#ficrecc

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

They’re so fucking cute I’m gonna die 😭 I just love the begrudging support and I love how we, the readers, witness that moment from the audience. 10/10, this update watered my crops, gave me clear skin, and got me out of bed 😂

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, conventions, mediums,

A/N: this chapter is 9k words long. next one? who knows.

Previous part || Series masterlist

The stupid cat is plotting something. 

There’s no outwardly indication but the vibes are there. She’s evil. Plotting comes with the gig.

Bucky knows this, accepts this, but refuses to bow to tyranny.

She stands in his doorway. Unmoving. Unblinking. Blocking his exit like she pays rent.

She takes a slow, calculated step forward. A warning.

He blocks the doorway. A counter-threat.

She glares at him. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be late to meet you, because Bucky, never one to pick his battles wisely, glares back.

It’s a western standoff.

There is no reason she should be sauntering into his room the second he has to leave. None. Therefore, it would be wise to assume she has untoward ambitions. 

“What are your intentions?” he asks.

Alpine narrows her eyes.

His phone buzzes. Another missed call. 

Fifteen minutes late.

Bucky does not have time for this.

She knows he does not have time for this.

She takes a daring step forward. He steps back, blocking the doorway.

"Do not rip my pillows again," he warns. "I made you a scratch post. Use that. Or I will drop you fifteen miles away from the house."

She blinks at him, slow and deliberate. He swears she scoffs, but at this point he’s not convinced whether it’s the confirmation bias of you telling him she can speak because she was hexed, or that he was losing his mind. 

His fingers twitch at his sides.

The second he takes a step over her, she immediately brushes past him, slipping into his room like she was just waiting for an opening.

Bucky turns around just in time to see her jump onto his bed. Like she owns the place. 

Like she won.

The door slams behind him, cutting off his irritated growl.

The hotel is overrun.

The lobby? Packed. The hallways? Worse. 

Every inch of this place is crawling with ghost enthusiasts, cryptid fanatics, and people who are way too comfortable walking around in full Victorian mourning attire.

A few months ago, Bucky would say that he hates it here. Now he’s grown a sort of indifference to it all. Begrudging acceptance, even. 

But it doesn’t help that he and you are stuck there for two days, thanks to Maya “Budget Cuts” Reyes, who apparently decided that ParaCon didn’t warrant separate accommodations. 

Bucky’s grateful that at least you had different rooms, because can’t imagine how you were going to be after hanging around a convention full of people who were furthering your agenda. 

He wonders if you know there are two rooms booked, considering that you’ve plowed your way into his instead of going to yours, which was literally across the hall from him. 

“This is so exciting,” you say, flopping dramatically onto his bed.

He supposes this is where Alpine gets it from. 

Bucky, standing in the doorway, stares at the strange hotel decor and the suspicious stain on the carpet.

“This is hell,” he corrects. “And you’re in my room.” 

You wave a dismissive hand. “You’ve survived worse.”

He drops his bag onto the nearest chair, then holds up the massive brochure he had thrust into his hand in the lobby the second he entered. 

PARANORMALCON 2024: EXHIBITS, PANELS, AND SPECIAL GUESTS!

“Give me a rundown,” he says, flipping through the pages, scanning the many pictures and standard haunted font. 

You stretch out on his bed but he’s already gotten over it, phone out as you scroll through the con schedule. “Alright, so there’s three main areas. The exhibit hall where we’ve got cursed artifacts and overpriced ghost-hunting gear. The panel rooms where people talk about their haunted houses, near-death experiences, or whatever. And the main stage, which is where they do the big interviews, and stuff.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, processing the information. “And is there any particular reason they decided to hold it in the dead of the night instead of the day like normal fucking people?”

“Witching hours, Barnes,” you tsk. “It’s a paranormal convention. You gotta commit to the bit.”

Decidedly terrible. 

“We’re also live streaming for both days, so we gotta hit all the big stuff. Maya said if we don’t get enough footage, she’s making us do another investigation next week, and I am not getting locked in another basement with you.”

Bucky’s lip curls up inadvertently at the four hours you spent blindly stumbling around together after your flashlight ran out of juice. “You think I wanted that?”

“I think you pray every night to get locked in basements with me.” You sit up and grin. “Also, you’re fine with suffering in silence. I, however, am not. We’re making content.”

Bucky does not suffer in silence. His favourite thing to do in the world is whine and bitch. 

“Do I have to be on camera?” 

You squint at him. “One of us has to hold it because I don’t want to freak out a bunch of trigger happy ghost hunters with a floating recording rig, so I guess–”

“I got it,” he interrupts. “I’ll hold it. Love holding cameras. Love it.” 

You raise an eyebrow, but there’s a smile on your face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great two days.”

Bucky doesn’t feel the same, but he doesn’t not feel the same. 

He’s right. Well, half right.  

Bucky knew this was going to be bad.

He did not, however, realize just how bad it could be, considering he’d always skipped out on large conventions and gatherings. Those were more Clint and Sam’s speed.

If he thought the hotel was packed, the convention center is even worse. Crowded hallways, groups of people huddled together, debating ghost sightings and cryptid encounters. There are panels happening in three different rooms, vendor booths stretching as far as the eye can see, and a worrying amount of sage in the air. 

Some guy in a trench coat brushes past, carrying a full-sized Ouija board under his arm like a briefcase.

Bucky holds steadily onto the camera gimbal.

“Welcome to Day One of ParanormalCon!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, followed by a loud screech from the microphone feedback. 

Bucky visibly recoils.

The guy continues regardless, “We have amongst us today enthusiasts of the supernatural, the supernatural themselves. Be sure to check out all the exhibits, the panels, the mystery—and of course, our special guest speakers!”

A wave of polite applause across the convention from whoever was still listening. He’s sure the guy made the announcement hourly. 

Bucky checks to make sure he had fully charged the camera, and checks his pockets for extra SD cards and batteries. 

“Don’t miss our exclusive panel with the author of best-selling ghost erotic novella Ghost Lusters—”

He exhales sharply through his nose, especially considering a copy of the book lay on unread on his nightstand. A very unwanted gift from you, signed and with a note addressed to him on the front page so everyone knew it was his.

“—and, of course, tomorrow’s highly anticipated panel with the stars of The Graveyard Shift, the latest paranormal sensation!”

There’s another round of applause.

Then there’s Bucky.

“What?”

It’s loud. It’s too loud. Several people turn to look.

You make a noise in the back of your throat and step slightly to the left, creating some distance like you don’t know him, still peering into your phone. 

“What do you mean ‘special guests The Graveyard Shift?’” he demands. 

“Hmm, yeah we’re scheduled for a panel discussion,” you correct, not looking up at him.

Bucky turns fully toward you now. “What the hell does that mean?”

You squint at the screen, scrolling through messages. “Apparently that’s why Maya sent us here.”

His stomach drops.

“And when,” he says, voice carefully level, dangerously calm, “was anyone gonna tell me that?”

“Mmm.” You tilt your head. “They weren’t. To me either, apparently, because he didn’t trust me to not tell you. Because then you’d make a run for it.”

Bucky stares.

“Yeah,” you add, scrolling further. “They literally said, ‘Don’t tell Bucky, or he’ll make a run for it.’”

Bucky hisses like a feral cat. “I am not going on that stage.”

Your face pulls into exaggerated shock. “You’re really gonna send me up there alone? In front of a bunch of people who clearly know more than us?”

“Without a doubt.” 

“Wow.” You shake your head, letting the disappointment sink in for all of two seconds before your face resets like nothing happened. “Yeah, no, I figured. I already texted Maya and told her I’d do it by myself.”

Bucky blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“Rarely is, when it comes to me,” he mutters.

“I’m heading down that path too, it seems.” You pocket your phone. “Anyway. Vlog time. This camera should last us the whole day, but you got your phone in case?”

“It’s on 20%.”

“That’s fine, no one’s calling you anyway.” You clap him on the back.

Bucky exhales slowly.

It was going to be a long 2 days. 

The con floor is something out of his nightmares.

