#relationship contract

[jeremykillswitch]

Told Sob I'll only sign the relationship contract with him if he gets me a Monster. Let's see if he really loves me.

[webcrawler3000]

OBSERVING LIMITS AGREEMENT

This Observing Limits Agreement (the "Agreement") is entered into between Enviere formerly known as Ubitron ("Enviere") and Jennifer Darlas ("Jennifer") in order to establish a clear understanding of personal limits and the responsibility to uphold them. Both parties agree that setting personal limits is essential for maintaining a healthy and balanced relationship.

1. Personal Responsibility:

1.1 Enviere and Jennifer acknowledge that they are each personally responsible for setting their own personal limits. These limits may be adjusted as needed and may differ for each individual.

1.2 Enviere and Jennifer agree to communicate any changes to their personal limits in a timely manner to ensure open and honest dialogue regarding each party's boundaries.

2. Support During Times of Illness or Distress:

2.1 In instances where one party is ill or experiencing significant distress, both Enviere and Jennifer agree to extend their limits temporarily in order to provide support and aid the other party until their recovery.

2.2 The extension of limits during these circumstances will only be applicable for the duration of the illness or distress, and will be subject to review and reevaluation once both parties have returned to a stable state.

3. Individual Tolerances:

3.1 Enviere and Jennifer recognize that they may have different limits for what they are willing to tolerate from different people in their lives. These limits may vary based on the nature of the relationship or other external factors.

3.2 The parties hereby agree to openly discuss and accept each other's limits with respect and understanding. Any differences in opinion or perceived breaches of limits will be approached with open communication and a willingness to find mutually agreeable solutions.

4. Mutual Understanding and Respect:

4.1 Enviere and Jennifer commit to approaching this Agreement with a shared understanding of the importance of personal boundaries and the need to respect these boundaries for a harmonious relationship.

4.2 Any disputes or concerns regarding the interpretation or application of this Agreement shall be resolved through peaceful negotiations, with both parties striving to reach a mutually satisfactory resolution.

5. Termination:

5.1 This Agreement may be terminated by either party upon written notice to the other party.

5.2 Termination of this Agreement does not absolve either party from the responsibility to respect and observe personal limits in future interactions.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties hereto have executed this Observing Limits Agreement as of the effective date first written above.

Enviere formerly known as Ubitron:

___________________________

___________________________

Jennifer Darlas:

___________________________

Date: ______________________

[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

[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

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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

[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.

[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

[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

[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.

[tellmewhatitis]

we literally find each other in every lifetime if u even care

[jeremykillswitch]

Sob says we will both sign the contract simultaneously once he has drawn it up. Of course, since I have no arms I must find a representative to do it for me.

[danmeichael]

it's really cute when a character is completely obsessively devoted to someone they are entirely aware is toxic. submissive not because they're naive but because they are completely content with being taken advantage of.

[tinseltownie]

Lando and Oscar both get to do this crazy incredible job together and you would think they’d need to sacrifice a stable work environment all argh alpha competitive ugly energy and they just went…. Nope.

[assiraphales]

animanga zoro was such a stubborn ass mf he would have tried biting luffy if he had the chance. proper feral dog chained in the yard for misbehaving. if luffy had untied him instead of the whole protecting him from a firing squad, and ‘come with me or die’ ordeal I’m 99% sure he would have walked away on principle. he needed luffy to give him a treat (his swords), tell him he was a good boy (how cool his dream to be worlds greatest swordsman was) & put that metaphorical collar on him

[flora-tea]

It's so weird and messed up to me how society puts marriage on this pedestal as something we must aspire for as part of growing up, and how it's literally treated as something folks in committed long term relationships have to do in order to be "truly committed" or "truly serious" or "truly longterm".

