Hips were rolling, lovers pressed close to one another under the warm glow of the barn lights. The floor had turned into a slow-dance furnace—skin on skin, grins and whiskey-drunk laughter. Mary was already locked up with Stack, giggling into his collarbone. Smoke had Annie by the waist behind the bar, whispering something slick in her ear as she swatted at him with a damp rag.

“Just a dance,” he said, though his eyes burned deeper than that. “Long as the song lasts if you want.”

Prudence’s breath caught in her throat and her frame tensed. She scanned the room quickly—Grace and Bo was spinning each other toward the corner, even Slim had him a woman giggling into his shoulder. Everyone had someone.

Her gaze flicked nervously toward the bar. Annie.

She was laughing at something Smoke whispered, not paying them no mind.

Prudence’s heart thumped hard. She looked back at Preacher, eyes wide, lips parted, then slowly—so slow it was almost shy—she nodded once.

“But—but, listen, Preach, we can’t get caught,” she whispered, voice full of mischief now, eyes sparking like the start of something dangerous and sweet.

Preacher’s grin widened. He’d dreamed this up in his head a hundred times that night. Bringing her out into the middle of the floor and just being there in that moment with her.

At first, she moved stiff—her hand in Preacher’s felt too warm, and the soft curve of his palm on the small of her back sent a flutter through her belly she didn’t know what to do with. Her bare feet shifted nervously on the worn barn floor, just barely brushing against his boots as he led her into a quiet two-step.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t push. He just let her find the rhythm, let her breathing settle. His thumb rubbed once over the back of her hand—soft, slow, like a story.

“You alright?” he murmured near her ear, his breath catching in a curl of her locs.

She nodded, her lips parted. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel like everybody watchin’.”

“Ain’t nobody lookin’ but me,” he said, and his voice was so certain, so steady, that it made her chest flutter all over again.

The song deepened.

“Lay me down like Sunday honey,

Touch my heart and speak to it soft…”

The woman, Candy's, voice was wrapped around the dance floor like smoke and sugar, and Prudence finally let herself sway.

She pressed just a little closer, then firmer when she felt him ease into it too. Her body found his like it knew where to rest. His thigh brushed hers. Her cheek hovered near his collarbone. The tips of her breasts grazed the front of his shirt with every step, and the sheer fabric of her dress gave no illusions.

Preacher swallowed hard, jaw clenching once as he kept his hand steady on her back. But his touch—his eyes—told her everything his mouth hadn’t yet.

“You feel good here wit me,” he said finally, voice thick, deep with meaning. He chuckled low. “And I ain't never even danced like this before.”

She looked up at him then, eyes shining with something between disbelief and trust. “Never?”

He shook his head, solemn. “Not with someone I actually wanted to know.”

Her breath hitched. She stepped a little closer. In the middle of all the warmth, music, and sweat—her first real dance became a secret pressed between them. Tender and new.

The song melted into the next one. It was a kiss slipping into another. The band didn’t pause; Candy's tone shifted without missing a breath, her voice now silkier than ever, wrapped in something deeper.

The air got warmer, sweat-slick and full of laughter, love drunk and wild. But in the middle of it all, Prudence and Preacher swayed as if they was slow dancing in a field of daisies by themselves.

She was starting to relax, resting more naturally against his chest now, fingers curling slightly into the thin cotton of his shirt. Her forehead nearly brushed his jaw every time she stepped close, and he didn’t hide the way he breathed her in. Her scent was sun-warmed skin, something buttery, and that softness he could feel even in her silence.

Candy's lyrics rolled in, low and teasing.

“Don’t run from it, baby, come slow instead…

Let me show you how good it feel dancin' in my bed…”

Prudence stilled a little, her ears instantly felt hot. “Oh Lord. There she go with that bull.”

Preacher chuckled in amusement. “Calm down. It’s just a song.”

She glanced at him from under her lashes, nervous again. “You know it sound like more than a song.”

He leaned in. “C'mon. You trust me?”

Prudence’s lips parted, her breath barely there. “I think I do.”

Preacher’s voice dropped, soft and low in her ear. “Then turn around for me.”

She froze a little. “What? Turn around?”

“Just for a lil step or two. I’ll show you how to move.”

Her fingers twitched where they held him and her eyes darted—toward the bar, the door, anywhere. But Annie was busy flipping catfish behind the bar and swatting Smoke’s hand away from her waist. Nobody was watching but still she felt anxious like always.

Prudence bit her lip.

“I dunno…”

Preacher’s hand grazed her side, barely touching, just a whisper of heat. “I’ll tell you where my hands gone go. I won’t do nun you ain't comfortable wit.”

She hesitated a breath longer—then finally, heart thudding, she turned. Her back settled to his chest. Slowly. Softly.

