#Contract relationship

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 8: 𝑨 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑪𝑬𝑶? 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆.

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship, yearning??, coffee obsessed reader (I'm sorry for that one), it's getting real, Steve and Nat have smth.

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha Romanoff, Coworker!Steve Rogers

Summary: You try to keep your distance—he keeps showing up anyway. Soup when you're sick, coffee just how you like it, sticky notes that say things he’ll never say out loud. Then one night, he doesn’t hide behind the contract. “It's not hard. It’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever felt.” he says, soft like it’s the simplest truth in the world. (You were never going to stand a chance, were you?)

Word count: 2.4k+

Series masterlist

Previous episode

Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

By the time you board the flight back home, exhaustion has settled into your bones. You lean your head against the window, eyes closed as the engines roar to life.

Bucky says nothing, but when you peek through half-lidded eyes, you find him watching you.

You don't speak.

You just let the silence fill the space between you.

By the time the plane touches down, you’ve both tucked the moment away—filed it under the category of things that almost happened.

And maybe that’s where it’s safest to leave it. For now.

_____________________●

You were ignoring him.

Not entirely—just enough to rebuild the walls that had been steadily crumbling since Paris. After the Eiffel Tower. After that almost-kiss that felt anything but fake. That moment when his breath had hitched and your eyes had locked, the entire illusion wobbling on the edge of something dangerous.

You didn’t let it fall. Not yet. But you did what you were best at—strategic withdrawal.

You still showed up to meetings, still demolished the quarterly reports with your usual dry wit, still pulled the kind of power moves in the boardroom that left executives scrambling to keep up. But there was distance now. Measured. Clinical. Gone were the casual touches and knowing glances. No more lingering beside him when he laughed. No more banter that bordered on flirtation. You’d retreated.

And he noticed. Bucky felt it like a phantom limb.

He started waiting outside work. Not once or twice. Every single night. Like clockwork. Leaning against his absurdly expensive car, sunglasses on despite the setting sun, holding two coffees. Yours always perfectly made—a teaspoon of sugar, extra foam, that stupid cinnamon sprinkle you’d mentioned once.You ignored him the first time, walking away hurriedly. Then the second. The third, you almost stopped—but your mind pushed you on. It was the fourth time that broke you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, standing on the sidewalk, arms crossed, a frown stitched tight across your face.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, like he wasn’t melting every boundary you’d drawn.

“This. Wait outside. Bring coffee. Offer to drop me home. Act like we we're—”

“Friends?” he offered, his voice soft, and it unraveled something inside you.

You hesitate. You wanted to say no. To remind him—he was your boss. He was paying you to play pretend. There was a contract. A very binding, very serious contract. But instead, you looked at him, at the faint shadows under his eyes, the nervous twitch in his fingers. You sighed, moved forward, took the coffee, avoided the brush of his fingers, and silently got in the car. The coffee was too hot. It scalded your tongue. But you didn’t complain.

Then you caught a cold.

Nothing serious. Nothing you couldn’t usually push through. But this time it lingered—enough to knock you out for two days straight, the world reduced to a blur of tissues and half-drunk mugs.

On the third morning, you shuffled to the door in mismatched socks and an oversized hoodie that swallowed half your body. You weren’t expecting anyone. You certainly weren’t expecting him.

But there he was—James Buchanan Barnes. Standing in your doorway like he’d done it a hundred times before, holding a paper bag of groceries in one hand and cold medicine in the other. His hair was tousled from the wind, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d rushed out of the office.

You blinked, throat too raw for anything but a rasp. “You’re not supposed to show up uninvited.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m the CEO,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “It's my moral duty to check on my employee’s wellbeing.”

You stared at him.

“Also,” he added, holding up the bag, “you didn’t answer a single text. I had to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“I was sleeping,” you muttered, though your voice barely qualified as sound.

He stepped forward like he already knew you’d let him in. You didn’t stop him. You should’ve. You could’ve. But you didn’t.

“I brought soup,” he said casually, slipping past you. “It’s still hot.”

You hesitated in the doorway. You should’ve slammed it behind him. Or demanded he leave. Or reminded him what the contract said—about boundaries, roles, rules.

Instead, you closed the door softly and turned.

He was already in your kitchen, peering into cabinets like he owned the place. Like he’d done it before. Like he belonged.

You watched as he opened drawers until he found a bowl. Poured the soup carefully. Moved with ease, confidence—like it wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of someone. Like he wanted to.

Like he wanted to take care of you.

Your chest tightened with something dangerously close to hope.

You flopped onto the couch, the crumpled blanket still tangled where you’d left it. You pulled it tighter around your legs and tried to act unaffected.

