Character Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: When the reader loses her fiance to Hydra, she is sent to the Avengers compound for her protection. Forced to share the guest house with the famous assassin, the Winter Soldier, she must learn to cope with her loss and her new roommate. All this, while trying to solve the mystery of why Hydra is now hunting her.
A/N:This chapter is angst and nightmares, mention of vomit, but Bucky and Steve dressing as each other for Halloween, so who could ask for more…Credit to @readytocomply for the rad image of Bucky!Cap
Bucky and I had gotten back into our routine. Our workouts got more intense. I had moved on to sparring with a partner and hell he was a tough opponent. I even went a few times with Natasha and she was no easier. Sam was a piece of cake to take down though. Just a wink and a little exaggeration in the swing of my hips and he was putty.
I’ll never forget the look on Bucky’s face when I landed my first full force punch right to his jaw.
I immediately snapped my whole body away from his, hands up to my mouth, mouth open in total shock.
“James, I am so sorry!”
He looked half stunned and half proud as he spat a little bit of blood onto the floor.
“That was awesome.” he smiled and pulled me into a hug
“I think you’re ready to move onto guns doll.” he said as a smirk grew on his face
reads articles on the Internet to understand how hormones work
stares… at a wall contemplating the significance of romance and traditional customs of making out (I´m kidding. Let´s face it, INTPs glance at their crush like a scared hamster whenever possible)
will subtly use eccentricity (Ne-Fe) to attract attention either via smart comments or clothing, that being the most proactive thing you can get
will approach a Si-user they are close to for the sake of gathering information… possibly their tough ISTJ grandma/grandpa, who has seen and done it all
certainly won´t work out unless they already have a routine, which is unlikely… diets are an issue of sexist culture so no progress in that regard, too (not that progress was needed. The INTP body is a mere vessel for the sexiest brain out there - it has to be groomed though, that´s true)
might watch Titanic because they are so frustrated. oh yes
Titanic temporarily deactivates inferior Fe so it won´t bother the INTP for days
so much about shipping
discovers their appreciation for candles - they save electricity!
sleeps two hours less… which makes one in total
goes through the “romance” tag on tumblr, confused yet euphoric, but doesn´t dare to reblog all these cheesy things
might get ultra kinky- in their brain! (INTPs can be huge closet freaks, too)
writes - once communication is established - the most hilarious texts with a lot of puns and scientific facts
considers love private business so besides the ISTJ grandparent, nobody knows (an INTP will never drop the name of their crush anyway so even the grandma/ grandpa confidant doesn´t know what´s up)
suddenly starts to analyze their crush regarding the parameters of moral code, habits, memory, style of speaking, sense of humour, sense of fashion, hair care rituals, nutrition routine, knowledge on quantum physics or any other “advanced” subject and their MBTI type
s-stutters like a Shōjo Manga protagonist… rude but true
is in a relationship with their crush when their crush is absent - they create an entire novel in their fantasy (While their crush is present, the INTP´s mind is blank and a feeling of awkwardness sets in)
jumps to the question of commitment very quickly in their thoughts - loyalty is an important factor
…but still has no idea what to do! ;)
♥♥ - Admin Ti, who wishes everyone good luck with their crush(es) ♥♥
Yo! Can you do something where the Bat family reacts to Brucexreader?
