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supaflyyy · 6 days ago

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“ i’m always here for you, sammie. ”

sammie “preacher boy” moore x black! fem! reader

synopsis: sammie runnin’ away for the afternoon to play the blues for someone who actually cares.

cw: fluff. 30s in the south. written in southern tone.

the heavy thud of the front door closin’ echoed through the yard like a warning bell. sammie could almost hear his father’s voice again, hard and steady as a drumbeat: “if you keep dancing with the devil, one day he’s gonna follow you home.”

those words were a constant, like the old hymn his father hummed every sunday— a rhythm that filled his bones but never quite comforted him. his daddy's bible was always open, its pages turnin’ but never lettin’ him be free. sammie tried— tried to follow the lord's way, but the blues... the blues called to him like the river calls to the thirsty soul, impossible to resist.

sammie moved through the thick, humid air, the sun hangin’ low, castin’ a golden haze over the cotton fields. the world outside felt heavy, like a hot iron pressin’ down on his chest. but when he reached that spot, everythin’ else seemed to fade away. the cotton fields stretched out behind him, a sea of white that seemed to suffocate the horizon. the wooden houses, weathered and tired from years of struggle, stood like silent witnesses. but under the big magnolia tree, none of that mattered. the sweet, rich scent of the blossoms filled the air, thick as molasses on a hot summer day. the petals, soft and pink, drifted down like little pieces of heaven scattered across the overgrown grass, paintin’ the earth with somethin’ pure amidst all the chaos.

it wasn't just the shade of the tree that made the world feel quieter, softer— it was you. there you were, sittin’ under the magnolia, as if the whole sky had opened up to bless him with your presence. your skin caught the light just right, glowin’ like moonlight on dark water, and sammie couldn't help but think you were somethin’ sent straight from heaven itself— an angel with wild curls/coils that framed your face like they were meant to. you looked at him with those eyes, soft but intense, as if you were readin’ his soul with every glance.

the two of you didn't need to say anything to greet each other. there was somethin’ in the way ya'lls eyes met, somethin’ familiar and unspoken that made words unnecessary. it was just always like that between ya'll— easy, like breathin’.

"see you brought 'ol boy with ya," you said, your voice teasin’, with just the right hint of mischief.

you glanced over at sammie, who had settled beside you under the shade of the old magnolia tree, guitar restin’ in his lap. your curly/coily hair, wild and full, shifted with the wind, strands of it catchin’ the golden light of the late afternoon sun. you wore a simple white blouse tucked into a skirt that brushed just above your ankles, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze, and scuffed boots that spoke of long walks through fields and dust.

"figured i'd play you a lil somethin’" he shrugged, tryin’ to play it cool, but anyone who knew sammie well could see through the front.

his eyes gleamed with excitement, his fingers itchin’ to strum the guitar like it was callin’ him. his clothes were worn— a faded shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, roughened by years of work. his trousers were a bit loose around the waist, held up by suspenders that hung carelessly over his shoulders. there was a worn-in charm to the way he dressed, like everythin’ had its place on him, as if the fabric had been stitched together by time and the music itself.

"you know i'd love more than that," you said, your plush lips curlin’ into a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts. the way you looked at him— like he was the only thing in the world— made his heart race in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"aye i can't be greedy ‘na," he chuckled, his voice low and full of warmth, and you couldn't help but laugh right along with him. the shared laughter was light, like a song that needed no words.

"wait-" you interrupted, shiftin’ on the grass with a playful glint in your eye.

you maneuvered in front of him, lettin’ yourself fall forward onto the ground with an ease that was all your own. her boots kicked up the dust, swingin’ back and forth as your elbows dug into the earth. your head rested in your palms, and your eyes, half-lidded with anticipation, locked onto him as if you wasn't the only one there, "i wanna get a front row seat."

he laughed softly, his gaze lingerin’ on you. he loved the way you looked, sprawled out in front of him like that, and how easy it was to just be with you. you had a way of makin’ everything feel right. slippin’ the bottle neck onto his ring finger, he adjusted it carefully, the smooth glass fittin’ snug against his skin. the guitar was in his hands now, and with it, he was ready to share a piece of himself.