People are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, moving in clusters, stopping without warning in the middle of walkways like NPCs with broken pathfinding. Someone in a full Slenderman suit glides past, which is just fantastic.

Bucky follows behind you, camera held up, watching you navigate the space like you were born for this. You’ve got a big smile on your face as you point out artefacts and people with an explanation for each. He may not be the most comfortable but hearing you prattle on about lycanthropy makes it oddly better. 

You move through the crowd easily, glancing between the camera feed and the con map on your phone, while he keeps an eye on the strangest people in the room. Which is most of them.

He doesn’t even mind them. He’s not made one comment so far, which is a personal record.

It’s just that most of them stare at him the second he walks past like he’s got a neon sign hanging above his head pointing out that something is strange about him and his presence. Which could be because he was generally off-putting and weird, but the way they were staring at him makes him believe it was something else entirely. 

"You know, this is kinda fun," you say, stepping around a guy holding up a ‘Bigfoot is My Dad’ sign.

Bucky does not respond.

You laugh, undeterred. “Already got you to one, it’s only a matter of time.”

He hates that you’re right. 

A speaker crackles overhead, making both of you glance up as another announcement rings through the venue.

“Attention attendees! The séance demonstration will begin shortly in Hall C. Please remember– do not antagonize the spirits.”

Bucky stares at the speaker. . “What the hell does that mean?”

You grin. “How does it feel, knowing you could absolutely get possessed in the next twenty-four hours?”

“I’m not joking,” he warns. “If anyone even touches me with an incense stick, I’m leaving.” 

“Good, keep that energy. Makes for a great thumbnail.”

In a split second, you snap a picture. He blinks. 

“I’m keeping this one. You look especially handsome when you’re mad,” you note, observing the picture. “No wonder everyone’s all over you in our comments. I got competition.”

He watches you very calmly stuff your phone back into your pocket and start walking ahead like nothing happened.

For the first time that day, Bucky already knows this is going to piss him off. 

He just doesn’t know how much yet.

“What are we walking toward?” 

“There’s a guy that says he can astral project himself.”

“What?”

“His consciousness leaves his physical body and travels to the astral plane, but in his case, we can actually see his conscience separate from his body.”

“So there’s gonna be two of him?”

“Well, apparently this is just his astrally projected self.”

His eye twitches. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think his physical body is here,” you say, scanning the crowd ahead.

"His physical body isn't here," he repeats, deadpan.

“Yep.”

“Then how the fuck is he here?”

You grin, already relishing how much this is going to ruin his day.

The crowd is way too excited about this.

You and Bucky push toward the front of the roped-off area, where a dramatic announcer in a cape stands next to a spotlight-covered chair.

Bucky doesn’t like any of this.

“Welcome,” the announcer calls, hands clasped together, “to the extraordinary phenomenon of astral projection!”

People oooh and ahhh. 

“Before we reveal one of nature’s most unexplainable wonders,” the announcer continues, “we ask that you refrain from crossing the barrier. Touching the astral projection is strictly prohibited.”

The spotlight clicks on.

“Behold.” She sweeps an arm toward the display. “Mr. Astro himself.”

A man sits in a chair. Motionless.

Eyes closed. Hands on his thighs. Pale, glowing blue. His skin shimmers faintly under the stage lights, like a goddamn glowstick. He is shirtless but wearing pants, rocking a thick mustache, looking very, very peaceful.

The audience gasps.

Bucky looks around, watching them stare in awe.

He leans closer to you. “What are they all looking at?”

“That,” you whisper.

“What?”

“That he’s astrally projecting.”

Bucky squints. Hard. “Where?”

“Right there,” you say, motioning toward the man. “Can’t you see it?”

Bucky turns, eyes narrowing at the guy. “It’s just a guy sitting in a chair.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky blinks, processing. “What?”

“You see him,” you say, nodding like this is the most profound thing in the world. “Which means you can see his astral projection.”

Bucky’s brain actually stalls.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I see him because he’s right there.”

The guy next to you shushes Bucky loudly.

“This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen,” he whispers aggressively.

“Behold,” the announcer repeats. “His physical body is at home, resting.”

Bucky fucking hates it here.

"Just touch him," he says, voice low and dangerous.

"Sir," an attendant immediately warns, stepping closer, "you are not allowed to touch the astral projection."

Bucky’s head snaps toward him.

"The what?”

“The astral projection,” the attendant repeats. “It is strictly prohibited to make physical contact.”

Bucky looks at the guy. Then at the attendant. Then back at the guy in the chair.

“Just touch him,” Bucky repeats, growing increasingly frustrated. “He’s right there.”

“Sir, you need to move along–”

"Fucking Christ.” Bucky runs a hand down his face, physically forcing himself to walk away before he loses whatever is left of his patience.

As he moves past, the guy cracks one eye open, looking directly at him.

Bucky glares.

The guy closes his eye again.

Bucky exhales violently, one second away from walking into the woods and never returning.

“Good job, Buck,” you say, clapping him on the back. “You totally ruined his astral projection with your bitching.”

“He was sitting there in blue paint like a fucking Avatar, that’s not astral projecti—”

Bucky is still muttering under his breath about Mr. Astro and his bullshit astro body glitter when you drag him toward the vendor booths.

There are stalls selling everything. There’s even a guy doing aura readings in the corner, staring at people way too intensely.

He’s barely recovered from the last stunt when you veer off-course, pausing in front of a booth displaying protection sigils and tattoo designs.

“Oh,” you say, voice casual, flipping through a binder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”

“No.”

“You answered that real fast.”

“Because it’s a hard no.”

You hum, still flipping through the pages. “What if I designed it?”

“Even more of a no.”

“How rude.”

“Why did you think that would work?” 

“Because,” you say smoothly, “people in love often get tattoos together.”

“Commonly a garbage decision,” he asserts. 

“Speak for yourself.” You scoff. “I’d get this one right now if you agreed.”

He rolls his eyes at the random design you hold up. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’d actually get a tattoo with me?”

Your eyes barely flick up. “Why is that your question? Why didn’t you question the ‘in love’ part?”

“I’ve developed this thing where I automatically filter out most of the shit you say.”

“Oh, have you? That’s romantic, you know.”

“Give it a rest,” he says, picking up a tattoo design and pretending to be interested in it just to avoid looking at you. “Besides, everyone knows you’re in love with me. No point acknowledging it.”

Your entire face lights up.

“Bzzt, wrong,” you say loudly. “Everyone doesn’t know. Only most people.”

“You better get right on that.”

“I’m trying to get on that but you’re not letting me,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Bucky looks to the heavens for patience.

“What tattoo do you want to get together?” you push, grinning.

“I don’t.”

“Stick to one answer, you flip-flopping son of a bitch.”

“Fine.” He pauses, then settles on a firm, “No.”

“You hurt me so much every day.” You clutch your chest dramatically. “All I do is be nice to you—”

“You’ve almost broken my window several times.”

“From feral longing. All I do is show you kindness—”

“You tie-dyed my shirt.”

“You have seventy-five black shirts, pick another one and cry about it.”

“Wow,” Bucky deadpans. “Kindness.”

“Just say you don’t want me and put me out of my misery.”

His eyes narrow, instinctively snapping back, “Never said that.”

You stare at him, waiting.

Bucky just stares back, expression unreadable the second it leaves his mouth. 

“Oh my god.” Your mouth drops open when he doesn’t add anything else. “Are you saying I have a chance?”

Bucky turns on his heel and walks away.

“Excuse me?” you yell after him, immediately discarding what you were holding. “Come back here and explain yourself. I love you.”

Bucky walks fast.

You walk faster.

“You know, there’s a playground behind the hotel. Be a big boy and play with the sand instead of my feelings.”

Bucky does not respond. He picks up his pace, determined to lose you in the crowd, but it’s no use.

You’re tenacious. Like a bloodhound. A very annoying, very persistent bloodhound.

“Come here, loverboy,” you yell, finally catching up. “I demand clarity.”

“No.”

“I think you love me.”

Bucky exhales so hard it should’ve put out a small fire.