Like why does a relationship have to have a legal contract involved that is sanctioned by and dissolvable only by the law to be considered valid and true?? Why do folks have to enter a legal commitment contract to be considered "actually truly for-reals serious" long term partners? Goverment's really gotta be in our business in order for us to be seen as fully adults or for partnerships to be seen as fully valid? Hell no!! You kidding me?? Society so weird for that fr 😭

No hate to anyone ofc, but the way marriage is largely considered an expectation for people and for partnered relationships is so weird and damaging.

[daxisyzz]

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

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 7: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕-𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔

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

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship, one bed trope, almost kiss (in the title), coffee obsessed reader (I'm sorry for that one)

Summary: A business trip leaves you and Bucky sharing a hotel room. Between awkward moments, lingering stares, and a nearly-too-real almost-kiss, you realize—you might be in serious trouble.

Word count: 3.1k+

Series masterlist

Previous episode

Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

A/n: I used Google translate for one line in the story so please tell me if I need to correct it.

Previously on Business Proposal...

You nod, trying to tamp down the whirl of excitement. “I’ll review it tonight,” you promise, your tone professional—though every fiber of you knows you’ll be counting down the days.

He offers a half-smile, one corner of his mouth curving upward, before turning away to check a message on his phone.

For a moment, you watch the slow line of his back and feel the tension of unspoken possibilities humming in the space between you, a quiet promise that this trip will be more than just meetings and PowerPoints.

___________________●

You cross your arms in front of Bucky’s glass desk, eyeing him suspiciously as he types something into his laptop like he hasn’t just flipped your entire schedule upside down.

“So..why am i going with you to paris, again?” you ask, watching him carefully. “And not Steve?”

Bucky doesn’t look up. “Steve’s busy.”

You raise a brow. “With what?”

He pauses for a beat too long. “Things.”

You blink. “Things.”

“Yes. High-level things. Logistics. Finance. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I’m a product manager. I know where every dollar and deadline is buried in this company.”

Bucky finally looks up at you, caught between a smirk and a wince. “Alright,” he sighs, leaning back. “I thought it’d be good for you to get face time with the Paris team. They’ve been testing the new features you pitched last quarter, and you’ve got the best read on the rollout.”

You narrow your eyes. “You could’ve said that five minutes ago instead of feeding me vague corporate gaslighting.”

He grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head. “Is this about that one time I said Paris is on my bucket list?”

“Maybe,” he says innocently, and then, “Also, Steve does sigh dramatically every time someone speaks French. I needed someone who wouldn’t offend a whole country.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “So glad I made the cut.”

“You’re the only one who keeps me on schedule and stops me from cursing in meetings,” he shrugs. “You’re basically indispensable.”

You try not to let your face do anything stupid. Like smile.

The first class check-in at the airport is the first real clue that this trip might be unlike any you’ve taken before. Bucky hands over both your passports with the ease of someone used to getting what he wants, and the lounge is nicer than your entire apartment.

You try not to look too awed, but he catches you watching the coffee station with reverence.

He leans in. “Told you you’d like it here.”

“I didn’t know we were flying like this,” you murmur, accepting a cappuccino that tastes like a Parisian cloud.

“Perks of traveling with the boss,” he says. “You get coffee that doesn’t taste like burnt charcoal.”

On the plane, you settle into fully reclining seats with enough legroom to do yoga. The flight attendant offers champagne before takeoff. You glance at Bucky, who’s already half-lounging, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened like he’s just stepped out of a catalog for powerful men who don’t believe in coach.

“I didn’t peg you for a coffee guy,” you say, nodding to the espresso in his hand.He lifts the cup slightly. “Trying to keep up with you.”

You narrow your eyes, amused. “That sounds dangerously close to flattery.”

He grins. “Just stating facts.”

The meetings are sleek and formal, the kind that stretch for hours and leave your face sore from strategic smiling. You’re sharp, articulate, and calm under pressure, as always. And Bucky—he’s every bit the CEO. Charming when he wants to be, ruthless when he needs to be, and infuriatingly hot in tailored grey suits.

But then there are moments. Subtle ones.