Hey~ I asked wowjeena if she wanted ordinary!reader or not, and she said ordinary, which I’m totally not bitter about because it’s not as if I had a great starting line about how facing down ninjas were better than coming out to the BatFam about their relationship. Once again, there’s no specific reference to gender about the reader, so go for you life. Also bi!Bruce because…bi!Bruce. Also, I’m totally not incredibly upset that I accidentally pressed control+w by accident and closed the tab halfway through writing this and had to rewrite the whole thing. Me? Upset? Destroyed because it was going perfectly? Haha. No. Of course not. *Cries*
Bruce was fidgeting. Which you found hilarious. Sure, you were freaking out slightly too, but you weren’t Batman. And yes, ordinarily, Batman being nervous would scare the crap out of you, and most of Gotham… if Gotham even had ordinary days. But this wasn’t an ordinary day. There wasn’t an alien invasion or a rash of Joker Gas-related murders. You were going to meet the ‘Bat Family.’ And yes, you’d met most of them around town, sometimes in costume, sometimes not… It was Gotham, shit happens. But this was different, because while you’d met the occasional member of Bruce’s Brood one or twice, even exchanged a few words with some of them - this was the first time you’d meet them as… as Bruce’s date. Which you also found just the tiniest bit ridiculous, because Bruce was sure none of them knew before he’d told them last night that he was going to bring you over, and that was so weird because they were supposed to be raised by the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’, and you’d think they could figure out that Bruce was dating someone. Then again, it was Bruce. Having a real relationship… you could see why Bruce’s family was surprised. Not that you didn’t worry about that sometimes. The playboy billionaire, the bat-themed vigilante-superhero - neither one were the type to be attracted to you. But then there were times like this, where Bruce was so open. Bruce fidgeted with his cuffs again and you laughed. Only Bruce would wear a tux to a private meeting with his own family. Then again, you weren’t complaining. Tuxes were sexy. “You look great.” Bruce’s head darted up and his eyes met yours. “That’s not the point,” he chided with a patented Bruce Wayne smile, a touch of warmth in his eyes making the smile more genuine than anything the public would ever see. Then, sliding forward to press a kiss on your neck, he added lowly, “You look amazing too.” “I never said amazing,” you teased back. “It was in subtext,” he easily rebutted. You snort and hold out out your arm. “Shall we?”
Bruce parked the car - expensive, flashy, overrated, with a complicated name you couldn’t be bothered remembering - in the garage behind Wayne Manor. He’d decided against having a driver pick you both up from your apartment, and you’d enthusiastically agreed. Sure the car may be a useless extravagant expense, but a private drive around Gotham in a fancy foreign car with your boyfriend… there was just a touch of that cheesy romance you pretended to hate that you couldn’t resist. Even more so when he actually opened your car door for you, holding out his hand to help you out. “Dork,” you said, taking his hand and standing up. He pulled you close, into a kiss, hands falling onto your hips as yours tangled in his hair, worrying only a little bit that he might’ve put some effort into it that you’d just ruined as you deepened the kiss. Then there was a cough and you froze, even as Bruce pulled away with an easy, rehearsed smile at his butler. Well, wasn’t this a cliche? Bruce’s arms were still keeping you close, but all you could see was the slight orchestration in his pose, all you could think about was how many times he’d probably done this with all the other girls and boys he’d brought home, the whoops-I’ve-accidentally-gotten-caught-sneaking-in-my-current-fling act. So you slipped out of his grip and smiled awkwardly at the butler. “Hey.” You’d met Alfred a few times before, at Bruce’s parties, but, since you and Bruce weren’t technically together at those times, you’d never had a real reason to talk to him except being offered wine or asking where the bathroom is. Because Alfred was a Real Life British Butler. Sarcastic, proper, prim…British. Also… a butler? It’s 2016. What does the guy get out of this? It sorta seemed like maybe the guy was living in the past, or something. You didn’t know. You also didn’t know how to react around him. Should you fall into the role of an upper class Victorian, act even more prim and proper than the butler? Where exactly was the guidebook on this? ‘Help, my boyfriend has an actual butler’. Step 1: Maybe not stare at him with a strained smile. “Hello,” you tried. “It is nice to finally be acquainted with you formally,” Alfred replied calmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” You open your mouth and shut it again. “Right.” Bruce’s arm reached out and put a hand on your hip, hugging you to the side of his chest, before his hand trailed to the small of your back. “The family inside?” he asked in a severe tone. But his fingers danced on your back and you remembered how nervous he was before. “In the drawing room,” Alfred said, then bowed out with an “If you’ll excuse me.” Bruce’s fingers were still tapping against your back and you looked at him sidelong. “You gonna play Bruce Wayne all night?” Bruce blinked at you, then looked away, not denying it. “Sorry,” he offered. You huff, secretly pleased that you’d begun to actually notice things like this, when he was pretending and when he wasn’t. Honestly you were a genius. He brushed the back of his hand against yours. “Shall we?” he asked, parroting you from before. You give him a skeptical look, but allow yourself to be led into the Manor.