“This definitely isn’t in the contract,” you mumbled.

He walked over with the bowl in one hand, a spoon already resting inside. He knelt—not sat, knelt—in front of the couch and handed it to you.

“Sure it is,” he said smoothly.

You looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Show me where.”

He didn’t blink. “Page seven. Subsection three. ‘CEO reserves the right to deliver homemade chicken soup in case of employee’s minor illness.’”

Despite yourself, you huffed a laugh. It scratched your throat but felt good. “Liar.”

“Then consider me guilty.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Just sat there, eyes fixed on you like he was memorizing everything—the way your nose was red, how your hair was a mess, how your voice was rough around the edges.

He should’ve looked away.

He didn’t.

You shifted under the blanket, suddenly too warm. “I'm fine, you know. It's just a cold.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

And the way he said it—quiet, steady, unflinching—made your heart stutter.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t know what to say or how to pin down what had built inside your chest.

He leaned back, sitting on the floor now, his shoulder brushing against the couch. “Was that your first time calling in sick?”

You nodded.

“I figured. You didn’t strike me as someone who slowed down easily.”

You sniffed, eyes darting to the bowl in your hands. “What gave it away? The crumpled tissues or the hoodie?”

He grinned. “The socks, actually. Very professional.”

You glanced down—one sock had tiny stars on it, the other was bright yellow. You rolled your eyes. “I was too tired to care.”

“I like it,” he says, and it sounded a little too soft. “It's real.”

You went still.

Because he didn’t mean the socks. He didn’t even mean the cold. He meant you.

Here. Unfiltered. Vulnerable.

And for a moment, you forgot to be afraid of what that meant.

He stood slowly, his knees cracking slightly, and brushed imaginary dust from his pants. “I’ll put the rest of the groceries away.”

You nodded, the soup forgotten in your lap.

And as he moved around your kitchen like he belonged, you realized: it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like the most dangerous kind of right.

And that… that terrified you more than anything else.

Then Natasha arrived. Not subtly either. She started popping into your office with designer sunglasses perched on her head and enough iced coffee to drown a horse.

“Brought you caffeine and an escape plan,” she announced, her voice warm but casual, almost like she was hiding something.

“From?”

“Your boyfriend.”

You started noticing it more: the way she lingered, the way she always found a reason to stick around. You asked once, and she just waved it off with, “What? Can’t I miss my best girl?”

You weren’t buying it.

It wasn’t until her third visit in a week that you caught her texting under the desk, lips twitching, ears pink.

“Okay,” you narrowed your eyes. “Who is he?”

She froze. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been moonlighting in my office like it's a second apartment. Spill.”

She exhaled dramatically. “Fine. But if you tell anyone, I’ll steal all your vinyl records.”

You wait.

“Steve,” she mumbled.

You blink. “Steve, as in Rogers? Bucky’s Steve?”

“Well, I like to think of him as mine now.”

You gasped. “How long?”

“A month. We’ve been careful.”

You choked. “Steve Rogers?”

Natasha sipped her coffee with infuriating calm. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You stared. “Kind of, yeah.”

She grinned. “Well, you should try it sometime—letting someone in.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You really thought no one notices the way he looks at you like you hung the moon?”

You glared. She smirked, and that was when you realized—she knew. Not just suspected. Knew. And your stomach twisted in ways you didn’t want to understand.

Meanwhile, Bucky was falling apart.

He sat in his office long after everyone went home, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, eyes vacant. The city outside was quiet, its usual hum distant through the windows. A single lamp cast soft, golden light across the room, making shadows seem deeper, heavier.

Steve found him like that—collapsed in a chair, as if all the tension had leaked out of him and left him hollow.

“She’s pulling away,” Bucky muttered without looking up. His voice was rough, low. “I don’t know what to do.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You scared her.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face. “How? I didn’t mean to.”

“By being real,” Steve said gently.

Bucky laughed—a humorless, broken sound. “It wasn’t supposed to be real.”

“But it is.”

That truth sat between them like a live wire. Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Steve crossed the room and sat across from him. “You’ve always been good at pretending, Buck. Surviving. Hiding. But you were never good at pretending not to feel.”

“I was trying to protect her,” Bucky said quietly. “Keep it simple. Clean. Fake.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Since when has anything about love been clean or simple?”

Bucky swallowed hard, throat tight. “Its messy. Complicated. She deserves something easy.”

“She deserves you being honest.”

Bucky’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t know how to do this, Steve. I’ve never felt something like this—not this deep, not this fast. I don’t know how to hold it without breaking it.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Then don’t try to hold it. Just show up. Be there. Let her know it's okay to feel what she’s feeling.”