Preacher breathed in through his nose like he was centering himself. Strong hands finding her waist.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “Now just lean back. Let me guide you.”

She did.

His palm slid gently from her waist to her hip, and the other followed suit. The fabric of her dress—thin as it was—did little to block the tension building.

“Like this,” he whispered, hips moving slow.

He shifted behind her, rolling his body into a rhythm that coaxed her to follow. His fingers tightened slightly, encouraging her to match him, his voice guiding her as if each word was strummed from his guitar.

“You feel that?”

“Mhm…”

“See? You movin’ just right, sugar bear.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her hands now resting lightly over his at her hips. She’d never danced like this before. Never felt a body press this careful, this deliberate, against hers.

She felt as if wasn’t just following his steps. She was following the yearn.

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

would my small circle in here run away or tune in and read if I said I may or may not have a Love & Basketball based story with Quincy McCall.. in my drafts (just hear me out he's fine to me 😔🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🏃🏽‍♀️💨💨)

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Part lll - "Things She An't Done") next

The music picked up again—a rowdy two-step from the house band this time—but Prudence barely heard it. Everything was muffled, like her ears were underwater. Her fingers curled tight around the hem of her dress, knees pressed together, chest still rising and falling just a beat too fast.

Annie was serving moonshine, food, and noddong along to music. Mary disappeared to dance. Stack had a frying pan in one hand, shouting orders to someone in the back. Surprisingly enough he wasn't a bad cook and as much as Annie hated to admit it, he was helpful. Prudence sat alone, and in all that noise, she felt like a stone at the bottom of the river.

Then the sound of boots scuffing on floorboards began echoing toward her.

Not loud. But sure.

She felt him before she saw him. That subtle shift in the air, like the weather was changing around her body.

“So she heard me...” Sammie playfully dragged out, his tone warm and low, touched with that same rasp he sang with.

Prudence turned slowly.

He was standing just beside her stool, not too close, hands in the pockets of his slacks, still catching his breath from the song.

“She did,” she replied, barely above a whisper. Her eyes flicked up to him, then down again. “Never heard a song like that.”

He smiled softly. “’Cause nobody ever sung one like that for you.”

Her cheeks warmed. Her hand went to her necklace—that wooden ankh—and she rubbed her thumb over it like it would keep her grounded.

“You wrote that for me... just today?” she questioned, still not quite believing it.

He nodded. “Soon as I saw you with them caterpillars.” His voice dipped lower, not loud enough for anyone else to catch. “Think you might be my new inspiration.”

Prudence pressed her lips together. Her body felt hot all of a sudden. Emotions stirring inside her that she’d never experienced. It was new, fluttering tight whenever he spoke to her.

Sammue stepped in just a little closer—not enough to make a fuss, just enough so she could feel the warmth coming off his skin. He leaned down a bit, eyes not leaving hers.

“Want chu to know I meant every word, Prudence.”

Prudence looked up at him then, orbs full and unblinking, her voice no louder than the hush of cotton brushing against skin.

Silence stretched between them again—but it was soft, not heavy. Like a blanket. Like two people sitting in the hush of something beginning.

“You wanna step outside for a bit?” he asked after a moment, offering his hand—not demanding, not pressing, just... asking.

Prudence looked at it, at his palm open and waiting. Then she slid off the stool, placed her fingers in his, and let him lead her through the crowd and out into the warm Mississippi night.

The air wrapped around them like velvet—thick, warm, humming with cicadas and the slow rhythm of the river wind. The moon sat low, round and grey behind a veil of clouds, and the glolden glow from the joint's windows spilled out with a lantern light on dark water kinda hue.

Preach led her a little ways from the noise, past the edge of the porch, down near where a pecan tree stretched its arms toward the stars. He walked slow, hand still loosely holding hers like he was afraid to grip too tight and scare her off.

Once they reached the tree, he let go. Not because he wanted to—but because he respected the space she needed. Still, he stayed close enough in front of her to feel her presence.

“You always walk barefoot?” he asked, soft, teasing around the edges.

Prudence smiled just a little, not looking at him. “Most days. Feels better. More free.”

He looked down at her feet, toes curled slightly in the sandy-dirt. “Only you can pull this off.”

She didn’t reply to that. Just tucked a loc behind her ear and leaned back herself against the tree trunk. They stood in the silence a while, the crickets chirping between heartbeats.

“You know.. this is kinda new to me. I never had somebody outside my family treat me like this.” she said eventually, her voice like creek water. “ ’s weird. Feel like... you wanna know me.”

Preacher glanced at her then, his head tilted down, and his gaze steady and full of heat he tried not to pour all the way out. “You ever talked to a guy before, Barefoot?”

She licked her lips slow, then gave the barest shake of her head. “Not alone like this.”