If you could sum up the Manor’s design in one word…it would be: expensive. You weren’t even sure if there was something connecting the design all together, unless ‘flashback-version-of-a-haunted-house-in-a-movie’ was a theme. So you were led through corridors filled with random vases and paintings to the drawing room. You’d been in the house once or twice before, mostly for Wayne Charity Balls and the like. Bruce hesitated just a second before the drawing room entrance, and then you both entered. The room fell silent immediately. Which wasn’t ominous. Totally. Bruce’s hand was back on the small of your back. You counted the eyes on you. Five. Five, unblinking sets of eyes looking you up and down. Judging you. No. They were crime fighters. They were probably just assessing you for threats or whatever. You resisted the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear or scratch at your elbow and smiled instead, hoping that you wouldn’t come off too dimwitted just because you weren’t a superhero and also because you had no idea what’s a good opening line for meeting your boyfriend’s family. Barbara Gordon - the Commissioner’s daughter - smiled back at you. Richard Grayson - whose name was technically Dick, but there was no way you were going to say that aloud until every other person in the room had said it at least once because calling someone Dick was just…anyway, Richard’s arm was slung over her shoulders casually. You and Bruce sat down on the empty sofa at the head of the room, Bruce crossing his ankles in front of him. Damian stared you down from across the room. “Do you have any special skills?” he asked bluntly. “Pardon.” Damian looked exasperated. “Special skills. I assume you can do something of interest?” And there went any chance of you ever impressing any of these guys. You let your smile brighten, well aware you definitely looked like an idiot at this point. “Nope.” Damian looked at you skeptically. “Right.” Then he turned back to his book. Apparently you’d lost his favor. Bruce’s hand fell to your hip. “Damian has a black and white view of people,” he explained as if that was supposed to make it better. “Civilians only wind up getting hurt,” Damian replied, not looking up from his book. “It’s hardly my fault your flavor of the month wouldn’t last ten seconds in a fight.” “They’re not my ‘flavor of the month’,” Bruce said, a dark tone entering his voice. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for almost six months now,” you piped in because you have no sense of control, obviously. Damian peered at you over the top of his book, huffed and then returned to it. Bruce made a noise at the back of his throat and surveyed the room, almost daring them to make similar comments. The one you didn’t know - Red Hood, you were sure - leant back with exaggerated casualness. “That’s like six flavors,” the man commented. Sitting next to him, Tim glared at him. “What a great addition to the conversation,” he said dryly. “Hey, I’m just trying to fix Damian’s mood ruining.” Damian scoffed. “Because us all sitting here pretending this is going to all work out is a genuinely entertaining experience.” Red Hood stretched and shrugged. “That’s what we said when we first met you.” Damian’s eyes flashed. “Are you even still part of the Family?” “At least I earned my place here,” he retorted. “I didn’t just turn up one day with a birth certificate and demand a position.” “No, you just tried to rob us.” Jason made a noise. “You weren’t even born then.” Damian opened his mouth, but Richard cut in. “Can’t we all just get along,” he bemoaned exaggeratedly. The two boys glared at each other but said nothing more. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
Over 1,500 words now, so this will be another one I post up here and then put up a more extended version on AO3 if I get enough interest in a continuation.
Imagine Chanyeol telling his members that he’d like to make friends with BTS. They’re in the middle of partying and bobbing their heads to the lyrics while seated at an awards concert. Chanyeol sees BTS across from them, and they look like fun people, so he announces this to his members. They all give him shocked faces before bursting out in opposition.
“But you’ll hang out with them instead of us!”
“Rapmon might raise your IQ, so where does that leave me?!”
“You’ll listen to mama Jin instead of your mama Suho!”
Chanyeol starts to defend his decision when Kyungsoo pulls on his sleeve and says solemnly, “They aren’t like us, Chanyeol. They’re hip-hop. They’re dark and moody. They’re not our type of people.”
Chanyeol just shakes them off., gets up from his seat, and approaches BTS’s table slowly. As he gets closer, they all turn to him, their smiles still on their faces but cautiously pasted on. “H-hey.”
“Hey.” Rapmon nods. They all exchange a look before going back to their previous activities. J-Hope twists in his seat, giggling and trying to pinch Jimin’s earlobe. Jimin ignores J-Hope, swatting him his hand away. He laughs and pats Jungkook’s shoulder to get his attention every few seconds, pointing wildly at the stage, while Jungkook laughs lightly and repeatedly says, “Cool it, hyung, I get it I get it.” Suga and Jin are whispering to each other and giving their members judging looks, with Rapmon occasionally nodding in agreement.
And Taehyung. Chanyeol wrinkles his brow as he stares down at Taehyung, who’s piling all the napkins together and pouring packets of salt into the center. He opens his mouth to ask, but Taehyung notices him and beats him to it.