“She already backed away,” Bucky said. “Like I pushed too hard.”

“Or maybe,” Steve countered, “you finally touched something she was afraid to feel.”

Bucky’s gaze lifted, just barely. Rawness glinted in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then don’t,” Steve said simply. “Fight for her. But don’t push her. She’s been through stuff too. Let her come to you when she’s ready. Just… don’t disappear.”

Silence stretched. Bucky looked down at his hands. “I'm in love with her.”

“I know.”

“She's not ready.”

“But she wants you,” Steve said. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“And what if I ruined everything?”

Steve smiled, small and sure. “Then at least it would be real.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. But something had shifted in him. A quiet resolve settled in his chest.

Your days became a chessboard. You pushed, he pulled. You retreated, he advanced.

Sticky notes appeared on your screen—little jokes, doodles, quotes you’d mentioned once. Your favorite granola bars showed up in the break-room fridge, initials scrawled in Sharpie. He attended every meeting now, even the tedious ones he’d used to skip.

“I thought you hated logistics,” you muttered.

“I used to. But I like them now,” he said, instead of blurting out that he liked anything with you in it.

He kept doing it, and it frustrated you. You wanted to scream. Or kiss him. Maybe both.

Through it all, you kept repeating the same damn mantra: It is not real. He is your boss. This is just an act.

But one night, as you were packing up, you found him waiting again.

“You waiting for someone?” you teased, voice almost trembling as you leaned against the doorframe.

He looked up, that glint in his eyes hitting you like a freight train. “Yeah. Always.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. His gaze dropped for a moment, as if collecting himself before he stepped toward you—slow and steady, like he was testing the air between you.

“Stop,” you whispered, heart hammering. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, voice impossibly soft, laced with something dangerous.

“Make this harder than it already is,” you breathed, trying to push him away with words that wouldn’t stick.

He stepped closer. “Then let it be easy.”

You shook your head, the weight of your own words pressing down. “There’s a contract. An image to protect. A thousand reasons this can’t work.”

“Then tell me what’s really stopping you.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. Swallowed hard. “I just… I don’t think I’m what you want.”

His expression softened, voice quieter now. “That’s the only thing you’ve ever been wrong about.”

His hands stayed at his sides, fingers twitching like he was on the edge of something. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time. I can’t stop. And I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your heart shuddered. “Don’t make this hard,” you pleaded, desperate.

His voice dropped, the words like a confession. “It's not hard. It’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever felt.”

And then, everything fell away. The distance. The contract. The game you’d been playing. It all faded as you stood there, staring at each other, the silence echoing louder than anything either of you could say. Your breath caught, his gaze locked with yours, and for the first time, you realized:

This had never been fake. Not for either of you.

And maybe it never had to be.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love, @homiesexual-or-homosexual, @winchestert101, @julesandgems, @purplefluffycows, @brckenmemories, @avengersfan25, @samfunko, @mackevanstanfan80, @forthelovelyheart, @quinquinquincy

[bukubook]

I know that they're toxic for each other and just not meant to be together, but I'll miss their unhinged banters. // The Crimson Lady, Ch. 24.

[angewatchesdrama]

because this is my first life; 2017 16 episodes | 1 hr. 10 min.

[shamelesskpoper]

Korean Drama My Lovely Sam Soon is one of the golden dramas

[flightdescending]

POV: You are an up-and-coming manufacturer in Goldensparc, and your business's stake in the Lightning Farm has recently been bogged down by vandalism and corporate sabotage. Desperate, you decide to hire a freelance guarantor. She agrees to take the job, but includes a rider for unfettered access to recharging stations for her powerpacks. You wonder why she will be discharging a weapon often enough to require that in the contract, but decide to put it out of your mind. After all, she came very highly recommended.

[vaguely-concerned]

sometimes I think of all the on-the-surface warm, well-meaning but deeply ineffectual advice and attention john gives harrow through harrow the ninth (make some soup and get some sleep! get a hobby! don't be so hard on yourself! self care harrow! as long as I need take no actual responsibility in this relationship whatsoever I would have loved to be your dad!) set up against the stark truth that with his other hand he has been staging her attempted horrific murder again and again and again like a living nightmare on the logic that it will 'put her down or fix her'. and then I find that I wish there is a hell. a special hell where twitch streamers turned necromantic death emperors go

[beannoss]

Goddamn y'all I have so many Yor thoughts I don't know if I'll ever be able to order them all but, there are two I'm turning over and over in my head after the most recent manga chapter. (Manga spoilers!)