he strummed a few slow notes, lettin’ the sound hang in the air before lookin’ at your pretty face, as if askin’ for permission. she didn't need to say a word. your smile said it all.

he plays his guitar, the sound rollin’ out like the softest breeze. every note feels like it's pullin’ the sky closer, like heaven's comin’ down a little early just for you. his voice? smoother than honey, sweeter than molasses, it wraps itself around you, touches a part of your soul you didn't even know was achin’. it scratches that itch in your brain, the one that only a song like this could reach. the strings hum beneath his calloused fingers, each strum just right, like the guitar was made for him and him alone.

he closes his eyes, and you can tell he's lost in it— puttin’ his whole heart into the music, lettin’ it bleed out into the air around him. you can feel how much he loves this, how much it means to him. he leans forward, then back, rockin’ with the rhythm, movin’ like the music is pullin’ him in every direction. you smile the whole time, unable to look away, eyes locked on him. just him. and that guitar. nothin’ else matters.

"you got a real gift, sammie," you said as the song came to a closure, your voice soft, but sure. you adjusted your skirt, smoothin’ it down over your knees. every word you spoke felt like it came straight from the heart.

he ran a hand over his face, a quiet sigh slippin’ from his lips. "not like i can go out an' show it, though. ain't no place for a man like me to stand up, not with this music. most folks wouldn't even spare a second to listen. too busy with they own lives to care 'bout what i gots to say."

you leaned forward, eyes meetin’ his with an intensity that made his chest tighten. "well, maybe the praise and standin’ ovations'll come to you someday," you said, your voice low, almost like a prayer. "but you don't have to chase after 'em. just play. the right people'll come to ya."

he looked at you then, as if he could see somethin’ in your eyes that gave him the courage he never had before. he nodded, a slow, thoughtful gesture. "good advice."

sammie's gaze softened, his voice barely more than a whisper. "you too good for me, you know that? too good to be true. I'm scared... scared you might slip away like the wind."

your heart ached at the thought, but you reached over, pullin’ yourself closer, the warmth of his body a comfort against your own. "i'm always here for you, sammie," you said, each word full of a promise. you slid over next to him, leanin’ into him like he was the only solid thing in a world of shiftin’ shadows.

the only thing he managed to say was, "likewise," his lips curlin’ into that boyish grin you adore. he was afraid that if he said anything more, a swarm of butterflies would escape his mouth, given how many were already flutterin’ in his stomach.

your head rested on his shoulder, and in that moment, everythin’ felt right. "now, play me that song you wrote for yo daddy."

another sammie fic, hope ya’ll like this one !!

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supaflyyy · 8 days ago

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“ you sweeter than honey ! ”

sammie “preacher boy” moore x farmer’s daughter! black! fem! reader

synopsis: showin’ your favorite preacher boy ‘round the farm

cw: fluff. 30s in the south. written in southern tone. mentions of racism. slight cussing.

the sun hung low, slow and lazy like molasses drippin’ off a spoon. the air smelled of dry earth and the faint sweetness of wild honeysuckle, thick with dust that floated in long golden rays. you sat easy in the saddle of belle, your old mare with a mane tangled like summer vines and eyes steady as the fading light. horses out here weren’t just animals—they were partners, pullin’ wagons, haulin’ shit tons of wood, carryin’ you through the sticky southern heat when roads turned to mud.

your curls/coils were are wild and free, like summer vines climbing a fence. mama always said, “they perfect just the way god made ‘em.” you wore a soft, faded-colored dress— maybe a sunwashed blue or faded rose— and sturdy boots you’ve stomped in a million fields.

down the dirt lane, the rumble of a worn-out car broke the quiet. dust kicked up behind it like a restless ghost, swirling lazy and red in the fading sun. the car was battered and dusty, no polish or shine to hide the miles it’d traveled, but it carried who you’d been waitin’ on.

you slid down from belle’s back, boots crunchin’ on dry straw, and stepped toward the porch where sammie’s folks stood. his mama’s eyes softened behind tired smiles, and his papa’s face was weathered but kind. you wiped dust off your hands on your faded dress and tipped your head in greeting.