He stepped just a little closer, enough for her to smell the hint of whiskey on his breath and the cologne Stack made him wear that night faded into his skin. “Well, I’m Glad to be first.”

She looked at him now, took in all his features as handsome as they were—almost like she was still deciding whether to run or keep ogling. “You don't ever get nervous? Sayin’ what you want all the time,” she asked with half a smile.

“Oh, no I'm nervous,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “But I suck it up for you.”

Prudence looked away, biting back a smile she didn’t want to show him yet. Her heart was fluttering, but she stood her ground.

“I don’t wanna belong to nobody. You know that right, Preach?” she says it more as a statement rather than a question. Not to warn him or run him off—but as the truth.

“I never said I’m lookin’ to own you,” Preacher murmured, his words now just for her. “Just wanna know you. However you let me.”

She turned her head again, eyes meeting his, pupils wide. “Even though I’m little scattered? You really don’t mind?”

He smiled gently, tilting his chin toward her. “Butterflies don’t fly straight, but I still think they beautiful.”

That got her—her eyes softened, breath hitched just a little. Then, slowly, she let her head rest against the tree, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. The air between them charged, heavy and delicate all at once.

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. Even though it would have been the perfect chance to steal one, her looking at him the way she was, the moment, it could have been done. Just not tonight. He wanted to know her first. Inside and out.

Instead, he stepped close enough that she could feel the warmth radiate off his chest. Close enough for her fingers to brush his if she reached. Close enough for both of them to feel the pull—but not fall just yet. Some things were better when they simmered.

“You ever had a man on your hip, Sugar bear?” he asked, his voice low, almost playful—but layered. Like he was asking about more than just skin to skin.

Prudence looked away quick, her heart feeling caught in her chest. Her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her gown.

“No,” she said, barely audible.

“No?” Preacher echoed, soft and surprised but never mocking. “Pretty as you are?”

She turned her face back to him, the moonlight sliding across her cheekbones like it knew the shape of her. “I don’t... I don’t like dudes gettin’ at me if I don’t want for it first.”

He nodded slowly, like he felt that down in his bones. “That’s fair. ’s the right way, actually.”

Then silence again, easy between them now. Fireflies flickered out in the brush, little pulsing stars that lit up the edges of the dark.

“You ever...” he started, then chuckled under his breath. “You ever think ‘bout all the things you wanna do but ain’t done?”

“All the time,” she admitted.

“Like what?”

She looked at him, long, cautious. But something about his voice made her feel safe.

“I never left home on my own,” she said first. “Never rode in a real nice car with the windows down. Never swam in the river at night... an’ never drank brown liquor neither.”

He smiled gently. “We gotta fix all that.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly under her breath. “You say that like you got all the answers.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he said, stepping just a little closer again. “But I got a few good guesses.” He paused, watching her closely now. “What about kissin’?”

That hit different. Prudence shifted on her feet, her toes anxiously hiding under the dirt.

“I mean,” she said slowly, “I seen folks do it.”

“But you?” he countered, velvet smooth. “You ever had your first kiss?”

Her throat tightened, and her fingers went to her necklace again, rubbing the wood like it might steady her heart. It didn’t. But it grounded her enough to give a response.

“No.” She said it plain. Honest. “I ain’t,” she added quietly. “Nineteen years old and I never... I never even done that either.”

Preach’s face didn’t twist, he didn’t smirk. His expression softened, his mouth parting just slightly, like he didn’t know whether to smile or bow his head out of reverence.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, voice firm but still small.

He tilted his head. “So you waitin’ on it to be with the right guy?”

“I’m waitin’ on it to be mine,” she corrected, with a little strength in her tone.

He looked at her like she’d just handed him a scripture. “I get that,” he said, voice a little husky now. “I do.”

Then he took another step—so close now she could see the tiny freckle under his eye, the way his lashes curled at the tips.

“I ain’t gon’ ask for nothing,” he murmured, “but when you ready to hand it to somebody...”

His eyes never left hers, “...I hope you remember how I looked at you tonight. Who I sang that song for.”

Her breath hitched and her eyes searched his face like she trying to memorize the way his skin looked nearly blue under the moonlight—enough stillness for him to know this was the beginning of something beautiful.

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Part ll - "Oh Here She Comes") next

The sun had nearly sunk behind the trees by the time Smoke and Preacher took their leave, walking down the dusty path to the car with the last light casting long shadows behind them. Smoke tipped his hat to Annie on his way off the porch, and Preacher glanced back once—just once—at Prudence standing in the doorway. He just smiled real boyish then he left to the juke with his cousin.