1. Much of Yor's backstory has so far actually been shown through Yuri's thoughts and flashbacks (It's of course also his backstory, but centring Yor here as she is a main character to his secondary.) To be blunt, in the hands of a lesser storyteller, I would think that was just the standard erasure/undervaluing of a woman character's perspectives/telling her own story. But this is Endo and nothing he's done has indicated that as a remote possibility. So I've been thinking a lot recently what it means as a deliberate narrative choice for Yor, an obfuscation of the devastation truth of Yor's backstory. I think we all already know it's going to be heartbreaking and harrowing, but through Yuri's eyes, Yor was cheerful and constant for him throughout. But through Yor's? In Yor's own words? From Yor's perspective? Taking over as primary guardian and breadwinner at ~12 years old? Responsible for a ~5 year old's life?! How terrifying. How challenging. We know, in the at least, how isolating.

(Chapter 91 is one of my favourite Yor chapters, and I think it's a keystone for understanding her. I believe it's the first time she's spoken directly about her childhood experience (although still at a distance), it demonstrates and reiterates her moral centre outside her assassination paradigm, and shows how good she is at bringing people together.)

To that end...

2. Yor's story is partly about how life with the Forgers is empowering her to make her world larger. Where it was once just her and Yuri and her work, now she has a secure home life, a husband who encourages her in herself and in developing other relationships, and a daughter who thrills at who Yor is. I keep thinking about how she said to Melinda in chapter 108 that she doesn't have any hobbies and is envious of Melinda pursuing her own: I'm so hopeful that one of the next things for Yor is developing a hobby that she pursues for the love of it. Not because she needs to do it for work, or because she fears her marriage will end, or out of any other sort of stressor or panic or obligation. But just because she likes flowers and wants to learn flower arranging. Or she's strong and loves sculpture as an art form, and learning when to chip away at granite gently and when to whack it with an enormous hammer will make her feel more comfortable with her own physical strength and her own mind. Or she's always wanted to scale a mountain and wouldn't you know, there's a mountaineering club in Berlint that accepts women into its membership? Yor is learning how big the world really is, how lovely it can be, that she is a part of it and that the people in it welcome her when she opens herself to them, and it's so beautiful.

[seagreenstardust]

Had a lovely night’s rest and I can confirm:

Hori refusing to explicitly confirm iz////ch but then turning around and saying “oh but remember that darkness kid and the mushroom girl? Yeah they’re totally 100% a thing” is still just as hilarious as it was yesterday

[burr-ell]

reminded again about pike being so desperate to bring back percy, guilt-ridden over not being there, that she tried a divine intervention, which if it had succeeded would have tanked the ritual because percy would not have wanted to be brought back that way. and instead when it failed she offered a song in celestial—the same one that the two of them, a faithless man and the chosen of sarenrae, sang to resurrect a little boy who'd been killed in westruun. impulsive grand gestures versus something thoughtful and meaningful. i need to lie down

[themonstersteeth]

I’ve made the unfortunate choice to watch Helluva Boss

This show lacks so much nuance it’s frustrating. Characters are presented either completely in the wrong or completely in the right when it really isn’t like that. Stolas deserved to be put through the ringer for his treatment of Blitz the same way Blitz was for him. If you wanted to make the bird sympathetic, show him changing! Don’t just have himself say “I’m a monster” and leave it at that, call him out and make him suffer for it! HE WAS IN THE WRONG TOO!

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 3: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒐'𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff, platonic!coworker! Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson and Peter Parker.

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: News of your relationship spreads like wildfire, and suddenly, you’re the most talked-about person in the company. Between nosy coworkers, jealous stares, and Bucky mysteriously showing up wherever you go, you start to wonder—who exactly is pretending here?

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings and tags: Bucky’s mean for a split second, he's a cute menace, hyper bestie Nat, judgemental office people, Reader keeps spiralling, many scene switches.

Series masterlist

Previous episode Next episode

Inspired by the kdrama Business Proposal

Previously on Business Proposal...

You stare at him, fully aware you're about to sign away your entire life. And yet—your landlord just raised the rent, your boss (who's sitting in front of you) is on the verge of layoffs, and your bank account is actively crying.

You had no choice.

With utter resignation, you grab the pen, sign the contract, and glare at him.

“If I go to jail for this, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky smirks, completely unbothered. "Oh, sweetheart, this is just the beginning."

_____________________●

It has been two days since you held that contract and signed it to become your boss's girlfriend. Nothing much has happened except for you learning info about Bucky from a file he provided, about his likes and dislikes—to make it more realistic.

