#I MEAN IT CROSSED MY MIND IN PASSING BUT NOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theegyal · 1 day ago

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When I Was Your Man [ Annie x Smoke ] +18

⚠️: Anal, rough sex, black magic, gory, torture, angst, toxicity

Part 6

The old flame she never planned to reignite? She did.

This morning didn't mean a shit. She tried to convince herself. The most important right now was to teach Anders a lesson.

After cleaning her shop, fixing her altars and broken statues, putting in boxes the roots and leaves, Annie kneeled to pray. She hadn't been inherently good or neither wicked. Nevertheless, her deeds should not become the origin of her demise ; Because yes, Annie persuaded herself that the destruction of her sanctuary would ultimately have irreversible consequences on her daughter. What if she couldn't pass through Oyá death's tunnel no more ? Or if any communication between them ceased ?

"Anders..." she muttered, mystically, her jaw tightened "the night will come. For you"

In a clay bowl, one he'd eaten from, she laid the roots. Devil's Shoestring, to make his path a tangle. Mullein leaves, to cloud his mind. A pinch of goofer dust to seal it. This good-for-nothing nigga had put filth on her sanctuary, the spirits were angry, the ancestors reclaimed a deep cleaning, her daughter path to Oyá had been blurred.

A debt must be paid.

She pricked her thumb with a silver pin. She watched a single drop of her blood fall, soaking into mixing powder.

"Anders Ray Johnson," she whispered, her breath ghosting over the bowl. "You walked on my soul. Now you ain't gon' have none. No ground to stand on at all."

She blow up the cursing powder to the winds.

Back to Lizzie's, the silence in the twins' room was loud.

Stack undressed, ready to take a shower. Smoke sat by the window, lighting his pipe. Right before his young brother slip into the bathroom, he asked :

"Was it good to fuck Annie?"

Stack's breath hitched. What the fuck Smoke expected him to say ? Of course it was good. Her pussy tasted honey, the way her tits bounce from behind, the sweet smell of her hair...

"Good as much as taking the back of a gun at the temple."

A dry, ugly sound left Smoke's lips. Might've been mistaken for a laugh.

"You asked for it."

He looked out at the street. Four blocks away from here was located Sweet Mama's Kitchen. Smoke let a smug grin tug at her corner of his mouth. Whoever messed with her had to die, simple.

Yeah, Annie was his wife, and even after seven damn years she still got a hold on this soul. But, one thing Smoke hated more than anything else, was people messing with his blood. Bending over for Stack was the line she should've never crossed.

She needed a lesson and Smoke was eager to teach her.

He would be her shield and her cage all at once.

"Stack."

"See that building her food spot in ? Find the landlord. Tell'em the Smoke Stack twins ain't buying no fuckin lease. We go buyin' the whole damn block."

The young twin rolled his eyes "thought y'all were cool again. I mean after that big ass head she gave you..."

"So ? She blow out my dick and we good ? Do the shit I'm askin' you, boy" replied Smoke

"That shit gonna get uglier than Roosevelt side piece...anyway, count me in." He said, disappearing in shower.

Now that part of the plan was settled. Smoke release his grip from the rifle, take an old paper out the drawer and scratch some words.

Annie didn't give him a name. She always had this tendency of protecting dumb ass nigga from reaping what they sowed. Doesn't matter truly, Smoke knew a lot of folks who can play great detective games, some Al Capone minions with a large money appetite.

"I'm outta the town" he shouted for Stack.

When you spit in the air, be ready for it to fall down on your face. The debtor's time had come.

The curse didn't knock gently, he kicked the door off Anders' mind.

Second ago he was drinking corn liquor with friends under a big sassafras tree and the next the whole delta became his own personal hell. Mosquitoes suddenly targeted him, sun lights turned into flames, the heat burning his skin, bugs buzzed around him as if he became a putrefying corpse.

His friends' eyes turned down, red, squinting, judging.

Anders immediately rose up right in front of this dumbfounded boys, he stormed to the dusty road, side to the plantations, then close to an oxbow lake.

His brain cracked open, spilling his sins to the gators and the snakes.

"I DID IT!" he howled with a ragging voice. "I GUTTED THAT DAMN CAT! I SMASHED HER STATUES! I THREW MUD AND SHIT ON HER BABY'S GRAVE—"

His crazed rambling carried over the murky water. A truck engine cut off down a dirt road nearby. Smoke still sat in the engine, his blue hat protecting his head from the sun. He listened, heard every words.

Smoke didn't flinch. Didn't move, neither. He just sucked on his cigarette slow, the molasses-sweet tobacco crackling like it was listening too. Eyes shaded beneath the brim of his hat, he stared out at the cypress knees and the muddy water moccasins slipping through the shallows.

Anders kept shouting. Now bent over, hands clawing at his skin like he was trying to dig something out from under it.

"I cut the black cat open, the old man told me it would bring her misery —AH." He sobbed, "her baby... her damn baby didn't deserve no goddamn shining rock! I smeared mud and shit on the grave! You hear me?! Shit!" He was laughing now.

"Always talking about roots, leaves and bullshit. She rot in those now—Huh ?" His laughter became crazier.

He beat his chest like he was calling thunder down, head rocking back and forth, teeth chattering disgracing the sun's heat. His drawers soaked through with piss and fever. Eyes glassed over, all pupil. Nothing human left in them. He didn't see the world anymore, just echoes of what he'd done.

Smoke, still parked, remains in his truck. He was not the kind of guy who believed in spirits, hex or any type of magic. He did believe in Annie though. And seeing the current state of Anders, he understood her rage, because he also shared the same.

Their baby. That bastard stained their child's resting place. Fury gnawed at him, furious tears burning his eyes. He balled up the letter down on the passenger seat. He didn't need the shady dogs help now, he had to handle it, himself.

This wasn't enough. That nigga didn't pay enough for his crimes.

"...baby... baby got worms now, I seen it, I seen it..." Anders continued sneering

"Grave got teeth," he mumbled. "Grave bit me. I seen 'em eyes lookin' at me from the dirt—ain't no baby, it's a snake baby, all curled up in the blanket..." He cried horrified now, clawing at his own face.

That was it. That was the last goddamn straw.

The hot tears in Smoke's eyes evaporated, leaving behind a cold, murderous calm. He shoved the truck door open, his hand already reaching for the butt of the gun tucked in his waistband. He was gonna walk over there, put the barrel in that blasphemous mouth, and end this nigga life right now.

He swung a leg out. And froze.

Something pushed back. Not a person. The air itself got thick, heavy like wet wool, pressing on his shoulders, chest, on his face. He tried to force his way through it, gritting his teeth, muscles straining.

It was like trying to walk through concrete. A wave of heat washed over him, smelling of ozone and something else... something that smelled like Annie's skin. Her magic. Her will. A blunt, silent, invisible No. This was her kill. Her justice. And he wasn't invited.

"Fuck," he snarled, frustrated. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, defeated.

"Shit, you ain't made her alone Bunny"

He wrenched the truck door shut and stomped on the gas, tires spitting dust. He drove straight to Juke Joint, its neon sign a lurid smear against the falling dusk.

Inside, the usual noise of liquor and lies filled the air. He bypassed it all, heading for a backroom where two hard-looking fellas, ones they brought with them from Chicago, were playing cards under a grey cloud of cigarette.

Smoke didn't waste time with greetings. He peeled off a thick wad of bills and slapped it on the table.

