Keep You Close.

keep you close.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it. an: angst with fluff, mentions of injury, war-stuff, cheeky stabbings, just cod things. no smut. just feelings. cause I wanted flangst. word count: 3.6k

masterlist for ghost.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ghost doesn’t think when his eyes land on you. 

He should. 

He knows he should. 

But he fires his gun all the same, not content with the sound each body makes when they fall to the floor. He wants them to fall harder, almost land and shatter. 

He wants them to hurt.

It’s all he thinks as he slides the metal edge along the throat of the last one. The one who is hissing at him in a language he doesn’t even care to translate. 

Ghost cares about one thing, and one thing only: getting that radio message out of his head. 

It’s an ambush. Do not proceed. Get out—

It has been on a loop since he heard it.

Your radio message. 

The one which made Soap shout, calling for you as the static and crackle came back. The sound which made his blood run cold. The one which made him charge across the base grab the person who confirmed the intel by the shoulder, and made them piss themselves. Accidentally, of course.

It had been Soap who suggested sweeping the place, but it hadn’t been far from his mind.

They found your radio stood on, crushed—likely by your own boot. You’d always been thorough—you also usually wiggled your way out of these situations, 

It’s how you’d earned the moniker Mouse to begin with. 

His eyes caught the dried blood, hoping it didn’t belong to you as his flashlight followed its path until his jaw locked, his muscles tensing. 

Your scrunchie. 

That ridiculous one you bought months ago. The one which you’d found hilarious, and he had found anything but. Black, with tiny ghosts on it, for Halloween. No other reason, you’d said with a smirk. Unless you want to borrow it, sir? 

It’s in his pocket now. 

Has been since he found it. 

As he lets the last man fall, he brushes the pocket with his hand before wiping the blood on his thigh, sheathing his knife.

Turning, nodding in the direction of the other men as they checked them as he moved across the room to you, sliding his gun behind his back, and dropping to his knees. 

We bring Mouse back. By any means necessary. 

He’s thankful you’re alive and breathing. Watching as your head tilts —trying to work out who it is. Cautiously, both for the fact he’s considering it and for the knowledge he could hurt you, his gloved hand slides up your cheek, watching you tense before he pulls down the blindfold with his fingers. 

One eye is swollen, horrid, and puffy. Something which makes him want to put extra holes in each of the men for it. But, he can’t take his eyes from the one of yours, which blinks, and stares at him, taking him in. 

“I’m undoin’ this cuff.” 

You swallow, nodding, trying to keep the eye fixed on him. The handcuff releases from your wrists as your arms drop weakly. 

It’s then he can see the bruises. 

The ones which have formed and the ones about too. 

How the colours vary in spots along your exposed arms, neck and cheeks. Dreading to think of how deep they go, how far they spread under your clothes. 

“Sir…” you whisper, his head moving closer. “You’re a piss poor listener.”

“Almost as bad as you, soldier.”

Cautiously, he moves closer, his knees hitting against your legs as his hand slowly brushes over your arm. 

He’s aware the others have their eyes trained on him, Soap giving orders, busying them. It doesn’t stop him from moving his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close until his chest is close to your side.

“Do you want me to close my eye, make it easier for you?” you cough—sounding like a deflated lung. “You seem the type to hate touching people.”

“Enough.” 

It comes out gruff, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. The side of your busted lip twitching as he pulls you over his lap. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the gentlest he’s ever been, even more so with someone. He doesn’t mean to press his forehead against the side of yours. But, he thought he’d lost you. 

The annoying girl who talked too much, who smiled and had no issues with personal space. Unless you were on the battlefield. Then, you were different—quiet, tactile, mouselike. You scurry, you don’t miss, with a gun, a knife or a computer. 

Ghost knew he was fucked before today. 

But, this confirms it. 

The sharp pang in his chest is a horrid, bitter reminder of how fucked he is—especially with how his heart skips a beat when your hand shakes as it brushes against his mask.

He should look away as he lifts you, breaking the stare he has with you, but you move closer, whispering for him—and him alone. “I knew-w you’d find me.” 

He tightens his jaw, feeling a lump in his throat as he gives a curt nod. “Always.” 

“Always,” you repeat softly, eyelashes fluttering, desperate to close.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, and you do your best. You hope he knows that. “Good girl.” 

You hear someone shout for a medic, but it’s not him. 

He’s saying very little, just letting his breath dance across your neck and cheek as he holds you to him.

+++

The next time he sees you, he's visiting you when you’re in recovery.

He’s heard from others you’re improving. Soap nudging him, ensuring he’s heard him—thinking he knows more than he does.

He does go, though. 

You’re smaller than him, but you look so much smaller in the bed. Your face finally regaining some colour, an expression not twisted up in pain. The bruises faded, eyes unswollen. 

It’s a welcomed sight after the last time he saw you.

He crosses the recovery room floor, the room slowly emptying around him. He was glad that the rest of the med bay was without patients. 

His chair squeaks with protest when he sits beside you, eyes glancing over your face, over your arms, checking and checking that everything is where it was supposed to be. 

You say nothing. 

He says nothing. 

He just sits, staring at you, letting his eyes roll over your face. You seem to let him, likely basking in the fact that you’re currently not being boiled alive by him. 

It’s nice. Quiet. 

It’s helping to drown out the whimpers and groans you’d been making all the way back here from your injury. 

Until the tension reaches such a height even if you can’t stomach it. 

“What you doing here, Lt?” 

“Ensuring you don’t act recklessly.” 

“I think I can behave for one night.”  

“Doubtful.” 

You play with the sheets on the bed, rolling them between your fingers as he watches you, knowing what’s coming before you’ve even opened your pretty little mouth. 

“I’d behave for you, if you asked.” 

Sometimes, your brashness even surprises him. 

“I have asked,” he says, stretching his leg out as he watches you smile. “You still disobey me.” 

You nuzzle down into your pillow, not taking your eyes off him. 

“Sleep, Mouse.” 

“With you watching me?” 

He clicks his tongue. “Sleep.” 

You smile softer, eyelashes looking heavy. “Okay.” 

Nodding, he interlocks his gloved fingers over his lap. 

+++

You’d been silent. 

Too silent. 

He knew how you got your Codename. He’d read your file, after all. You sneaked through impossible holes figuratively and literally. Price had informed him how good you were with computers, he hadn’t known how good until he read it himself. 

You were good, capable, and able. 

He knew you could handle yourself, which is why it wasn’t that which concerned him. It’s the silence. 

You’ve been quieter overall since you came back—since he brought you back. Since he helped carry you back to the truck till he watched you get patched up. 

Something inside of you, that annoyingly cheerful part of you, had withered. He knew it, Soap knew it. 

“You following me?” 

“Could say the same to you.”

“Can someone even stalk a ghost?” 

You’d tried to hide it, more so from him than the others. Your body trying to twist from him, but his arm had stopped you.

“Something you need, Lt?” 

“No.”

You’d given him a curt smile. “Goodnight then, sir.” 

He didn’t miss the way you added the sir.

Not that he expects he’s supposed to. Shifting his jaw from side to side, having watched you walk down the corridor, not even bothering to turn to look back at him. 

That had been two days ago. 

Today, you had dark circles around your eyes. A tenseness in your shoulders as you were all briefed. 

He waited, seeing if you approached him, and asked him to stay behind—not entirely sure what his answer would be if you requested it. 

But you didn’t. 

It should have been a warning, your demeanour shifting, darkness descending down over you the closer they got to the location. 

“Mouse, you copy?” 

Silence. 

Even to Soap. 

Often, Ghost knew he warranted your anger. 

He was colder with you, more stern. Especially since he’d allowed himself a moment—when he’d been able to hold you, carry you. When he’d felt your heartbeat and watched your eyes fix on him—warming him. 

He had wanted distance and walls. Many of them, more so. 

Now, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Because with Soap, you were light, never ignorant. And maybe he’d have recognised how your anger and hurt had consumed you. That what happened between you being taken and being found had festered and eaten everything good inside of you.

He could relate. 

More than most. 

“Mouse,” Ghost radios, gruff voice and all. “Fuck.” 

He taps Soap, heading in your direction, almost charging. He knew it before he saw it before his foot kicked open the door and witnessed it with his own eyes. 

He even freezes for the briefest second. 

Half impressed with the number of bodies on the floor. 

But then he reacts, hooking an arm under your hips as he both lifts and moves you against the wall. The knife falling from your fingers, clattering against the stone, the only other sound is your panicked breaths and Soap exclaiming, “Steaming bloody Jesus…” as he enters the room. 

His forearm presses into the wall beside your head, caging you in as his other palm presses into the wall next to your hip. 

Because it was the mission to kill him—once they’d got the information. 

The information he couldn’t currently prove you had—but he’d hoped you did. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to contain his anger, his fury. Right now, it simmered, being kept back by that vacant look in your eyes he doesn’t recognise. Not in you, at least. 

You’re not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes. 

Too busy staring at the body on the floor, the one which has scarlet seeping from each hole you’d inflicted with a knife. His knife. 

“Mouse.” 

You don’t move, staring as if transfixed in the knowledge he’s dead. 

So he whispers your name. 

Your real name. 

Your eyelashes flutter into a blink, head-turning, finally pulling from the man who kidnapped you on the floor. 

“Got the drive,” you say in a tone void of emotion. 

+++

Ghost didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream at you, but he did all the same. 

Both in anger that you disobeyed an order and in a panic because he couldn’t stop the way his mind unravelled when you didn’t respond. 

That it took him back to that moment all over again. Where you were taken from him. Where he lost you. Where he should have protected you. 

“You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there?” 

You don’t look at him, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Pressing the sole of your foot against the wall as you leant, seemingly unbothered.

“That’s an order, Soldier—“

“I collected the information, and I stabbed him. Mission complete. Sir.” 

Sir. 

Fucking sir. 

He hated how it made him hard. Little bitch. 

“You disobeyed a direct order—“

“—The mission—“

“—You were supposed to wait for backup.” 

“I couldn’t risk it.” 

He rounds on you, forehead pressing against yours. “You couldn’t risk it?” 

Your eyes don’t soften. They hold his gaze, full of fire, ash and destruction. “Well. We’ve both seen the evidence of bad intel, haven’t we?” 

He stills. 

Blinking, staring into your eyes, seeing the darkness still swirling. The anger has lessened but still remains. 

“You need to let it go.” 

“I need to… what?” You look hurt, more than he thought you could, and then it vanishes, swept away by anger. “…fuck you, Ghost.” 

Moving from him, turning your back on him 

“Fuck me? If you continue down this path—“

Then you turn, your eyes burying into him. “It’ll what? Keep me up at night? Consume me? Well, guess what, Simon, it already has.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a tremor to your outstretched arm before you snap it back to your side. “For days, they asked me who we were. They had ideas. They did… inklings. But, they… they knew my fucking name, Simon. They…told me what they’d do, and I had nothing, not a single thing to drown it out as they described all the ways they’d kill Johnny, how they’d break Gaz, how they’d hurt…” 

You. 

The unspoken word hanging in the room. 

“I got it before, I did,” you say, words shaky at your almost declaration, “but I understand why you wear that mask—why you keep people out…” 

Your eyes fill with tears, one’s he wishes he could wipe away before they even meet your cheeks. 

“People you know can hurt you the most… right? That's what you said.” 

His head reeling back an inch, but it feels like he’s been hit. And then you leave, storming out of the room, and he doesn’t stop you. 

Because he knows he shouldn’t. 

Because you’d called him Simon. 

Not Ghost. 

+++

He hates that you’re not here. 

You’ve been avoiding him. Outside of briefings and necessity, you’re nowhere else to be found. 

The rest of them are around a table, beers in their hands. His mask lifted just enough to enjoy his—if it didn’t taste like nothingness. 

Because there were no kind eyes on him. No jesting coming from a soft, sweet voice. 

Especially right now, when it’s needed as they discuss who they’re currently fucking their fist over. He hears someone ask him, something he ignores. 

And then Soap speaks for him. “I think Ghost here has his eyes on—“

“That’ll do.”