“It’s an offering.” Chanyeol’s eyes widen at Baekhyun’s lookalike. Taehyung adds, “It must be done at every ceremony or else the aliens shall be confused and believe the noise is a beacon for help. This tells them that all is well.”
Chanyeol waves them all goodbye and returns to his seat. When his members ask him how it turned out, he looks from member to member. A single tear rolls down Chanyeol’s eye. “I have found my people,” he whispers.
👀 I love your blog!! I think you're a fantastic writer and I always love your stories and really look forward to them. Your incorrect quotes are freaking hilarious too!! Your blog is definitely one of my favorites in the TF fandom. ^.^
A/N: With Halloween coming up I thought I’d do some headcanons in relation to how they’d wanna spend Halloween with them. So yeah, hope you enjoy x
Daryl Dixon: He’d never really had much time for Halloween, but he loved seeing how happy you got when you were decorating the front garden, talking to the local kids about how brilliant their costumes are. He liked seeing you smile as you handed out the sweets.
‘You know,’ he said as you closed the door after some trick or treaters, ‘we should put something out there to make them jump.’
You gasped, grinning at him though. ‘Are you actually trying to help with Halloween stuff?’ you asked, tilting your head.
Maggie Greene: She loved Halloween, but mainly she loved the way she was able to dress up for the party. The two of you always helped one another with your costumes, making sure that everything was as close to how you wanted it as possible.
‘How does it look?’ you asked, turning around and examining the look of your werewolf makeup in the mirror.
‘It looks amazing,’ she assured you, picking at the material of her skeleton dress as she did so, a small smile on her face.
Carl Grimes: He really enjoyed it. He loved the fact that he got to eat loads of sweets; the two of you always went trick or treating and then curled up eating your sweets until one of you feel asleep or felt too sick to continue – which always gained teasing from the other.
‘Good haul this year,’ said Carl, upending his bag onto the floor and pulling off his Batman mask.
‘Really good. Try not to be a wimp this year though,’ you teased him, smirking as you ruffled his hair.
Rick Grimes: He liked pumpkin carving with you because you were both kind of terrible at it. You always sketched out the idea on a piece of paper but it never ended up on the pumpkin. You put the tea lights in carefully, enjoying the way they looked even if the carving looked a little odd.
‘Well, at least the candle can be seen this time,’ you said, tilting your head slightly and comparing the picture and carving.
‘Maybe we could make it look like it was being sick,’ he suggested, tilting the bowl of pumpkin insides slightly.
Carol Peletier: She really liked baking with you, using the pumpkin insides that Sophia had carved out. The two of you always messed around when you were doing this, playing the really cheesy kids party songs and trying to use as much of the pumpkins as you could for the trick or treaters.
‘I think,’ you said, pulling out another batch of cookies which were golden brown, ‘these are the best ones we’ve made yet.’
‘Maybe we should keep them for ourselves,’ she said, pulling out the little Halloween platter she had ready for later.
Glenn Rhee: He really liked Halloween, but he wasn’t too thrilled about your constant desire to prank people from school. He was always by your side though, making sure that you were all right and didn’t get yourself into too much trouble. But he did help from time to time, grinning along with you.
‘This is a bad idea,’ he told you, peering around the corner as your target was approaching the trip wire.
You groaned, draping an arm around his shoulder. ‘Yes, yes it is,’ you agreed, nodding and distracting him. ‘But it’s freaking hilarious too.’
I had to find the commercial I mentioned in my ask and share it with you, because seriously, this is HILARIOUS to me.
@brethewriter THIS IS TOO FREAKING MUCH I WAS CACKLING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FINDING THIS
I can’t even think about Jim and Spock ending up in 1930s Chicago and utterly failing at improvising an explanation for ANYTHING without giggling (which is good because it’s pretty much the one funny moment in an otherwise emotionally wrenching episode). Bonus points for this: MeTV shows Star Trek every Saturday night, and they have a commercial that mishmashes that episode with clips from The Andy Griffith Show, implying they landed in Mayberry instead, which makes me laugh HARDER.
AN: This chapter includes Will’s first appearance and gelato discourse! Annabeth shows up next chapter! I’d just like to say that not every chapter will take place in the shop!