You walked into the office exhausted. No one knew about your relationship yet, and you didn’t know when he was going to reveal it to the public, but you weren’t exactly thrilled. For the past few days, Bucky had been his typical self: ice-cold with a petty streak the size of the Empire State Building.

You were beginning to think you had signed a contract with the devil himself. Ever since you agreed to be Bucky Barnes' girlfriend, he had done nothing but make your life miserable in the most cliché way possible.

Your inbox was flooded.

Your calendar was triple-booked.

And worst of all?

He was making you present at the 8 a.m. executive meeting without any warning.

You were dying.

He walked past your desk, perfectly polished in his charcoal suit with a smug aura, and tossed a file down—barely glancing at you.

"Need this by four."

You blinked at him, jaw slack.

"You said five—"

He cut you off smoothly: "I changed my mind." You stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. He smirked. Smirked.

"Oh, and don’t forget the new compliance reports. I want your summary on my desk first thing tomorrow."

"Are you serious?" you asked, already spiraling.

"Every time."

He turned and walked off like a villain in a spy movie while you genuinely contemplated sending your resignation via passive-aggressive memes.

Later that evening, you sat at your desk after work hours, rubbing your eyes among empty coffee cups and a document that refused to format itself.

Bucky emerged from his office with a silent air which, in your state, you might have missed if he hadn’t cleared his throat.

You didn’t look at him.

He came closer, leaning against your office doorframe and clearing his throat again to catch your attention.

"I might’ve overdone it," he said eventually.

You still didn’t look.

"I didn’t mean to actually... break you."

That finally got your attention. You turned to face him with a deadpan glare. "You gave me seven different tasks with three conflicting deadlines."

He winced. "In my defense, you lied to my face—twice."

"And in my defense, I’m one paper jam away from committing a felony."

He chuckled, then softened.

"Go home," he said quietly.

"I'll send the rest to someone else."

You stared. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." He hesitated, then added with a small smile, "I'll make it up to you. Fake boyfriend's honor."

You grabbed your bag and muttered, "Whatever weird revenge arc this is, I hope it ends soon."

He watched you gather your things in silence, too tired to argue.

Your eyes were rimmed red from hours of screen-staring, and your shoulders slumped under the weight of the day he’d dumped on you. Even now, you didn’t say anything snarky or bite back.

You simply walked past him with a quiet “Thanks.”

And that was somehow worse.

Bucky leaned against the glass wall of your office, jaw clenched. Damn it.

"She tricked you first," his brain reminded him, smug and cruel. "She pretended to be someone else, played me like a fool."

But…

"She looked like she was about to cry," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "I’m not a monster."

It wasn’t that he meant to overwork you—not really. He just got carried away. You made him feel off-kilter, and he didn’t like that. So he punished you with tasks, meetings, and impossible deadlines.

Petty.

Childish.

Effective.

But now? Now he felt like crap.

"Why do I feel guilty? She lied first."

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "This isn't in the contract."

After a well-deserved sleep, you woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. You got ready, dreading the day ahead. Something was not right—you could feel it. Your gut never lies.

The word was out.

You were halfway through your iced coffee when Peter Parker, the new social media manager you befriended, ran into the office as if he had personally discovered the second coming of Christ.

"Are you dating the CEO?!"

You blinked, barely registering his words.

"What—no—what?!"

"Peter, inside voice," Wanda muttered behind him as she slid into her chair.

Sam raised an eyebrow from behind his computer. "So it's true."

You glanced around. The entire floor buzzed with whispers. You could feel their stares poking at you. Someone was even scrolling through a Reddit thread titled "The Employee Who Tamed the CEO."

You didn’t know how it leaked—maybe HR—but by lunch, the entire office knew.

You were dating Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t even have time to breathe before he appeared. There he was, in one of his many ridiculously tailored suits, slow strides and perfectly styled hair, his smirk as infuriating as ever. And—was that a second cup of coffee in his hand?

"Morning, babe," he said, placing your favorite order right next to your elbow.

"You looked tired yesterday. Thought I'd help." You stared at the drink like it might explode. Everyone’s jaw dropped.

You opened your mouth to respond but— "Oh, babe," Bucky interjected smoothly, crouching next to your desk like it was an everyday routine, "I've canceled all your meetings so you can rest. Just attend the brainstorming session, alright?"

Babe?

You made a strangled noise in your throat. "Alright," you said with a smile that suggested your soul wasn’t screaming.

Later, alone in the break room, you cornered him by the fridge, voice low and frantic. "What is happening?! Yesterday you tried to kill me via Google Calendar, and now you're acting like we’ve been married for five years."

Bucky leaned against the counter, calm as ever. "Things changed."

"Oh, really?"

