#tony is at the ready with spray bottles and a crowbar

[orellazalonia]

Haunted Beach

Summary: You thought the team beach vacation was actually a haunted mission. Bucky, hopelessly in love and increasingly resigned, follows and watches you as you search for ghosts. (Bucky Barnes x chaotic!reader)

Word Count: 1.5k+

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

It started, like most of your most questionable decisions, in a group chat at 2:17 a.m.

GROUP CHAT:

Tony: Mandatory team vacation. Beach. No missions. No emergencies.

Clint: this is why I hate democracy

Sam: I call dibs on being team volleyball captain.

Nat: If I have to tan, I get alcohol.

Wanda: Sounds peaceful :)

You: haunted beach? 👀

Bucky: Babe. No.

Steve: Why are you all awake at 2 AM?

You read the message three times, blinking at the screen as your brain began connecting wires no one else would dare touch. Vacation, beach, unexplained mysteries. Ghosts? Spirits trapped in tropical limbo? Yes. It was all coming together. This was clearly a paranormal assignment disguised as team bonding.

You sent one more message:

You: on it, prepping the gear. xoxo cue ghostbusters but make it sexy.

Bucky didn’t reply for ten full minutes. Then finally:

Bucky: …what does that even mean.

Bucky entered the shared bedroom the next morning to find you laying on the floor, surrounded by what looked like a cross between a Ghost Adventures filming kit and a kindergartner’s art table.

There were salt packets from the cafeteria, three types of chalk, EMF readers (two real, one built from a broken remote), and a carefully labeled ziplock bag that read “Emergency Crystal Dispersal Kit.”

“Why are you packing holy water?” He asked flatly.

You didn’t look up. “In case we find any hostile energy near the boardwalk.”

“It’s a team vacation.”

“Team haunted vacation,” You corrected cheerfully. “They’re just not emotionally ready to admit it yet.”

Bucky sighed and picked up a bottle labeled ‘Witch Spray.’

“This is just lavender and glitter.”

“Yeah, to keep angry spirits and mosquitoes away. Dual purpose.”

He stared at you. You grinned at him with all the sincerity in the world.

He muttered, “I am in love with a possessed Roomba.”

“I can make another of those–“

“No.”

By the time the team assembled for the flight, you were dragging three duffel bags behind you, one of which made suspicious clanking noises.

“Did you bring beachwear?” Steve asked carefully.

“I brought offerings for the ocean,” You replied. “And an EMF reader that probably doesn’t short-circuit near Bluetooth.”

Sam muttered, “Why do you have a crowbar?”

“Spiritual crowbar,” You said.

There was a long pause.

Bucky followed behind you, sunglasses on, carrying exactly one backpack, and looking like a man who had accepted his fate. He kissed your temple as you boarded and muttered, “Please don’t get arrested in Maui.”

“No promises.”

When you got to your seat, you sat cross-legged, sketching out “spiritual energy mapping zones” on the in-flight cocktail napkins while sipping ginger ale like a cryptid planning a heist.

Bucky watched you with tired affection, as Steve played a crossword and Natasha braided her hair with quiet judgment.

“You do know we’re just going to relax, right?” Bucky asked.

You turned to him, blinking with wide-eyed sincerity. “That’s exactly what someone cursed by the ocean would say.”

Bucky slowly turned back to his seat. “God help me, I love you.”

The beach was beautiful. To you, that was the problem.

The water sparkled. The palm trees swayed in slow-motion serenity. The breeze was cool and smelled like sunscreen and coconuts. Couples walked by holding hands, kids laughed in the water, and someone was playing a ukulele.

Which is exactly why you narrowed your eyes and muttered, “This is too peaceful. Something happened here.”

Bucky, who had just finished applying your sunscreen while you sang the Indiana Jones theme in reverse, blinked at you. “What?”

“These grains,” You said solemnly, picking up a fistful of sand and letting it fall between your fingers. “They’ve seen things.”

“…It’s sand.”

“They remember,” You whispered.

Bucky dropped his forehead into his hand. “We’ve been here for six minutes.”

And it didn’t stop there.

You refused to sit in the beach chairs provided by the resort.

“They’re over an energy pocket,” You explained, pointing dramatically at nothing. “I don’t trust it.”

Instead, you laid out a towel three feet away and began arranging small crystals in a circle around your flip-flops. You wore a wide-brimmed sunhat, dark sunglasses, and a homemade tank top that read: ‘Ghosts Hate Me Because I Speak the Truth.’

Natasha didn’t even blink. “Let them have their moment.”

Steve looked unsure. “What kind of crystals are those?”

“Vibe stabilizers,” You said. “To keep the hot tub spirits chill.”

Sam choked on his soda. “Hot tub what now?”