Like when he slides a bottle of water toward you during a long pitch. When his hand brushes yours as he hands you a pen. When he leans in to whisper something snarky about an overtalking investor and you have to bite your lip to stop laughing.

Then, during a presentation, one of the French investors compliments the UI mockups. Bucky turns to them, switches languages without missing a beat, and says something that makes the whole room nod and smile in agreement.You sit up straighter. “What was that?”

Bucky looks at you for a long, steady moment.

His voice is lower, smoother when he replies—still in French. “Elle est brillante. Chaque idée que vous avez aimée vient d'elle.”

You blink. “...Was that about me?”

He just smiles, that quiet, reverent kind—the kind that makes your pulse trip.

And even though you don’t know what he said, the way he’s looking at you—like you hung the moon and then had the audacity to act like it was just a coincidence—tells you everything you need to know.

That night, after dinner with the Paris team, you expect to collapse into your hotel room and call it a night. You do not expect Bucky to say, “Let’s walk.”

And somehow, you find yourself strolling down cobblestone streets with him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s animated in a way you haven’t seen—excited, almost boyish, pointing out cafes he’s been to, bookstores you’d love, places he visited with Steve on their first trip here. At one point, he makes you stop at a street vendor and buys you a still-warm crepe with powdered sugar and lemon.

“I didn’t think you were a romantic,” you say, licking sugar off your thumb.

He shrugs. “I’m not.”

You shoot him a look.

“I just remember things you say,” he adds softly. “Especially when they make you light up like that.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you keep walking.

Paris feels too beautiful to be real. Or maybe it’s the way Bucky keeps looking at you like you’re the view.

When you finally reach the hotel lobby, pleasantly exhausted and sun-warm, the receptionist hands over your key with a tight smile.

“One deluxe suite, under Mr. Barnes.”

You blink. “Sorry—one?”

Bucky frowns. “There should be two.”

“I’m afraid not,” the receptionist says, typing rapidly. “It appears Mr. Rogers only reserved one room.”

You both turn to each other in slow, dawning horror.

“I’m going to kill him,” Bucky mutters.

“There’s nothing else?” you ask. “Even two separate singles?”

She shakes her head. “We’re fully booked. A conference in the area. I’m very sorry.”

It’s nearly midnight. You're tired, still buzzed on sugar and moonlight. Bucky runs a hand down his face.

“Guess we’re sharing,” he says finally.

You stare. “There’s one bed.”

He raises a brow. “You’re acting like I snore.”

“You do snore.”

“You’ve never heard me snore.”

“Don’t need to. It’s the vibe.”

He grins. “You’ll live.”

You follow him upstairs, trying to ignore the heat rising in your chest. The room is beautiful, of course—Parisian elegance with velvet chairs and a king-sized bed that suddenly feels like a trap.

You set your bag down, turning away before he sees your expression.

“Let’s just pretend this is normal,” you mumble.

“It is normal,” he says easily, slipping off his jacket. “Unless you’re worried you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.”

You laugh. “Please. I’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

But when you’re lying in bed later, back-to-back, both pretending to breathe steadily, the air feels too heavy, too charged.

And it hits you—You might be in serious trouble.

The first thing you register is warmth. Steady and unfamiliar.

Then the slow rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek.

You freeze.

Your hand is resting on Bucky’s stomach. His arm is draped around you, one leg tangled with yours under the blanket. He’s asleep, breath soft against your hair, the line of his jaw relaxed.

You tense.

Your eyes snap open at the same time he stirs, blinking awake. For a moment, neither of you moves.

Then chaos.

You scramble backward. Bucky jerks upright. Limbs tangle. A knee hits the edge of the bed. A muttered curse.

“You—were holding me,” you accuse, half-breathless.

He rubs a hand over his face. “You rolled over.”

You gape at him. “I did not.”

“You definitely did,” he mutters, squinting at the clock. “And it’s way too early for this.”

You throw the covers off and flee to the bathroom. By the time you emerge, the awkward tension has calcified into silence. You both dress quickly and head to the hotel’s breakfast buffet without a word.