Later inside the shack, Annie stirred a pot of red beans and rice on the wood burning stove. The air was thick with the smell of bay leaf, salt pork, and something a little sweet—the that honey drizzled over cornbread cooling on the counter. Prudence sat at the small table near the kitchen window, legs crossed under her, toes brushing the floorboards, dress still a little dusty from the yard. Her locs were tied back now, just enough to show her face.

Annie served them both quietly, the way she always did—one spoonful heavy and the next light. They ate in silence for a bit, only the soft scrape of spoons and the hum of cicadas filling the room.

Then Prudence spoke, her tone in the clouds. “That boy.. he was sweet to me.”

Annie didn’t look up. “Sammie?”

Prudence nodded. “Mhm, and said I was fine.”

Annie snorted low. “He starting to sound more and more like his damn cousins everyday. Always knew he would. Chile, whatever he said don’t fall for it.”

Prudence swirled her spoon through her beans, picking at the cut up hot sausage. “No. Really, tee. You should've heard him. He meant it, I swear. It was like he been holdin’ it in a long time- even if we just met.”

Annie finally looked up, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Made you feel special, huh?”

Prudence paused then she smiled small. “Yeah. Made me feel... seen.”

Annie leaned back and folded her arms, studying her niece across the table. Prudence internally sighed. She knew Annie was about to give a lecture. “Seen’s a dangerous thing, baby. Me gone always see you, then they gone think they got a right to keep lookin’. Sometimes even touch. You sure you ready for that kind uh attention?”

Prudence didn’t answer right away. She looked out the open window, where the fireflies had started to blink in the darkening yard. “I’m not sure,” she whispered. “But I know when he looked at me... I didn’t feel like I had to hide. Not my skin. Not my stomach. Not anything.”

The quiet stretched again.

Then, softly, “Auntie... can you let me come with you tonight? To the juke? I’ll stay close. Pinky promise. I won’t get wild. I just... I want to hear what his music is like.”

Annie studied her hard. Looked at the soft roll of her shoulders, the truth in her eyes. “You want me to say yes,” she started, “just so you can find out if he meant what he said, huh?”

“I want to understand what I'm starting to feel.” Prudence answered. “Plus.. he's cute.”

Annie sucked her teeth, a little grin on her lips as she pushed her plate back, and stood with a tired kind of grace. She walked over, brushed a bit of lint from Prudence’s shoulder, as checking if she was ready.

“I'mma give you five minutes to rinse that dust up off you and put on somethin’ clean. And wear them lil gold hoop earrings your mama left you. If you gon’ go, go like you wanna be remembered.”

Prudence blinked for a moment. Did she really just hear that or was she actually as crazy as everybody thought she was? Annie never let her out of the house. Not ever. And, it wasn’t like Prudence wanted to leave, she was a homebody through and through. But she wanted to live life like any other young girl, and sometimes Annie stood in the way of that. Hearing her agree to letting her go to a juke joint of all places was.. shocking, to say the least.

After a while she lit up quick. “Yes, ma’am.”

“But,” Annie added, holding up a finger. Prudence tensed where she sat, silently praying she hadn't changed her mind that quick. “you stay by me. Or at least within hollerin’ distance of me, Smoke or Stack.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Prudence said fast again, already out the kitchen, her shadow fluttering behind her like wings.

Annie smiled to herself, small and tight-lipped. “Lord help that boy,” she sighed. “He ain’t ready.”

○●

The juke joint pulsed with life, shadows thick in the corners and lantern-light flickering like memory. Laughter tangled with the smoke, boots and heels scuffed over the floorboards, and the air smelled of sweat, shine, and perfume. On the stage, Sammie sat alone, perched on a stool, guitar nestled against his thighs.

He plucked the strings slow, tuning with muscle memory, but his thoughts were miles ahead of his fingers.

Tonight wasn’t usual. It wasn’t just for the dancing and the blues or the rowdy call-and-response joints. Tonight, he was gonna sing a different song. One he wrote just a few hours earlier that day, out in the fields with gnats and his thoughts too soft to swat them away. He titled it Butterfly on Water.

His fingers skimmed over the frets as the melody returned to him, raw and hushed.

"She don’t land, she hovers...

Soft feet just above the pain.

Ain’t here to stay forever,

But I swear she knows my name.

She don’t drink no trouble,

Don’t bite no bitter fruit.

Just brushes past my shoulder—

And I stay rooted to my roots.

She don’t know she’s lovely,

Not in the way the world demands—

But I seen her float through thunder,

With colors no eye understands."

He strummed it low like it was meant to sound simple, but if she was listening—really listening—he hoped she’d feel her name tucked in the lyrics. He wanted her to hear the way he saw her. Not as a girl everybody thought was a little off, but as the woman she was becoming.

Over at the front door, Annie fished a few dollars from her wrap and slapped them into Cornbread’s open palm.