The others snigger, mumbling about getting some air as he cracks his neck. Hoping if he ignores Soap enough, he’ll vanish too. 

“Talk to her.” 

Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, meeting his sergeant's expecting face.

Soap slaps his hand on his back. “Trust me, Lt, talk to her.” He tries to think of something, anything, to respond with. He hasn’t got anything until he continues, “Didn’t think you had a heart.” 

“A cold one. I have a cold one.” 

Soap smirks. “I doubt it’ll remain that way.” 

It doesn’t take him long to find you, seeing you huddled over papers and a computer. 

He considers watching you, but he steps in before he’s caught, offering you a mug, one you stare at suspiciously before taking it. 

You prefer a milky tea, one sugar. 

A person after his own heart. 

Right now, he imagines you need something different, so he chose coffee.

“What’s this?” 

“A boost. You need it.”

“Thanks?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

Letting himself see how dark the bags under your eyes have gotten. 

“You’re not sleepin’.” 

“Can’t.” 

He taps the desk with two fingers, your eyes lifting up to face him. Slowly, he retracts his hand, holding your stare as he takes his glove from his hand. He knows his sleeve has risen, the ends of his tattoo showing as he offers you his hand.

“You made me a drink, and now you want me to what, leave it?” 

Slowly, he nods. 

Your huff sounds before you stand, slapping your hand into his. It isn’t until your fingers are in his does he watch your eyes flicker, realising that you're touching him—really touching him. 

“Ghost…” 

“C’mon. Now.” 

He doesn’t let go or lessen his hold, not even when you slide your fingers between his. Not when everything inside of him tells him to run, to tell you to run. 

His mouth doesn’t open, it remains shut as he brings you to his room, opening the door, letting it swing open before he lets his eyes meet yours. 

Letting your eyes take it in before he nudged you forward. 

“Ghost…” 

“Simon,” he says gruffly. “My name is Simon.”

He shuts the door slowly behind the two of you, releasing your hand, moving it to his neck. 

Your eyes follow him, the air thickening—he can feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, the ones on his arms standing. He’s even sure time is ticking slowly. 

Especially when he begins to slide his mask up, slowly showing you his chin, his cheeks, and his nose. 

Your lips parting, mouth falling open as he pulls it off that last bit. Nothing hidden, not from you. 

Swallowing, you make a noise, a squeak as if you’re about to say something, before clamping your mouth shut. 

“Hi.” 

Your lips twitch. “Hi.” 

His fingers brush yours ever so slightly, forcing your eyes to dip before landing back on his with so much adoration—he’s not sure how he deserves it. Any of it.

“What does this mean?” 

“It means you go to sleep. Here.” 

You raise a brow, and he almost smirks. Almost.

“Not like that.” 

Shrugging, you smile. “Coulda fooled me.”

Sighing, he lets go of your fingers. “You can’t sleep because you’re alone. But, if I’m here—“

“You’ll keep the ghosts away?” 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. 

“Anything else this… declaration means? 

“Means you can trust me.”

He watches your head tilt, a scrunch to your brows and your forehead as you look at him. “I trusted you anyway.”

“Then get in bed.” 

He wonders if your cheeks are warm if they’re full or blush. More so when your eyes land on the floor, and he turns his back, moving to his things, finding you a t-shirt. 

On you, it’ll bury you. 

Which makes it perfect, just as perfect as the sound of you undoing your belt is to him and the faint sound of your trousers hitting the floor. 

“Here,” he says, holding the T-shirt behind his back, not wanting to look. 

Not even when he feels your fingers slide down his forearm, over his ink. When he feels your index and middle slide along his pulse, over his wrist and palm before taking it. 

It’s not until he feels your hands on his sides does he turn, your eyes looking up at him—somewhat close to the eyes he knew, the ones which first had his heart pulsing furiously as it is now. 

“Do you snore?” 

“Don’t think so.” 

“Sleep naked?” 

“Not all the time.” 

“Good,” you comment, loosening your grip as he turns to face you. “Hate for you to have gone to all this effort to not let me get a wink of sleep.” 

The double meaning of your words isn’t lost on him. 

Especially when he sees the twinkle in your eye, the grin desperate to blossom over your lips. 

“Unless…”

“Another time,” he says, even if he hates himself for it just a bit. “Now, get in bed.” 

You nod, smiling, “Yes, Sir.” 

Fucking hell. “Less of that.” 

“Any reason?” 

He snorts, turning to watch you climb into his bed, slowly pulling his T-shirt over his head, hearing you inhale as if your mouth was next to his ear. 

“I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.”

He flicks the light off, wondering if your heart is hammering as much as his. Each step towards you feels like a mile, but he’d do it again and again. Feeling for your hand and the sheets you’re offering him, sliding in beside you.

For a moment, he’s tense. 

Just as you are. 

Especially as his bare legs find yours, your back to his chest, hair tickling his nose. He waits, letting you make the first move for comfort, feeling you breathe heavily before shuffling against him. Fingers trying to keep your hair out of his way, pulling it, twisting it.

And he remembers sliding his hand under his pillow, pulling it out slowly, the fabric rolling between his thumb and finger before he finds your hand over the sheets. He feels you tense, likely recognising it instantly, slowly taking it from him as you move, turning to face him.

Even in the darkness, he makes out your features. 

His hand reaches up, touching his chin before fingers spread up your cheeks. His thumb rolls over your bottom lip, wanting to kiss you desperately. 

“You found it?” 

He says nothing.

“You kept it?” 

He breathes out. “I did.” 

You must feel his heart hammering. You have to. 

Your body slowly comes down, arms sliding around his chest before hands find themselves on the back of his neck. 

His head turns as you let hug him, as your body says everything without so much as speaking. And all he can think is he’s an inch away from your lips. 

He’s within reach. 

He could. He should. 

“Simon…” you whisper. 

His throat goes dry, and then you kiss him. 

Silencing his mind, silencing everything that doesn’t matter—doubt, worry and the sound of that radio message—as he runs his hands over his T-shirt that covers your body. 

Pulling you close. 

Keeping you close.

——————————

I’m with you : read part two/companion piece

i'm with you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader an: can be read as a standalone, but does nicely accompany 'keep you close'. alludes to 18+ content, more angst, feelings, and emotions. usual, jo shit. summary: he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same. word count: 3.7k

simon 'ghost' riley masterlist

It’s a shithole. 

The safe house is barely standing. It’s a teetering, broken mess which is almost blending with trees. 

“It’s a safe shit hole. We’ll get evac to you at sunlight.”

That’s all Price had said before silence met Ghost’s ears. His tone sympathetic, but stern. The reminder of his words when they left base still swirling around some distant space in his mind: Sort it, Simon. Or I will. 

Not that he had a fucking clue how to. 

The damage is seemingly already done. He’s aware it’s his fault. He’s aware he’s a being a fucking cunt and that he’s fucking things up. 

In his defence, he’s not entirely sure how to be anything but. 

He’s stoic and distant. It’s who he is. With or without the mask. 

He’s let few in, few past the many walls and layers he’s built over the years. It frightened him he’d wanted to tear them all down when he realised that she fit perfectly between the crook of his arm and chest. 

“I’ll scope it out,” Mouse says, walking away from him before he can protest. 

His eyes watch her form, running his tongue over the front of his teeth as he reminds himself to unclench his fists. He preferred her talking his ear off. He misses her telling him useless facts about nothing and anything. 

Fuck, he just misses her. 

He misses how it was before he made her sleep in his bed before he handed her the fuckin’ scrunchie and kissed her. He misses how he didn’t feel conflicted before he’d felt how soft her thighs were, how delicious she tasted and how sinfully poetic her moaning his name was. 

“Sir.”

He’s thankful the mask is covering his fucking face as he smirks instantly. She likely knows it, just from the way she’s stood, all cocky like she’s got the fucking keys to the castle. But, as he reaches the door, he sees that same stern look—the one blended with ice and fire simultaneously, like a flamin’ tequila shot which’ll burn him from the inside out.

He’d suspected the safe house would be worse on the inside. 

As bad as he suspected it to be, he didn’t expect the electricity to be out. He didn’t expect the leak in the cupboard he supposed was a bedroom, and for it to be directly above the moth-infected mattress and poorly-made metal-frame bed.

Not that he’d sleep. 

He highly suspects she isn’t about to either. 

In another moment, he’s sure she’d be making light of the situation. Likely flirting, something she used to do more of before she was taken from him. When her heart was lighter, her fears never realised. 

I’ll let you be the big spoon, Simon. 

He conjures her voice with such ease he has to look around to check she hasn’t actually spoken. No. She’s still ignoring him, in her own personal hell-ish way, where she manages to both acknowledge and ignore him all at once. A skill he thought he was alone in mastering. 

He doesn’t comment when Mouse drags a chair to the door, hooking the back of it under the handle. He wants to comment that the chair will do fuck all to stop us being killed. That one measly push, and it's likely the whole fucking cabin will come down.

But, he doesn’t. 

Quickly suspecting the act makes her feel better. Noticing the slight tremble to her fingers, the way she keeps trying to busy herself, looking from window to window, door to ceiling. He tries not to look, to make things worse—not that he’s sure he can—however, the sound of her helmet unclipping makes his neck snap. Watching her ungloved fingers hook it onto the chair. Those same fingers that stroked his arm when she lay on his chest, the same ones he clutched between his when he knew her dreams had taken her. 

Then, all he saw was her back. 

Her frame looking smaller than she has done since the day in the med bay. 

He studies her a lot. More than he’ll ever admit.  

Whenever his eyes aren’t on what is needed, he allows them to find her. Seeking her out, like he is now. All eyes tracing her back, wondering if he can find the places he’d bruised when he filled her and stole her gasp. When he’d slowly rocked inside of her, gripping her sides as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

Then he sees it: the damn scrunchie. 

He both loathes it and misses it. 

Having wished he’d never returned it, even if it meant he gained the memory of her lips on his. When she’d been full of desperation and need, fingers so soft against his stubbly, rugged skin. 

The trade had been worth it, even if it had changed everything. 

Even if he’d awoken feeling lighter than he had in a long-time, almost content. He’d let his eyes roll over her features, capturing them all to mind until she’d stirred and he’d half-pretended to do the same. Knowing, deep down, the moment had to end—that things wouldn’t, and couldn’t, be the same. 

How could they be? His heart beat too quickly when she was around, his stomach almost bruised from how it fell to his feet whenever he thought she’d been hurt. He couldn’t control himself, barely think, barely functioned when she wasn’t in plain view. 

It would ruin something, a mission, a stakeout. Something.

Because she’d gotten under his skin. 

Mouse had scurried herself into another place she shouldn’t have, even if he’d been the one to let her in. Practically throw open the doors and be damned with the walls.   

When he thought about it, it made no sense. Not the feelings which simmered, bubbled and exploded within him, not the way everything seemed to brighten when her eyes landed on him. Not that fact that he had needed her to sleep, he had needed her to rest—not as her lieutenant, but as something else entirely. 

Now, she’s purposefully keeping her distance. Her hand rubbing her side, her foot kicking open cupboard doors, stepping back in case something which wasn’t welcome comes out. 

“You hurt?” 

Silence. But her body freezes, tenses. Slowly, in time, her head shakes, her eyes unwilling to look over her shoulder to him. Even if he’s pleading internally for her to do so. 

“Words, Mouse.” 

She huffs, shooting him a glare over her shoulder. “No, sir.” 

He expects it—the tone. Almost braced for it. 

Ghost doesn’t expect the pacing which follows, the way she switches from silently moving around the cabin to needing to move more purposefully. 

Three steps forward, three back. 

++

Once he’d been sure no one had followed, he began the fire. 

He found blankets, not bad ones, considering the rest of the place. 

There even more important since the warmth from the flames barely touches all of the corners of the room, his back against the dusty armchair he refuses to sit in as he watches her continue to pace.

She had paused for a brief moment, having searched the decrepit kitchen until she found beans, handing him a can and a half-rusting fork and began pacing once again. Her teeth nip at her bottom lip, her eyes unfocused on anything but where she moves them for a step. 