The coffee helps. Slightly. So does the fact that you both agree, silently, not to talk about it.

Paris is quieter in the morning. The streets are still waking up when you step outside, the air brisk, the sky pale and clear. You expect him to suggest waiting at the hotel until it’s time to leave for the airport.

Instead, Bucky adjusts his coat and turns to you. “We’ve got a few hours.”

You glance at him. “And?”

He tilts his head toward the street. “I’m not letting you leave without seeing more of the city.”

You hesitate—but then you follow.

He walks ahead at first, hands in his pockets, scanning the streets with ease. You trail beside him, the night’s weirdness still sitting heavy in your chest. But as he points out spots, museums, side streets, he starts to ease back into himself. And you forget, for a while, about the bed, the morning, the tangle of limbs and everything unspoken.

You pass a quiet garden where he insists Monet used to sketch. He tells you about the bookstore on the Left Bank where he once got trapped in the rain. At one point, he stops to buy coffee for both of you from a stand that’s barely open, murmuring something to the vendor in French that makes her laugh.

You sip your coffee. “So how much French do you speak?”

He shrugs. “Enough to get through meetings. And order croissants.”

Later, as you stroll along the Seine, the golden hour draped over the rooftops and water, Bucky slows beside you, taking in the city like it’s something he’s seen a hundred times and still isn’t tired of. You sip your coffee—your third of the day—and try not to smile too much at how genuinely into this he seems.

“This bridge,” he says, pointing up ahead, “was originally wooden. Burned down in the 1800s. They rebuilt it with stone, and it’s still here. Whole damn thing survived two world wars.”

You glance at him. “Do you part-time as a Paris tour guide?”

He huffs a laugh. “I read the brochure on the plane. And maybe a little more.”

You nudge his arm with your elbow. “You’re such a nerd.”

He smirks. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

There’s an ease to it—your rhythm, the back-and-forth. But it’s more than just banter now. It’s the way his gaze lingers a little longer when you look at him. The way your hands brush sometimes when you walk too close on the narrow cobblestone streets and neither of you moves away.

He buys you a macaron from a small pâtisserie, insists it’s a “cultural experience.” You make him try your coffee despite his protests. He doesn't stop smiling.

By the time the car pulls up to take you to the airport, the sky is turning hues of orange. But Bucky pauses, one hand on the door.

“Wait.”

You frown. “What?”

He checks his watch, then nods toward the street. “We’ve got time for one more stop.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already started walking.

You follow him through a few narrow alleys, then around a corner—and there it is.

The Eiffel Tower.

The Eiffel Tower stands tall in the distance, its lights flickering like tiny stars in the Parisian night. The soft hum of the crowd, the delicate scent of fresh croissants in the air, and the warm glow of the monument’s golden light envelops you both in a dreamlike stillness. The city is alive with energy, yet in this moment, everything else seems to fade away as the two of you linger near the edge of the plaza.

You can’t help but stop and take it all in, your heart swelling at the sight of the iconic landmark that somehow feels more magical than you imagined.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, your voice almost lost to the wind.

Bucky doesn’t answer at first, his focus shifting from the Tower to you—eyes softer now, lingering longer than usual. There’s an intensity in his gaze that’s hard to ignore, like he’s seeing you for the first time in a way that makes your breath catch.

You glance up at him, noticing the way his jaw tightens, his lips parting ever so slightly as if he’s about to speak but stops himself. For a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something profound, something that could shatter this careful distance between you.But instead, he looks away. The mask of his calm, collected demeanor slips back into place.

“Yeah, it is. Pretty amazing.”

You try not to let the disappointment show. It’s as if the air between you suddenly thickened with something heavier than the crisp night.You clear your throat, deciding to move the conversation forward.

“I always imagined coming here with… someone special.”

The words are out before you can stop them, and the moment they leave your mouth, you want to take them back. Why did you say that? You shift nervously on your feet, unsure of how he’ll react, but the warmth in his expression doesn’t flicker. Instead, he seems to consider your words, his eyes scanning you slowly, almost like he's trying to figure something out.