"Down by the oxbow lake," he said, his voice flat and deadly. "There's a crazy motherfucker shoutin' to the sky. I want him. Bring him to the basement. Don't kill him. I'll handle that part myself."

The bigger of the two men eyed the cash, then gave a slow nod. "Consider it done, Smoke."

Night fell heavy and black. In the damp basement of the Juke Joint, under the swinging glare of a single bare bulb, Anders Ray Johnson was tied to a wooden chair. He was quieter now, trembling, his eyes darting into the shadows. The ranting came in waves, weaker, more pathetic.

"...the mud, it was warm..." he mumbled, drool tracing a path down his chin. "She told me... the baby's eyes... saw me... oh god, the dirt got teeth..."

The wooden stairs creaked. Smoke descended, his shadow falling long and sharp over the dirt floor. He pulled up another chair and sat opposite Anders, lighting a cigarette, the flare of the match lighting up the cold fury in his eyes.

He let the silence stretch out. Then he leaned forward.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his voice soft as a razor's edge. "About the grave."

Anders just sobbed, shaking his head. Smoke took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing a vicious red. He reached out and, with unnerving gentleness, pressed the lit end into the back of Anders' hand. The madman screamed, a high, thin sound, the smell of burnt flesh and hair filling the space.

The scream didn't satisfy Smoke. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He tossed the cigarette to the dirt floor and from an old table nearby, he pulled a long, sharp-looking skinning knife, its edge gleaming under the bare bulb.

He leaned in close, mumbling, speaking not to Anders but to the some presence in the room, a ghost he didn't believe existed. "She was quiet. Never even cry when she came into this world. A quiet little thing." He grabbed Anders' right hand, pinning it flat to the wooden arm of the chair. "And you... you put your loud, filthy hands all over her quiet place."

He placed the blade against Anders' index finger, at the knuckle. He didn't hack. He pressed, a single, fluid motion of steel through flesh and bone. The finger came off, dropping to the floor.

Anders' shrieked, gurgled of extreme pain. Smoke didn't even blink. He took the next finger. Then the next.

"Couldn't just let her be," Smoke continued, his voice dangerously steady as he moved to Anders' head, grabbing a fistful of greasy hair and yanking it to the side. "Had to make foolish moves. Had to bother her nap time." He brought the knife up to Anders' ear, the cold steel tracing the shell.

And, with a quick, brutal tug, he chopped it clean. Blood poured hot and fast down Anders' neck, soaking his collar. He thrashed, his sanity completely shredded, his cries now just inhuman noises of agony.

Smoke let the head fall back. His eyes, cold and dead, drifted lower.

Not only Anders mess up with his daughter but that dirty thumb he got between his leg dared touching Annie.

"Now I think about it. You did welcomed me back, pant unbuckled, right ?" Smoke laughed bitterly, his rage shifted. "Gon' ask you the same question I asked my brother" he inhaled loudly "be careful though. You ain't my blood."

He used the tip of his knife to rip Anders' drawers open. "Was it good to fuck Annie?" Smoke's eyes betrayed a pure, raw jealousy. Just thinking that this rag had pounded his wife's coochie made his blood boil.

Unfortunately for the madman, the only answer he could provide were howls and moans. These didn't satisfy the former soldier.

"I see," Smoke simply said.

With the blade, he grabbed the downed, terrified flesh and swiftly sliced it with an upward cut. A final, piercing scream tore through the basement before dissolving into a wet, rattling sigh.

"Guess it wasn't that good," Smoke faked a reflection, then got his eyes back on Anders. "Well, I know you lie. Because she's so sweet. Sometimes too reckless for her own damn sake."

He stood up. Anders slumped in the chair, life draining out of him onto the dirt floor. Smoke pulled his revolver.

BANG!

"Only wrong you done was steppin' in our way. Now rot in piss."

He walked up the stairs and out into the cool Delta night air.

The drive was long and quiet, away from the town faint lights, heading down a dark road that ran alongside the river. His hands were trembling on the wheel. The adrenaline left his body, Smoke remained tied to his half from another life.

The smell, blood and burnt flesh back the basement, echoed Chicago black alleys, that time he used to work for the mob. He'd thought he'd left that part of himself buried back north. Looked like it was just sleeping.

He finally saw it. A small wooden cabin, set back from the river, a single candle light burning in the window like a beacon : Annie's house.

He cut the engine and walked up to the porch. He could see it was clean, she got rid of any filth. The dead animals were gone, the mud on her baby's grave had been washed.

He raised a hand, knuckles stained with blood, and knocked.

One time, two time. She opened at the third.

"Elijah... what did you do ?" She spoke low

"Finished what you had started"

An angel pass through Annie's eyes

She closed her eyes, breathing deep.

"Get in the bathroom."

He stepped past her, and she closed the door, shutting out the night.

In the wooden bathroom, Smoke stood in front of the small steamed-up mirror. Annie followed his steps.

She came to him, her afro hair in cornrow braids. Her eyes were quiet, blank.

She knew what he did.

No—she knew what they did. Elijah and her.

Her fingers, warm and sure, went to the buttons of his bloody shirt.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, pride thick in his voice.

"We crossed a line, Elijah. You should've listened to me. You shouldn't have intervened."

"I already crossed it the first night I came to you, clothes full of my father's blood." He paused. "You crossed the, Bunny. Not me"

"It was the first time I begged my ancestors to fight for me. Not to heal anything."

She kept working her way down, peeling the sticky fabric from his skin. He didn't move. Didn't help.

When the shirt was off, she started on his belt buckle. A smirk crept across his face.

"Pervert," she mumbled as his pants dropped to the floor.

"Get in," she ordered.

For a second, he resisted. Silly witch—she forgot he was the one who gave orders.

But when he looked at her, at the cold wrath carved into her face, he obeyed.

No hesitation.

He stepped into the shower.

Annie trailed him. She twisted open the shower knob, letting the cold water fall on their bodies.

She stood there, her thin brown cotton dress soaked through, clinging to every curve, her nipples hard pebbles beneath the fabric.

The hot water sluiced over his back, but he didn't feel it. All he felt were her eyes on him. Fucking witch. Standing there in her soaked dress, looking like she was judging him from on high. Her face was cold, but he knew what burned her deep inside.

"Turn around," she said.

As Smoke turned, Annie took the soap — one she made herself, smelling like tobacco leaf and honey — and started from the top. Slowly her hands washed the grime out his shoulders, dragging down the hard ridges of his back. She scrubbed like she was trying to erase the man he'd been hours ago. The man with cursed blood on his hands. The man who set foot where he shouldn't have.

She got to his waist, her fingers brushing the top of his ass. "Ain't no scrubbin' can clean what you done," she whispered. "But I'm gon' wash you anyway."

"Ain't no sage can chase the karma you gon' get from hexing that man" He replied, defiant.

Smoke breath hitched when she slid her hand round front, lower, below his abdomen. She gripped his cock, purposely, jerking him under the stream, letting her slick fingers play with his tip, hand gliding easy over the thick length of his dick.

"Mmmh— you so damn hard," she muttered, "I'm just washin' Smoke, why you ready ?"

All she could do was talk. Hoping he never turned around and witness the mess she was. Her swollen and hard nipples were pulsing under the dress, her big brown soppy breasts squeezing against each other, pulling heat up her throat.

His balls were heavy and full. She caressed them with care, sliding her softly soaped fingers between them.