“Well look who decided to crawl out her own holler,” Cornbread grinned. “Did the earth shake, or did Annie finally need some fun?”

He was always messing with Annie like he couldn’t go a day without irritating her.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Don’t start that shit. I came to cook and to make sure my niece don’t get caught up in no foolishness.”

Cornbread's head jerks back at the mention of her niece. He looked as if he heard a myth, leaned to the side, saw a figure timidly hiding behind her—and chuckled in a sort of disbelief. “Well I’ll be...”

Prudence stepped aside, slow, wearing a black dress that clung in places that would missed her if it were to leg go. This dress was sheer too but a bit more see-thru. She liked her dresses in the summer time to feel light. Maybe it was a little too much for some people, but she couldn't muster up the nerve to care. Annie use to try and get her to cover up more, but after a while she gave up. The girl had a mind of her own.

The dress had a little circle line cut out at her chest that gave just a hint of cleavage. She had a liking to sheer the material. Nearly all of her dresses were made up of it. Or at least the ones Annie didn't buy. She liked the texture. Her locs were pulled in a bun, her ankh pendant still laid between her breasts, and the gold hoops from her mama caught every flicker of lantern fire.

“Evenin’, Cornbread,” she greeted him gently.

He coughed and straightened at the sight of her. “You uh—you grown up now, huh? Annie let you out the house like that?”

Annie smacked his arm. “Let us through, fool, ‘fore I take back my damn coins.”

Smoke was already at the stage with a drink in each hand, one for himself and one he handed to Preacher without a word. He nodded toward the door. “Turn ‘round,” he said under his breath.

Sammie raised the glass to his lips and turned halfway in his seat—and that’s when he saw her.

The sip hit his throat and stopped in the wrong place. He coughed, choked just a little, slapping his chest in hopes to drown out the burning of the alcohol. “Shit…”

Smoke chuckled, low and knowing. “See? Told you she’d come.”

“I ain’t think she was coming like that,” Preach shook his head, his gaze never leaving Prudence as he tossed back the drink fully. He felt like he was gunna have a heart attack over that girl.

Smoke chuckled and took the glass back. “Now.. don't be tryna stick your mouth where it ain't got no business being tonight,” he lifted a finger to Preach. “You on y' own if Annie find out.”

Preacher blocked out his words, head shaking as he waved his cousin off. He couldn’t look away. Prudence stood near the back for now, beside Annie, unsure, her fingers curled around her wrist the way nervous women held themselves together. But her eyes were on him already.

He wiped his mouth and exhaled, glancing to Smoke briefly. “I can’t sing nothing else now, huh? She here for real.”

Smoke clapped his shoulder. “Then don’t. You got this cous’.”

Sammie cleared his throat, guitar still balanced on his thigh like a weight on his soul. He tapped the wood with his knuckles, slow. Measured. And the crowd gathered around him quietly.

“How ya'll doing tonight? I'm Sammie, go by Preacher boy on a xount of my daddy being a pastor,” he paused and let the people hum and cheer a bit. “Wanted to sing something new tonight, hope yall don’t mind. This one called Butterfly on Water,” he said, voice steady but low like he didn’t need the whole room to hear it—just one person.

Annie led the way through the press of bodies toward the bar, cutting through bodies, smoke and perfume. Prudence trailed behind her with her hands clutching at the hem of her sleeves and her nerves tucked under her skin. The closer they got, the more her eyes flicked around, drinking it in—the hanging lights strung like constellations, the smell of sweet whiskey and fried pork fat thick in the walls.

At the bar, Stack leaned over with a broad grin and his arms wide and Mary stood beside him, eyeing him like she knew exactly how she wanted the night to end. “Well damn, look what the wind blew in!”

Prudence smiled small but sweet, and she gave him a short side hug. “Hey, Uncle Stack.”

“You outta your lil hole for once, baby girl,” Mary laughed. She leaned over and squeezed Prudence’s arm. “Ain’t chu something.”

“Almost didn't recognize her,” Stack chuckled. “Then I saw them feet.”

Smoke leaned across the bar and handed Annie a rag to wipe her hands. “Y’all made it just in time. He ‘bout to play now.”

“Mmhm,” Annie said, not even trying to hide her smirk. She set her purse in a cubby over the counter and took her usual seat at the corner behind it, already scanning the room like a hawk watching chicks. Smoke pushed a plate to her. He was always dead set on making sure Annie was good, even if she could take care of herself.

Before Prudence could settle, a blur of movement passed—Grace with her silky short hair, pulling Bo behind her.

“Look at you, Prudence!” Grace called with a wink as they passed. “You ain’t a baby no more!”

Bo gave her a polite nod. “Well, I’ll be. Evenin’, miss ma’am.”