"The office knows. Gotta sell it."

You stared. "So your solution is to completely change your personality?!"

He smiled—soft, this time. "No. I’m just being the boyfriend you tricked me into becoming." You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

"...I need stronger coffee," you muttered, turning on your heel.

Behind you, Bucky’s grin widened as if he were enjoying it way too much.

You sat at your usual table in the cafeteria with Wanda, Sam, and Peter, eating lunch and pretending not to notice the sideways glances from other tables.

"They’re staring again," Peter whispered, leaning over his tray of fries.

Wanda didn’t even look up from her salad. "Let them. I’d stare too if my friend suddenly started dating our CEO."

"It’s wild, though," Sam grinned. "One day you’re quietly working like the rest of us, and the next day—boom. CEO’s smiling like someone handed him the keys to his dream car."

You covered your face with your hands. "Can we not talk about this?"

Too late.

The cafeteria door swung open with an audible creak.

In walked Natasha Romanoff—hair perfect, sunglasses still on indoors, lips pressed as if she meant business.

She stopped in the middle of the room, scanned the crowd, and headed straight for you.

"Oh no," you whispered. "She found me." Wanda blinked. "You didn’t tell her?"

"I was going to. Eventually. Maybe. In a controlled environment."

Nat reached your table, hands on her hips. "You! We’re talking. Now."

You barely had time to set your drink down before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from the chair.

Sam let out a low whistle. "Uh-oh."

Peter muttered, "Good luck," as if sending you off to war.

Natasha didn’t say a word as she marched you through the halls, then stopped at an empty meeting room and shut the door behind you. Only once she let go of your arm did she speak. She simply stared before saying,

"I’m sorry."

You blinked. "What?"

"I’m serious," she said softly. "I should’ve never made you take that date for me. I was being selfish, and I didn’t think it’d spiral into... this." She gestured vaguely, as if “this” were too ridiculous to name.

You folded your arms. "Nat, it’s fine. Really."

She stared harder. "You almost got fired. That’s on me."

You shifted uneasily. "I didn’t. So don’t worry about it."

She shook her head. "No. You went to that restaurant dressed like a lunatic to scare a stranger off—and that stranger turned out to be your boss. The boss. This is peak corporate drama. I should’ve never put you in that situation."

You hesitated cause Nat seemed tohave no clue. "You didn’t force me. I said yes."

"You always say yes when I ask for stuff. That doesn’t mean I should’ve asked."

Your expression softened. "Well, joke’s on you, 'cause I bagged my CEO."

Nat stared. "You what now?"

You grinned exaggeratedly. "Yep. Dating him now. Whole-ass relationship."

Her mouth opened slightly. "Wait. Are you serious?"

You nodded, still beaming(gotta sell the act). "It’s... new. And weird. But yeah."

She squinted at you. "Since when are you into CEO types?"

"Since they started showing up at my desk with cappuccinos and weirdly good cologne."

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Okay, but—are you okay? Is he pushing you into anything? I swear, if he’s threatening you behind all that rich guy charm—"

"No," you interrupted quickly. "Nothing like that. He’s... surprisingly nice."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re being really vague. Suspiciously vague..."

"...I can tell when you're lying."

"I’m happy, Nat."

She paused, then said, "Fine. I’ll pretend I believe you. But just know I’ll gut him if he hurts you."

You laughed. "Duly noted."

Nat sighed, stepping back and brushing imaginary dust off your blazer. "Alright. If you’re gonna keep seeing him, we’re leveling up your date-night looks. I’m pulling up to your door with all my new collections."

You blinked. "For what?"

"For your next date. You think you’re gonna keep dating the city’s most eligible CEO and wear those sad office blouses? No offense, but—no."

You groaned. "Nat—"

"Nope. Already picking dresses in my head. You’ll thank me later when you look like a million bucks and he’s short-circuiting."

You squinted. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"I need this win," she said seriously. "You deserve to look like a goddess after what I dragged you into."

You softened. "You’re forgiven. Really."

She smiled, finally relaxing. "Good. I'll leave you to it. I need the details soon. Gotta go, love—bye." She sent a kiss as you gave a tiny wave back.

The door to the meeting room clicked shut behind Natasha as she continued her day, leaving you alone with that drink still in your hand. You were still processing the chaotic whirlwind of her advice—especially about the date. You had thought she’d be more subtle, but that was clearly too much to ask.

You stared at your phone, shaking your head in disbelief as you scrolled through Natasha's texts. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to focus on a reply, but the flood of messages kept coming in.

Natasha: “This red dress screams ‘CEO arm candy.’”