“Look, I’m just saying that that’s not a normal ice cream
flavor,” Percy snaps back, glaring at Nico from his spot on the other side of
the counter before snatching the pencil out of his hand. Nico rolls his eyes
and throws his hands into the air, clearly fed up with having this conversation
again. For the fifth time today. Hell, Percy is sick of the damn
gelato discourse too, but he’s not going to stop until pear and blue cheese
gelato is banned from this shop.
Forever. Never to return again. If he has to order another ten gallon tub of
that nasty ass gelato, he’s going to rip off his boot and eat it. And jokes on
them! If he eats his boot, then all of
them are going to be having a really shitty day as they rush Percy to the
hospital because of the damn leather in his intestines and frostbitten toes.
So, ha! Who’s laughing now, Nico?
The aforementioned boy sighs through his nose and rubs his
forehead, before locking his tired eyes with Percy’s green one’s. His open
oceanography textbook lays forgotten on the counter between them as Percy
twirls Nico’s pencil between his fingers. “Percy,” he half-whines, “just let it
go.” The younger boy sends him another half-hearted glare and what Percy thinks
is a pout. “You’re acting like a child.”
Yeah, says the whining, pouting fifteen-year-old that looks
like the poster child of early two-thousand’s pop-punk music. The pencil in his
hand stops spinning. Wait, Percy
thinks about the piercings in his ears and the ripped jeans and leather jacket
and useless but fashionable fingerless gloves shoved into said leather jacket
adorning his dorm room floor, maybe he’s the poster child of early two-thousand’s
He resists the urge to run a hand through his messy hair.
He’s… he’s Nico, only older and nicer and with better hair. God, this is
horrible! Percy is too young to be a role model! He can barely roll himself out
of bed on the weekend, how is he supposed to show Nico how to be a proper
gentleman-punk? Percy doesn’t know how to adult, yet!
Is this what an existential crisis feels like?
Percy squeezes his eyes shut, counting to ten silently
before opening his eyes once more. Nico peers at him curiously, brows pinched
together and head cocked to the side. He shakes his head, tossing the mechanical
pencil back at the younger male with a flick of the wrist. It catches Nico
off-guard, bouncing off his forehead before clattering to the floor. The other
boy curses, slapping a hand to his stinging skin before ducking down to swipe
the projectile off the ground.
He pops back up glaring at Percy, who merely shrugs and
tries to dismiss the absurd notion that he’s Nico, only older and more smooth with the ladies. Which, frankly,
isn’t really saying much. Nico is horrible with people in general, so anyone is
a step up from him, but Percy? He’s “charismatic” as Grover so kindly put it.
He’s friendly and funny and nice enough, but when it comes to girls he’s always
saying the wrong thing or being “too
sassy,” says Grover.
thinks. There’s no such thing as “to
much” sass. Sass is a fundamental part of who Percy is. I he doesn’t let it out
he’ll blow up, and then they’ll have to call in the hazmat team to clean up
Percy-bits off the walls and wonder why he suddenly exploded. Besides, if the
girls can’t handle his sass, they obviously
aren’t the one for him.
(He tries not to think about the times when girls have
walked out on a date with him because of his bog mouth. Plural. As in, three
dates. In the past year. So far, there hasn’t been a second date. Awesome.)
His gaze snaps back to Nico, the “child” comment still a
fresh wound. “I don’t care!” he growls half-heartedly. “There’s something
inherently wrong with ordering pear and blue cheese gelato when there are a
thousand other flavors to choose from!” He slams his hand down on the counter,
causing Jason, who’s been dozing on the stool beside Nico for the better part
of an hour, to snap awake with so much force that he ends up slapping himself
in the face with a arm that’s fallen asleep—which is freaking hilarious,
but he’s too frustrated to laugh.
Percy ignores him and tries not to think about the small
puddle of drool where Jason’s head used to be. Which Percy will have to clean up, since he seems to be the only competent
Nico scoffs. “Yeah,” he agrees slowly, “and the same could
be said for blue food.” He shrugs as Percy gasps in shock, and Jason stops
prodding at his rapidly swelling nose long enough to send Nico a look of
horror, muttering a soft “dude” under his breath and shaking his head. Travis
and Connor stop wiping down the tables, exchanging a nervous look before
glancing back at the counter.
Percy wonders if “betrayal” could be used as a legitimate
excuse for firing someone. Actually, he’s the manager, he can do whatever the
hell he wants!