He grunted, hips twitchin'. "Fuck. You ain't shit Annie"

He turned, facing her. Annie vagabond hand now released from his crotch, get on his chest. Her palm resting near his heart.

"You feel that? This drum beating hard and loud" she whispered, her voice venomous. "That's mine."

Oh, he felt it. He felt the seven years crying out for his own cowardice, the damn seven years of jerking off to the memory of her taste, her smell.

He felt the rage, knowing his own brother had been inside her.

He felt the white-hot fury of another man—a piece of shit like Anders—daring to kiss her, shove his —now chopped— dick inside her cunt. Yes, Smoke felt all of that in the frantic rhythm of his heart.

He had to remind her, to reclaim her body.

Smoke's hands snapped around Annie's waist, his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise.

"You crossed that fuckin' line, Annie," he snarled, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

A faint smirk touched her lips, a look of pure defiance. "We already live on line, Elijah."

Then she shoved him. All her wiry strength, slamming him back against the rough wood of the shower wall. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, blew a fuse in his brain.

In a heartbeat, he had her.

He wasn't gentle. He grabbed her by the front of her wet dress and slammed her against the opposite wall, her head cracking against the wood. Her eyes widened, but she didn't scream. Fuck yes. He wanted her to fight, resist.

He tore the flimsy cotton down, shredding it off her body until her huge, hard tits were bare, bouncing softly.

He crushed his mouth against hers, a brutal kiss that was all teeth and tongue. He owned this mouth. Anders hadn't touched it, not like this. Stack hadn't touched those bruised lips. They were his.

He bit her, tasting the blood, and the metallic tang sent a jolt straight to his groin.

His steady hand went down, grabbing a fistful of her fat pussy and coiled pubic hair all at once. He rubbed her phat clit, grazing over her moistened inner lips. Her cunt dripping honey.

He thrusted two fingers in her vagina, making her coonie talk in squelching blurb.

"Fuck—Annie you so wet"

He pulled his fingers out of her with a wet smack that made her gasp.

"Turn 'round," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Put your hands on the wall."

For a second, she just stared at him, her brown eyes blazing with a fury that matched his own. They weren't mad at each other, probably the pressure of the whole day and its mess. A lesser man would've flinched to her gaze. Smoke just stared back, waiting.

Mumbling under her breath, she did it. She turned and braced herself against the rough wooden planks.

Smoke spread her phat cheeks apart, water sliding down the crack of her ass. Her pussy lips were swollen, sticky with juice, and still glistening from the work his fingers did.

He slapped one cheek hard, the sound echoing off the bathroom.

Smoke lined up behind her, one hand spread over her wide lower back, pinning her down while the other guided his cockhead right to her bootyhole.

No only her pussy drip but her anus became slicker, oiled by her own fluid.

"Fuck babe—ya shit so tight"

His penis base slip in her sopping small hole, with one stroke. But he didn't shove it all the way, not yet.

He let the thick base of his cock stretch her, holding himself there, feeling the tight ring of her asshole clenching around him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her whole body was humming like a struck bell.

He leaned in close, his mouth at her ear. With a taunting voice he murmured "Feels good, ain't it bunny? All tight and hot around my dick. Just how you like it."

"Go to hell," she gasped, her voice strained. Her ass twitched, pushing back against him, a traitorous little movement her body made without her permission.

A cruel grin spread across Smoke's face. He started to pull out, the head of his cock dragging along the sensitive flesh. "Oh? You want me to stop? Aight, I can stop."

Panic flared in her eyes. She twisted her neck to glare at him over her shoulder. "Don't you fuckin' dare, Smoke."

"Then say it," he whispered, pushing back in just an inch, a torturous taste of what she was missing. "Tell me whatcha want me to do to that tight little hole of yours."

"You wish," she spat, but her voice was breaking, her pride dissolving in a wave of pure, desperate need. He could feel her trembling under his hands. He pushed in another inch, then pulled back again.

That's what did it.

"Please," she whimpered, the word ripped from her throat. Her facade finally shattered. "Elijah, please."

She called him by his real name, hope to touch his heart.

"Please what?" he growled, needing to hear it, needing to own her surrender to their shared sickness.

Her voice was a raw, ragged sob. "Please, fuck me. Fuck my ass, Elijah."

The words were a lit match to a barrel of gasoline.

With a possessive roar, he grabbed her hips, digging his fingers in, and rammed his cock deep inside her. All the way to the hilt.

A guttural moan tore out of her. Her bigs tits bounced harder, nipples spilling milk down the shower floors.

He started to pound into her forcefully. She met every single thrust, her ass pushing back, her body taking all of his big fat dick, demanding more.

"Yeah, like that," he grunted, slapping her rounded ass "Take my whole goddamn cock, Annie!"

"Deeper!" she screamed back, her voice shredded. "Mmm—Fuck Elijah ! Don't stop, beat my anus baby, drill that hole—"

He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her slightly, changing the angle, driving his dick into her guts at a new, impossible depth.

She howled, an animalistic sound of a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He felt her climax building, her insides clenching and fluttering around him. The feeling of her so close, of her body coming apart around his dick, pushed him over the edge : he creamed her ass inside and out.

Annie's legs gave out and she slumped against the wall.

Smoke stood behind her, his veiny thick dick covered of sperm, still hard, still pulsing.

"we ain't done yet" Annie said, lowering her gaze on his aching cock. She headed her hand and shut the water off. "The mattress"

She spoke before stepping out the bathroom.

He followed. Like a man under a spell.

She climbed onto the mattress, back arched low and wide, ass round and high. Now on all four, Annie looked back at him, her dark skin glistening, her pussy lips swollen and leaking like fruit split open in the sun.

"Bet you ain't got no damn good meal for seven years long"

He dropped to his knees behind her. Spread her peaches wide with both hands, watched that juicy creamy drip trail slow down the inside of her thighs.

He buried his face between them. Licked her like he was thirsty,starving. His tongue dragged over her clit, then down to her hole, then lower, tongue-fucking her milky ass like it was his last supper.

Annie moaned, loud and filthy. "Goddamn, boy... tryna baptize yourself or what?"

He didn't answer. Just groaned and licked deeper, tongue stiff, nose pressed to her pussy, the scent of her making his eyes roll back.

Smoke felt her pussy juice sticking out on his nose, lips, damn near his eyes. Climaxing one time wasn't enough. He wanted to penetrate her. Burying himself in her womb.

He climbed over her, lined his cock up with that soaking pussy, and pushed in all the way, slow, mean. Annie gasped, back arching, tits pressed into the mattress, the whole bed squealing under the weight of them both.

He beat that pussy like it owed him money. His balls clapped against her bubble ass. Annie took it. All of it. Back arched, mouth open, eyes rolled up. She met every thrust with her own, clapping her ass, like she was built for it.

"Say it," she hissed, lookin' back at him. "Tell me you ain't never lettin' go."

"I ain't," he growled. "You mine, Annie."

"You late," she moaned. "But you here now."

She came first, crying out, her whole body convulsing, wetness spilling down to the sheets.

He followed seconds after, cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside her, panting against her back, holding her tight like she might vanish if he let go.

They collapsed together, breathless. The mattress soaked, the room steaming.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant song of crickets and the whisper of the river not too far off. Moonlight dripped in through the crooked slats of the wooden walls, catching the sweat still shining on their skin.