Natasha: “Do you own heels that don’t look like they’ve been to war?”

Natasha: “Lipstick shade: ‘I will ruin you.’ Thoughts?”

Natasha: “Wait, should I book a glam team? I know people.”

You could practically hear her voice in every text, each one more ridiculous than the last. Rolling your eyes, you typed back, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum:

You: “Nat, please—I work in marketing. This isn’t Bridgerton.”

Almost immediately, a new text arrived, and your eyes widened at the sight of the attached picture—a sparkly, backless dress that was way too much for a fake date. You sighed dramatically and shook your head. Just as you were about to craft a snarky reply, the sudden sensation of being watched made the hairs on your neck stand up.

You froze, your stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and something else. Before you could even turn, you felt a familiar presence in the doorway, and your heart skipped a beat.

There stood Bucky Barnes—silent, tall, his frame filling the entrance as he cast a shadow over your phone while he watched you.

You gasped, nearly dropping your phone. "God—!"

Bucky blinked, unfazed, as he stepped into the room, casually sipping from his travel mug. "Coffee machine’s slow today."

"No. You’re a creep," you hissed, clutching your chest. "Were you standing there the whole time?"

He sipped his mug, glancing at your phone as you tried to hide the screen in panic. "Planning something without me?"

You scrambled for words. "It’s just Nat. She’s... enthusiastic."

Bucky leaned on the conference table beside you, his eyes locked on your phone. His expression was unreadable, but the corners of his mouth twitched—as if he were holding back a smile. "Red dress or the sparkly one?"

Your jaw practically hit the floor. "You—!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You type loud."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "Why are you like this?"

He brushed past you, heading toward the counter as if he hadn’t just startled you.

"Just making sure my girlfriend’s not cheating on me with Valentino," he murmured casually. Then, with a wink, he added, "I have to keep up the act, don’t I?"

Your heart raced, and your mind scrambled to catch up with his sudden shift in demeanor. The flirtatious, teasing tone sent your stomach flipping.

Before you could say another word, he was already out of the room—as if he had places to be, the ever-dedicated workaholic.

Still staring at the door, you took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Your fingers flew to your phone, sending a quick text to Natasha in search of clarity amidst the chaos.

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

A/n: sorry for uploading this a bit late but here's the next episode. Lemme know your thoughts. Love you guys. Have a great day!!

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira

[bukubook]

Man doesn't even have to pretend; he is in love.

[floridazcrazy]

I'm so sorry but Gabriel x Nico is literally just alpha/alpha. Gabriel's a freshly presented cocky young alpha and Nico is the "geriatric" alpha who doesn't mind Gabi's peacocking but will put him in place when needed.

sighhh...

[naga16]

Prompt 1: Red Hunter

(Before we begin, I'd like to say that I've been awake for no less than 20 hours... And it currently half hour before midnight.

Okay?Okay. )

The story begin in the watchtower. Impending doom via asteroids, aliens, gods, ghost, terrible disaster or whatever you wish. Point is, the world might as well die if they fail to find a way.

Generic cult shit and badabing badaboom!!!

GH! PHANTOM!!!! Here to save the day!!!

There's a catch though, of course there is.

Dunno 'bout the technical rules cuz I did no proper research. But turns out that certain people just needs to die to preserve the balance of the world.

Grim reapers cannot kill cause all they can do is wait for death and guide the soul in the afterlife. They don't kill, unlike the popular belief that they do.

So what does that mean? It means that King Danny assigned one of people who summoned him to be his Executioner.

Who does he choose?

Isn't it obvious?

He chose RED HOOD, of course.

Cuz Danny instinctively knew that this man is a dying revenant, starving cuz he's not fulfilling his NEED for revenge and all that shit that made him possess his own body.

So Jason was given a new name, Red Hunter, a remembrance of the good old days. He was also given a book, except for the first page, the book was practically blank.

The first page was a contract, that the person was bound for life to kill ANYONE who's name appears in the book. That the person will do the task dutifully.

Jason, being chosen, signed it since he really have no problem in killing. Truthfully, he was glad that the Big Bat or anyone else (exempt Tim and Damian) was not chosen since, unlike him, they have morals that kept them from taking lives.

So, he signed it, the book vanished with a flash, Danny smiled in victory, disaster avoided and one, two, three!!!

Jason was awoken by his Ghostly Butler. A guide to help him do his job. A person who can answer his question.

So ask he did...

First of, where did the book go? Inside Jason, a little lesson of summoning the book give him a magical transformation to his Executioner outfit.

Does he have a time limit? Yes, apparently, it's 24 hours, a very good news.