“Well, I’m glad it’s now, then,” he says, his tone lighter but still thick with something unspoken.

You don’t know why, but his words feel like more than just a casual statement. You look up at him again, his face mere inches from yours, his expression unreadable but full of quiet intensity. Something shifts in your chest, a spark of realization flickering deep within you.

He stands too close now—closer than you expected. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body despite the chill of the evening air. Your heart begins to race.

“Bucky…” The word barely leaves your lips, a whisper you can’t quite control. But even before you finish, he takes a step forward, just enough to close the remaining gap.He looks at you, eyes intense, searching. It’s like there’s something there that neither of you is willing to admit yet, something pulling at both of you.

“You know,” he says, voice low, “I think I’ve been doing a lot of things I didn’t plan on today. Bringing you here. Saying half the stuff I’ve said.”

His words seem to hang in the air, making it harder to breathe.

“I’m not exactly sure what this is,” he adds, his smile tight, almost apologetic, but with a hint of something else. “But this—this feels right. You feel right.”

Your throat tightens, and before you can stop it, your mouth opens, your voice a little breathless.

“Bucky, we can’t—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” His voice cuts through yours, softer but firm. He steps even closer, his body so close now you can feel his warmth wrapping around you. His eyes drop to your lips, and it’s like the entire world goes silent. The sound of the city, the laughter, the cheering from nearby—it all fades into nothing.

“Just don’t run from it.” His voice is barely a whisper, but it holds everything—raw and unguarded, a plea in the form of a suggestion. His breath is warm against your cheek now, his hand twitching like he’s going to reach out, but he doesn’t.

You could step back, turn around, walk away. You could pretend like this isn’t happening, like it’s just another moment in Paris, another brief stop on a business trip.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stand there, heart racing, as he leans in just a fraction more. His lips are so close, you can feel the heat of them brushing against your skin. Your chest tightens, every part of you screaming to close that gap, to give in to the pull between you that’s been building all night.

And then—A loud cheer erupts from the crowd. A group of tourists celebrates a proposal nearby, clapping and shouting in excitement. The sound is jarring, pulling you both back to reality in an instant.

You flinch at the noise, and before you can register it, Bucky pulls away, stepping back with a forced chuckle. He runs a hand over his face, looking anywhere but at you. “Well, that was... something.”

You’re left standing there, breathless, trying to collect yourself, trying to understand what just happened. The distance between you is so palpable now, it hurts.

You swallow, gathering your thoughts, and glance back at him. “We'll miss our flight,” you say, though your voice feels distant, even to you.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice quieter now, a little rougher. “Let’s go.”

Neither of you says anything as you begin walking toward the exit, the moment still hanging in the air between you, unspoken and unresolved.

You try to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible. The tension lingers, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. The city around you is still beautiful, still alive with energy—but in this moment, the only thing that feels real is the space between you and Bucky.

And how much you wish it wasn’t there.

The flight to Frankfurt that night is quiet.

You sit beside Bucky in first class again, but the usual banter is missing. There are no casual nudges or shared glances, no whispered jokes over overpriced coffee. Instead, there’s only the low hum of the plane and the unspoken weight of what almost happened in Paris.

He reads through a stack of reports. You scroll absently through your tablet. Neither of you acknowledges the shift, but it hangs there—thick, silent, heavy.

The meetings in Frankfurt are efficient, professional. You present your product roadmap with your usual ease, and he lets you take the lead. There’s a moment—brief—when your hand brushes his as he passes you a document, and you both freeze for a second too long. But no one else notices, and nothing is said.

You move through the day like nothing’s changed. Because technically, nothing has. But it feels like everything has.

That night, you eat dinner in the hotel lounge with the rest of the team. He sits across from you, and you share polite smiles, but his eyes never linger like they did in Paris. It’s safer this way. Cleaner. You both know it.

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.

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