Annie lay on her side, thick thighs slick with their mess, chest still heaving from the fucking they'd done. Her braids sweated. Smoke was behind her, spooning. One hand heavy on her hip.

He stayed inside her, softening slow, but he didn't move. Didn't breathe too deep. Just let his body speak what he couldn't say.

Annie stared into void.Real quiet. She was trying not to feel too much. She could still feel the echo of him inside her, every stroke sitting in her ribs like memory.

"I ain't never meant to need nobody," she said finally. "Least of all you."

Smoke said nothing. Just breathed steady behind her, eyes closed, out of guilt. He was the one abandoning her.

She swallowed hard. "When you left, Elijah... somethin' inside me cracked open."

She wiped at her face but tears kept sliding sideways down to the mattress.

"I ain't wanna cry no more," she whispered. "Ain't wanna feel nothin'. So I stopped. I stopped bein' soft."

He still didn't speak. But his arm slid around her waist, asking for permission.

Annie trembled.

"You know what it done to a woman, to be left like that?" she asked, voice breaking. "With a belly full of grief? With a baby and no name to give her but mine?"

Smoke pressed his lips to her shoulder. It was the only answer he had.

"I missed you," she said, breath shallow. "Hated that I did, but I did. Every damn day. Missed how you talked to me like I ain't scared of nothin'. Missed how you laid your head on my thighs like church pew."

He let out a low breath, like he was finally bleeding. There wasn't a day he didn't think about her. But what the use of telling her right now ? She would never believe his words.

"I ain't wanna feel this again. That hope. That softness. I don't want it," she mumbled. "Don't wanna love you and end up empty again."

"Annie," he whispered, lips dragging slow against her skin. "I ain't gon' leave this time."

She shook her head, crying. "Don't promise me that, Elijah. Don't lie in my bed and make me believe somethin' sweet."

He pulled her closer, chest flush to her back, his hand slid up to cover hers, fingers intertwining.

"I done already lied too many times, Bunny. I ain't got a place to go beside your arms."

She turned to face him. Her face swollen, tears soaking the pillow. "I can't be caring no more. I'm no longer the woman you knew"

"Well, I would just have to love the new version of yourself, even more"

And with that, Annie sobbed into his chest. The kind of tears she'd been holding back for seven long, bitter years.

Smoke wrapped her up. Didn't try to fix it. Didn't say shit else.

He just held her, heart beating heavy, whispering "I'm here" like a spell over and over until she believed it.

The sun crept through the wooden blinds, casting honey light across the bed. The sheets was tangled, damp with sweat. Annie lay nestled against Smoke, her bare back to his chest, their legs braided like roots under the quilt.

He still held her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip. Face buried in the crook of her neck. His breath slow, content. Ain’t nothing rushed in that bed. For the first time in years, Annie felt… calm.

Until a knock broke the hush.

Three soft raps. Hesitant. Then the squeaky creak of the screen door pushing open.

“Miss Annie…?” came a familiar voice, low and unsure. “Miss Annie, you home?”

Annie blinked. Took a breath. “That… that Anaya?” she murmured, sitting up, the sheet clutching her chest. “It’s still early. Why she comin’ here?”

Smoke stirred behind her, grunting sleep-heavy.

She stood, grabbed her night robe off the bedpost, wrapped it around her full frame, and padded barefoot to the front door.

Anaya stood there on the porch, shift crooked on her body, face all anxious and wrung out.

“Baby, what is it?” Annie asked, brows pinching

“I… I ain’t know where else to go, Miss Annie.” Anaya’s voice cracked. “I went to open up the restaurant like always, but there was these two big men out front. Said I couldn’t go in.”

Annie frowned. “Why? We ain’t got no damn violations. Health inspector ain’t been by.”

Anaya’s eyes darted toward the trees. “They said… said the whole buildin’ done been bought out.”

“Bought?” Annie’s voice sharpened. “By who?”

Anaya swallowed, twisting the hem of her apron. “They said… the Moore Twins.”

Annie’s body went still. Her breath hitched. Time stop.

Behind her, bare feet creaked on the floorboards. Smoke had come out the bedroom, drawstring pants loose on his hips, his chest bare, eyes already full of dread.

“Shit,” he muttered low under his beard.

Annie turned slow. Her face was blank at first, then her eyes met his.

Her eyes filled up fast, of tears. That wet shimmer of disbelief. Betrayal. Hurt so sharp it cut the air clean.

“Elijah…” she whispered. One word. But it held every piece of her breaking heart.

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#sinners #smoke x annie #annie x elijah #annie sinners #elias stack moore #fanfiction #smoke sinners #smut sinners #smut fanfiction #sinners fic

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seitmai · 5 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

You stared blankly at the spreadsheet open on your laptop screen, wondering how you’d gone from “just us, barefoot on a beach” to twelve-person string ensemble and a four-tier cake. You didn’t even remember how it happened. Just that it was spiraling now. Too fast and too big.

Well that spiraled quickly

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Come here.” He pulled you into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settled back into the couch. His hand slid under the shirt you were wearing, his shirt resting warm and steady over the gentle swell of your belly. “First of all,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, “you already gave me perfect the day you said yes.”

He is the cutest 🥹

“We can call off the whole thing right now and go to city hall in whatever we’re wearing,” he whispered, “and it’ll still be the best day of my life. I swear to God.” “You’d marry me in sweatpants?” “In a heartbeat. With mustard on my shirt and the courthouse AC broken. Don’t care.”

Oh he so means it, she has to say the word and they are on their way to city hall

“You’re not doing this alone. I’m here, Baby. For all of it.” You nodded slowly, sniffling into his neck.He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Now, what do you need? A nap? A foot rub? For me to throw this whole planner into the ocean?” “Honestly? All three.” “Done.”

He truly knows what the right answers are

Not because the stress was gone, but because Bucky Barnes knew how to hold you steady when it hit.

This is so accurate and important!

“You’re glowing, by the way,” she said, settling on the couch beside you. “Even if you’re panicking. Still glowing. Like, annoying-level glowing.” “I don’t feel glowing. I feel deranged. I cried over a centerpiece. A fucking centerpiece, Peach. Bucky had to talk me down like he was disarming a nuke.” Peach laughed, flopping over until her cheek was resting on your shoulder. “Sounds like he passed the test.”

Leave it to Peach to bring some positive vibes and laughter!

“The one that actually matters. You already knew the sex was good. You already had the chemistry, the intellectualism, the obsession. But the way he holds you through this? The hormones, the wedding spreadsheet meltdowns?” She grinned. “That’s the forever part.”

So true!

“I knew the second I saw him in Hilton Head. I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. And break every plate in the house.” You smiled. “Sounds romantic.”

Romantic in their own crazy way 🤭

“If you still want simple, you can have it. But don’t hide from what you want because it scares you. If it’s fireworks and a string quartet on an island with your belly full of baby Barnes? Then bitch, do it.”

Yes!

“Now. Are we crying into this gelato like the emotionally unstable icons we are?” You grabbed two spoons. “Of course.”

Obviously 😌

Your mom finally stood and crossed the room to cup your face like she had when you were small. “He’s going to lose his mind,” she murmured. “Not that he isn’t already crazy about you.”

She's not wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bucky: I’ll bring dumplings. One glimpse for every sauce container.

“We’ll practice,” Peach grinned. “We’ll make a TikTok. Bucky’ll cry watching that.”

She's so funny 😅

You: Stop trying to bribe my honor.