Prudence waved, barely managing a shy “Hi,” before they were swallowed by the crowd on the dance floor, already spinning to the house tune still drifting from the phonograph.

She took the stool in front of Annie, smoothing her dress down over her thighs. The stool was warm from someone who’d just left, and the air smelled of grease.

Her stomach rumbled low, a little as she glanced to Annie's plate. Ooo Fish & Grits, she thought. “Mm.. that look good. He made you that?”

Annie side eyed her. “You bet not ask me for none—”

“Mmcht. Please, Auntie,” Prudence whispered. “Just a piece? Jus’ a lil bit.”

Annie sighed deep and dramatic. “You so spoiled, girl. Got niggas singin’ to you and still beggin’ for scraps.”

Still, she broke off a piece of golden catfish from her plate, blowing on it before placing it in Prudence’s palm.

Prudence took it with a quiet “Thank you,” and just as she raised it to her mouth—

She heard the first note. It was a softest strum. Wasn’t flashy or loud. It came like a ripple across still water. And it froze her—fish halfway to her lips, her breath caught just behind her ribs.

Her head turned toward the stage like something pulled it. And there he was, Sammie, back bent slightly, guitar in his lap, eyes low, fingers coaxing music out of strings like he was unraveling something private.

The first verse slipped out of him like breath, slow and sweet.

"She don’t land, she hovers..."

Prudence lowered the fish to her lap with lips parted, and a gaze heavily fixed on him. The music caught in her chest. While the crowd heard a good song—she heard a confession.

The guitar glowed under the dim lights, each pluck of the strings slow and reverent. Preacher didn’t look up. His eyes were on the frets, but his heart was out in the room, searching.

"Ooh she don’t land, oh but she hovers...

Hard feet just above the pain.

Ain’t here to stay forever,

But I swear she know my name."

The words slipped from him like smoke curling around firewood—gentle, low, but so full of yearning it thickened the air. The crowd swayed, caught in the lull of it, but most didn’t catch the way his voice pulled just slightly on the word "hover." As if he was watching her then, even without looking.

Prudence could feel that this wasn’t just any tune. Wasn’t for the room. It was for her.

"She don’t drink no trouble,

Don’t bite no bitter fruit.

Just brushes past my shoulder—

And I stay rooted to my roots."

Annie kept chewing, but her eyes flicked sideways.

Prudence’s fingers curled in her lap. It was too much—how he knew so little about her and wrote a whole song. How he made her feel seen without laying a hand on her.

On stage, Preacher kept going, his voice rougher now, more vulnerable.

"She don’t know she lovely,

Not in the way the world demands—

But I seen her float through thunder,

With colors no eye understands."

That line—

Prudence’s eyes glistened before she even realized it, and she blinked fast, looking away, swallowing hard.

Mary leaned in with a slow whistle. “He writin’ psalms bout you?”

Prudence didn’t answer. Her throat was tight and her stomach fluttered like wings trapped in a jar.

Sammie plucked the last few notes soft and slow, letting them hang in the air like they had weight.

Then silence. No applause yet. Just breath. Stillness.

Prudence exhaled, finally. Her whole body buzzed.

And then the room erupted in claps, cheers, whistles.

But he still didn’t look at the crowd.

He looked straight at her.

And smiled—just the corner of his mouth, just enough to say "there she is."

(masterlist)

[shetheabsolute]

Barefoot and The Blues ↔ Preacher's Catalog

(Oc x Sammie) (Part l - "Bug's and Us") next

The heat laid heavy over the Delta like a warm hand pressing down on the world, and the air smelled of red clay, and the faint iron-sweet scent of rain that hadn’t yet come. Prudence-Inara—standing barefoot as always—was crouched low in her auntie Annie’s front yard, humming to herself and letting the sun flicker through the long sleeves of her sheer knee length white dress. When she moved, it clung just a little to her back and thighs, the thin cotton glowing in the sunlight like a ghost's veil.

She had one caterpillar crawling across her palm, another perched on her shoulder like a living brooch. She whispered things to them. Names. Tiny stories. Giggled when one tried to tickle its way up her loc’d bangs. The necklace around her neck—a long leather cord with a carved wooden ankh, given to her at birth from her late mother—swung gently every time she shifted in the grass.

“Girl gone off in the clouds again,” Annie muttered from the porch, rocking slow. Her eyes, half-lidded and wise as river water, watched her niece fondly, but warily. “Gon’ let some snake eat her while she tryin’ to make friends with bugs.”

The screen door creaked and slapped. Smoke stepped out, smelling like the road—old sweat and motor oil—and grinning like he never left. “You know it ain’t no snakes out. An’ if it is she probably named em already.” He chuckled.

