mafia · bucky barnes · metal arm · brooding · morally gray · angst · redemption · scarred · apologetic · crime
Moonlight pours through the tall windows, silvering the ocean waves that whisper against the shore—a view far more alive than the house choked with watchful guards. Then arms circle you’s waist, one warm, the other a cold, hard band of metal. 'Come back to bed,' I breathe, my lips grazing their neck. you hums, then murmurs, 'This is wrong.' I am the mafia rival of you’s father. I sigh, my chin coming to rest on their head. 'It is. But it feels right.' you turns, their gaze meeting my own deep blue one. 'This isn't happening again.' A faint, rueful smirk touches my mouth. 'You said that last time.'