She so much better than me! I would have folded with that offer hahah

“You know he’s parked outside, right?” You turned toward the window and there he was, in his sportscar, sunglasses on, and pretending to be normal. He was parked illegally and completely unrepentant. “Already in full simp-mode.”

Truly! And he wouldn't want it any other way

You’d spent the afternoon at your final fitting with your mom and Peach. He’d tried to bribe someone, anyone, to get a peek. The designer, the assistant, the poor delivery driver who’d dropped off the steaming food Peach ordered from a fancy Thai place. But no one cracked.

Wow my respect to all those people 🫡 I know Bucky would have paid a lot

“You’re quiet,” you called, not looking up. “That’s dangerous.”

That's always suspicious haha

“No panties next week.” You laughed. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” he said, one hand gliding down to cup between your thighs. “None. I want to be thinking about this sweet little pussy while you walk down the aisle. About how soaked you’ll be by the time I say I do.” “Just picture it, baby. You walk down that aisle, glowing, mine in every way. Everyone watching you. No one knowing you’re bare under there except me.”

I mean 👀

“You think you’re glowing now? Wait until you’re wearing my name, my ring, carrying my baby, and soaked for me on our wedding night.”

If she wasn't already pregnant, she definitely would be after the wedding night 🤭

“We’re getting married in front of my entire family.” “I’m your family and I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said simply as he rose.

🤭🤭🤭

“You’re gonna walk down that aisle,” he whispered, “and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” You kissed his jaw. “You better.”

I'm sure Peach would drag him there if he wouldn't 😅🤭

“You know what’ll help?” You sighed happily. “What?” “No panties.” “We’ll see.” He grinned against your temple. “No. We won’t. That’s the whole point.”

Ahahah he really wants this😂

🥹🥰🥹🥰

“He’s not exactly a prince.” “No,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “He’s better. He’s yours.” “You’ve always been sunlight, but with him? You shine. And that baby already knows how lucky they are.”

“You gonna cry?” you asked without turning around. “No,” Peach sniffled. “You’re gonna cry. And ruin your lashes. So don’t.”

Fair point

Your body was already beginning to shift, soft in places it hadn’t been months ago, glowing with the quiet strength of what you carried. And the dress wasn’t there to hide it. It was designed to honor it.

That's such a beautiful description!

Peach held up a tissue like a threat.

Only Peach can hold a tissue like a threat 😅

“Don’t you dare. We’ve got twenty minutes. You cry now, and the stylist will have to reapply your entire face. And Steve’s already crying and pretending he’s not, so that’s my job for later.” You smiled. “He is?” “Oh, he’s wrecked. I caught him sneaking a look at Bucky, who’s pacing the beach like a caged panther. He’s muttering to himself and holding the rings like they’re gonna disappear.”

Aw that's so cute 🥹

Then you whispered to your reflection, “Let’s go get married.”

I love when people say this like a motivational mantra 🤗

Today, his hands were waiting to touch you, his future wife. And for the first time in years, he was nervous in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with love.

He is a true romantic

Fair

You had insisted on a first look. Said he couldn’t badger his way into seeing the dress ahead of time, but you’d give him this moment before the wedding. Something private. Just for you two. And thank God for that, because Bucky already felt like he was going to drop to his knees.

“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.”

Haha Steve 😅 and we all know he would carry Bucky

He shut his eyes for a second. Took a breath like it was his first in years. Then he turned. And the world fucking stopped. His voice cracked as he said your name. You stepped forward, nervous for only a second until you saw the look in his eyes. “Arăți ca pentru totdeauna. You look like forever,” he said hoarsely. He reached out, fingers brushing your waist like you were made of spun sugar, like you’d disappear if he held on too tightly. But you didn’t disappear.

So cute 🥰

“She’s coming,” Steve said under his breath as Peach walked toward him. “Try to stay upright..”

He really doesn't want to carry him 😅

Bucky swore the sun dimmed itself just to let you shine. He’d seen you earlier, kissed you, held you, but this was different. This was sacred.

🥹🥹🥹

Reaching the altar, Peach dabbed her eyes discreetly, and tucked in beside Steve. He reached for her hand. His grip trembled and he leaned close and whispered something only she could hear. She nodded, then pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

They are so cute and probably ecstatic for these two important people in their life 🥰

But Bucky couldn’t see them anymore. He saw only you. And you were looking right at him. Like there was no one else. No crowd. No ceremony. Just him.

That's how it should be 🥰

“Okay?” he mouthed. You nodded, eyes shining. “You?” His laugh was pure joy. “Not even a little.”

That's just so sweet 🥹

Too late. You were already reaching for him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in like you couldn’t wait another second. The kiss was deep, sweet and improper. The crowd gasped. Peach hooted. Steve muttered “Jesus, you two,” and shook his head, but there was a grin on his face big enough to rival the ocean.

Haha of course Peach hooted 😂 and Steve is the one talking as if he and Peach are any better lol

“No panties. Just like you said. And shaved bare, too.” Bucky didn’t stumble, but he damn near did.

That's the moment he actually need Steve to catch him from hitting the floor 🤭

He’d kept himself in check all day. Ceremony, photos, dinner, the toast that Peach gave that wrecked you both, he’d kept it buttoned up. But now he was unhinged. It shocked him how much he wanted you.

Is he really shocked tho?

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “All that talk about the dress. And what you’d wear underneath.” “You like?” you asked, breathless. Bucky smirked. “I love you bare. Shaved. Soaked for me. So gorgeous.”

His favorite wedding present 🤭

“It’s not just how perfect you look. It’s everything. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make me feel. The way you look at me.” “It gets me hard, Frumoasă. Really fucking hard. But that’s not why I love you. You’re kind. You’re sassy. You’re good. And you’re real.”

This is wholesome and horny at the same time

“Still with me, Mrs. Barnes?” “Always,” you whispered.

🥰🥰🥰

Later, he carried you to the bath, washing you gently, like something priceless. You curled between his thighs as warm water lapped at your skin, the scent of gardenia rising with the steam.

Because she truly is priceless to him 🥰

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “My love. My future. My family.” You turned in his arms, pressing your lips to his. “And you’re mine.”

🥰🥹🥰🥹

At Last

Make it So | Knock You Down Masterlist

Summary: Bucky makes you his wife. And you let him.

Word count: 4.8 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader; Steve Rogers x Peach

A/N: This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and the wedding is finally here. It comes after the events of Make it So. This universe obviously intersects with the Peach verse, and would come after Show Off. It also will intersect with the Muse AU in the future of this story. Being on the couch for the past week is coming in clutch to catch Bucky and Steve up to Ari. I'm nervous because I haven't written for these two in a while and wanted to get the wedding just right. Please let me know how you feel by commenting, reblogging, and interacting. 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Reader is 3 months pregnant. Anxiety attack, wedding stress, destination wedding, wedding dress shopping, sex in an established relationship, pregnant reader, Bucky is a simp and feral for Furmoaså, flirting, teasing, Bucky speaking google Romanian, praise so much praise, oral, (f receiving) more bathroom sex, bump worship, raw p-in-v, after care.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The coffee table was buried in color swatches, RSVP mockups, half-emptied takeout containers, and a half-full glass of ginger ale you’d been too nauseous to finish.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in one of Bucky’s dress shirts, hair up in a messy bun, your phone in one hand and your planner in the other.