Before you can continue your line of attack, a voice interrupts.

“Oh, what a tormented aura,” someone says.

Both of you turn toward the source.

A woman sits behind a booth stacked high with charms, protective amulets, and little glass vials of salt. She wears dark clothes, and so much jewelry.

She locks eyes directly with him.

“You,” she says, leaning forward. “You are not alone.”

“Excuse me?”

Her expression darkens. “Something follows you. Always in step.”

“Yeah, can’t you see this pest?” he asks, jutting a thumb towards you.

“You just said you’re in love with me.”

“I did not,” he bites. 

“No. Something not in this realm,” she says, voice low. 

You slowly turn to Bucky. “Oh, this is fun.”

He glares at you. “Shut up.”

The vendor ignores this. She tilts her head, scanning him with an intensity that is deeply uncomfortable.

“They have strong emotions,” she murmurs. “It is almost like torment.”

Bucky’s entire face locks up. “What?”

“You are not the only one carrying your burdens,” she continues. “You have a presence that lingers with you.”

“Holy shit.” You turn to him immediately. “You’re being haunted?”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide with delight. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I am not being haunted,” Bucky repeats, teeth clenched.

The vendor nods gravely. “He is.”

Bucky gives her a look.

She does not falter.

You clap your hands together. “I cannot believe you were gonna hide this from me.”

Bucky looks like he wants to walk into traffic.

“Oh, what’s the ghost like?” you ask, practically vibrating. “Is it vengeful? Does it like to follow you around? Does it ever like, I don’t know, whisper ominously in your ear at night?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do you ever see it?”

Bucky rubs his temples. “I am not talking about this.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely talking about this. I think I deserve to know if my boyfriend is being haunted.”

“Not your boyfriend.”

“You literally just said you wanted me, you–”

“This will protect you,” she says, reaching nto a box and pulls out a small charm. “Twenty dollars.”

Bucky stares at her.

Then at the charm.

Then back at her.

“You should buy it,” you say immediately.

Bucky glares. “I should punch you in the throat.”

“You should absolutely buy it.”

He does not. He turns on his heel and walks away, towards Mr Astro and his not-physically-here body, because he prefers that over feeling very attacked from every direction.

The guy is still sitting in his chair.

Some of the blue near his hairline is smudged off, beads of sweat glistening under the bright stage lights.

He looks mildly uncomfortable.

Bucky, standing a few feet away, free arm crossed over his chest, deeply suspicious, narrows his eyes at him.

The guy cracks one eye open.

Bucky asks wearily, “Do you even want to be here, man?”

The guy shuts his eye again.

_______

Bucky is starting to get tired of people trying to sell him things for his strange aura. 

It’s also nearly midnight, and you’ve been here hours already. He thinks he has seen everything the con has to offer and more. Perhaps he could even skip the next day. 

Which is exactly why you drag him further into the con chaos.

"C’mon, Buck, you’re missing out,” you say, weaving through the crowd like this is your natural habitat.

“I am not missing out,” he mutters. “I’m actively avoiding. There’s a difference.”

You ignore him, because of course you do.

Bucky trudges behind you as he always does.

To the left, there’s a booth with ‘Genuine Werewolf Hair’ in tiny glass jars. Suspicious.

To the right, some dude is holding a full exorcism consultation like it’s a casual business transaction. Deeply concerning.

Ahead, a vendor is selling extremely cursed-looking mirrors, each one labeled with ominous tags like “Do Not Look Into This At Night” and “Object May Contain Attached Entity.”

A guy in a Mothman costume poses for pictures near an exhibit about unsolved disappearances.

And then, of course, there’s the die-hard conspiracy theorists.

Bucky should’ve expected them.

"Oh shit, Bucky, look." You point toward a makeshift stage area, where a man in a wrinkled suit is gesturing dramatically at a whiteboard with a detailed diagram of the moon.

"The moon landing was faked,” he declares, voice booming through a barely functional microphone. “And NASA has been covering it up for decades.”

Bucky’s face twitches.

You immediately pull out your phone. “We’re watching this.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

You both end up standing there for ten full minutes.

It is a mistake.

By minute two, the guy is ranting about shadows and camera angles. By minute five, he’s talking about secret government bases on the dark side of the moon.

By minute eight, he’s making direct eye contact with Bucky.

"You there, sir!" he calls, pointing. “You look like a man who’s seen the truth!”

Bucky stiffens.

“Would you like to share your opinion on NASA’s involvement in the biggest lie in American history?”

Bucky slowly opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Reopens it.

Then at last---

Bucky turns and walks away.

The guy blinks.

You burst into laughter. “Stop, you’re ruining your chance at being on Fox News.”

"You’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” Bucky mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No, I’m your best friend,” you correct. “And that’s so much worse for you.”

After two hours of wandering the convention floor, being forced to look at ghost-hunting equipment, and listening to the guy in the Mothman suit explain his spiritual connection to the cryptid, Bucky grows sort of interested. Which is worse than actually being done. 

You're thriving.

"Alright," you say, scrolling through the event schedule. "We’ve still got some time before we have to stream at the main stage, so where do you wanna go next?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You think I wanna go anywhere?”

"You haven’t left yet, have you?” you challenge, still looking at your phone. “Alright, well, there’s a panel on spirit photography, a paranormal VR experience–”

“Absolutely not.”

“--or we could go to the past-life regression hypnosis booth.”

Bucky pauses. “What?” 

You grin, flashing him your phone screen. "Says here they’re doing a free group session.”

"Not a chance in hell."

"Oh, come on," you say. "It could be fun. What if we find out you were, like, a 16th-century poet or some shit?"

Bucky stares at you.

"I’ve died before. If I go, it’ll tell me I was me,” he deadpans. 

You scoff. “Okay, but what if it says you were like, a farmer before that?”

"No."

"You are so boring," you groan.

“You just tried to drag me into a fake hypnosis session.”

"The poster says it’s legit scientific!”

“Oh, then by all means, they must be right.”

"You literally came back from the dead and you’re still doubting past lives? You just don't wanna go because you're scared it's gonna say you were a moth or some shit."

Bucky opens his eyes, deadpan, ready to retaliate when a voice interrupts–

“Wait, so you guys really are just like that in real life?”

Both of you turn.

A group of con-goers stands nearby, staring with mild fascination.

You blink. “Us?”

“Oh my,” one of them breathes. “You both are so much worse in real life. We only get the edited version.”

And just like that, it happens.

The first person notices you. Then another. Then another.

It starts as a trickle, just a few curious looks, but then the recognition spreads.

The group grows. People start turning, whispering.

And then, like a goddamn avalanche you’re swarmed.

“Holy shit, are you guys filming right now?”

“Do you guys actually believe in ghosts or is it just for the show?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Who wins in fights more?”

Bucky clenches his jaw.

You, on the other hand, light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

And then you do the absolute worst thing you could do in this situation.

You start feeding into it.

“Oh, boy do I have answers for you,” you say, grinning. “You wanna know who wins in fights? Me, obviously.”

“That is a fucking lie,” Bucky responds immediately. 

“He’s haunted, by the way,” you tell them.

Bucky’s head snaps toward you. "I am not."

And then your phone buzzes.

And then it keeps buzzing, frequency only increasing until you’re concerned that someone has actually died.

It goes absolutely wild. 

You finally whip it out, holding a hand up to the crowd for a quick pause, turning away for a second to check what the fuck was going on.  

Bucky barely registers it at first, still caught up in his escalating war with the growing crowd who wanted to know whether he actually saw a cryptid or was it just a prank.

But then you freeze. Your entire expression shifts.

Bucky’s brain takes a second to catch up. He sees the way your shoulders stiffen, how your posture goes rigid as you look at your screen.

And then he sees it.

The onslaught of notifications you ignore as your phone screen floods.

Bucky only catches a glimpse of it, but it’s enough.

There’s a headline, all caps, stretched across your phone screen. 

His eyes snap to yours, but you’ve turned on your heel, shoving your way through the crowd.

Bucky reacts immediately. “Wait–”

You don’t answer. You’re already moving fast.