You turned very slowly, sand clinging to your knees, and whispered, “You haven’t felt it?”

Sam looked like he wanted to. He really did. “Felt… what.”

“The haunted energy.”

Steve finally lost it. “This is not a haunted beach.”

You raised a single eyebrow and pointed at the tiki bar. “Then why does that parrot statue keep watching me.”

Bucky looked at the parrot. It was a plastic décor bird nailed to the wall.

He sighed. “I’m not even gonna fight you on this one.”

Later that afternoon, you returned from a “beach perimeter sweep” with a plastic bucket full of seashells, a hand-drawn map, and a Band-Aid on your knee.

Bucky who had been lounging under an umbrella, raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“I found a portal.”

“You found a what.”

You dropped the bucket with a flourish. “It’s a tide pool. But I’m 80% sure it’s emotionally charged. Possibly cursed. There’s a crab guarding it.”

“A crab.”

“Named it Carl. He’s got a grudge.”

Bucky looked at you like you were an inexplicable natural disaster in human form. Then he opened his arms. “Come here.”

You curled into his lap like a sun-warmed cat, ranting softly about haunted waters and the probability of ancient spirits lingering in beachside resorts. He stroked your hair and kissed your cheek.

“You really think the hot tub’s haunted?” He murmured.

You nodded into his chest. “I felt betrayal in the jets.”

He laughed. You simply started another rant on how different ghosts haunt different things.

The next morning began with you duct-taping your EMF reader to a selfie stick.

Bucky watched, shirtless and sleepy, holding two mugs of coffee. “That thing’s gonna explode.”

You squinted at it like a proud inventor. “Nah, I reinforced it with hope and three Pokémon cards.”

He handed you your coffee and stared at the scanner’s flickering lights. “…Is that a Squirtle?”

“Water type. It’s symbolic.”

Bucky sipped his drink and stared out at the ocean. “One day, I’m gonna tell people about this, and they’re not gonna believe me.”

“Because it’ll sound too sane?”

“Sure.”

By 10 a.m., the Avengers had split into casual beach groups. Sam was hosting an overly intense game of volleyball. Tony was being guilted into sunscreen by Bruce. Wanda was floating herself three feet off the sand like a peaceful oracle. Clint had disappeared somewhere, which was concerning.

You, naturally, were headed to “the portal.”

“Carl is definitely a guardian spirit,” You claimed, marching across the sand with your scanner beeping dramatically in your hand. “I think he used to be a sailor. He remembers betrayal and probably salted fish.”

Bucky trudged beside you with the resigned posture of a man who’d accepted that his romantic future partner was crab-centric.

You knelt beside the tide pool and pointed dramatically. Carl the crab sat motionless on a rock, unmoving. Watching.

You saluted him. “We meet again, old foe.”

Bucky sat down behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You gonna fight the crab?”

“Diplomacy first. But I’ll tackle him if I have to.”

“. . .”

While you attempted what you called “psychic alignment with marine energies” (which involved humming into a shell), Clint showed up carrying a cursed tiki mask he found in the gift shop.

“I think it glows in the dark,” He said proudly.

You stared. “That thing radiates poor decisions.”

He grinned. “So do you.”

“Fair.”

You were just about to lecture him about energetic contamination when the mask pulsed with light. The tide pool bubbled. Carl scuttled dramatically into the water like he had urgent ghost business.

Your EMF reader beeped once. Loud and entirely too high-pitched.

You stared at it. Bucky tensed beside you.

“Oh,” You said cheerfully. “That’s not good.”

Wanda, hovering nearby, opened one eye and muttered, “Something’s off.”

Nat glanced toward the beach and immediately got to her feet.

Clint blinked at the tiki mask. “So… maybe don’t keep this?”

You snatched it out of his hands. “This is why I told you not to trust anything that costs six dollars and ninety nine cents and looks like it wants your soul.”

Carl reappeared, he pinched the air with purpose.

“Carl’s pissed,” You sighed solemnly. “You’ve desecrated his sacred rock.”

“I was just holding a souvenir–“

“The veil is thinning, Clint!”

Eventually, Wanda managed to cleanse the area. Steve confiscated the tiki mask. Carl was left a peace offering of a Ritz cracker and a button shaped like a dolphin.

You were declared “officially banned” from bringing “unapproved mystical equipment” to future vacations.

And that night, curled up in bed with Bucky, you whispered, “I think I almost died today.”

“You tried to astral project using seashells and rocks.”

You grinned sleepily. “Carl respects me now.”

He brushed your hair back, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “Next trip, we’re going to a lake. No spirits, no crabs.”

You mumbled, already drifting off, “Lake spirits are worse. They have secrets.”

He sighed. “I really do love you.”

[invincibleiron]

*wants adorable grandbaby*

*wants the CHILDREN to save room for jesus*