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shurisneakers · 3 months

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unsolved (i)

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 any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently.

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended.

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused.

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles.

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV.

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit.

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week.

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling.

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.”

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive.

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there.

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks.

They give him access to his Twitter.

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening.

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested.

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening.

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees.

Therefore, it begins.

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions.

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution.

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.

He is not put in another video.

And so he finds himself here.

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up.

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows.

“No.”

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to.

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad.

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was–

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily.

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now.

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head.

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question.

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked.

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night.

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly.

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.”

“And he needs�� an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them.

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?”

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–”

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum.

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together.

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it.

You were… loud. And open.

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium.

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

“Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow.

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates.

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head.

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues.

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud.

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?”

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay.

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly.

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table.

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

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

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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kairismess · 4 months

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❝HIS HEART IS ALL YOURS❞

🏐 genre: fluff ~

✒️ word count: 1,198

💭 summary: it had never dawned on you that the great king of the court, tooru oikawa, would ever have a crush on you: a mere background character in the greater scheme of things. if only you knew just how much he adored you–maybe then you'd realize you're more than a side character in the plot of your (and his) life.

💗 special mention: @moonswolfie for requesting this on my @kairiscorner acc !!

🍧 request: "Beg and you shall recieve, make oikawa fall for the nerd girl😈😈😈"

the concept of being in a relationship was foreign to you. you had never really had a proper relationship with anybody in regards to romance; it was like all and every thought of romance was something you never truly experienced, if you didn't count otome games and dating sims that you always pored over, spent all your time playing and devoting your allowances to new costumes and dialogues from your favorite love interests that made you feel pretty, wanted, and loved.

you never really stood out to anybody, that much you believed was true. you found it hard to see anybody liking you, who avidly wore anime shirts and collected expensive figurines and hung up posters of your favorite game series, cartoons, animes, movies, and shows all over your room. and you don't even wanna bring up the fact that you casually play rpgs whenever you can, wearing the cutest set of headphones that made you stand out in... a rather awkward way–a way you just wish you never got attention from, through stares and stifled chuckles of amusement from others.

you did all you could to ignore the stares, the laughter, the snide comments from girls who thought they were better than you–and you had grown quite used to being alone, to finding solace in games and the internet. and though it wasn't healthy, this was a place you called home; and those characters on your screen that always smiled whenever you chose a good interaction choice, whenever you held them in the right places, they made you feel happy.

but there was another boy who wanted to make you feel happy, a boy who appeared and acted like he came right out of a fairy tale; the male lead in a shoujo manga you never thought you'd live out to be female lead in.

tooru oikawa–the great king of the court, the boy every girl in your year had the hots for. you never really paid that much attention to him because, of course, why would you waste your valuable time and energy on a boy you never knew well, nor would even take an interest in you?

sure, he was your classmate and occasional partner for activities and group works, but his personality always seemed so fake. you knew he was acting like a kind of host boy in a host club, and though you knew guys like that were totally your type, you always kept your guard up around him.

it wasn't like he was going to hurt you, anyway, he was too gallant for that, it seemed. the way a boy like this would only hurt you would be through getting your hopes up that he'd ever like you, and ultimately thank you for being a mere fan and forget your name, maybe laugh about your silly headphones and the way your eyes shone whenever your favorite character called you cute in a dating sim.

but... it was these very qualities that drew oikawa to you.

oikawa had only known you existed for a few months now, since he saw you so often during class as his new seatmate. he knew you weren't anything like the girls that vied for his attention, and it felt like a breath of fresh air for him, not having someone breathe down his neck every few seconds at every little thing he does.

sure, you were a little messy sometimes, a little quiet, a little awkward–a little in your own head most of the time, but it was, in your own unique way, charming. oikawa would instinctively smile to himself whenever you'd get flustered at him asking you for a pencil while you were sneaking to play your otome games on your phone in class, and he'd feel a little proud of you whenever you'd recite in class.

he knew it was hard for you sometimes to show confidence, though he always encouraged you to stand up straight, "you look pretty when you hold your chin up high," he'd always say. of course, you'd sometimes side eye him, and it'd make him a little worried he said something wrong, but it's the fact that you keep oikawa on his toes about how he makes you feel around you that allures him to you even more.

from talking to you during class, he'd bring the conversations outside of class. of course, he'd always carry the conversation while you were trying to beat a really hard boss in your rpgs. he'd cheer you on while he had no idea what was going on–and even the rest of the third years were worried oikawa had some ulterior motives with you, but when they saw how different that usually plastic smile of his was whenever he'd look at you, talk to you, try to get closer with you... it was like there was something out of place there, that got replaced with something purer.

shocking, they know.

"alright, out with it." iwaizumi spat out, hitting oikawa lightly on the shoulder. oikawa looked at iwaizumi curiously. "out with what, iwa-chan?" "are you stupid? you know you can't make her a victim of your charms." when iwaizumi said that, he knew exactly who the her he was referring to was. it was you.

oikawa looked at iwaizumi all pouty, his eyebrows furrowed. "how low do you think of me? i'm not charming her for anything malicious..." "so you're admitting you are making her like you." "i-i never said that!" oikawa retorted, his face getting redder and hotter, his voice getting higher as he was on the brink of admitting the truth.

iwaizumi furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "so why are you doing this, it's clear she has no interest in you." oikawa couldn't argue with iwaizumi's statement, it was true, you didn't look like you had fully trusted oikawa, and that hurt him to a degree nobody, not even he could bear.

"...because i like her. and i want her to trust me." oikawa muttered, looking away from iwaizumi. it was hard for him to admit, but there was no other way to express it without getting totally crushed by his own half truths and half lies. this was the whole, unadulterated truth–tooru oikawa, the great king of the court, liked you.

he liked the way you got flustered whenever your favorite character would say they love you, he liked the way you glared at him when you'd catch on to his flirting, he liked the way you were so knowledgeable on such nerdy things that... he had watched all your favorite movies and animes, and was planning to gift you merch this coming holiday season.

"...well, you have a lot of work to do to prove to her you like her." "no kidding..." oikawa replied with a sigh, at least his best friend supported his crush on you. he knew it might take a while, a very long while–maybe a whole lifetime to prove how much he loved you. but he'd prove it to you, somehow, and he won't ever stop until he shows his little nerdy girl just how much he's serious about her; how much he loves you.

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