“good afternoon, mr. moore, mrs. moore,” you said gentle, voice carrying just enough warmth to settle in the evening air. “glad y’all made it safe.”

mrs. moore nodded, “thank you, miss.” mr. moore gave a slow, steady nod that felt like a promise.

you stepped back, catchin’ sammie’s brown eyes from across the yard. he was leaning against the porch, that easy grin tugging at his lips already.

“look who’s showin’ up all fancy,” you teased, voice soft and teasing like a breeze through the magnolia leaves. “preacher boy.”

he cocked his head, eyes bright, slow and smooth as molasses syrup. “n/n,” he said, copyin’ you.

you tilted your head, eyes twinklin’, “still got that damn guitar?”

he smirked, steppin’ a little closer, “still got that damn goat piss on your dress.”

you laughed easy, the sound warm and bright, and before you knew it, he was pulling you in close. the hug wrapped around you like a worn quilt — familiar, steady, and safe.

“reckon if you keep ol’ boy out the house too long, he gon’ get dirty,” you said, nodding toward the guitar case resting by the porch.

after a moment, you pulled back, eyes gleaming. “come on, i wanna show you somethin’.”

| ⟡ ˙🐎 ̟

you led sammie into the barn where the smell of hay and horses settled like a warm blanket. belle stood patiently, her big brown eyes watching you both with quiet trust. a horse whinnied nearby, the sound carryin’ soft and sure in the evenin’ air.

“this here’s belle,” you said, voice steady. “she’s stubborn as a mule but she pulls her weight. we use her to haul the wagon, carry wood, and when the roads get slick, she’s the only way to town.”

sammie reached out, fingers brushing’ through belle’s mane, a slow smile playing on his lips. “she’s got fire in her, like you.”

you laughed, “wait till you meet old blue — he’s got a mind all his own. but, i’ll save that interaction for later.”

the horses stood quiet as the sun dipped low, the orange rays bleeding into the large, open windows and cracks through the wood.

you reached for the stiff-bristled brush hangin’ on a hook and handed it to sammie. “here,” you said, voice soft, “this one’s for takin’ the dust off. gotta brush in the same direction as their hair, slow and steady.”

sammie took the brush, fingers unsure but eager, and you guided his hand gently down belle’s neck. the mare shivered, leaning into the touch like she knew she was in good hands.

“see?” you smiled, “she likes that. horses don’t take kindly to rough hands.”

he laughed, a little embarrassed, but careful, brushin’ with slow, gentle strokes. “like with people, huh?”

you nodded, heart flutterin’. “yep. gotta be real patient and kind, or they’ll let ‘cha know real quick.”

as he brushed, you slid close, finger’s brushin’ ‘gainst his face to straighten up his hat.

“you doin’ just fine, preacher boy,” you teased, voice low and warm.

he grinned, eyes meetin’ yours, the world shrinkin’ to the quiet barn, the scent of hay, and the simple rhythm of two hearts gettin’ to know each other.

| ⟡ ˙🌿 ̟

you started walking back, boots crunchin’ over dry straw and dirt. voices drifted from nearby, your daddy and sammie’s papa deep in talk.

“yeah man,” your daddy said, wipin’ sweat from his brow, “them white folks—no mercy. we got the best crops in the south, yet they always turn away.”

“aye man,” sammie’s papa said slow, placin’ a hand on your daddy’s shoulder, “they don’t deserve it. you have an abundance of goods, and when god...”

“here he go,” sammie muttered low beside you, makin’ you chuckle softly.

“heard through the grapevine that you been lazin’ on them bible verses?” you teased him, elbow nudgin’ his ribs.

“cause,” he spread his arms wide, “the blues. it’s callin’ me.”

you turned the conversation light again, talkin’ bout the chow family’s grocery stores.

“yup, we one the reasons they still in business,” you said, boots crunchin’ over dry straw, “but,” you dropped your voice, “they don’t be telling folks where they get the produce from, ‘specially white folks.”

“why don’t they tell us?” he asked, eyes catchin’ how your hands and head moved as you talked.