Bucky moves to follow, but the crowd’s already lost one part of the crew, and they certainly were not going to lose the second.  

More people push in, asking questions, talking over each other, swarming.

Bucky grits his teeth.

You disappear into the crowd.

Bucky stares after you, and then at the livestream camera, still rolling.

How the fuck does he turn this shit off. 

It takes ten full minutes for Bucky to dig himself out of this mess.

By the time he manages to break away, there’s already a thread of frustration curling tight in his chest.

The livestream is still running.

Bucky stares at the interface, clicking through random buttons, trying to find the off switch.

The camera flips.

Shit.

Now it's just his face, tired and unimpressed, staring directly into the lens.

He exhales slowly. “Fucking– whatever.”

He clicks something.

The screen goes black.

After Maya’s third ignored call and just letting his phone die so it would stop buzzing, and after shoving his way past the last group of people still trying to ask him questions, he heads straight for the hotel floor.

First he checks his room, but no dice. So he turns his attention to the room across the hall. 

His knuckles rap against the door, firm and quick.

No answer.

He knocks again, harder this time, ears straining to hear any signs of life. 

Then finally– footsteps. The faint shuffle of movement before the door unlocks and swings open.

You stand there, leaning against the frame, already out of the clothes you wore to the con. 

Expression calm. A little tired. But you look fine.

Bucky doesn’t say anything right away. Just scans your face, looking for something, anything.

“You okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn't know how he knows, and quite frankly, why it’s a bone-feeling when a few months ago, he didn’t even know who you are– but he can tell the answer is too easy. It’s too quick.

Bucky doesn’t quite believe you. But he doesn’t push.

“Alright.”

You shrug, stepping back inside. “Maya’s freaking out.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

You shuffle, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shit happens,” you mutter. “It’s whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

There’s a part of him that wants to call bullshit.

Wants to ask questions, press for details, push until you actually say what’s on your mind.

But he doesn’t.

So instead– 

“Alright,” he says again, turning to leave. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, already pulling the blankets over you. “You too.”

He hesitates at the door, but you’ve turned away from him.  

So he just leaves. 

Bucky doesn’t sleep.

He remembers the trials by court and media, remembers how anything he did made headlines for month. It was easier to slink back and stay away from people than to feel like he had to justify every move he made in public. 

Every new discovery in court of leaked Hydra documents, of testimonies from informants, all eager to know exactly what had happened to him, what he had done as if he wasn’t a fucking person. Like he didn’t have a right to keep some things to himself. Like he was just a stone-cold, barren cadaver ready to be dissected. 

He turns in bed, ratty sheets feeling too hot all of a sudden. 

He didn’t want people to talk to him. He doesn’t know if that’s what you want.  He doesn’t want to assume because plenty of people are assuming things on your behalf right now. 

From Buck:

awake?

From Steve:

Are you guys safe?

From Buck:

yeah. we’re at the hotel.

From Steve:

Next steps?

From Buck:

do i just pretend like nothing happened

From Steve:

Is that what you want to do? 

He pauses, letting his fingers hover before he types. 

From Buck:

i dont know 

From Buck:

no 

From Buck:

i dont want to overstep

Bucky swallows back a tightness in his throat.

From Steve:

You’ll know if you are. You know each other.

And so he hastily shoots you a text, asking if you're up. 

From Steve:

Let me know how it goes. 

He waits for a response to  a text that would in any other circumstance have you asking if he was booty calling you. 

The message doesn’t even say delivered. 

It’s past 1am when Bucky’s knocks to your door get no response. 

He presses his ear to the door like before.

There’s nothing, not late night sounds of television, not sheets rustling, no air conditioner hum. 

You’re not in your hotel room.

And you’re not even in his hotel room, which is more worrying than the last.

And so he starts looking.

At first, he thinks maybe you just needed a walk. Something to clear your head. But when he circles the floor twice, the side entrance, the lobby, and there’s still no sign of you. 

He knew you had to be somewhere away from the noise. 

He doubts you���d have gone back to the convention. There was no library in the hotel, he checked. You couldn't have left because he knows you would have told him. 

Right? 

The more he thinks about it, the more the uneasiness settles in because you never actually told him if you’d ever waited to say bye to the places you’d left. 

He shakes it out of his head and instead zeroes in on raking through his memories of the day. 

Any sort of clue, anything about the center, the hotel– until something finally clicks. 

Bucky cuts through the lot, past the street, toward the small stretch of open space behind the hotel.

An empty playground, just far enough from everything to be quiet.

The cold air of the night does nothing to help soothe the nerves that are building, and the lack of any people around admittedly makes it worse, but he’s daring to hope for once that maybe he’s right, and Steve was right and he knows you enough that– 

And there you are.

You’re seated on one end of the old metal see-saw. The only movement around is the slow, steady rhythm of the old metal structure shifting up and down—except there’s no one on the other end.

You’re moving it with your mind. A small push, just enough to tip your weight, then another to pull yourself back up. A slow, mindless repetition. Like you’re not even thinking about it.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Forces himself to unclench his fists and loosen the tightness in his chest. 

Finally, he steps forward.

You don’t look up. He doesn’t force you to.

Instead, he walks toward the see-saw, before crouching slightly. 

Then, without a word, he presses his palm against the other end and pushes.

The motion is smooth. Subtle.

The second he adds his own force, you slow your own down, letting him take over.

The see-saw goes up and down. And repeats and repeats and repeats. 

It’s quiet for a long time, except for the mechanical whine from the rusted playset. 

“You’re up late,” Bucky says at least.

“I’m always up late,” you reply, voice almost a hum.

“Y’mind?”

You don’t answer right away. Just give a small, half-hearted shrug.

He takes that as permission and keeps his hand pressed to the see-saw, moving it up and down, keeping the motion steady.

A few more beats of silence. He lets it play out the way it wants to.

“I’m fine, you know.” Your voice is carefully even.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“I mean,” you continue, and then under all the calculated responses, he hears that tiredness he’s been expecting, “I knew this was coming.”

“That what Nat was talking to you about?” he asks. “The other night?”

“Yeah.”

The see-saw creaks softly.

“Yep,” you reply. “She heard from sources that people were looking into it. It was just a matter of when.”

Bucky shifts his weight, keeping the rhythm smooth. “It’ll die down.”

You let out a slow breath.

“After Nat leaked all of SHIELD’s files, it was madness for a while. And look where everyone is now,” he continues.

You glance at him.

Bucky continues to look only at fulcrum, a slight crease between his brows. 

“Did you read it?” you ask, voice quieter now.

“What? The leaked files?”

“The article,” you clarify. “About me.”

Bucky keeps the see-saw moving. Steady.

“No,” he finally admits. 

The seesaw comes to a halt, with you paused in air. 

“You didn’t?”

Bucky avoids your gaze, but answers steadily, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.” His fingers press a little harder into the see-saw handle, insistent. “Besides, what’s a fuckin’ article gonna tell me that being stuck with you every day won’t?”

Your lips twitch.

Bucky pulls the see-saw bar back up, watching you lower back down.

When he sneaks a peek at you, there’s a small smile on your face.

When you’re close to the ground, he pushes the handle back down so you’re lifted into the air again.

“Did you read it?” He clears his throat.

“About half.”

“What’d you think?”

You shrug. “It’s all facts. Don’t really have an opinion on it.”

Another long pause. Bucky feels like he should have more to say but he finds his mind blank. 

You push out a slow breath. “Got that panel tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Maya texted me. Told me to lay low, stay out of sight till it’s over.” Your lips pull into a straight line.

“What does lay low mean?” Bucky questions, still keeping his focus on the see-saw. 

“No leaving the compound. No interviews, no posting, no official statements, no videos,” you recite, voice dry. “Especially no panel tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, like he already knows where this is going. “But you’re gonna do it anyway.”

There’s a small pause. He wonders if he miscalculated. 

Your voice comes back slightly surprised. “I am.”

“Good.” He nods. “You got no reason to hide.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice lighter now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with no hesitation. “And I hate most of your ideas, so that should tell you something.”