Behind him followed Sammie, his guitar slung casual across his back. His eyes weren’t on Annie or Smoke. They landed soft on Prudence, crouched in the sunlight like a storybook thing, the white of her dress nearly translucent, clinging to her full, soft body like it loved her. In all honesty, he loved it om her too.

She didn’t even notice him watching. She was too busy naming a roly poly “Clementine” and letting it roll into a ball in her palm.

“We gon’ hit the juke tonight,” Smoke said, thumb hooking into his belt. “Folks been missin’ us. Mainly his singing.”

Annie took a slow glance at him. “You know damn well it’s that boy voice they missin’.”

Sammie leaned on the porch rail. “You should come, Miss Annie. You know? Bring Sugar bear, too.”

Annie snorted. “That girl ain’t got the sense that God gave her. She’d get lost halfway there tryin’ to follow a firefly.”

“I just want her to hear me play.” His voice was low, real gentle. “She got a way of seein’ things. Want 'er to see me.”

Annie glanced sideways at him, smoke curling from her mouth. “Nuh-uh, boy. Don't start that with my niece."

Prudence looked up right then, round hazel eyes bright as a wet leaf in the sun. She waved, yellow and black caterpillar still on her hand. “Auntie, this one’s named Louis! He look like a trumpet, don’t he?”

Sammie leaned forward on the porch rail, resting a hand across it as he watched her with half a smile tugging at his lips. “Miss Annie,” he said, a touch careful, “you mind if I go try an’ talk to her?”

Annie gave a dry hum. “She liable to talk back in tongues.”

He laughed briefly. “Please? I just wanna see if she’ll talk with me,” he said. “If she does... maybe that’ll be your sign to let her come.”

Annie didn’t say yes, didn’t say no either. Just squinted her eyes and leaned back in her creaky rocker, arms folded over her chest. Her silence meant go ahead then, fool.

Smoke struck a match against his boot and lit the cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, the smoke curling like a snake around his face. He watched his cousin step off the porch and walk slow across the yard toward the girl.

Annie finally turned her head toward Smoke. “His mouth too smooth for his age,” she joked. “And she don’t know a thing bout relationships.”

Smoke took a long pull, exhaled. “Ain’t got to know it to feel it.” He looked over at her, eyes low and full of that old knowing. “Hell, Annie… we didn’t know nothin’ neither.”

She gave a slow blink. “No, see that was different.”

“Was it?” Smoke’s voice dropped, just for her. “You forget how you was when I tried talkin to you?"

Annie glanced away. “I ain’t forget nothin’. Just how I remember pickin’ up my pieces alone when you left.”

Smoke stepped closer, one boot creaking the porch board near her knee. “But I remember you lettin’ me try. Even after I messed up. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lettin’ Barefoot breathe a little. Let her see what kind of man he wanna be.”

Annie shook her head. “She sensitive, Smoke. Head full of clouds. Talking bout of stuff that ain’t even there. I don’t wanna see her fall.”

“She might fall,” he agreed. “But she gone get right back up. You just gotta give her room to try. And him too. Ain’t no good man never proved himself sittin' on the sidelines.”

Annie looked over again, eyes meeting his, slow and simmering. “You tryin’ to tell me how to raise my girl?”

“I’m remindin’ you how you loved once.” He smiled, crooked and gentle, grill flashing. “Remindin’ you what it felt like when someone let you.”

Annie went quiet. Below them in the yard, Sammie knelt in the grass, holding something in his palm—maybe a beetle, maybe just the moment—and Barefoot was smiling at him like he’d brought her a star.

Smoke leaned over and kissed Annie’s temple, soft and familiar. “Let that girl breath, Annie.”

The grass tickled at Prudence’s calves as a new caterpillar curled on her finger. She had named this one Mercy. It moved slow, thoughtful, just like her. The hem of her dress fluttered in the breeze, white and thin as creek foam, catching the light so that the shape of her frame and the slope of her stomach showed faint beneath it.

She didn’t notice, or maybe she didn’t care. Her world was all a breeze and the way the earth felt alive under bare feet.

Sammie knelt across from her in the grass, close—but not close enough to scare her. His shoes sank slightly into the dirt, and his guitar stayed strapped to his back like it was his spine. He watched the way the light kissed her skin, how that pendant rested like a promise at her breasts, and he tried to steady his breath.

“You got a gentle way with things,” he said, voice warm like it was poured slow. “Them things trust you.”

Prudence looked up at him, her eyes wide, lashes thick like moth wings. “You know.. they really don’t mean no harm,” she said softly. “They just tryna get by. Like us.”

That smile crept up his face again—easy, but aching around the edges. “That what you do, barefoot? Just get by?”

She tilted her head, curious. “Well, I make things. Paint what I see when I close my eyes. And I make stories when I paint. But I don’t think that's getting by. Just me... bein’ me.”