“news spreads like wildfire. you tell somebody, then they tell somebody else—’round an’ ’round it goes.”

| ⟡ ˙🐓 ̟

later, you both bent low in the henhouse, picking eggs nestled safe in straw. hens clucked and shuffled nearby.

you crouched low by the henhouse, the wooden slats rough against your palms, the smell of straw and feathers thick in the air. soft clucks and gentle fluttering surrounded you as hens shuffled around, scratching at the dirt with their little feet. nestled in the corner, eggs sat safe in nests of golden hay — some smooth and white, others speckled like they’d been kissed by the sun itself.

sammie eased down beside you, eyes wide and curious, like a boy seeing something new for the first time. “you scared a chicken gon’ nip at ya?” you teased, nudgin’ him playfully with your elbow.

“no!” he said quick, voice a little too loud, cheeks flushing like a summer rose.

you laughed, that easy, warm sound you loved to hear. “you sweeter than honey!” you kee-kee’d, brushing a stray feather from his collar. “they ain’t gon’ do nothin’.”

a plump hen clucked nearby, peckin’ at the dirt right by your boot, making sammie jump back and chuckle, eyes crinklin’ with amusement.

“here,” you whispered, holdin’ out an egg you’d just gathered, smooth and warm in your hand. “look how delicate it is, but still holds so much life.”

sammie reached out, fingers just barely brushin’ yours as he took the egg, careful not to crack it. “like you,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours, soft and steady.

your heart stumbled, caught in that quiet moment where the world seemed to slow just for the two of you.

“reckon i like this part,” he said, voice low. “feels... simple, good.”

you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “me too.”

for a moment, all the weight of the world outside that henhouse faded away, and there was just you, sammie, and the soft rhythm of life around you — warm, gentle, and full of promise.

| ⟡ ˙🐄 ̟

then came the milkin’.

you showed sammie how to kneel beside the old cow, its breath warm and heavy, the pail set steady beneath. your fingers worked slow and gentle, squeezin’ just right till the milk splashed white and cool.

his fingers brushed yours, a spark in the fading light, and he laughed at the awkwardness of the first try.

later, the goat. smaller, quicker, and feistier. she nuzzled your hands, sometimes nipping playful.

“reckon she’s testin’ who’s boss,” you said, grinning.

sammie grinned back, more confident now, as the two of you worked together, hands wet and warm in the soft southern dusk.

after the last splash of milk settled in the pail, you wiped your hands on your dress, the cool evening breeze catching stray curls around your face. sammie watched you with that quiet smile that made your heart beat just a little faster, like a soft rhythm beneath the southern sky.

“reckon you did good,” you said, nudging him gently with your elbow.

“not near as good as you,” he said, eyes shinin’.

you laughed, the sound light as the wind through the tall grass.

“come on,” you said, reachin’ down to grab the basket sitting by the barn door— handwoven from sweetgrass and pine needles, the work of you and your mama’s patient hands. the basket was sturdy but delicate, the kind that smelled faintly of earth and sunshine, perfect for holdin’ the treasures of the land.

you led sammie down the path where wild blackberry brambles tangled thick, their deep purple fruit heavy and ripe against the thorny branches.

“these here berries,” you said, kneelin’ low and showin’ him how to pick gentle so the berries didn’t squish, “they’re sweet like honey but need careful hands.”

sammie crouched beside you, fingers fumblin’ but eager as he reached out to pluck a berry, holdin’ it up like a rare jewel.

“like you,” he said (again) softly, eyes catchin’ yours again.

you smiled, heart bloomin’ like the wildflowers nearby.

“bet mama’s got a pie bakin’ when we get back,” you whispered, your tongue flickin’ over your lips.

“hungry ass,” he teased before getting tapped upside the head. sammie laughed it off, the sound warm and easy. together you filled the basket with the summer’s bounty — dark jewels against the green, catching the last light like tiny promises of sweetness and hope.

and all around, the world was heavy with history, with struggle, but also quiet hope—like the soft hum of a blues guitar on a summer night, raw and real, but full of somethin’ that could carry you through.

hey hope ya’ll enjoyed !! second time ever publishing a fic so lemme know what ya’ll think of this one xx

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