He’s not sure what it means.

Half-wishing Johnny was here to translate. He understands her, has been let in too. Not in the same way—never in the fucking same way. But, he’d be able to answer, even tell him the reasons she chose shapes over lines.

Occasionally, she stabs her beans with the fork—the only other sound than the cracking of the fire and her boots. 

He won’t admit it, but he likes the sounds of her boots on the safe house floor. How it echoes through the shit wooden walls and across the shit wooden floor. It’s as close to communicating with him as she’s gotten since the team had split up, and she’d no longer felt it necessary to respond through radio. He’d have been content to listen to it for longer, but watching her in the corner of his eyes was beginning to make him dizzy. 

“Mouse. Sit down.” 

Mouse pauses, not lifting her eyes. Seemingly thinking, deciding. Knowing her, she’s weighing up whether it’s worth ignoring his demand or not. Eventually, moving to the fire, sitting down, glaring into her own tin can. 

And it’s tense. 

Her silent treatment is more palpable now she’s sat in front of him, all red-nosed and anger-filled eyes.

“You cold?” 

“No.” 

He lowers his chin, purposefully ensuring his voice isn’t as sharp, as bruttish as it has been. “Mouse. Are you cold?” 

The look she gives him wounds him. It’s all pitiful, pleading and mixed with tight lips. One which screams for him to let it go. 

It’s worsened by the fact he can tell she’s holding back everything inside of her, not wanting a single shiver to show, a whimper or displeased groan at how she couldn’t warm herself. 

“Yes, Simon. I’m fucking cold.” 

Something both curls and unfurls in him at once at the sound of his name. 

The way she spits his name stains the air, making it buzz around him. It punctures and breathes life into the tension, making it double, triple. It’s stifling, mixing with burning wood and damp as he grits his jaw. 

“Come here.” 

“So you can avoid me again?” 

There it is. 

Her words were even accompanied by his least favourite expression: the angered glare.

“I said—“

She groans, loud, purposeful. Slightly edging forward along the dusty floor, shooting him a glare which he supposes should mean “happy, now?”—but he’s not fucking happy, not even close to it. 

He weighs up his options, considering both the fallout and the payoff before he grabs her ankle and pulls. He’s surprised at the lack of resistance, her body sliding with ease across the short distance until she is closer, almost entirely between his legs. 

“Fuck sake…” she whispers, deep under her breath.

Rolling her head on her neck, letting her eyes land on the fire and her grip remain iron-like on the can. 

“You gonna ignore me all night?” 

“Yes.” 

He rolls his eyes, placing the can down on the floor as he stares at the fire too. He watches them dance, the flames. Almost losing himself in it before he hears her can be placed down too. 

Heavier, more filled than his.

A swirl of worry rose in him, wrapping itself around important organs and sensibility as she let her face turn, letting him see her. 

“I hate beans.” 

“Course you do,” he replies, studying her. 

He lets his eyes fall over her, from her bent knees to her face, back down to her boots pressed against the floor. 

If he could, he’d leave this place and find her something. Bring her back greasy food, and a milkshake. Hell, he’d even find her a plate of curry and rice from that place she always talks about near her home. 

Not realising until now his hand is still on her ankle, something she’s too becoming aware of as she wiggles it—attempting to free herself from him.

“Why are you doing this?” Why did you let me in, to freeze me out, Simon. 

The words, both said and unsaid, dance to him, all broken and sad as soon as they leave her lips.

I don’t know. 

That’s the honest answer. He’s not sure why he let her leave that morning without explaining what he was thinking. He’s not sure why he just stared when she asked him a question—a simple, normal fucking question. Ghost isn’t even about a lot right now, other than he misses her.

And she must sense it, the shift. 

She must understand him, and see his thoughts all of a sudden as if they were being painted onto the walls. 

Because truthfully, he feels better when she’s close and feels almost whole. He could almost let himself imagine watching mundane television with her, doing a food shop at a supermarket with too many choices. He can also imagine ruining her over and over again. Desperately needing her fingers to snake through his hair as he takes her apart with just his tongue. Never wanting another mouth to wrap around his cock ever again, finding her the most terrifyingly intoxicating thing he’s ever met in his entire life. 

Her arms push her up, quickly distancing herself from him. 

“Mouse…” 

Shaking her head, taking strides to the pathetic kitchen as his chest tightens, knowing he should move; it feels harder to breathe as he watches her, especially when she leans over the poorly made counter—back to him.

Don’t leave. 

Don’t leave me. 

The same words which he thought of when she’d fallen asleep against him, her ear close to his heart. Not wanting her, and yet wanting every single part of her all at once in some confusing turn of events.

Because he’d never banked on her agreeing to come back with him. 

Not even just to sleep. 

He’d not planned or expected to hand her the scrunchie, and her kiss him. He hadn’t banked on it being the key to unlocking everything he’s been carefully stuffing down inside of him, desperately trying to lock it all away so he doesn’t ruin things, so he doesn’t change things. 

She turns, all so suddenly. 

Again, as though hearing him, and the look she gives him—fuck, it would have floored him if he wasn’t already sat down. It knocks the wind from his sails, the cockiness from his confidence. He almost feels stripped back, no mask, no uniform. 

And, it commands him to stand up. 

An order that he gladly answers as her eyes scream, now or never, Simon. Last fucking chance.

He stands, striding, closing the gap in half the steps it had taken her—stopping just short of her. Allowing her one more moment to glare at him, to inject her eyes into his skin, to feel anger, to feel hate towards him before he makes sure he takes every last bit of it away. 

If she was brave enough to ask, he’d tell her his favourite part of her is her eyes. 

Not the thighs she thinks he adores, not the smile he finds lights a room. 

Right now, he’s got a front-row seat to watching them thaw. Slowly, bit by bit, waiting until the right time before he swallows, hand hovering over her jaw. 

It’s hard not to struggle for breath when he stares into them when he loses himself in the shades that make up her eyes. The thousands of mini-expressions they show, let him in, just enough to read her. 

He half wishes the wind was howling or the house creeks. Because Mouse doesn’t speak, the silence is so thick he’s adamant she can hear how quickly his heart is beating. As though she thinks the entire moment is fragile, and at risk of shattering. 

Ghost knows why that is. He let her think that.

He’d let it be that way. 

He’d acted coldly, filling her mind with thoughts of him regretting it. But he didn’t. If anything, he felt as though he’d been resuscitated, while not knowing he’d been dead. That in one night she’d ruined him, and all she did was count sheep. 

“Lift my mask.” 

His words leave his lips softly, less gruff than he’s used to speaking. He’s sure it’s the reason she holds his stare for a beat, likely focusing on every expression dancing in his eyes. 

Mouse had told him, in her half-lucid, sleep-filled way, he said more with his eyes than he thought. Those words had swirled around his mind all night and ever since. Always wondering if they’re doing it, just like he is right now. 

He hopes they are. Hopes she can see how much he needs her to lift the mask, how much he needs her to do so he knows he can kiss her. Because words are not his strength, but action is. 

How can he make her forgive him if he can’t kiss his apologies into her lips, into her skin? He’d get onto his knees for her, if needed, but he needs her to lift his mask first. Silently commanding her to do so as her hands slightly shake, moving tentatively to the fabric at his neck. 

But she does lift it. 

Fingers lightly pulling it free from his neck, the fabric pulling at the tiny hairs and over his stubble. A cold finger and thumb slide either side, brushing his skin, leaving scorch marks he hopes burn forever as he watches her eyes.

Showing her he’s okay with it, all of it. If he could get the words out, he’d tell her as much. That the first day when she didn’t cower from him, when she stared him straight in the eyes, nodded and called him sir, he’d been fucked. When she was taken, stolen from him, he’d almost lost it—a gnawing inside of him which only stifled when he knew she was back safe. 

He doesn’t think she’ll ever understand the effect on him, likely never believing him.

The cold, six-foot-something soldier who has more hidden and confidential in his file than information has fallen. 

Fallen so far he doesn’t care he’s without any means of being saved, if she decides to not catch him. 

She’d never understand it, the effect she had on him. Likely suspecting he’s not capable of it, just because he’s silent, because he’s practical. But he feels, just not on the surface. And sometimes, that’s a bigger burden to carry. 

Nails drag over his stubble, the fabric lifting, rolling over the hair at the back of his neck. It almost makes him shudder—catching the scent of the sweat on her body mixing with her shampoo. A scent he can’t rid from his pillow, not that he wants to. 

It’s only as the mask clears his nostrils does he realise how much he loathes this place, hates the smell of it and the sight of it. But it’s a small blessing. A quietness in the middle of nothingness where this moment can exist. 

And then her fingers stop, letting the mask sit just above the base of his nose, resting on the bridge. 

“Lift the mask.”

She swallows. Her eyes flicking down before meeting his, sliding it up the last bit—freeing the skin around his eyes and his forehead. The cool air dancing over perspiration. 

It’s intimate, so much so that he’s not sure if Mouse knows she’s holding her breath as he cups her jaw and cheek. He makes his touch feathery, and gentle. Soft and slow as he slowly tilts her head up, watching her eyes focus on him as she allows her arms to fall back to her sides. It’s cautious all of it. Not his or her usual quick, determined, and efficient movements. 

He wonders if Mouse can tell his cheeks are on fire, whether she knows his stomach is doing flips as he strokes her cheek. 

And then she sighs. “It’s because you’re my lieutenant.”

His mind silences.

Empties. 

Her eyebrows rise, waiting before she smirks. “Words, sir.”

“Yes.” 

Because he is her lieutenant. Her superior. 

It’s fraternisation. Prohibited. Even if Price isn’t fucking bothered, even if Soap told him to find her. Some part of him knows it's more than wrong—knows it can put her at risk, from others, from higher-ups… from enemies. 

And then he feels it. 

Her catching him.

Small hands on his waist, holding him tightly. His free hand moving up to the back of her head, fingers sliding over her neck, up her hair, before he pulls, feeling bobbled silk-covered ghosts. 

“Mouse…” 

She stiffens as if waiting for him to move, but he doesn’t. Not this time. Not now.

Even if he should. Even if it would make sense too. 

Instead, his lips descend until they find hers gently, almost experimentally—fearful she’ll pull away. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, holding him more firmly, more determined at his waist. He feels her pull, tug at him to move closer, as his tongue presses against her lips before things turn more desperate, hungry, and needy. 

She makes the blood rush through his veins and silences his heartbeat from his ears. That’s when his apologies really begin—when they begin searing themselves against her lips, then her jaw, and then her neck. 

His hand clutches the scrunchie to her lower spine, keeping her flush to him, showing in all the ways he can that this is what he wants. Not distance, not space or avoidance—as much as his behaviour has said otherwise. 

Ghost slides his hand down and around her thighs until he lifts her onto the counter—the one which groans at the intrusion of someone who dares use it for something other than letting it sit there—nudging her thighs apart, sliding as comfortably as he can between them as he grips her waist, feels her skin on his. 

He doesn’t mind that their lips part, her breaths mingling with his. He gets to watch her eyes, all wild and full of something he can’t describe.

He lets her hand brush over his cheek, smudging the black from around his eyes into her nails, and he whispers her name—so careful with it, like it’s something he could break. 

“Do that ever again—” Don’t ever hurt me. 

“Never.” I couldn’t. I’m sorry.

She waits for a beat, before nodding. 

He wants to lift her, move her somewhere more comfortable, although he’s not sure where that’ll be. The floor is their best bet, he could pull her flush against him all night, turn her legs to jelly, and let his palm slide down her stomach until she’s gasping his name and he feels how slick she is on his fingers. 

“No. Not here. I'm worried the walls'll come down.”

Rolling his eyes, he snorts, burying his head into her neck, silently agreeing.

His fingers drawing soft circles on her waist, not sure how to tell her he's happy with this. He's just wanted this. To hold her. Breathe her in and have the chance to explain.

“Simon…”

He pauses, both his hand and his thoughts. Lifting his head, sliding a hand over her cheek, feeling her curl into, just like she did in his bed. 

“...I feel the same…”

Good. That's good.