You stared blankly at the spreadsheet open on your laptop screen, wondering how you’d gone from “just us, barefoot on a beach” to twelve-person string ensemble and a four-tier cake.

You didn’t even remember how it happened. Just that it was spiraling now. Too fast and too big.

The tightness in your chest was creeping up your throat. That shallow, dizzy feeling again, not hunger, not nausea. Just too much. Your vision blurred and your hands trembled as you shut the laptop.

And that’s how Bucky found you.

“Hey. What’s going on, Frumoasă?”

He was fresh out of the shower, his hair damp and curling. His chest was bare, sweatpants riding low on his hips. He was drying his hair as he stepped into the room, but when he saw your face he dropped the towel.

In two strides he was in front of you, crouched between your knees, warm hands cupping your cheeks.

“Baby,” he said softly, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even noticed.

“Breathe with me, okay? In…”

You inhaled shakily, eyes locked on his.

“Good girl. Now out…”

Your exhale caught, but you pushed through it.

“There you go,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “Again.”

You followed his rhythm until the wave of panic ebbed, just enough to let your lungs expand again. You felt yourself calm just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m trying to do everything right. I want it to be perfect. I want you to be proud. I want the baby to be okay, and I just…”

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settled back into the couch. His hand slid under the shirt you were wearing, his shirt resting warm and steady over the gentle swell of your belly.

“First of all,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, “you already gave me perfect the day you said yes.”

“And second… proud doesn’t even begin to cover it. I look at you every day and think, how the fuck did I get this lucky?”

You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into him, your forehead against his neck, your body melting against his chest. His other hand moved to your hair, fingers cording through the thickness gently.

“We can call off the whole thing right now and go to city hall in whatever we’re wearing,” he whispered, “and it’ll still be the best day of my life. I swear to God.”

You let out a broken laugh.

“You’d marry me in sweatpants?”

“In a heartbeat. With mustard on my shirt and the courthouse AC broken. Don’t care.”

His lips grazing yours.

“You’re not doing this alone. I’m here, Baby. For all of it.”

You nodded slowly, sniffling into his neck.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Now, what do you need? A nap? A foot rub? For me to throw this whole planner into the ocean?”

You laughed again, watery and real.

“Honestly? All three.”

“Done.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

Not because the stress was gone, but because Bucky Barnes knew how to hold you steady when it hit.

—---

It was past eleven the next day when Peach arrived, holding a pint of salted caramel gelato.

“Tell me you’re not still doom-scrolling BridalTok.”

You didn’t answer. The open Pinterest tabs on your laptop, the silk robe you hadn’t changed out of since breakfast, and the vanilla candle you’d lit twice today were damning enough.

Peach kicked off her sandals and padded inside.

“You’re glowing, by the way,” she said, settling on the couch beside you.

“Even if you’re panicking. Still glowing. Like, annoying-level glowing.”

You groaned and pulled the throw blanket over your face.

“I don’t feel glowing. I feel deranged. I cried over a centerpiece. A fucking centerpiece, Peach. Bucky had to talk me down like he was disarming a nuke.”

Peach laughed, flopping over until her cheek was resting on your shoulder.

“Sounds like he passed the test.”

You peeked at her from under the blanket.

“What test?”

She grinned.

“That’s the forever part.”

Your throat tightened a little.

You sat up slowly, tugging your knees to your chest.

“Was it like that for you and Steve? When you knew?”

Peach went quiet, her teasing softened by memory.

“I knew the second I saw him in Hilton Head. I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. And break every plate in the house.”

You smiled. “Sounds romantic.”

“It wasn’t. Not then. But when I saw him again in Brooklyn, and I wasn’t mad anymore. Just wrecked and happy to see him? That’s when I knew.”

She turned to you, all mischief gone.

“But this wedding? This is you. Big, golden, joyful you. And Bucky sees it. He wants it. Not because it’s shiny, but because it’s yours.”

You blinked hard, breathing shallow now for entirely different reasons. Peach nudged you with her foot.

You wiped your eyes. “I love you.”

She grinned. “Obviously.”

She stood and stretched dramatically.

“Now. Are we crying into this gelato like the emotionally unstable icons we are?”

You grabbed two spoons.

“Of course.”

—

The boutique was a quiet sanctuary tucked between two noisy cafes in SoHo, and for a few hours, it belonged to just the three of you.

A sign in the window read Private Appointment – Bride Inside, scrawled in looping script, and Peach had immediately posed in front of it for a photo.

Inside, soft jazz filtered through the air as you stood on the pedestal, hem floating just above your bare feet, silk and tulle whispering around your thighs.

You tried not to cry.

Your mom sat on the velvet settee, hand pressed to her lips. Peach held the other, and even she was misty-eyed, despite teasing you the whole drive over about being “the chill bride, remember?”

“You look like a goddess,” she whispered. “A divine entity. They should retire white after this.”

The gown had been a long shot, a last-minute sample pulled out of storage by a determined assistant who said, “I just have a feeling.”

And somehow, it was everything.

Soft and stunning, romantic without being fussy. Ivory silk with a gentle shimmer, delicate cap sleeves that slipped off your shoulders just enough, and a deep V-back that draped like liquid. The front skimmed over your three-month bump, subtle enough to feel like a secret only Bucky would notice up close.

The veil was still in its packaging. You hadn’t decided on it yet. But when the assistant gently pinned a cluster of pale blossoms behind your ear, you suddenly saw the whole picture.

A villa. The sea. Golden hour.

And Bucky.

Your mom finally stood and crossed the room to cup your face like she had when you were small.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” she murmured. “Not that he isn’t already crazy about you.”

You laughed, thick with emotion.

“I don’t even know how to walk in this.”

“We’ll practice,” Peach grinned. “We’ll make a TikTok. Bucky’ll cry watching that.”

The fitting ended with a rush of photos, none of which you sent to Bucky. You’d barely stepped out of the dress when your phone buzzed.

Bucky: How’s it going? Are you still in the dress? What if I promised not to blink. Just a peek.

You: Absolutely not.

Bucky: I’ll bring dumplings. One glimpse for every sauce container.

You: Stop trying to bribe my honor.

Bucky: Your honor already said yes to marrying me. Let me worship you. …I’ll throw in a foot rub.

Peach leaned over your shoulder and read the thread, grinning.

“You know he’s parked outside, right?”

You turned toward the window and there he was, in his sportscar, sunglasses on, and pretending to be normal. He was parked illegally and completely unrepentant.

Your cheeks flushed.

“Oh my God.”

Peach cackled.

“Already in full simp-mode.”

—---

Bucky couldn’t stop imagining you in that dress.

He hadn’t even seen it, just chased the outline in his head, by the way your voice caught when you described how it shimmered, and by the way your hands had brushed your own hips when you whispered, “It just floats, Bucky. Like a dream.”

Well, now he was the one dreaming. Hard.

You’d spent the afternoon at your final fitting with your mom and Peach. He’d tried to bribe someone, anyone, to get a peek.

The designer, the assistant, the poor delivery driver who’d dropped off the steaming food Peach ordered from a fancy Thai place. But no one cracked.

So now he was pacing the penthouse while you did your hair in the ensuite, wearing one of his old tees and nothing else. The same legs that would walk toward him in that dress next week were currently propped up on the vanity, lotion glinting on your thighs like an oasis illusion.

He was losing it.

“You’re quiet,” you called, not looking up. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’m picturing you in white,” Bucky said, appearing in the doorway.