Preacher nodded, like he felt every word in his ribs. “What they call you- other than barefoot? I mean.. it's for sho' a conversation starter, but that can’t be the only name yo mama gave you.”

She blinked slow. “Why you wanna know?”

He leaned in just a little, like a whisper with hands. “’Cause I figure whatever name she gave you.. you wear it good as you do that dress. Can I hear it? Wanna say it right.”

She stared at him a moment, a little heat rising up her neck. She was quiet again, but not in a way that meant no. She just let the silence stretch a bit. Maybe she was measuring him, too.

“It's Prudence,” she said finally, low and careful. “Prudence-Inara Anderson.”

He let her name roll over his tongue. It sounded like a song on his tongue. “Prudence,” he said. “Pretty girl, pretty name.”

She looked away, feeling flustered now, but smiling all the same. “Do you always have sumn to say like that?”

“No. But I see somebody worth singin’ bout.”

They were quiet again and the space between them was electric.

“You ever been to a juke joint?” he asked her gently.

She shook her head. “Auntie don’t like me going to them kind of places. Say they too loud for girls like me.”

“Well, see, that’s the thing. My cousins—Stack and Smoke—you know them, your step-uncles—they just opened one up. So it familiar faces there, y'know? Ain’t but a few minutes down the way, off where the trees open up. I’m playin’ tonight. Thought maybe you’d want to come see.”

She looked at him again, this time longer. Her hazel eyes searched his face, trying to read behind the smoothness.

“Mm. Why you want me there?”

He reached up and gently brushed one of her locs from her forehead, the touch like breath. “The way you see the world... I wanna know what my music feel like for you when you hear it. Think I’d sound better if you was there.”

Prudence let the caterpillar crawl off her hand and onto a blade of grass, her eyes still on it like she needed one more second to think.

Then she looked back at Preach, her gaze steady this time, no longer flustered. Just open. “Yeah, I think… maybe I’d like to hear what your music feel like.”

The way she said it, slow and almost shy, but certain, it wrapped itself around his ribs and stayed there. Her voice wasn’t made for crowds or stages. It was made for quiet places and for someone who could listen close.

Preacher grinned, but his smile wasn't rushed. He just nodded his head. “Come by. Please? Just wanna.. get to know you.”

Prudence looked down at herself—at her dress—and her hand ghosted over her stomach, the swell of it, as if she was pushing the crinkles out of it. “Ain’t got nothin’ too fancy to wear,” she murmured. “I don't think I dress modest enough for places with music.”

“Naw, what you wearin’ is just fine,” he said, eyes soft, not hungry, just wanting. “You in your own, and I ain’t never seen nothin’ finer.”

She ducked her head, a quiet chuckle slipping out of her like the start of a song. “Yeah, you talk a little too good.”

He leaned just a touch closer, voice thick with all the things he didn’t dare say yet. “I'm glad its working.”

From the porch, Annie’s rocking slowed. Her eyes followed her niece and the blues boy kneeling in the grass. Smoke watched too, arms folded, his cigarette still burning low between his fingers.

Prudence tucked her locs behind one ear and finally stood up, dust clinging to her bare legs. “If auntie say I can go…” she said, brushing her palms against the sides of her dress, “then I guess I’ll come down.”

“I hope she do,” Preacher said, rising with her, hands respectful at his sides but aching all the same. “I might even have a song saved for you if I see you.”

With the sun making lace out of her dress, Prudence walked slow back to the porch. No idea that life had just chosen something bigger for her, bigger than anything she knew.

(masterlist)

[p.s: I sometimes read over chapters and edit things when I see fir, so don't feel delirious if you re-read a chapter and somethings have been changed/edited out]

[shetheabsolute]

Master-list for Sinners 2025

The Welcome Basket to Sin

Mary x Original character ⤵

(Part l "Mary's Welcome Basket")

(Part II - "Sweet Tea & Cypress Smoke")

(Part lll - "She Came Anyway")

(Part IV - "Something to Burn On")

(Part V - "First Touches")

Preacher's catalog

Sammie Moore x Original character ⤵

(Oc x Sammie) (Part l - "Bug's and Us")

(Part ll - "Oh Here She Comes")

(Part lll - "Things She ain't Done")

(Part lV - "He dance you through it")

(Part V - "No Room For Air")

(Part VI - "To Know You")

Fruit for Thought

Stack × Original character ⤵

("Soundtrack to summary")

("Pilot, Flashback to Us")

("Ain't Love or Happiness")

("Off Balance")

Other Characters may or may not be sitting in drafts as welllll ⤵

↪ Pearline (coming soon)

↪ Bo Chow (coming soon)

taglist ↪ @novaacanee ☆ @soulsnatcha3000 (message me for more people to @)