"So... don't let me fall. don't let this continue, if you're not going to catch me. If you're going to leave. If you'll ignore me—"

"Stop."

It's sharp, leaving his tongue gruffer than he'd hoped.

The words, the ones he wants to say sitting on the tip, sat right at the edge of his lips, unwilling to fall through into the air. So, his lips answer her in the only way he knows how. Not sure how else to show her he'd catch her. He'd catch her every single fucking time.

Always.

---

More | Bucky Barnes (Mob AU)

mob!bucky barnes x f!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: You're the secretary to one of the most powerful mob bosses in the country, and that's what he was supposed to stay—your boss. The heart often has other plans. Now, you're in a race against time to save the life of James Barnes, the mob boss who has become so much more.

A/N: Longer one today, just as angsty as I'm used to. I write better with the more angst I do and you can't tell me any different. As always, let me know if you have any requests or comments because I love you all! Keep those dreams alive 🤍

Warnings: mob!bucky, vioence, angst, fluff throughout (because I'm really trying here), secretary!reader, mentions of past abuse in relationship, protective bucky

Word Count: 13,122

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

I have to make it. I have to.

"Come on, come on, come on," I breathe out, drumming my nails nervously against my steering wheel and peering around the car in front of me.

He's not answering his phone. I have to make it in time.

I take my lip between my teeth, the anxiety in my chest only rising as each second ticks by. Finally I swear under my breath and swerve around the car before me, slamming the gas pedal to the floor. A chorus of honks rises around me but I don't care. All I know is that he's going to die.

My boss is going to die if I don't make it.

You may be wondering to yourself, how did a meagerly-paid secretary end up breaking traffic laws and nearly crashing her boss's brand new Tesla just to get to him in time? Why would I even bother? Why would his life be in danger in the first place?

Well, to understand that, I'm going to have to take you back to where my life of crime began.

If my mother ever heard I had a life of crime, she'd kill me herself, so let's keep this one between us.

|||

2 Years Prior

"I'm sorry sir, but you don't have an appointment and Mr. Barnes is full for today," I repeat, quickly losing my ever-bearing patience with the brash business man before me.

His eyes dart around my desk and to the office of my boss, CEO James Barnes. I've only worked here for a few months and yet being his personal secretary is proving more difficult than I imagined.

"Look sweetheart, just let me through and I won't take but a few minutes of his time," the man pushes, not even sparing me a glance as he walks around my desk. I shoot to my feet and step in his way, not hearing the office door open behind me.

"You can either see yourself out, or I can have someone help you. Either way, sir, you're not seeing Mr. Barnes today." I assert, my heart pounding and blood boiling in indignation.

If there's one thing I've learned in my time working in Corporate America, it's that most rich and powerful men think they're so far above the rest of the world that they're entitled to open doors wherever they go. Thankfully, my boss is one of the better ones.

Definitely better than this tool in front of me. I almost scoff in disbelief when the man goes to step around me again.

"You don't scare me, sweetheart. I'm just gonna-"

I step directly in front of his path, my eyes flashing with anger.

"Either you leave right now, or I'll personally make sure you'll never get a time slot with my boss. And it's Ms. Y/L/N, not sweetheart" I grit out, standing my ground and leveling my glare at the man.

"Who do you think you-"

I feel the warmth of his presence before he even says a word.

"Do you feel a need for career-suicide, or are you just incompetent?" A dark, rough voice sounds behind me, cutting off the business man.

As my boss steps beside me, the heat of his presence washes over me and I don't even need to look over to know that his menacing face is on display. I can see it's impact in the business man's sudden desire to leave.

"Uh, I-I am so sorry sir. I'll be on my way."

As he scurries to the elevator, I feel my cheeks heat as I look over at James. His dark hair is cut short but is left long enough to be perfectly messy. His bright blue eyes are already piercing into my exhausted ones.

"Sorry for the commotion, sir. I'll try to handle them quicker next time," I start, but my nerves are lessened by the slightly impressed look upon James' features.

"I've never seen you get angry before," my boss notes, making more heat crawl up my neck.

"Yeah well, I used to let everyone use me as their doormat, but I don't let people walk all over me anymore." I respond with half of a laugh. He hums at that, his eyes trained on me.

I break the contact first, turning around suddenly to my desk to avoid the way his eyes seem to burn the air between us to nothing.

"Miss Y/L/N, can I have a word with you in my office?" He speaks again after a few agonizing moments of silence. My hands freeze and I slowly turn around to find his gaze inquisitive.

"Of course, boss" I reply, clasping my hands together to hide the way they tremble slightly. James Barnes is quite possibly the most terrifying person I've ever met, and yet the more time I spend in this job the less he scares me.

When follow his gesture to walk before him to his office, he slips his hand to the small of my back as I enter and I swear my skin sets on fire. I hurry away from his touch and into a chair as fast as I can. There's a slight hint of amusement upon his features as he settles back in his massive chair, eying me from across the desk.

"Is...is everything alright, sir?" I question after a minute of the thick silence. He sits straighter at this, leaning his forearms on his desk and clasping his hands together.

"Do you have a criminal record, Miss Y/L/N?"

His question startles me so much that it takes me a moment to respond.

"I'm...sorry?" I question, not understanding where this is going.

"Anything at all," James continues as if I didn't say a word, "Petty theft, aggravated assault, murder-"

"Sir I definitely don't have a criminal record," I cut in, my heart beginning to increase in speed. James nods, his blue eyes pinning me to the spot.

"Good, that makes you unsuspecting," he states, only heightening my confusion, "In order for you to be of best use, not to mention safe, it's best if you know exactly what it is that I do."

I sit completely dumbstruck and left with no response at all. My mouth opens and closes as I search for words, but I can't seem to find any.

"You've got a backbone and you're an honest, hard worker. That, you've proven. And, against my better judgement," Barnes pauses, his gaze taking on a somewhat softer, almost vulnerable gaze, "I trust you, Y/N."

My heart leaps into my throat and something stirs within me when he says that...that word. Y/N. My name. He said my name for the first time since he hired me. I don't know why it has such an effect on me, but it does.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt "I trust you too."

I do? When did I make that decision? And why did I just say it out loud?

Something in my boss's face shifts at my words, but he masks it with his usual cool, calm demeanor. He sits again in silence for a moment, taking in me and my response before he nods.

"The business I run is more lucrative than what the surface shows. I need someone on my side on the surface level, an associate who can assist me in matters at this office."

"This office?" I repeat, my brows furrowing together as my heart begins to race again. What does he mean by lucrative? And why is there excitement bubbling in my gut?

What he says next would change my life forever.

"I'm the White Wolf, Y/N." my boss's low voice rumbles, his eyes bright and clear, "I'm the-"

"King of organized crime, ruler of the New York mob," I interrupt, my eyes wide and my entire being not comprehending what's happening. I should leave. I should quit this job and call the police and leave. I should be terrified. But there's something in those eyes...

What I say next would start that life of crime I mentioned earlier, and quite frankly I still don't fully understand where it came from within me.

"Sure," I simply say, and the shock that splays on James' face must mirror my own.

"Sure as in..." he trails off, waiting for me to elaborate and clarify what we both know I mean. I swallow down my nerves and go with the decision my entire head is screaming against but my entire gut yells louder for.

"I'm in," I say, this time with more confidence, "Like I said before, I trust you. And I get the feeling you'd kill me if I said no."

Humor traipses across his features as he sits back in his chair in surprise. He plays with the ring in his finger, nodding slightly to me.

"That went better than planned," he murmurs, and I don't know why but I feel like smiling. My entire body is buzzing and my head is swimming, but something deep inside of me is waking up.

I've been walked all over my entire life. That's just the way it's been. I didn't know the difference between being nice and being a doormat for people's convenience until I was well into my life. As much as I hate to admit it, there's something about James Barnes that I trust, there has been since the day I met him. I felt it pull deep in my soul and now, knowing what he does and who he is...

It's time I control my fate, time that I grab my destiny and force it into motion. It's time that I stop letting people walk all over me and be the person who has a voice and a say and...and power. I've heard of the White Wolf as long as he's been around. He may be ruthless but he is not cruel. He's always looked out for the city, taken the scum off the streets and done the things the politicians refuse to. I trust James. And something deep within me is shouting that this is right, that this my destiny, that this is the strings of fate pulling.

And I know when to listen.

"Welcome, Ms. Y/L/N," James announces, standing and keeping his gaze burning down on mine, "To the real business."

|||

Seven months later.

One night, about seven months after the conversation that absolutely changed my life, I'm working overtime in the office.

My hands are dug into my hair and my eyes droop closed. I release my hold on my hair to knock back the last of an energy drink, but the liquid has little effect. I desperately read through the computer screen, hoping to solve the legal entanglement before me.

James informed me when I came into work this morning that some over-righteous beat-cop was looking too much into the business we hide behind our Property Management company. I've been here all day long trying to figure out how to file all the necessary forms to make this disappear and seem a joke. That's taken longer than I expected, though, and at nearly midnight, James and I are still here working.

"God, this is awful," I groan, dropping my head to rest on my arms upon my desk, my forehead seeping in the cool of the wood. I hear my boss's office door open but don't even bother moving. Eventually, a soft laugh sounds that makes me drag my head up and look over to its origin.

"You look absolutely pitiful" James comments, his tired eyes dancing with a humor that seeps into my own features slowly. A small smile tugs at my lips as I sit up fully.

"Thanks, that's what I was going for," I quip sarcastically.

He coughs out a laugh that makes my chest tighten slightly and some of the exhaustion part. Over the months working for the White Wolf of crime, we've become...friends. Well, as close to friends as a mob boss and his secretary can get.

"Come on, let's take a break. We've been at this for too long, I don't even know how you can think straight," James mentions. I shake my head, blinking a few times before turning back to the computer screen.

"No, I've almost got this loophole figured out and we'll be golden if I can just-" I'm cut off abruptly by a strong, calloused hand gently gripping my chin and turning it up so I'm looking at James. My heart gallops suddenly and it takes every ounce of strength to keep my composure against the charge coursing through me.

"Y/N, take a break," he mumbles so soft that a shiver runs down my spine. We stay locked like that for a moment until I nod and pull myself out of his grip by standing.

"Alright" I murmur, breaking the tense, charged moment by pointing a finger at him.

"But if you bring out alcohol on the job, so help me James Barnes I'll turn you in to the police myself," I threaten emptily. He laughs genuinely this time, and it warms my spirit.

"Come on, doll. I've got an idea" he urges, walking out to the massive open save before my desk. I eye him warily and step to it, hoping that the sudden skittering and tripping of my heart at that nickname doesn't show. He's never called me anything but my name, before. Now, it's almost too easy to forget that I work for him.

"You might wanna take your heels off," he suggests, which only heightens my confusion. Nonetheless, I slip the footwear off and walk barefoot in my pant suit to my boss.

"Should I be concerned?" I ask, bringing another humored glint to those beautiful steel eyes.

"No," Barnes says simply, my eyes darting to his forearms as he rolls up the sleeves of his button-up, "I've actually been meaning to do this for a while. You're working for me in a very dangerous business, and although your involvement is kept a secret, I want you to be able to defend yourself if anything goes wrong."

His words settle over me heavily as I shrug my  close-tailored suit jacket off and lay it on my desk. This is actually a smart idea. I sure don't want to be helpless should the time come and, lets be honest, it inevitably will.

"Okay," I reply, walking warily in front of my boss who's practically made of muscle, "Teach me."

Something dark floods his eyes that he blinks away quickly before holding his hands up in a fighting position, gesturing for me to do so. I oblige, putting my fists up in the best way I can. He walks over to me, slowly taking a few steps around my body to inspect my stance.

"Not bad," Barnes announces before stepping close to my side and placing those large hands against my torso and turning it slightly, "There, like that you can use the power you have against someone who might have a lot more than you."

His touch muddles my mind and I can't help but feel that his burning hands linger for a second longer than necessary before he steps away and back in front of me. Even as he does, I instantly feel like I'm missing something without his warmth. It's been that way since I began working here, though. Every little touch here and there has gotten me irrevocably addicted to the feel of him.