You let out a small laugh.

It’s silent for a while as the see-saw moves up and down, with you seated on one end as Bucky maneuvers it from the other.

“I know what she’s saying is the logical thing to do,” you say eventually. “But I don’t know. I just feel—”

“Trapped,” he says simply.

You swallow the stone in your throat.

Bucky doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Just keeps his hand steady on the bar. 

He knows it’s why you jump from place to place. What happened at the clock tower may have confirmed it, but he’d picked up on every breadcrumb in the last few months whether you’ liked it or not. Why you left when the café lady gave you keys to a home. Why you didn’t like closed doors, routine, time loops. Why you hadn’t picked a new codename even though you’d been here months. Anything that makes you feel like you’re tied down, anything that makes you feel trapped again with no room to breathe.

The see-saw tips slightly.

You let out a long, slow breath.

“I just don’t want to feel the way I used to there,” you admit.

Bucky nods. “I know.”

“Every day was the same. And everything looked the same, and everyone was the same,” you say, voice quieter now. “Staying still leaves you exposed.”

“I know,” Bucky repeats.

“Not everyone does,” you say, staring at the sky. “I don’t leave a place because I don’t like the people there anymore– but sticking around for too long feels like…”

“Another trap,” he finishes.

You glance at him.

He shrugs. “You got no reason to explain. I get it.”

Except, the reason why he’s stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you couldn’t. Bucky liked stability. He likes being rooted. 

You exhale a small laugh. “Lived a thousand lives, huh.”

”And then some,” he says, pushing the handle down, slow and deliberate. “Maya’s just another person. Do whatever you want.”

You study him. The way his jaw flexes just slightly, the way his fingers press into the metal bar, like he’s already thinking about what comes next.

“There’s gonna be a lot more eyes on me now.” Your voice is careful, testing. “On you too, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to end the show.”

“I’m aware,” he says again. “But ‘m fine. Got all these batteries I need to use somehow.”

He lets a hush fall between you as you contemplate your next words. 

“Do you ever get used to it all?”

His grip tightens, just for a second. Then—

“I didn’t.”

It’s a quiet confession. One that sits between you for a moment, stretching out into the cool night air.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same for you,” he continues. “You’ll figure it out.” 

Then finally he looks at you.

And he really looks this time. Not just a glance, not just a flicker of acknowledgment, but something that lingers.

Something weighty. It makes your stomach stumble and your breath catch.  

His mouth twitches, just barely. Not a smile, not quite. But close.

“Spotlight looks better on you anyway,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

The morning is quiet.

Not in the world outside, though. The internet is still on fire, messages still flooding in, theories spiraling out of control.

But in the hotel, it’s different.

The air in the room is still. Heavy, like static waiting to shock someone. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, scrolling through nothing, really. You keep opening and closing the same apps, flipping between blank notes and unsent messages.

Bucky watches from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe.

He knows that look. The anticipation before impact.

“You eat yet?” 

You glance at him. “Not hungry.”

He doesn’t push. Just nods. “You will be later.”

Your lips twitch, but no real smile.

Bucky doesn’t like the flatness behind your expression.

But he doesn’t call it out. Not yet.

Instead, he asks, “You sure about this?”  

You look at him. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do,” Bucky says, matter-of-fact. “Always do.”

You blink. Like you weren’t expecting that.

Your gaze flickers.

“Yeah,” you say, voice a little softer. “I know. But I feel like I owe it to myself.”

Bucky holds your stare for a second.

He pushes off the doorframe, straightening.

“You got time to kill,” he says. “You should eat something.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky–”

“You should eat something,” he repeats, firmer this time.

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, you stand.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

“Absolutely not,” he remarks, as if wasn’t fully intending to before you even asked. 

“Dick.”

“You brought me here, you’re paying.”

He lets you lead the way, wait until you’re ahead of him to let out a small flicker of relief. 

_____

The hallways are buzzing.

Everywhere you look people are talking, whispering, staring. Some subtle, some not.

Bucky walks beside you, shoulders squared, pace steady.

The closer you get to the panel, the more the weight in your chest presses down.

It’s not fear. Not exactly.

It’s the knowing.

Knowing the eyes are on you. Knowing the second you step on that stage, this all becomes very real.

“Y’okay?” Bucky asks, voice low.

You exhale slowly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You huff a small laugh.

Even as the crowd thickens, even as you near the panel doors, the noise rising, the air buzzing with anticipation, Bucky keeps a steady pace beside you.

Just in a way that says he’s around.

The second you step into the backstage area, a con staffer immediately moves toward you.

“Hey! Oh, great, you’re here.” They glance behind you, at Bucky, panicked like he wasn’t expecting him. “Is he–”

“Not on the panel,” you say, quick.

Bucky just shrugs. “Not on the panel.”

The staffer nods, relieved. “Okay, cool. Just making sure.”

They move to adjust something on their headset, then glance at you again. “Uh– how are you feeling?”

“Grand.”

They nod again. “Okay, cool. If you need anything, let us know.”

You give them a smile, and they move away.

Bucky watches you for a long moment.

“What?” you ask, feeling a bit squirmish under the intensity of his stare.

“What?” he asks right back. “Don’t lie about me out there. I’m not haunted.”

“The truth. Got it. So I should say you’re in love with me.”

“You can get your own ride home.” Still, it makes him feel better that you’re still somewhat okay. 

You throw a smile on, shaking the nerves out of your shoulders and standing more straight. “I should go.”

Bucky nods. “See you in a while.”

You take one last breath, and step onto the stage.

The lights are bright.

Clearly, there are more people than had attended the con yesterday because the front row is entirely stuffed with people with mics and notebooks. The seats in the crowd stretch farther than they should, a sea of people watching, waiting. 

The air is thick with attention, the hum of voices settling as the moderator clears their throat and leans into the mic.

You drop into your chair way too casually, tossing a leg over your knee, leaning back with the complete ease of someone who has zero fear.

The moderator glances at you, vaguely unsettled by your energy because they clearly had not prepped for the absolute hellfire that is Maya dealing with a PR nightmare. You had no doubt she had put the fear of God into that man the morning of, vetting and then re-vetting every single syllable that was to come out of his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, clearly trying to find footing. “We, uh—we’re really excited to have you here, especially after everything that’s been going on.”

You grin. “What’s up?”

The moderator visibly stumbles. “You—you mean, regarding the article?”

“Oh,” you say. “That. Yeah, wild week.”

He pauses.

“…Yeah?” he tries, attempting to meet you where you are.

You just blink at them. The audience is completely silent.

You shrug. “What about it?”

“Well,” he presses, clearly hoping for something, “given everything it exposed—”

“Sure.”

Another pause.

The moderator glances at his notes, clearly flustered.

“Oh-kay,” the moderator says, regrouping before quickly saying, “You know what, let’s open it up to audience questions.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd as the first person grabs the mic hastily and stands before anyone even gets a chance to fight for it.

“Hey,” they say into the mic, clearly hyped. “Love the show, love your work. Just wanted to ask– does any of this change what you’re doing? Like, do you think your past is gonna affect the future of the show?”

You hum, taking a long break before finally, you go, “Nah.”

Some people in the audience laugh. Others are still unsettled. 

The moderator looks like he’s breaking out into a cold sweat. You don’t even know what he’s so nervous about, unless Maya had held him at gunpoint the night before and threatened him. 

The next question comes.

“So, like, do you– do you regret not saying anything before?”

You tilt your head. Squint at them. “…Saying what?”

“About your past. About everything.”

“Oh.” You pause, nodding thoughtfully. “Nope.”

Maya was going to kill you, you think, unless she didn't die from a hemorrhage. 

Then, someone stands up, clearly a little hesitant. "Okay, so, uh– sorry if this is a weird question, but, like…"

They shift awkwardly.

“Did Bucky know?”

The room stills. Not in a bad way, not tense. Just expectant.

You tilt your head, raising your eyebrows slightly. Like you hadn’t considered that being a question.

“Bucky?” you repeat. 

“Or any of the Avengers really,” he adds quickly.