His eyes were starving.

You smirked at him in the mirror.

“That bad?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer.

“That good. Too good.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your neck, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs.

“I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll look. But even more? About what’ll be underneath.”

You raised a brow.

“You won’t be seeing that during the ceremony.”

Bucky raised himself to full height.

“No panties next week.”

You laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, one hand gliding down to cup between your thighs.

“None. I want to be thinking about this sweet little pussy while you walk down the aisle. About how soaked you’ll be by the time I say I do.”

You gasped as he dragged his nose along your neck.

"Vei fi atât de frumoasă..."

“I thought you said you didn’t want to jinx anything,” you whispered, teasing.

“I don’t,” he murmured, lifting you up onto the counter with ease. “I just want what’s under the dress.”

His hands were hot on your thighs, spreading them open as his mouth found your neck, his voice wrecked with want.

“Just picture it, baby. You walk down that aisle, glowing, mine in every way. Everyone watching you. No one knowing you’re bare under there except me.”

You moaned softly, head tipping back as he kissed just beneath your jaw.

“You’ll say your vows, let me put that ring on your finger, and I’ll be standing there thinking about how my cum’s gonna leaking out of you that night.”

“James…”

“That’s right, mama,” he smiled into your neck, while slipping two fingers under your shirt to roll your nipple between his fingers.

His other hand was between your legs, thumb dragging a slow, teasing circle.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“This all for me, Baby?”

You nodded, dizzy.

“Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dipped lower, spreading slick heat. “You ache, sweetheart? Want me to fix it?”

Your hips rocked into his palm, desperate and needy.

He chuckled.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Bucky sank to his knees.

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, spreading you open with no shame. His mouth hovered over you, hot breath ghosting across sensitive skin.

And then he devoured you, his tongue firm and greedy, lips wrapping around your clit and his groan vibrating straight into your core. You cried out, fingers clutching the edge of the counter, spine arching as you came, so sensitive with pregnancy.

“You think you’re glowing now? Wait until you’re wearing my name, my ring, carrying my baby, and soaked for me on our wedding night.”

You whimpered, thighs rubbing together for friction. Bucky smirked, cock hard against your back, his lips brushing your ear.

“No panties,” he repeated, voice wrecked. “That’s final.”

As if he wouldn’t let you do anything and everything you wanted. He was grasping at straws, desperate.

You shivered.

“We’re getting married in front of my entire family.”

“I’m your family and I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said simply as he rose.

“Right here.”

You were already nodding when he turned you around and bent you over the counter, dragging your panties down and pushing your thighs apart. He didn’t bother teasing this time, just slid in deep and slow, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name like a prayer.

“God, you feel like heaven.”

One arm locked around your waist, hand splayed over your belly. The other cupped your breast through the shirt, thumb brushing your nipple. His thrusts were rougher now, driven by something raw.

“You gonna come again for me?” he growled into your neck.

“Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

You shattered with his name on your lips.

And he followed with a broken moan, spilling inside you with a possessive groan, his body curling protectively over yours as he kissed the sweat-slicked skin at the back of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk down that aisle,” he whispered, “and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You kissed his jaw. “You better.”

“You know what’ll help?”

You sighed happily. “What?”

“No panties.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest.

“We’ll see.”

He grinned against your temple.

“No. We won’t. That’s the whole point.”

—---

The bridal suite smelled like pressed linen, sea air, and gardenia. You’d dreamt about this as a child.

But nothing about this was childish.

The silk under your fingers was real. The gold initials stitched in your train were real. The diamond on your hand caught every beam of sunlight through the balcony doors.

And Bucky Barnes was real.

You stood barefoot before the full-length mirror, the final zip of your gown still undone, your hair swept up in curls, a halo of pins and fresh petals glinting beneath your veil.

Peach was in the hallway chasing down earrings. The stylist was packing up brushes. And your mom stood behind you, hands gentle on your shoulders, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“My beautiful girl,” she whispered.

You turned to look at her.

There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.

“You used to twirl around the living room with a pillowcase on your head and say, Mama, one day I’m gonna marry a prince.”

You laughed, already crying.

“He’s not exactly a prince.”

“No,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

“He’s better. He’s yours.”

That hit deeper than expected.

“You’re brave, you know,” she added.

“Not just because you’re marrying him. But because you’re letting yourself have this. Love, joy, your dream. You’re not shrinking for anyone.”

You swallowed hard.

“He loves you so much,” she continued.

“You’ve always been sunlight, but with him? You shine. And that baby already knows how lucky they are.”

You rested your hands over the small swell of your belly, blinking fast.

She stepped closer, adjusted a strand of hair, and kissed your temple.

“Take a deep breath, baby. This is the start of the rest of everything.”

Peach was showed up behind you in a sage-green slip dress, grinning like she had a secret.

“You gonna cry?” you asked without turning around.

“No,” Peach sniffled.

“You’re gonna cry. And ruin your lashes. So don’t.”

You huffed a soft laugh.

“Help me with the back?”

She stepped up behind you, fingers gentle as she zipped the dress slowly, smoothing it with a reverent touch.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

You finally looked at yourself.

A deep neckline, silk that draped like water over your hips, the faintest shimmer that caught the light every time you moved.

Your hand found your belly, still barely visible. But you felt it. Bucky’s child. Yours.

“You’re not just a bride,” Peach said softly behind you. “You’re a monument.”

You turned, blinking back tears.

Peach held up a tissue like a threat.

You smiled. “He is?”

“Oh, he’s wrecked. I caught him sneaking a look at Bucky, who’s pacing the beach like a caged panther. He’s muttering to himself and holding the rings like they’re gonna disappear.”

Your stomach fluttered with nerves, joy, and a little nausea.

Peach stepped forward and took your hands.

“You ready?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Because this wedding? It’s not about proving anything. Not to family. Not to guests. Not even to yourselves. It’s just the loudest, brightest way to say what you already know.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“That he’s mine.”

Peach nodded.

“And you’re his. For good.”

You took one last look in the mirror, breathed in deep, and exhaled slowly.

Then you whispered to your reflection, “Let’s go get married.”

—--

Bucky’s palms were sweating.

Which was absurd, given what his hands had done in past lives. They done some dangerous things and they had been steady. Always.

But not today.

Today, his hands were waiting to touch you, his future wife. And for the first time in years, he was nervous in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with love.

He stood at the edge of a terraced garden that sloped down toward the sea, the salt air heavy with hibiscus and lavender. The villa behind him had hosted billionaires and heads of state, but none of them mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the sound of soft footsteps behind him.

He adjusted the cuff of his navy linen jacket, one of three that had been custom-made for this day. Steve had rolled his eyes earlier, muttering something about Bucky becoming a goddamn peacock in his old age.

But then again, Steve hadn’t seen you yet.

You had insisted on a first look. Said he couldn’t badger his way into seeing the dress ahead of time, but you’d give him this moment before the wedding.

Something private. Just for you two.

And thank God for that, because Bucky already felt like he was going to drop to his knees.

“Buck,” came Steve’s voice from behind him, sarcastic.

“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.”

Bucky cracked a shaky grin but didn’t turn around. Not yet.

He heard your laugh before your voice. The sound of Peach’s heels clicking nearer.

And then…“James.”

He shut his eyes for a second. Took a breath like it was his first in years. Then he turned. And the world fucking stopped.