I'm so startled by the thought that it almost shows on my face. That train of thinking is...is highly unprofessional.

"Now, punch me" he orders. I hesitate, but don't lower my fists.

That's also unprofessional, and yet look at us.

"Are you sure?" I ask, and he simply nods. I shrug, "Alright then."

I throw the best punch I've got, but he dodges it easily and grabs my fist in his hand. Before I know what's happening, his leg hooks around my vulnerable one that I stepped with and he throws the momentum of my punch back at me so that I crash to the ground. I know that if he'd done that little move fully my back would've slammed into the ground along with my skull. Instead, he follows me to the ground and wraps an arm around my waist, breaking my fall and easing me to the ground as he hovers above me.

I know he means to say something, but words must die for him too when the all too small space between our bodies is realized. I can barely breathe and it's as if time itself has stopped. I watch his fingers flex on the floor by my head, almost as if he's going to reach out to me but chooses against it. All too soon, the moment is broken when James stands and extends a hand down to me. I take it and let him pull me up to standing, disappointment and relief mingling in my stomach.

"That move can save your life, especially against someone bigger than you." James says, a little bit more distantly than he was before.

I thank him quietly and watch him clear his throat and walk back to his office. He pauses when he reaches the door and looks back over at me.

"Y/N, I want you home in an hour tops." He orders. I nod, still slightly breathless.

"And if I stay longer?" I taunt, not even knowing where the words come from. He tilts his head at me, a challenging gaze taking over.

"Then I'll throw you over my shoulder and walk you out myself."

I almost think he means it from the mischief lingering in his gaze.

Sure enough, I go home an hour later.

|||

Five months later

It wasn't until about a year after I joined in on the mob business that I realized how well I was beginning to know James.

And how much more he was becoming to me.

"Y/N, can you get me-"

I cut off my boss by setting down two steaming coffee cups.

"Two triple espressos with low fat cream," I announce, before fishing the folder out from underneath my arm and setting it on the desk before him, "And the monthly finance report. The guys in finance weren't finished when I came by yesterday, so I made sure they had it done for this morning's meeting."

James stares up at me in shock for a moment. That shock is still lingering when he says, "And the meeting schedule?"

"Already in your computer, I emailed it to you last night. I also sent it out to everyone who's coming and made sure to tell Mr. Martinelli 10:30 instead of 11:00 so he arrives on time." I respond, clasping my hands before me and giving my boss a light smile.

"Oh," I exclaim, turning around suddenly and picking up the package I left by his door, "And this gift basket came with a heartfelt apology from Mr. Lankov. It did have an assortment of toffee-filled chocolates which I went ahead and removed for you."

Mr. Barnes reaches over and slides the basket I set down on his desk towards himself before looking up at me. He looks almost impressed, which is high praise enough.

"Will that be all, Mr. Barnes?" I ask when he just stares at me for another minute. I feel my entire body burning under his gaze and, as usual, the air is thick and palpable whenever we're in a room alone. His gaze hardens again into the cold, meticulous mob boss he is and he nods once

"That'll be all, thank you Ms. Y/L/N."

I nod and turn to walk out only to be stopped by his voice calling out to me again.

"Y/N?" James announces, making me turn to him again. I don't know what I expect him to say, but it certainly isn't what comes from him, "I think you are too close of a friend to be calling me James and Mr. Barnes by now."

My heart stutters, but I keep the emotion that surges from his words from splaying all across my face. He considers me a close friend, not just his secretary. When did it ever become more?

When did I ever convince myself it wasn't more.

"What would you like me to call you?" I ask, and the question seems all too formal. The corner of his lips tug up and the movement makes my stomach flip.

"Most of the people closest to me just call me Bucky," he informs, and a rush thrills my entire body as I nod and try to keep my smile small.

"If you need anything else let me know, Bucky." I reply, and something darkens in his gaze.

I'm frozen for another moment, his stare binding me to where I am. Phantom electricity skitters across my limbs and I realize how much I have to restrain myself from walking closer to him. It's almost as if he's the Earth and I'm the moon, caught in his gravity and unable to pull away, All at once I come to my senses and leave his office quicker than usual. I make sure the door is shut behind me before I press my back up against the cool surface.

My heart is pounding in my chest. That was too personal, that was all too personal and wildly unprofessional. Nothing that was said was but the way he looked at me, the way I melted in my spot at that gaze. It was all consuming, and I didn't think I could breathe in that room. He's a mob boss, my mob boss, and I'm his secretary. James...Bucky is naturally a brooding, intense sort of person so the way he looked at me wasn't unusual. The way my entire being reacted was.

And he's so much more than my boss, no matter how much I may try to ignore it.

As the day goes by, I try to rationalize it all. In the end, I know everything there is to know about him—what he likes and dislikes, his routines, his daily patterns. It's my job to, but he doesn't know that about me.

If he did he'd know that today is my...

I think that same thing over and over to comfort myself that everything is normal and okay, but it only just makes a part of me sink. It's almost as if the thought that I'm not more to him has the potential to break me.

You can only be broken by things that hold you.

I'm jarred from that thought when Bucky's voice sounds over my business phone speaker.

"Y/N, my office" He says simply, his voice holding that natural authority and sharp edge that it usually has.

I get up and am walking into his office moments later. Once I'm inside, I take notice that Bucky's hard at work on some document before him and doesn't even spare me a glance until the door clicks shut behind me. At this sound, he looks up and sets down his pen. He stands slowly and adjusts the cuffs of his suit jacket. That small movement sends my entire body into a downward spiral.

"You tried to hide something from me, Y/N," Bucky rumbles, and my stomach hits the floor.

I did? What did I try to hide?

"Sir, I'm not entirely sure what-"

My word die out as he stalks around his desk and up to me. My entire body is trembling, but not from fear, when he stops before me and stares at me so deeply that I feel like he's taken my heart straight from my chest with his bare hands. I'm not so sure he hasn't.

"It was a valiant effort, really," he muses, and I still have no idea what he's talking about, "But even if I only know you half as well as you know me, there was no way you could've hidden it."

My brows are furrowed when he finally reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an envelope.

"Happy birthday, Y/N," My boss whispers, and the moment feels all too intimate as he hands me the envelope.

He knew it was my birthday. That thought sends a thrill through me that I wish I could forget. I look down at the envelope and back up at Bucky who stares at me with the hint of a genuine smile on his lips.

"You didn't have to..." I whisper, but he gives me a 'really' sort of look.

"You do everything for me, and I'm pretty sure my world would fall apart without you. Now open it."

That only makes my heart race harder and I can't keep away my smile as I open the envelope. Everything seems to fade away when I pull out what's inside. There's no card, just a single slip of paper. When I flip that paper over, I realize that I'm in love with him.

Because it's a round-trip ticket to Kinsale, Ireland. A place I mentioned only once months ago that I've always wanted to go to.

I look up at him, my eyes wide and already filling with tears that I refuse to let go.

"How did you know?" I breathe.

"You said it was one of your dreams to go, and it's hard to forget when you speak about something so passionately." Bucky's reply softer than I've ever heard him be.

I've seen him kill people, torture criminals, and threaten politicians. I've seen him command his mob and rule with certainty and ruthlessness. And yet here he is, giving me one of my dreams because I mentioned it once.

I love him. I know it then, and I don't think I'll ever escape it. I've loved before, but never has it felt like this. This is encompassing and devouring and scary. It's real and deep and world-shifting. How much in love I realize I am with him is the kind of love I never thought I'd get. And yet...

I know it's unprofessional, but I can't stop from stepping forward and getting on my tip toes to wrap my arms around his neck in a sudden hug. He freezes, and for a moment I wonder how long it's been since he's been hugged. Bucky gives in almost instantly and wraps his strong arms around my torso, tugging me closer to him. I decide in this moment that this is my favorite place to be. Kinsale might have been one of my dream places, but this, in his arms, has just as quickly topped the list.

All too quickly I realize the intimacy of this position and pull away, no matter how much it leaves me feeling cold and alone.

"Thank you," I whisper, clearing my throat and taking a step back, "No one's ever done anything like this for me before."

Bucky just stares at me with that all-encompassing gaze.

"Then they're all idiots," he murmurs, and my traitorous heart surges again.

This man is my boss. He's the most powerful person in this city and the last thing he'll do is care about someone as powerless as me. And yet...and yet, and yet, and yet. I can't stop.

|||

Eleven months later.

Eleven months later and I'm still just as totally screwed.

I can't stop the feelings that bubble through me, that take me over and encompass everything I am and hoped I could escape. I tried convincing myself he was nothing, tried to fall for someone else, anyone else, but I can't.

James Bucky Barnes is intoxicating in the most wonderful and awful way. And I can't quit him.

That's why I'm here at Angel's Fall, the bar every corporate associate and beat cop or detective in our slice of town finds themselves at after work. I haven't been in a while, not much liking the smell or taste of alcohol, but after spending nearly ten straight hours with Bucky that serve as a reminder that I'll never have him, I needed to take the edge off.

"Anything else I can get for you, babes?" The bartender asks as she takes a stop in front of me, giving me a friendly smile. I return the gesture and let out a long sigh, finishing out the last of my whiskey sour.

"Scotch, straight," I request, giving her a tired smile, "Thanks."

"Sure thing," she replies, instantly beginning to make my drink, "You seem like you've had a long day."

I scoff, running a hand through the hair that I freed from my low bun, "Long few months."

"That bad, huh? Well I'll keep these going till you say when, sweetie," she replies, sliding my drink to me. I give her another quiet thanks before she leaves to her job.

"Y/N? Y/N is that you?"

I furrow my brows, not putting the voice to a face. I turn towards the sound of the man to find him standing beside me. Once my eyes land on his features, my entire being runs cold. Instantly what little alcohol I had in my system sobers out and my blood freezes in my veins. It's as if I've been dunked in ice water and I find it hard to draw in breath.

"Ian. It's been ages" I comment, my voice thankfully not trembling like I expected it to be. Ian laughs before me, leaning on the bar and drinking me in with his eyes. I squirm under his gaze, which only serves to make me uncomfortable.

"Damn right," he comments, smirking at me lazily with that smile that wrecked my life nearly three years ago, "I've missed you, baby."

I bristle at the nickname, my heart flinching even if my body doesn't. I know he's probably missed me, I had to move to a new state to escape him the first time. I thought I'd done good, too. I'd gotten settled here for a while and then worked my way up to a job at Bucky's company. The past almost two years in Bucky's business have been so good for me that I almost forgot my life before it, the reason why I was so ready to take on the life of organized crime.

The reason stands before me, proof that our demons never die. They just hide away until we're vulnerable again.

"What are you doing in New York?" I ask, trying to make polite small talk and avoid the obvious elephant in the room.

The elephant being that the last time I saw him, I smashed a lamp over his head before I scrambled out of his apartment and to the nearest cab that whisked me far far away, leaving behind all of my belongings except for a wad of twenties and my cellphone.

"I got a transfer to a firm a few blocks from here not too long ago. God, you look great Y/N," Ian averts. He says my name again, almost as if he can't believe I'm standing before him. I nod, wringing my wrists and shoving my forgotten drink away from me.

"That's great, Ian." I keep it simple, knowing that if I talk too much I'll lose myself again. I spend my mental energy searching the thickening crowd of people for a way out. I even consider signaling the bartender that I need an escape.

I'm barred from my thoughts when his hand, a hand I'll never forget, skims over my arm. I jerk my attention back to him, ripping my arm away from him as fast as I can and taking a step back.

"Woah, calm down baby. No need to be so jumpy" Ian placates, that same easy, manipulative smile that would bring me crawling right back to him every time stretching across his features. It makes my blood turn to ice and my stomach roil.

"Do not touch me," I command, surprised at the strength in my tone. It's a strength I didn't have before I got this job, "You lost that right long ago."

Ian's shock is not easily hidden. He realizes in that instant that I'm not the same girl I was three years ago when he broke me and used me and ruled my emotions. I've grown and gotten stronger because someone saw the potential in me to handle power with ease, to be a part of something bigger and stronger than anything I'd been in before. It may shatter me to be around Bucky every day, but he still saved my life in ways he'll never know.