You reponse comes out slowly as you think, “Well, I don’t want to speak for him–” 

The crowd instead drowns you out immediately. A loud ripple of noise in surprise, excitement, recognition.

You blink, whipping our head to see where their eyes had diverted. 

You snort loudly when the fool steps into view, a scowl on his face and shoulders stiff like he would rather be literally anywhere else. 

“Oh,” you say, leaning back. “Look who decided to show up.”

Bucky doesn’t sit.

Just sweeps the mic off the moderator, turns toward the person who asked the question, and tilts his head slightly.

“Did I know?” he repeats.

They nod.

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

The room buzzes.

He leans into the mic slightly.

“I mean,” he says, flat as anything, “we literally live together. What, you think I found out from Twitter?”

The audience laughs, tension in the room dissolving.

You grin.

The person with the question nods slowly. “Right. That makes sense.”

Bucky hums. Moves the mic away.

Then he reaches down and tugs a chair closer, flipping it around.

“Move, would ya?” he grunts, face slightly flushed. 

You silently move your chair to give him some space. 

He drops into it, not even bothering to look at you.

He doesn’t even say anything else, just sits. 

Close enough that his knee bristles with yours.

“Uh, good morning.” The moderator stares at him, shuffling through cards rapidly as someone hands him another mic. 

“Morning,” Bucky says, voice gruff.

“We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m in the show too.”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So ask me questions too,” Bucky grunts.

You glance at his knee still touching yours. Then at him, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Bucky just shifts, adjusting so he’s comfortable.

He doesn’t move away, just sends you a curt nod, clears his throat and looks straight ahead. 

It brings a stupid big grin to your face. 

The whole thing goes by quickly, question after question, answers delivered with just the right balance of stupidity and earnestness. 

Bucky had sat beside you the whole time, occasionally muttering some dry remark into the mic, mostly just letting you take the lead.

Things feel good. Not as heavy as the world did the night before. 

The moment you step off stage, you exhale sharply, shaking out your hands.

“That was fun,” you say.

“For you,” he responds dryly.

“That’s why it was fun.”

You glance at him as you walk, stepping through the side exit toward the quieter halls behind the venue.

People glance your way as you pass. Staff, attendees, lingering eyes that recognize you now.

Bucky doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like the sharp shift in the air, the new weight of attention that seems to cling to you heavier than before.

But you’re still walking easy. Still comfortable in your own skin.

Not because it surprises him. But because it makes him feel something he can’t quite name. 

He didn’t even think he had feelings like those anymore. It makes him deeply bothered that he doesn’t immediately hate it. 

A staff member nods at you as you pass. "Great panel."

You flash them a grin, throwing up a lazy thumbs-up. "Hell yeah, it was."

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

"Not even a little."

"Liar."

Bucky doesn't immediately deny it.

He just keeps walking.

You catch it, smirking slightly but let it slide.

A few more turns, and the noise of the main venue fades into a distant hum.

Bucky watches you roll your shoulders, adjusting slightly, as if releasing the last bit of energy from the stage.

Channelling the last bit of insane energy from the last day, he says–

“You looked good up there.”

You freeze mid-step. Just for half a second.

You turn your head, slow blink, slow grin. "Oh?"

Bucky regrets it immediately.

"Ohhhh?" you drag, delighted.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line. Keeps walking. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, no, absolutely not." You catch up, shifting to walk backwards in front of him, grinning the whole time. "Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. Giving me a genuine fucking compliment."

Bucky looks to the ceiling like he’s begging for an escape.

“Truly, a rare occurrence,” you continue. "I gotta savor this moment. Hold on, let me memorize every word. Can you repeat it, but this time do it way slower."

"You are the worst person I've ever met."

"Say it again."

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, one more time."

"Nope."

"You looked good up there," you mimic, voice dramatically low and serious.

Bucky shoves you. You laugh, almost tripping over your own feet.

When the teasing fades slightly, he catches you looking at him for real this time.

Bucky shifts slightly. Looks away. 

"Hey," you say, voice lighter now. "Thanks."

Bucky keeps his eyes forward. 

"Yeah," he mutters. "Whatever."

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to those who comment and tell me what u think-- i love u. ur the sole reason i haven't abandoned this lil fic. thank u for everything mwah <333333

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Happy Friday Saturday you delightful Mother Fuckers!

These are some fics that I read recently! I’m working 11-11 overtime this weekend and missed posting yesterday sorry folks!

- - -

First off is this new multi-chapter fic from @nellblazer:

It’s a Far Cry/MCU crossover as you can see and I just love how Nell writes dark!MCU and crossover fics. It features a variety of our MCU faves with a female reader. The characterization is always on point and the elements blend way better than I ever thought possible. There are currently four chapters and I can’t wait for more! 10/10 because I’m a sucker for the dark and twisty and the smut-leaning chapters are just that good.

- - -

Then we’ve got this monster of a fic/series by @shurisneakers:

This fic/series boasts 14 chapters of Sam Wilson x Reader content with a forthcoming epilogue. It’s a whole ass novella filled with twists and turns and it’s hard for me to gush properly without going into spoilers. 😂 It had the vibes of a well written action thriller. 10/10 if this was a movie I would watch it all of the time.

- - -

Up next is this ongoing series by @kellyn1604:

This series currently boasts two expertly written parts featuring Jareth x Sarah with more to come. This series is written by an adult for adults and the sheer depth of the language and content shows and it is refreshing! What she does so wonderfully with writing for Labyrinth is how complicated the relationship dynamics are, and what I like the lost is how she tackles Sarah. Her age, the complexities of growing up, of loss and trauma- its navigated with an impressive ease. 10/10 It’s also some of the most enchanting fiction I’ve read in a while and I’m patiently looking forward to more, should the inspiration rise.

- - -

And last but not least I finally read through the last of this series by @laketaj24

This series is composed of Serotonin parts 1-3 and a new one-shot, It’s a No from Me. They’re all Colson Baker/MGK x Black!Fem!Reader. The series includes a generous amount of smut, drama, and feels. I particularly love how Laketa writes intense emotions. Wether is fighting, loving, or desperate need- the language is so compelling and folks I can’t recommend it enough. 10/10 get on that tag list folks I wouldn’t want to miss any MGK fics of Her’s!

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Happy Friday you delightful Mother Fuckers!

I read a lot of awesome work on here but between my brain and anxiety I rarely share what I’m reading. Well that’s gonna change!I’m gonna be doing this weekly as part of my resolution to reblog more of the content that I’m reading. In addition I’ll be sharing fics throughout the week in my Fic Rec Tag! ❤️

Disclaimer: as I do this longer it’ll be a more organized/longer list. All these authors deserve so much credit so go show them some love!!!

- - -

First off we have @nellblazer’s Tarot Challenge:

I LOVED each and every one of these fics, and cannot recommend them enough. They’re all first person, fem!Reader- which I’ve been missing in my life tbh. Her writing shifts so easily between dreamy and dangerous and I love it. As a person who does tarot I also felt the interpretations were spot on and added to the fics! 10/10- there is something for everyone! 💜

- - -

Then we have a very cute drabble by @propertyofpoeandbucky!

For Sam Wilson’s birthday they did some x Gn!reader drabbles to celebrate and I missed the mini-event but as someone who ✨yearns✨for soft moments that are children-adjacent this lil thing gave me so much serotonin on a day where I needed it. 10/10- I am a sucker for ‘celeb interacts with kids trope’ 😊

- - -

Next up is @whirlybirbs’s Vacant Mirrors series!

I’ve been a long-time fan of how Birbs writes fem!reader fics and this is a perfect example of why. It’s a wonderfully complex blend of drama, tragedy, levity and suspense wrapped up with a romance that I can’t stop consuming! Seriously! All my friends have heard of this!! 10/10- can’t wait to read the end 😬

- - -

Then we’ve got @seancekitsch’s

Vampires are already my ultimate weakness but this kinda killed me. The characterization was spot on and I love the dynamics written into this threesome. As per usual the smut is top notch, as I’ve come to expect from Bonnie. 10/10- I am mush 😂

[ahundredtimesover]

hi! just wondering who are other trusted ficrec blogs that you consider your favorites? I think there was an ask before from an anon that you're probably following the same ficrecc tumblr or something? I am curious because I am reading similar titles and I was surprised at the coincidence *goosebumps* I think we might have the same favorite blog accounts too! taste 😏 i love fics, I try to read daily!