What would happen if he fail to kill by the given time? A punishment to his own person. Ghost will attack him for several hours, or just bother him.

How does he do the killing? Whatever he decide. Death by bullet, stabbing, planned accident, poison, arson, or beaten. Really, for as long as he kill the person, the way he would do it doesn't really matter.

Why does he have a Butler? Cause of a previous issue with the last executioner killing themselves with their guilt. The Butler system was made so that that can be prevented.

How would he find his target? A ghost will lead him to it.

What does that mean? You will know at your first mission.

So he kills, what next? You shall use your thermos.

What does that even mean? You will know at your first mission.

Really, why does he have a butler? To give guidance and answer.

So, when will I get my mission? Now.

What?

So Jason took the book and there, written in a fancy calligraphy, the civilian name of Joker. Or at least that is what the ghost of his younger self wearing his old Robin costume said to him.

[mollysunder]

Now that it's confirmed by the finale Swain was already the new Grand General of Noxus we probably should have taken this shot from "Dirty Little Animals" sequence a little more seriously.

Above is a shot of a large man receiving a Pentakill (an LoL metal band like KDA's a girl group) tattoo. There two things very important in this image. One, the tattoo to the left has the same design as the Urgot follow/tattoo artist in Urgot's splash art below to the right.

Second, Pentakill may not exist in Arcane, but the Pentakill symbol is still just Mordekaiser, the Iron Revenant and founder of Noxus.

What does any of this have to Swain? Well the only reason Urgot, an executioner of the previous Grand General, Boram Darkwill, wound up in Zaun was because Swain tricked him. In order to successful seize control of Noxus, Swain had Urgot sent on a "mission" to Zaun. Little did Urgot know Swain made a deal with the chembarons to make sure Urgot was taken care of while he enacted his coup.

There's a lot to unpack with that like: What was Silco and the chembarons' relationship with Noxus, specifically Swain? In previous lore it was specifically a chemtech chembaron that was responsible for Urgot's imprisonment, so was it Silco or Renni or a combination of both who were responsible? How deep does Zaun's relationship go with the new Noxian regime, or at least could have gone (that shipment of shimmer was going somewhere)? Now that the chembarons are either dead or imprisoned (seen in "Hellfire" sequence), who's keeping the lid on Urgot.

Of course this could have been a one off easter egg, but I think with the accelerated timeline arcane has put LoL lore on, this would be an interesting development, especially as Urgot is future antagonist for Vi and Caitlyn.

[gloriousmonsters]

ok listen. listen. hear me out. what if Angel was the one to propose the contract

like.... the intensification of heartbreak and guilt when Val tells him 'I own you, or have you forgotten that?' as Angel looks at his signature, the heart he drew next to it. the extra layer in 'what's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself'. and above all it plays well with my observation that their contract had to have been composed with some level of input from Angel, because... why on earth/in hell would Val have given him control of his life outside of the studio; and while Val invokes the contract to put Angel back in 'his place', Angel invokes it to remind Valentino that he can defy him. It's actually similar in composition to a kink contract/agreement--if I'm in this specific place, you hold all the power and call the shots; but outside of it, I don't give you that level of control. Angel can straight up tell Val to fuck off in front of a crowd and all Val can do is say he'll make Angel regret it next time he's in the studio (and isn't that an extremely dark variation of the classic kinky romance beat of 'sub misbehaves when they're in public and can get away with it, dom promises they'll pay for it later'?)

so like. all of that about the contract also works if Val proposed it, but I love headcanoning that their relationship was on the rocks around the time it was signed, and one of the factors was Vox coming onto the scene... and so now i'm just thinking about Angel in his peak era of both-sides-ing their relationship problems, knowing his 'commitment issues' (partly real, partly consisting of val's 'you know other men??' issues) are a major cause, furious and disconcerted at someone else drawing so much of Val's attention, wanting to make a stupid desperate Hail Mary pass to save their relationship but devoid of the usual options of 'have kid' or 'impulsively propose marriage' or 'move to a new house that's inevitably haunted' i watch too much horror, going for the option of '...hey do you want to make the kind of binding contract that is accessible to us?'

and surely it's not that stupid! he's only really giving Val a formal version of the power he gives him already, right? Val's his dom and his director and manager, and maybe there's... problems but it's mostly been great for Angel so far, so if having it on (magic eternally binding) paper would make Val happy and make him understand that Angel really wants him, wants them, the risk is toooootally worth it. just, best not to tell Cherri about it she'd definitely think it was insane.

(and when, much later, she learns about the contract and berates him for being an idiot and not telling her when Val brought it up, maybe don't correct her assumption. just keep it to yourself and feel even worse.)