I used to see the world as good and evil, black and white. Now, after my work in the mafia, I know it's gray. There's evil in the good and good in the evil. No one is ever truly both, and sometimes the ones you think are the villains are truly the heroes.

"I-" Ian cuts himself off with a surprised laugh, his eyes incredulous upon me, "I'm sorry, when did you convince yourself of that lie?"

"What lie?" I grit out, and I almost slap myself for indulging him. I'm quickly unhinging, though, and I know that if I stay in this conversation much longer I'll break back into a remnant of who I was. I try to swallow my bile at the thought. I refuse to do that.

"The lie that you're strong. The lie that you can survive in your own, the lie that you'll be anything or anyone without me," Ian seethes, his words sickly sweet like unsuspecting poison. His words cut me so deep that I almost shatter right there as old wounds I thought had scarred over rip open. Instead, I remind myself of the strength and control I've garnered these last two years working for Bucky Barnes.

And then I slap my ex so hard across the face that my hand stings.

"I am not some helpless little girl that's still in love with you," I grit out, my tone sharper than I've ever heard it before, "You broke me once, you are not going to do it again."

His shocked eyes are so wide upon me that I almost don't register his hand raising to strike me back until my head whips hard to the side and pain explodes across my cheek. When I snap my gaze back to him, my eyes brimming with tears of rage and instability, I see him open his mouth to say something. His words don't make it out.

Not before the crowd of patrons splits and a hand closes around Ian's throat so fast and with such force that his back is slammed into the bar.

Oh, I must've forgotten to mention this before. The Angel's Fall is one of the bars the White Wolf owns.

And here the wolf is himself.

I'm so shocked by Bucky's sudden intrusion that I'm left speechless as his grip tightens on Ian's throat and he brings his face that's flooded with an icy rage close to Ian's clearly terrified one. No one lifts a finger to protest or stop my boss, because they all know who this place belongs to.

"You touch her again and I'll kill you," Bucky growls lowly, and Ian is smart enough to believe him as he nods quickly.

Something warm and bright twists in my chest at his words, even when I know any normal person would be screaming or calling the cops. I've never seen Bucky like this before, not about me at least. About his business, sure. But not me.

"When I let go, you're going to leave this bar and this city," my boss commands, his tone leaving no room for negotiation, "If I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to slit your throat."

Ian whimpers, a sound that I hadn't realized would bring me so much wicked joy, a sound that satisfies the thirst for vengeance that I hadn't even realized I held.

"Now, thank me for my mercy and apologize to Ms. Y/L/N," Bucky orders, his grip loosening enough on Ian's airways to let him gasp out the commanded words.

Once he does, Bucky lets him go. His hand isn't off of Ian's neck for two seconds before my ex-boyfriend is scurrying out of the bar. The noises resume as usual, everyone carrying on as if a man's life was not just threatened. Bucky turns his gaze, still filled with that icy rage, towards me and it softens in a way that melts me.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I avoid the question completely, hoping he'll forget to inquire about it again.

"Thanks for that," I manage out, ignoring the burning of my now very tender cheek, "I honestly thought I had it under control but then I just had to go and slap him."

"That gives him no right to lay a hand on you," Bucky asserts, taking a step closer to me and running a gentle, calloused hand over my hurt cheek. The simple motion sends electricity surging through my entire body and I somehow feel empty when he clenches his jaw and drops his hand.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you okay?" Bucky asks again, not taking a step back.

My heart is pounding and my body is overrun with so many different emotions that I don't know what to focus on or how to stop it all. I may be looking directly into those steel blue eyes, but I'm miles and years away. Memories of Ian and a version of me I often try to forget flash through my mind and I can't stop them.

"Who said you could parade yourself around like a whore when you are mine?" Ian growls out, making me flinch back and wrap an arm around my torso.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

My head whips to the side with the force of his hand. The sting sets in with the silence for a few moments, suffocating me and drowning me in my own pain. Then I hear him sigh and walk up to me, his hands now gentle as he turns my face up to his.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to do that, can you forgive me?" His words are sweet and his eyes genuinely sad. I look up at him warily and almost pull away when that breathtaking smile tugs onto his lips.

"For me, baby? I promise I'll never lay a hand on you again. I don't deserve you"

"Okay" I whisper, letting him kiss my lips and then the cheek that he'd hit again and again and again and as long as I'd keep forgiving him.

I don't even realize I'm not at the bar anymore until there's a soft click of a door behind me and I register a warm, strong hand encasing my own as Bucky leads me into what looks to be an office in the back of the bar.

I hadn't even realized I'd zoned out. I haven't done that in...in a very long time.

He lets go of my hand only to capture my face in his surprisingly gentle hold. When my eyes meet his, everything seems to quiet in the blue of his irises. Still, my mind is aching to send me back to three years ago, to broken bottles and shattered hearts patched with false kisses and pretty words.

"You're safe," Bucky assures, his face softer than I've ever seen it, "You're safe and you're here. I don't know where you went just now but I need you to come back to me, okay?"

Bucky's soothing voice brings me back to reality and grounds me to the moment until all that's left is this room and him and me.

"That's it, there you go, doll. Stay right here with me," he breathes, making my heart flutter. We stand in silence like that for a few moments that stretch for eternity, with his thumbs running across my cheeks until the consciousness returns to my gaze.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Bucky asks, taking a step back and pulling his hands from my face. I almost make a noise of protest at the loss of contact, but stop myself. Instead, I just shrug.

"It was nothing, really. Just an ex of mine who doesn't know boundaries," I respond, but I can tell that he doesn't buy a word of it.

Bucky takes a slow step towards me again. This time when I tilt my head up to keep his gaze, something tender and almost tangible crackles in the air between us, tugging and pulling and yanking us together. In the steel of his eyes is a dichotomy of emotions, ranging from a breaking softness to a stifled rage that I don't think is directed at me. It sends shivers racing down my spine.

"Y/N," he starts, and my knees almost turn weak at that one utterance, "I think you're not telling me because you know what I'll do. But I need you to understand something before you leave this room and we go back to our daily routine."

One of his hands hooks under my chin, and his thumb grazes ever so lightly over my lip and so swiftly that I almost think I imagined it.

"I don't care who I have to kill or what I have to do. I will do anything if it means protecting you. Anything." He vows, that rage still lit in his eyes. But when I look closer, it seems to be fueled by something so much deeper, so much richer.

I don't know why the words slip past my lips but it does before my mind can stop them.

"Ian manipulated me for years," my voice is trembling and unsure and so unlike every other time I've spoken with him, "He'd use me as his punching bag and then cry on his knees for me. I was stupid then, I always came crawling back. It wasn't until this job that I learned to stand up for myself."

Bucky's entire body is as rigid as a board and I know that look in his eyes. It's the look that appears when he grows unhinged and closer to losing himself to the rage and carnal violence. His jaw clenches and he seems to compose himself.

"What do you want me to do to him?"

It's a simple question, but in his eyes I can see what Bucky wants to do. I can see it as clear as day and it sets my entire being on fire. I choke up, though, because as much as I want to open my mouth and ask for him to kill him, I can't seem to. He sees my hesitancy and nods, taking a step back from me and adjusting his suit.

"Just let me know, Y/N," Bucky states, sounding more professional again as he turns and heads towards his office door.

A sudden sense of urgency overtakes me and I dart forward, grabbing a gentle but insistent hold of his arm that makes Bucky freeze and turn back to me. His arm is in my grasp and I realize that I'm holding on to it for a sense of stability as I try to get the words out. I think he realizes it too because Bucky lets me hold his arm, his eyes boring into mine and that professionalism dropping for a moment. I open my mouth, but close it again, my entire being trembling as flashes of every horror I endured with Ian overtake me.

"I want him gone," I finally manage out, my voice barely more than a whisper, "Please,"

Bucky's eyes search my face for a moment before a certain softness overtakes his gaze. I can see in his eyes that he knows exactly what I mean, even if I can't say the words out loud. He pulls his arm from my grasp only to take a hold of my hand and bring it to his lips. My heart nearly explodes from my chest when he places a kiss to the top of my hand. My skin is ignited where his lips touched it and I almost can't think straight.

God, I'm so in love him. I love him so much it hurts.

"Done." Bucky vows, his eyes never leaving mine.

Ian's mutilated body turned up in an alleyway the next morning.

|||

Two weeks later

I don't know how everything could have gone so wrong only a few weeks later. It all just happened so fast.

"Yes sir, the catering should arrive about 7:00 pm...yes sir, thank you sir. See you then,"

Once the phone is hung up, I take the pen from behind my ear and check off the catering company from my list of gala preparations. In just a few days, the company is going to be holding its annual Employee and Beneficiary Gala. My last few days have been consumed with making sure it runs seamlessly.

"Excuse me, miss. I have a 3:15 with Mr. Barnes." A man's voice I don't recognize calls out to me.

I look up from my paper, smiling warm at the business man who stands before me. My smile falls slightly when I see that he doesn't seem all too happy at the moment, but I set it aside.

"Yes, Mr..." I pause, looking over at my computer screen and scanning for his name, "Stark?"

"That's me." Mr. Stark responds.

"Alright. I'll let Mr. Barnes know that you're here and you should be right in," I inform, giving the man a polite nod before calling Bucky. While I inform him that his appointment is here, I can't help the uneasiness in my chest at Mr. Stark's grave expression.

"You can go on in," I inform once I get off the phone, giving the man a quick smile before turning back to my work, my entire being crawling for some reason.

The meeting's normal for the first few minutes, but pretty quickly their voices begin to raise.

"You need to be careful, Barnes! Pierce and his men are looking for any in to attack our organization."

Alexander Pierce, that's the boss of Bucky's largest rival—Hydra.

"Trust me, Stark. I am careful and perfectly capable of taking care of my business." Bucky grits back. I lift my hands off my keyboard, my attention slipping to listening to the words.

"No, you're not, you're being reckless. You're getting too close and you know it! She is a weakness!" Stark practically shouts. I hear a sudden screech of chair legs on the floor and a brief silence.

Whatever is said next is too hushed for me to hear, but I'm able to catch the last few words.

"I'll take care of it. You know I will," Bucky says, and the office door opens.

"I know you will, buddy. I just needed to get you there," Stark replies, shaking Bucky's hand before turning and walking past my desk without so much of a glance.

"Have a nice day to you too," I whisper beneath my breath.

"Ms. Y/L/N, my office" Bucky says abruptly from his office. His tone seems...almost cold, unfeeling. And he called me Ms. Y/L/N.

With furrowed brows, I get up and make my way into his office, closing the door behind me per his request. I settle down in one of the chairs before his massive desk, an inexplicable worry washing over me. Nonetheless, I ignore the feeling and carry on as normal. Thinking this to be one of the many previous briefings we've had on the gala, I begin to give him my report.

"The catering company is all set for Saturday as is the decorating committee and half-orchestra. All that's left is to-"

"I'm letting you go." Bucky interrupts suddenly, his voice so nonchalant and his gaze so flippantly down on the papers before him that I almost don't register his words.

As in...he's...firing me?

"I'm...sorry?" I question, to which his jaw clenches tightly.

"You are formerly fired, Ms. Y/L/N. Effective immediately," Bucky clarifies, and it feels as though the floor's been ripped out from underneath me.

I can barely breathe let alone hear over the sudden roaring in my ears. He's firing me, after all this time?

"Bucky, I don't-"

"Sir," he interrupts, finally snapping his gaze up to mine. His tone and glare are so ferocious that I almost think he'll pull a gun on me anytime soon.

That one simple correction makes my heart shatter. He hasn't been 'sir' in I don't even know how long. And the way he's looking at me right now...it's almost like he couldn't loathe anyone more in the moment. Like he doesn't even know me. Like he didn't just kill a man for me.

Like he didn't let me fall in love with him.

Tears burn my eyes as I steel my face and straighten up in the chair, clenching my hands so hard together in my lap that they turn white.