Hi, anon! I made a list of the ones I follow here but @ggukkiereads and @taestyreads are my go-to’s. Well, they’re the ones I usually see on my dash and they’re so thoughtful in their commentaries. 🙂@triviafics is also a recent favorite. Since there’s so many to read, commentaries help to know if the story is my cup of tea (or if it’s good)! But yes, agree to same taste 😉

There’s still so many to read though, those to reread and reblog and even old and new ones to get into. It’s great you’re able to read one daily! 🙂

[dothirsty]

this is a super adorable vampire!au fic

check it out c:

[superhumandisasters]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

SkyisGray just completed her Ipseity series -- clocking in at 146k, so set aside half a day for this one. It explores dissociative identity disorder to new extremes (mind the tags!), and while I went in skeptical of the premise, I ended up fully committed. The result is bittersweet and complicated. Very complicated. The characters have to work for their happy endings.

*paging potofsoup if you haven't read this already ;)

Sky also wrote The Blind Leading, which is a standalone AU, self-described as identity porn. (yisss) Basically, the Winter Soldier escapes from HYDRA years before Steve is recovered from the ice, and has been working on his own as a mercenary until SHIELD decides to hire him as a sniper for one particularly difficult mission. The rest is history. There's a ton of sex in this one, but I'm reccing it because it's very much to my particular flavor, and because I'm interested in Steve's characterization here, which I don't know if I would accept as my own headcanon, but intrigues me regardless. I generally don't go looking for AUs that completely displace the characters (like to highschool or college or police stations or whatever, though I'm not above reading or enjoying these), yet I'm enamored of AUs that tweak one temporal or identity detail. Go figure.

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Oh man I really wanna be a pirate out there kicking ass with my delightful captain partner exploring the ocean and fighting assholes who doubt me 😂 😍

I always adore a good pirate!reader but what I love about this fic is how it plays with traditional power dynamics. I love how much agency the reader has within this fic and how their struggle has nothing to do with them being a pirate or owning a larger body. I also the the writing itself flows really well together and the dialogue feels natural.

Overall, a great read!

The Compass

Killian Jones x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2455 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: The crew disrespects you when the Captain isn’t there, only to push it much too far.

—————————————————————————————————

Keep reading

[fyeah-ghosthunt]

Fanfic recomendations (Though I have a feeling you have already read what I have read.)

( • - Absolute Favorites )

-no particular order-

Series + Ongoing:

1.Are You Happy? - 1 2 3 [On-going] ••

2. A Froggy Tale - 1 2 [Complete] •

3.Dead Attractive - 1 2 3 [On-going] 

4. Marrying A Millionaire - 1 2 [Complete] •

5. Yes, I really am A Transfer Student - 1 2 [On-going]

6. Lost - 1 2 3 4 5 [On-Going]

7. Love Bound - 1 2 [On-going] •

8. Nuclear Fusion - 1 2 [On-Going]

9. Dollmaker - 1 2 3 [On-Going]

10. Bookstore - 1 2 [On-Going]

11. Aversion Theory - 1 2 [On-Going] ••

Completed:

1. No Petals Fall - ∞ •

2.The Alphabiography of SPR - ∞

3. Morbid - ∞

4. Onsen Revenge - ∞

5.Eleventh Night - ∞

6.Ghostly Instincts - ∞

7. Homecoming Case - ∞

8. Closed Doors - ∞

9. Unlucky - ∞

10. Leaving You - ∞

On-going

1.Aftermath - ♥ •

2.Stages of Love - ♥ ••

3.The Transfer - ♥ ••

4.Beneath The Lilac Tree - ♥ •

5.Haunting Life - ♥

6. The Inconveniences - ♥ •

7. Another Life Among The Dead - ♥

8.Power - ♥

9. Speak! - ♥

9. Shibuya Prefecture - ♥ •

10. Sounds of Silence - ♥ •

11. Two Different Pairs - ♥ 

12. Butterflies - ♥

13. His and Her Circumstances - ♥ •

14. Ai Obake - ♥

One-shot collections(♣) and One Shots(♠):

1. Ghost Notes - ♣ 

2. The Dawn Daydreamer - ♣ •

3. Flu - ♠ 

4. Art Project - ♠

5. Wishing Well - ♣

6. Polylemma of a child genius - ♠ •

Written by Mishie(♦) or Michelle(○):

1. Almost - ♦ [Two-shot]

2. Time Machine - ○ [On-Going]

3. Loved and Loved Again - [Re-Written]

4. Time Machine - ♦ [Three - Shot] [On-going]

5. Tanabata - ♦ [One-shot]

Most of the On Goings may be a bit Abandoned (T.T) but anyway they're pretty good stories.

OH! and if anybody wants to suggest me a fanfic ask me :))

∞

[buticancarryyou]

It's not that Dean doesn't get that Sam doesn't want to talk about whatever Hell did to him; Dean practically wrote the book on that particular brand of avoidance. Except that Sam doesn't do this. Dean is supposed to clam up and Sam is supposed to pry and bleat about how "communication is good for the soul" or some shit. Sam is supposed to cry on his shoulder and Dean is supposed to stoically hold him and let him get it out, maybe shedding a manful tear or two in solidarity.

Here's the thing: Sam comes back from Hell with a bubble of space around him. He doesn't want to be touched, especially by Dean, and he won't explain. He won't talk about Hell at all, and Dean's going crazy. It's going to take a strange case (and a little magic) in Michigan to break the floodgates, but when Dean finally learns the truth, he might wish that he hadn't...

GO READ THIS RN. 

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

I don’t have any coherent thoughts left in my brain besties, it’s very sinful yet surprisingly tender. I love how complex Bonnie is with characterization, and just it was such a delightful read folks!! I just 😭 when is it my turn lmao

Indiana Handshake: Steve Harrington x Reader x Eddie Munson

Warnings: slightest cucking, mama used as a nickname but no mommy kink, threesome, spitroasting, dirty shit, this is like my first time actually actually writing steve i do not count when he pops up as a passing character in eddie shit, like/love confessions, smut with feelings, three best friends exploring each others bodies

“Hey Munson, you ever kiss a girl?”

The question floats in a haze of pot smoke over Steve’s head as the three of you lounge on his basement couch. He was dozing off, completely zoned out listening to the mixtape in the deck, but now he perks up at the question.

“Do I really look that much like someone that doesn’t get any?” he retorts back, sassy and bitter. Steve opens his eyes as you cackle over the sound of the tape deck, Eddie’s response not particularly all that funny but you always get giggly after half a joint.

“No, I asked: Did you ever kiss a GIRL?”

Keep reading

[superhumandisasters]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Other(s) Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Howling Commandos Additional Tags: World War II Series: Part 2 of Not Easily Conquered Summary:

Womb to tomb, sweetheart.

The authors of A Long Winter just updated with a second part to the series.

Ahahaha, oh God, I already know I can't read this while visiting my family or they'll become concerned about my well-being. Like how do I explain this sudden, werewolf-style transformation into an emotional wreck over sad WWII super-soldiers?

paging @reserve

[superhumandisasters]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: Sarah Rogers, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes Additional Tags: Angst, Mention of Rape (Inexplicit), Canon Character Death (via CA:tWS Flashback), Easter 1916, Alternate Reality Summary:

Sarah Rogers was born to fight an unwinnable war. She wonders how it could be, sometimes, that she gives birth to a boy who does not understand defeat.

This is the stuff that keeps me up at night.

Like, I would be delighted to have this and other well-written pre-First Avenger fic as the beginning and end of Steve and Bucky -- as characters, as a story, as a relationship -- because it's that perfect of a period drama and I'm already dead. But throw in another 70 years of war and serum and blood and ice and HYDRA and the Avengers and meeting all over again in the age of space invasions and StarkTech, and the scope of the Steve and Bucky saga is too much for my poor heart to handle. Just bury me in a sea of emotions.