You stood in the garden light, hair swept up, veil fluttering slightly in the sea breeze, and the gown…Jesus.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

You looked like a dream he was afraid to wake from. The silk clung in all the right places and glowed against your skin, soft and strong and completely you.

His eyes dropped to your hand and the ring he gave you glittering in the afternoon light, and then lower, to the barely-there swell of your belly, where his child grew.

His voice cracked as he said your name.

You stepped forward, nervous for only a second until you saw the look in his eyes.

He was ruined.

Bucky’s throat worked as he blinked hard.

“You look…”

“Yeah?” you teased, suddenly shy.

“Arăți ca pentru totdeauna. You look like forever,” he said hoarsely.

He reached out, fingers brushing your waist like you were made of spun sugar, like you’d disappear if he held on too tightly. But you didn’t disappear.

You stepped right into his arms, melted into him, and he kissed your temple carefully.

“I love you,” you whispered into his neck.

His voice was raw. “I love you more.”

You pulled back to look at him, hands resting lightly over the lapels of his jacket.

“Still nervous?”

He shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

—---

The ceremony was held at golden hour on a bluff overlooking the Aegean. The aisle curved through native sea grass and white stone, petals scattered with the ocean spread wide behind the altar.

Bucky waited, heart racing, jaw tight, in the very center of it all.

Steve stood at his side, a rare look of reverence on his face. The man had been his right hand through everything it took to build an empire. But nothing had ever made Steve sniff back emotion like this.

“She’s coming,” Steve said under his breath as Peach walked toward him. “Try to stay upright..”

Bucky didn’t reply.

And then he saw you and everything went still.

You stepped into view, arm tucked gently through your stepfather’s, veil floating behind you, dress glowing like it had been dipped in starlight.

Bucky swore the sun dimmed itself just to let you shine.

He’d seen you earlier, kissed you, held you, but this was different.

This was sacred.

But Bucky couldn’t see them anymore.

He saw only you.

And you were looking right at him. Like there was no one else. No crowd. No ceremony. Just him.

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then to his heart.

You felt it. A vow without words.

Your stepfather leaned in and whispered, “He loves you, baby girl,” before placing your hand into Bucky’s.

The officiant spoke, but neither of you heard a thing.

“Okay?” he mouthed.

You nodded, eyes shining. “You?”

His laugh was pure joy.

“Not even a little.”

The ceremony passed in a blur of gold and sea wind and reverent silence. There were a few readings, a pointed look from Peach when the phrase “in passion and peace,” was spoken, and Steve chuckled under his breath.

Bucky barely registered it.

He watched your lips shape the words “I choose you,” like they’d been written into his skin.

And when it was his turn, his voice cracked.

N-am crezut niciodată că merit așa ceva, dar jur pe Dumnezeu că voi petrece fiecare zi demonstrând că merit.

“I never thought I’d deserve something like this,” he said, eyes fixed on yours. “But I swear to God, I’ll spend every day proving I do.”

The officiant smiled.

“I now pronounce you…”

Too late.

You were already reaching for him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in like you couldn’t wait another second.

The kiss was deep, sweet and improper.

The crowd gasped. Peach hooted. Steve muttered “Jesus, you two,” and shook his head, but there was a grin on his face big enough to rival the ocean.

You and Bucky walked back down the aisle hand in hand, both of you beaming, radiant with something wild and holy.

He leaned close as the cheers swelled behind you, eyes flicking down your body.

You bit your lip and winked at your new husband as you leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“No panties. Just like you said. And shaved bare, too.”

Bucky didn’t stumble, but he damn near did.

You kept walking, serene and glowing beside him, your veil floating like a flame in the breeze.

Bucky was wrecked.

And the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

—-

The villa was quiet when you arrived and bathed in candlelight, the ocean’s rhythm a soft pulse through the windows. Someone had come in ahead of you; peonies floated in the clawfoot tub, and bottles of water chilled beside a tray of honey-dipped figs and dark chocolate.

But you didn’t notice any of it right away.

You noticed Bucky.

He kicked the door shut behind him, jacket already off, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his gaze raking over you like he was starved.

He’d kept himself in check all day.

Ceremony, photos, dinner, the toast that Peach gave that wrecked you both, he’d kept it buttoned up.

But now he was unhinged. It shocked him how much he wanted you.

“Come here,” he said, voice raw.

You turned slowly, silk rustling as you moved toward him like a dream he’d been chasing his whole life. And when you were close enough to touch, he did.

His hands found your waist and then lower, gathering your gown in his fists, dragging the fabric up inch by inch until the whole thing slipped off your body and pooled at your feet.

And Christ.

There you were.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, sweetheart. Look at you. Mine.”

His lips dragged over your collarbone as he walked you backward toward the bed, relishing the fact that you were bare under his hands. He groaned as his palms found your breasts, thumbs grazing over sensitive nipples.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “All that talk about the dress. And what you’d wear underneath.”

“You like?” you asked, breathless.

Bucky smirked.

“I love you bare. Shaved. Soaked for me. So gorgeous.”

He sank to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss to the gentle swell of your belly. His hands were splayed over your hips, grounding himself.

“But it’s not just this,” he murmured, voice thick.

“It’s not just how perfect you look. It’s everything. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make me feel. The way you look at me.”

You were already shaking under his praise, thighs trembling, breath catching. His tongue dipped into your navel and swirled, making goosebumps peak.

“It gets me hard, Frumoasă. Really fucking hard. But that’s not why I love you. You’re kind. You’re sassy. You’re good. And you’re real.”

You whimpered, hips twitching.

“To find someone gorgeous, sweet, smart, hilarious, and mine? That shit’s not real. It’s not. But you are.”

His mouth moved lower, and you barely had time to moan before his tongue slid through your folds, filthy and slow. He groaned like a man who’d been craving this all night, gripping your hips and dragging you closer.

You cried out, one leg lifting automatically over his shoulder, and he buried his mouth deeper. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard. But he didn’t stop. Not until you shattered against his tongue, sobbing his name, your body convulsing from the force of it.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared you down.

“You’re already wrecked,” he rasped. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He undressed without looking away. Shirt, belt, trousers, all gone in seconds. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, flushed dark and wet.

And when he crawled over you, he took a beat to just look at you.

“Still with me, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Always,” you whispered.

And then he sank into you, slowly, inch by agonizingly thick inch, stretching you around him until he was seated to the hilt and barely breathing.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he was in pain.

“You feel like…fuck, you feel like coming home.”

You whimpered, your hips rolling to meet him. He started to move, deeper with each thrust, building a rhythm that made the headboard knock the wall and your name fall from his lips like he didn’t know how to stop saying it.

He kissed your breasts, your neck, your mouth, his hand slipping between you to trace soft circles over your clit. But what wrecked him, what destroyed him, was when his hand slid to your belly again.

Right over where your baby was growing.

“We made something,” he choked out, voice breaking. “Right here. Inside you.”

“You made me yours,” you whispered.

“I always will.”

You came again, sobbing his name, your walls fluttering around him. And Bucky followed with a groan, burying himself deep inside you as he spilled, clutching you tight, and shaking from the force of it.

Later, he carried you to the bath, washing you gently, like something priceless.

You curled between his thighs as warm water lapped at your skin, the scent of gardenia rising with the steam.

He kissed your shoulder and the back of your hand.

“You’re everything,” he whispered.

“My love. My future. My family.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your lips to his.

“And you’re mine.”

——-

Well? Whaddya think? 🤔

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