"Sir," the word is bitter on my tongue and I feel sick to my stomach more so than I ever have, "May I ask why?"

"Your work is sloppy and your intentions with my business, both legal and not, are undecipherable. I have decided that the best intention for me and my business is to part ways irrevocably with you, Ms. Y/L/N."

It takes everything within me to not let my mouth drop open in shock. The hurt that flashes through me is so piercing and raw and real that it arrests my chest. I can't...I don't know what I did wrong.

"You're just going to let me walk away," I breathe, my jaw clenched tightly, "With everything I know about you and your mob. You've killed people for less."

His cold, calculating eyes study me for a minute before he leans back in his chair, his features the picture of nonchalance.

"You won't tell anyone. You and I both know I wouldn't hesitate to kill everyone you love and then you." Bucky informs blatantly.

That's when my heart splinters. Because I can see in his eyes that he means every single word. Emotion blocks my throat as I simply stare back at him, no longer working to hide my shock or pain. I nod once and I stand, smoothing out my silk blouse.

"I've lost everyone I love, you're out of luck there."

The lie burns so strongly on my tongue that it nearly makes me physically sick. I say it to make it true, to trick my mind and heart into believing it. I should hate him. I should loathe him with every fiber of my being. But I just...can't.

With tears that I refuse to let fall swimming in my eyes, I stare down at the man who changed my life, who stole my heart and is now breaking it.

"Whatever it is that you've been relentlessly pursuing these past years, whether it's power or money or blood," I whisper, not daring to bring my voice above it for fear that it will shake, "I hope you find it."

Bucky's gaze bores into mine, something unreadable that's nearly akin to conflict flashing through his eyes. Without a word, I turn and leave, stopping only at my desk to grab my things before leaving. Leaving this office, leaving the mob, leaving him.

And as I drive home with silent tears streaking down my cheeks, I can't ignore the gaping, pain-filled hole in my heart. I hadn't realized how much I needed that business, that man. But I have to move on. I have to.

And yet, I have this awful feeling that I'm not going to be able to.

|||

A few days later

It's the day of the gala, and it's all I can do to keep myself composed.

I've been an emotional wreck the last few days, and as much as I've tried to deny it I can't any longer. I'm in love with Barnes, I have been for a while and as bad as I want it to, it's not just going to go away. Losing the job was like losing Bucky, and I hadn't realized how much I leaned on him until he was ripped away.

"Oh come on, you stupid computer," I grumble, shoving my laptop aside as it launches into an update I didn't ask for.

When I woke up today, I decided it was time I start looking for another job. No matter how much it hurts, I have to move on if I have any chance of continuing on with my life. I was job searching when this piece of junk laptop started to reboot.

My attention is glued to my television and the show I have playing while I wait for my laptop to finish the update. I get so engrossed in the show that I almost miss it when the screen goes bright and it turns back on.

"Finally," I breathe, pulling it back to me and typing in my password.

As soon as it opens to my desktop, my laptop begins to pop up a bunch of random windows from my most used apps, just like it usually does whenever it's powered down and back up suddenly. I close them out with mild irritation, but freeze when my spreadsheet window opens up, displaying the spreadsheet I was working on last.

The guest list for the gala.

My heart stutters. I'd done so good all of today avoiding thoughts of the event only for my stupid laptop to bring it to the forefront of my mind. My heart wrenches as I can't stop myself from scrolling briefly through the list of invited guests. Near the end, I notice my name and stifle the sudden rise of emotions that inundate me.

With hasty, almost frantic fingers, I rush to delete my name from the sheet. Before I can erase my name, my eyes catch on four names at the bottom below mine. Strange. My name was the last one added. I know because I edited and set up this spreadsheet and only added myself when I had double and triple checked that everyone had been added.

Maybe Bucky found four more to invite. I try to accept the thought, but my curiosity takes the better of me and I can't stop myself from pulling up the internet on another window and searching up the first of the four names.

Xavier Taft. 34 years old, works for a bouncer service...wait. Criminal record.

My heart stutters again. With events like this, we're always so careful to keep the criminals down to only our own, and I've never seen this man's name in our regiment before. With furrowed brows, I search up the next one.

Lance Salone. Bouncer. Criminal record.

My heart is racing when I search the third.

Amanda Vice. No criminal record.

I frown, my adrenaline seizing a little bit. Maybe I was too hasty, maybe those two were just-

Oh my God.

My entire body freezes when I notice an article underneath Amanda Vice's search. She's a personal assistant, like me. But she works for Pierce Enterprises, the cover business for-

"Hydra," I whisper beneath my breath, feeling as though someone's taken the world and spun it around me.

With trembling fingers, I navigate back to the spreadsheet and look to the fourth name. I don't even need to search it up to know.

Alexander Pierce.

My heart is in my throat as I fly my cursor up to the top of my spreadsheet and check to see the editing history. My eyes scan the hundreds of entries by me until they rest in the last entry, one done by an email I don't recognize.

One I never gave permission to edit the document.

"They hacked it," I piece together aloud. Nothing seems real as I throw my laptop off of me and shoot to my feet, the world still spinning. The two bouncers, obvious muscle with the clear ability to kill.

I know I should hate Bucky, I know that I shouldn't give a damn what will go down tonight at the gala, but I can't stop myself from reaching for my phone and dialing the number I saved to my phone of the weapons dealer Bucky's mob used. The man I spoke with on Bucky's behalf many a times picks up on the third ring.

"Y/N. I haven't heard your voice in so long, how are you?" the dealer, a man by the name Nick Fury, asks.

"Nick, this is going to sound so random but I need to know if there's been any movement from Pierce or his men in the last week or so," I rush out. There's a beat of silence on the other end before Nick speaks again.

"What's this about? I thought Bucky fired you," he points out skeptically. My desperation is taking the better of me and I nearly snap.

"Damn it, Nick I just need to know! Has Hydra done anything unusual lately that you know about? If anyone would know it would be you," I practically beg. He must hear the urgency in my tone because he doesn't question me again.

"I caught word they were hanging around upstate earlier this week, they're not usually over there," Nick announces. I furrow my brows.

"Where upstate?"

"Some place called The Sky Palace. Heard they were there for a good bit of time snooping around before they got booted out," Nick answers, pausing for a moment, "Y/N, what's going on?"

I can barely breathe, let alone work up a response. The phone nearly slips from my limp fingers.

"Y/N, are you-"

"That's where the gala is tonight" I whisper, an aching, yawning sort of sensation ripping in my chest at the sudden realization that slams into me.

They're going to kill him. They're going to kill Bucky Barnes and they're going to make a move on our mob.

"I have to go," I rush out, my voice trembling and my stomach roiling with nausea, "Thank you, Nick"

"Of course."

I end the call, rushing to grab my purse and throw on the first pair of shoes I can find. As I rush out of my apartment and into the streets of New York as the sun sets low behind the buildings, I no longer think about the betrayal or hurt. I don't ruminate that I'm fired or that Bucky doesn't care for me like I do him. All I can think about is that my family isn't safe tonight, and I have to do everything in my power to protect them. All of them.

As I whistle for a taxi, my phone is already pressed to my ear and ringing as it tries by I reach my ex-boss. The call goes unanswered as I sit inside the cab.

"Where to?" The driver asks.

I almost say the venue, but pause. I set up Bucky's schedule for today, he should still be at his mansion upstate getting ready. He always did like to make grand entrances. Even if I'm wrong, it's only a ten minute drive to the venue. I give the driver Bucky's address and dial his number again as the driver speeds off.

"You've reached the voicemail box of-"

"Oh come on!" I groan out, pulling my phone away and ending the call. My heart is racing so fast that I can practically feel it trying to run out of my chest. I feel utterly powerless right now knowing that Bucky could die and I can help. What if I don't make it in time? What if he's already gone?

Tears blur my vision and sudden heart ache seizes my chest at the thought. I shove it all down and keep myself composed as I try his number again, but to no avail. Thankfully, we're pulling up to his mansion now. I pay the driver and rush out, putting in the gate code and sprinting to his front door. I don't even waste time knocking, knowing he's probably in the garage or his room, and dig up the spare key from its hiding spot to let myself in.

"Bucky!" I shout as soon as I'm in, slamming the door behind me.

There's no response.

"Bucky please! Are you here?" I shout again, but the silence rings in my ears.

One quick check of his room shows he's not here and when I sprint into the garage, I see one of his twenty cars missing.

I missed him. He's already gone.

I curse, checking my phone to see that he's running fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, something he never does. Of all days to be more punctual to his own event, tonight was probably the worst. I hesitate for only a moment as I ponder what to do.

"You'll forgive me later," I mutter to myself before I spin on my heels and jog to the key rack by the door. I swipe the first set I find and press the button only to find his brand new, cherry red Tesla lighting up.

If things weren't so dire, I'd squeal in excitement.

I don't waste time with giddiness, though, and sprint to the car. I'm inside and have the engine running in record time. Not one minute later, I'm peeling out of the garage and onto the road with screeching tires. I press the gas pedal nearly all the way to the floor, the engine roaring in my ears as I whip into the traffic.

I have to make it. I have to.

|||

And here we are, all caught up.

I hope you understand now more than you did before why I'm so desperate to get to Bucky in time. I hadn't realized it fully in the moment before, but now that I just might lose him, I know that he's everything to me. I wouldn't be half the woman I am without him and his constant assurance that I was strong and skilled and perfectly able to stand up for myself.

I can't lose him, not when he's so much more than a boss to me. So much more.

I cut the ten minute drive to the gala down to four. My headlights cut thought the pitch black night as I swerve up to The Sky Palace that's teeming with cars and richly dressed guests. The Tesla screeches as I grind to a halt before a group of gasping patrons and a wide-eyed valet.

His eyes grow wider when he sees me step out of it in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

"Don't scratch this car if you want to live," I advise as I toss the young valet the keys. He must think I'm joking because his gaze flashes with humor.

He doesn't realize I'm being dead serious.

I don't care a modicum about the horrified, disgusted looks I'm getting from the elite who are still making their way to the Palace's entrance nor do I care about their cries as I break into a sprint and shove past them all.

I can't let him die, I can't let Pierce hurt my family. I can't.

I only stop running when I reach the two men guarding the front entrance with iPads to check in guests. I know them both, since both happen to be members of Bucky's mob. Their eyebrows furrow once they see me approaching them.

"Y/N?" One asks, his eyes nearly popping from his head, "Boss won't like it that you're here."

"Let me in, Sam," I order, my chest heaving with breath, "He's in danger, you're all in danger."

The two men's eyes widen and they share a look for a moment before glancing back to me.

"Y/N," the other begins, but the panic is getting too much and I cut him off.

"Listen, you're all in trouble. The business is in danger of being thrown into chaos, and your boss-" my voice cuts off with sudden emotion, tears swimming in my gaze, "Your boss is going to die if you don't let me in right now."

They only hesitate a moment longer before they step aside. Relief like I've never known it crashes through me. Just before I walk in, though, Sam catches my arm.

"I don't know what the hell's going on, but we're already falling apart without you. We...he needs you, Y/N," Sam whispers.

My heart tugs painfully in my chest and that same hole opens again. I miss them all, I miss the mob and the meetings where we'd all mess around like kids. I miss Bucky.

And with that last thought, I give Sam a nod before turning and jogging into the Palace.

Classical music wafts into the air, broken up only by soft chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The gala is classy and elegant and beautifully well-done, but I don't take time to admire any of that. Instead, I race through the room in search of Bucky.

I receive more than one disgusted glare and scoff at my apparel and messy, unkempt hair. I don't give one damn as I try to blend in as much as possible to not alert Pierce or his men while searching for Bucky.

I stop when I reach the grand staircase that leads to an upper balcony, taking the advantage of the steps and climbing a few to see the room from a birds eye view. It only takes me a few seconds to spot Bucky near the center of the room. My heart squeezes in my chest and I almost sob in relief to see him alive and safe. Just before I move to rush down the stairs and towards him, I hear a click from the top of the stair case.