Damn you, MCU, for re-imagining their friendship as a perpetual motion machine of role reversals and angst from childhood onward. Is this a game to you, did you know what powers you were toying with? HOW DARE YOU.

[superhumandisasters]

"In 1945, Steve Rogers jumps from a nosediving plane and swims through miles of Arctic Ocean to a frozen shore.

In 1947, Steve Rogers marries Peggy Carter.

In 1966, the New York Times finds the lost letters of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

I’m sitting here in my workout clothes, a house to clean, party supplies to buy, and an impatient dog under my feet, but I haven’t done a damn thing because I’m crying into my coffee over this stellar AU. What a time to be alive.

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

I really benefitted from being awake early today! This was so nice to read over my morning coffee. This drabble is so sweet and angsty and I just love it!! ❤️

These Four Walls (Bruce Wayne x Reader) Drabble

Okay, so I said I wasn't going to do it (add another fandom). But here I am less than 24 hours later. I couldn't help myself. He just makes such a good Batman.

Summary : Just a very small drabble about an early morning moment

Word count : 385

Warnings : A smidge of angst.

A/N: Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around!

Your sigh came silently, though its volume rang loud in your head. Even as he slept, darkness haunted the valleys beneath his eyes, its effects drawing all the colour from his beautiful features. Somewhere in the foggy haze of your mind, you remembered him slipping into the bed beside you, his strong arms pulling your back against his chest, as the soft light of dawn peeked through the sides of the blinds. With the knowledge of his safe return and the comfort of his warm embrace, you drifted back off to the sound of his quiet rhythmic snores. A sound you had strangely grown to cherish since the moment his nighttime escapades had begun.

He looked so peaceful. Your fingertips fought the urge to reach out and brush his cheek, but you didn't, he needed his sleep. He would always need his sleep. And you knew the moment you tried to sneak your way from the bed, his eyes would open; tired and drained and consumed with unfounded guilt. Guilt for not giving you the time he believed you deserved. You knew him. Knew him inside out. In his mind, his efforts were never enough, and your heart ached for him. Unwillingly, an audible sigh escaped your lips, the tiny sound stirring him from his slumber. Two gentle guilt-ridden eyes opened and settled upon your face, his features softened by a tired smile, “Hmmm, good morning.”

Reaching across, he grabbed at your waist, pulling you against him, your lips connecting with a fresh bruise at the edge of his jaw, “You, my love, should still be sleeping.”

Nestling your head into his chest, his hand ran up along your side, settling at the nape of your neck, his voice rough and husky with fatigue, “I’m fine.” Reaching down, he kissed the top of your head, and asked, “What are we going to do today?”

You looked up at him as he desperately tried, yet hopelessly failed, to hide the exhaustion evident in every cell of his body, the sight magnifying the ache in your heart. Losing your fingers amongst his hair, your guided his mouth to yours. And when you finally surfaced for air, you answered, “Nothing, my love. Absolutely nothing. Today the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you and me. Here... inside these four walls.”

[superhumandisasters]

Chapters: 29/? Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Pepper Potts Additional Tags: Humor, I hope humor anyway, cursing, Protection, Strong feelings about coffee, slightly off-canon, Steve is sassy, sam is sassy, Bucky is sassy, Everyone has their sassy pants on, just accept that grilled cheese is the perfect food, old people are Team Bucky Summary:

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

Because it's the holiday season, here's a super not depressing post WS fic. Everything is beautiful and almost nothing hurts.

Have a great night!

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

This is so sweet, I love how in just a few lines of dialogue we get that trademark Doctor Strange sarcasm! The whole thing just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. 😊

maybe a drabble about peter setting the reader and stephen up? spidey matchmaker?

"Parker, are you listening?" you said, sharply.

Peter pulled his eyes away from his phone, flushing with mild embarrassment. "Yes," he assured. "Yes, absolutely."

You shook your head. Peter Parker truly was one of your best students, and you'd be lying if he said he also wasn't one of your favorites. He was nothing short of brilliant with the added bonus of not having an ego about it, unlike so many at Midtown. You had been happy to be his mentor when he entered high school. The problem came from him being so distracted. Once you had discovered he was Spider-Man, it made his absence from your classroom understandable, but there was a frustration in him not paying attention even when you had granted extra time with him after class to catch up.

"Excellent, so what is the answer?" you said, your gaze unwavering.

He squirmed in his seat. "Ah...twelve?"

You raised an eyebrow. "The chemical formula for nitric acid is twelve?"

"HNO₃," he corrected. "It's HNO₃."

He looked back down at his phone.

"Parker, if you can't be bothered to pay attention, perhaps we should reschedule for another time."

"No!" he said, quickly. "I am one-hundred percent paying attention. I wouldn't waste your time like that Ms. Y/N. I promise."

You let a sigh. He really was a sweet kid. You just wished he hadn't formed the habit of lying.

"Peter..."

Before you could finish, sparks formed in mid-air, just behind his head.

Your eyes widened as a circle formed growing bigger and bigger until finally a man walked through.

"Alright kid, what's the emergency."

You blinked, recognizing him.

Doctor Stephen Strange, the wizard who helped defeat Thanos.

Peter had told you about him and you had seen glimpses from various phone cameras taken of the events both before and after the blip. None of them did him any justice.

"Doctor Strange," Peter said, jumping to his feet. "Oh sorry, Ms. Y/N, this is Doctor Strange. Doctor Strange, this is Ms. Y/N, she's my chemistry teacher. The one I was telling you about."

You could feel heat rise in your cheeks, both from embarrassment at the idea of one of your students talking about you to outside of class and the very clear game he was playing.

Strange for his part, just seemed confused as he looked you up and down.

"Nice to meet you," he said. His gaze lingered, making your embarrassment only deepen. He really did have nice eyes.

A beep came from Peter's phone. "Oh crisis averted. Looks like it all worked itself out. Sorry for calling you, sir." He grabbed his backpack with lightning speed, heading towards the exit. "And sorry Ms. Y/N, my Aunt May need me home. Doctor Strange, there's a coffee place down the street, you should check out since you're here. You both should."

"Parker!"

"Kid!"

But it was no use, he was down the hall and out of sight before either of you could utter another word.

A long silence settled as both of you stared uselessly at the door and finally to each other.

"I'm sorry about--"

"I don't know why he--"

You stopped again, the pair of you laughing just a little. It was enough to settle your nerves a least.

"You first," he offered.

You ran a hand down your face, shaking your head. "I'm sorry he called you over here. Peter is a sweet boy, but he has a tendency not to always think things through."

"Partially my fault," Strange admitted. "I should have realized something was going to happen when he kept finding an excuse to mention his brilliant and apparently very single chemistry teacher."

You let out a long groan, burying your face in your hands. "Please tell me you're lying."

He shook his head. "No such luck. I will say he did down play just how pretty you actually are."

You looked up, somehow convincing your mouth not to fall open in shock.

Was he...flirting with you?

"Did he," you said, gaining back some of your dignity.

A side ways smile touched his lips and you felt your insides twist ever so pleasantly.

"Funny he didn't mention your relationship status," you said.

Strange shook his head. "Nothing really going on. Haven't really been looking, honestly."

You nodded, suppressing tiny sting of disappointment. "Well, I'm sorry for Peter to have wasted both of our times today."

"I didn't say that."

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. The arrogant air around Strange dampened as something like sheepishness crossed his face, softening his naturally sharp features. It was endearing.

"Do you want to grab that coffee?" he asked.

You had to laugh. "What, just like that?"

"Yeah," he said, as if surprised by his own question. "Just like that."

You opened you mouth, but finding you had nothing to say, closed it again. This was by far the strangest thing to have happened to you, but perhaps that was fitting.

"Okay," you said. "Let me just get my coat."

And just like that, you and Doctor Stephen Strange were walking down the street as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world. You'd talk to Peter about playing matchmaker tomorrow.