I whip my gaze up in time to see one of the two bouncers from the list, Xavier Taft, begin setting up a sniper rifle atop the dimly lit balcony that no one but him stands atop.

My heart stops. Time freezes. My stomach hits the floor and all I can think about is that I can't lose him.

"No," I breathe, snapping my gaze down to see the gun trained on Bucky.

When I look at him, I see Sam at his side and speaking in rushed tones, probably about me. Knowing I don't have many options left, my mind works in overdrive to figure out the best way possible to do this. I need to cause a distraction, one to catch Xavier's attention long enough for me to finish climbing the stairs and get that gun away from him. At the same time, though, I need Bucky to see it happen, I need him to know his life is in danger so Lance Salone, the other bouncer, doesn't surprise attack him.

Bucky's just snapped his head towards Sam, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight when I make my move, my nerves humming.

"BUCKY LOOK OUT!" I shout, my voice piercing and carrying out over the room. Instantly, Bucky's head snaps up to where I am on the stairs and his entire body goes rigid.

I don't waste time watching him any longer and begin to sprint up the last of the stairs and towards Xavier who curses. He wasn't ready to shoot yet, I timed it perfectly. Beneath me, Bucky sees the gun trained at him and he sees Xavier, who now has his gaze on me. Bucky's entire body changes again into a mode of desperation, but I don't see it. I'm focused on closing the distance between me and the gun that's almost ready.

"Y/N!" Bucky roars, but I'm barely listening over the chaos in my brain.

"Bitch!" Xavier growls, cocking the rifle hastily and wrapping his finger around the trigger. He's too late, because I finish bounding up the stairs and crash into him, knocking him off of his feet and shoving the gun off balance enough so that the bullet he intended for Bucky slams into the roof instead.

Xavier's body slams into the marble tile as I tackle him, but he quickly overpowers me, flipping us over so I'm beneath him. Below us, I can hear screaming and glass shattering, but above the panic I swear I can hear a voice bellowing my name.

I scramble out from underneath Xavier before he can pin me, shooting to my feet and sprinting to the sniper rifle still sitting on the balcony. Just as I hear Xavier get up behind me, I knock the rifle over and send it careening down into the panicking crowd.

"I'll kill you for that!" I hear Xavier spit from behind me, and I whirl just in time to see him throwing a fist at me.

Time suddenly slows, and it's like I'm back in the office that day ages ago where Bucky tried to teach me self-defense. My body remembers the way he grounded me from my punch before my mind does, and I snap back to reality just in time to dodge Xavier's punch. Just like Bucky did to me then, I hook my leg around his and use his momentum to shove him to ground. I crash down on top of him and practically feel the slam of his head into the marble below him.

"Y/N!"

My entire body jumps at Bucky's voice, now close to me. I snap my head around to see him bounding up the stairs, blood splattered across his tuxedo as if he killed a man himself down there during the chaos. I almost sob in relief. He's okay. I melt beneath his gaze that bores down into me as he stoops down to reach out to me.

His hand is inches from me when his eyes snap up to something behind me and horror flashes through his face a millisecond before a hand wraps around my waist and wrenches me to my feet and away from Xavier's unconscious body. I gasp, and the world suddenly goes very still and very quiet as the cool of a gun presses underneath my chin, forcing it up slightly. My stomach hits the floor and I hardly find it in me to breathe.

Bucky stands ever so slowly in front of me, his jaw clenched and his eyes spelling murder.

"Leave her alone, Pierce," Bucky orders, and sudden fear clamps over me.

Alexander Pierce has me at gun point.

"Why? I'm actually quite taken with your girl," Pierce responds, tightening his hold on my waist. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment at the disgust and fear rolling through me before looking back at Bucky. He catches my slight movement and his fury heightens.

"Pierce, I swear to God if you kill her I will skin you alive," Bucky growls.

"See, now we're getting somewhere," Alexander announces, but I can hear the annoyance in his voice. This isn't what he wanted to happen, "What are you willing to give for her life?"

Immediate tears spring to my eyes and I meet Bucky's gaze again.

"No," I beg immediately, not daring to shake my head because of the gun beneath it, "Let me die. I'd rather die."

Bucky works hard to keep the cold exterior upon his face, but I can see between the cracks that he's...he's terrified.

It's only when Alexander moves his arm that restrains me to cover my mouth that I realize my slim window of opportunity. Without thinking, I slam my free hands into the gun that Pierce holds to the underside of my chin hard enough that it knocks his hand away. His hold loosens in sudden shock and I rip away at the same moment that Bucky darts forward and grabs ahold of me, ripping me to him and immediately crushing me into his side for protection as he rips out his own guns and shoots before Pierce can even recover.

The bullet finds its target perfectly, right between his eyes, and it's over.

My entire body is trembling so violently that I cling to Bucky, scared that my knees will give way from the adrenaline. I've never been in a situation like that before, never been so close to death. Bucky drops the gun from his hold and switches his full attention to me, probably realizing just how pale I've turned and how badly I'm shaking.

Keeping one arm secured around my waist, he runs the other through my hair, his steel blue eyes taking in every feature of mine.

"You saved my life," Bucky murmurs, his hold on me so tight in the most protective sort of way, almost as if he's just as terrified as me, "Even after I fired and threatened you."

I shake my head, tears of relief pooling in my eyes.

"I couldn't let you die."

Bucky's jaw clenches and before he can react I throw my hands around his neck, hugging him close to me. He reacts instantly, wrapping both massive arms around my waist and pulling me close to him, holding me tighter than I ever have been.

"Don't ever do that again, doll," Bucky mumbles into my hair, clenching my hoodie in his fists, "Don't be willing to die for me. I don't deserve it."

I don't know why tears are gathering in my eyes but I find I can't blink them away. I only tighten my grip, nuzzling my head into his neck.

"I don't think I can promise that," I breathe, and my next words come out before I can even stop them, "You'll always be deserving."

Bucky pulls away so fast that my heart lurches into my throat. His eyes examine mine so frantically, so dangerously, so desperately as he holds me out from him. His chest is heaving, almost as bad as mine.

"I did it to protect you, you have to know that. Everything that happened before, it was all to keep them away from you," Bucky swears, and my heart stutters at the look in his eyes, as if the police and ambulance sirens filling the air alongside the shouting don't exist.

"Why?" I breathe, hoping on everything he'll say what I think he will. Bucky brings a hand to cup my cheek, shaking his head at me with something almost close to tears in his eyes.

"You're my only weakness, Y/N, and they know it. Everyone knows it," Bucky murmurs and I swear I stop breathing, "If it came to you or the world I'd pick you every time."

My chest is so tightly constricted that I can hardly draw in any breaths. My chest is moving just as fast as his and butterflies are pressing into my stomach in anticipation for whatever is thick in the air between us.

"Don't ever fire me again," I order, and a low chuckle leaves his lips. My humor drains in a second though, and suddenly it's hard to speak without my voice trembling, "I don't think I'll survive it."

Something breaks in his gaze, softens it and turns it so tender and passionate that my skin tingles. He brings his other hand to cup my face to, so I feel completely under his control.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" He asks carefully, his eyes searching mine, "This life will never slow down. Someone will always want to take you from me."

"I'm sure," I whisper, not even hesitating.

His lips are on mine before the words are even fully out of my mouth. My heart leaps out of my chest as I melt into him, pulling him closer as our lips move in perfect harmony. My entire body feels like liquid and lightning all at once and he's the only thing left in the world. One of his hands finds their way into my hair, leaving me completely at his mercy. When he finally pulls back, he leaves a breath of a kiss on my nose and then my forehead before tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

"You've been more to me for a long time now, doll" Bucky breathes, and a shiver rushes down my spine. He's so beautiful. A smile twitches onto my lips as I caress his stubble-covered cheek.

"I think how I feel is pretty obvious, considering I did tackle a fully grown man for you," I remark, and a surprised laugh rumbles out of him. The sound nearly turns me weak.

"And it was probably the scariest and hottest thing you've ever done," Bucky assures. This time I laugh and kiss him again, but we're both more serious after it.

"This life may not be safe," he begins, his thumb running over my lip, "But you always will be. As long as I'm here, you'll always be safe."

"I love you, Bucky" I whisper, my words a promise. He freezes, something new and bright flashing through his gaze. I don't think he's ever heard those words before.

"I've always loved you, and I always will," he swears, and for a moment my life is completely and totally content.

It doesn't matter what's happening around us, it doesn't even matter that I nearly died a few times in one day. With Bucky by my side, I feel invincible, I feel strong and capable.

"I don't think I can be your secretary any more," I whisper, and his smile is back, turning my insides to butterflies.

"No, I've got a better idea," he smirks, kissing me quickly.

The next day, Bucky would introduce me to the mob as his equal partner.

The King and Queen of crime.

And it would stay like that for the rest of our time.

I don't know when exactly Bucky Barnes became more than my boss, maybe it was always. Maybe I should have known I was in trouble from the beginning, but it's the best kind of trouble. So, if you ever get the chance to do something a little crazy, maybe something you never thought you would, but it just feels right, then you need to do it.

You never know who will become more to you in the process.

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Twisted 27 - When The War Comes [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, guns, knives, sharp objects, stabbing, hallucinations. 

Word Count: 7500

Summary: Who will you become?

You had to control your anger. You had to control the fire in your veins until you were sure that your niece was safe, that your family was safe, then—

Then you would handle this situation. Until then, it had to wait.

All the training your father had given you was basically screaming at you to attack the threat, but you managed to keep yourself from doing so while you followed him through the woods, paying close attention to your surroundings.

The cabin. This was the way to your father’s cabin in the woods.

You had counted ten armed men on the way here but you had to assume there were more scattered along the woods. You stepped over a tree root before you looked up at the night sky and quickly found the stars that would help you. Thankfully it was a clear night, and your father had taught you long before how to read the sky for direction, in case you needed to-

Hunt.

A shudder went down your spine but you quickly shook your head, you had no time for that fear lurking in your head.

Fear could wait until you made sure you and everyone back home survived.

Considering how your family had no boundaries when it came to you, you were one hundred percent sure that by the time tonight was over, they would arrive at your apartment to see where you were.

“So what is your game here?” you moved your wrists that he had bound the moment you two had reached the end of the road and got off the car to walk into the woods, “You take me there and what? You’ll kill me?”

He looked over his shoulder, “How can you ask me that?” he said and you raised your brows.

“How can I not ask you that?”

Keep reading

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Garden of Secrets [2] - Nightshade

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback and support to the first chapter my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter! 

Summary: It’s a bad idea to tempt fate.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, slow burn.

Word Count: 4100

Series Masterlist

It wasn’t that you were someone who didn’t like to be out of their comfort zone.

Correction; you were definitely someone who didn’t like to be out of their comfort zone but that was hardly your fault, now that stepping out of your comfort zone meant being thrown into a battlefield with merely a knife in hand, or the social equivalent of it.

Also known as London’s marriage mart.

Keep reading

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Twisted 25 - The Family Dinner [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking.

Word Count: 5300

Summary: Family time can be chaotic.

Sharing secrets was difficult, but sharing secrets about one’s past was quite possibly one of the most difficult things that a person could do with who they loved. You knew how difficult it was for Spencer to talk about his past with you, but he stood by his word and told you absolutely everything, with nothing to hide. By the time you finished that conversation, it was almost dawn and yet you didn’t feel tired at all.

After that night, something changed but it wasn’t a bad change like Spencer feared.

You felt even closer to him, if such a thing was possible. In the following week, your relationship was better than ever-

Well.

Until now.

“I don’t believe this,” you shook your head, “I just… I refuse to believe this. After everything we’ve been through, I don’t even want to believe you’d put yourself in harm’s way and betray me like this. I get that you have no regard for your happiness, but doing this?” you ran a hand over your face, “This is too much, Spencer. You have no idea what you’re walking into, what kind of danger that’s going to be waiting there to ruin you!”

Spencer just raised his brows, then looked between the two ties he was holding up.

“So that’s a no to the blue one?”

“No to this whole thing!” you let out a groan, falling back to the bed, “No to this dinner with my family nonsense!”

Keep reading

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