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notroosterbradshaw · 1 year

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Heatstroke

rooster fam, avert your eyes. here’s some old-school Bucky smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are again. Hope you enjoy x

18+, smut, fluff. Bucky wasn't much of a talker but when he puts his foot in his fat mouth, he has to make amends somehow.

He’d heard you – you knew he had. The serum increased his awareness and blah blah blah, everyone knew his story by now and why you’d found yourself hidden behind the wall leading to the kitchen while Bucky intently studied his tablet, putting God knows what together at the bench.

You should have just stayed in your bedroom and messed around online, kept your laziness to yourself. It was safer than the situation you were about to walk into - of that you were sure. You needed another shower but the heat in the apartment would coat you in perspiration the second you towelled off anyway.

He’d heard your breathing and your elevated heart rate, he could probably smell the sweat of flight taking over as you debated whether or not to just miraculously appear and pretend not to have ducked back around the corner when you saw Bucky there.

“I know things are weird between us, but you hiding when you see me makes it a hellova worse, kitten,” he muttered. You let out an inward sigh, shoulders slumping as you turned and walked in, wiping your clammy palms on your sundress.

“Hey Buck,” you said quietly, taking to a stool across from him.

“What’s happening, babydoll?” he asked casually, not looking up from the herbs he was chopping – he was remarkable with a knife, you noted as he sliced and diced without abandon faster than any chef and much more precisely (you tried not to imagine how and when he learned the art form). You’d always found it strangely sexy when he had a knife in his hands and the precision that came with it – on missions and funnily, now in the kitchen. The smell of whatever was cooking was incredible and you hadn’t even seen what he had in the oven or on the stove. At recollection, it wasn’t his night to cook. It was…

“It’s my night to cook, could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I know you hate cooking for Steve and me, so thought I might cover for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, a little defensive though maybe a little touched.

He shrugged, looking up, a dark wisp of hair falling into his stony eyes and pushing it away with his flesh wrist. “It’s fine, sweetheart. I enjoy it, relaxes me. Consider yourself off the hook.”

Sure I will, you wanted to reply. Everything was tit for tat in the apartment the three of you shared. Bucky would find a way to get an inadvertent favour out of you at some point when you least expected it. “Well… thanks, I guess,” you said instead, finally raising your eyes. You blinked as you noticed the smirk on his features. “But in the interest of your safety, Buck, why are you not wearing a t-shirt under the apron?”

He was a dream in his beige canvas bib apron – it worked wonders against his fair skin and the silver of his cybernetic arm. His biceps, you were pretty sure, had you salivating. His shoulders were broad under the thin straps rippling as he moved his arms to prep.

You fucking loved Summer. Even if the apartment was a thousand damn degrees and usually hotter with the body heat of yourself and two super soldiers who always ran at boiling point. But if Bucky felt the need to parade around half-naked, you weren’t one to argue. It was a true sight to behold.

“Honestly? Felt liberating to be naked,” he licked his upper lip, squinting at the recipe again before humming to himself in thought.

You peeked over the bench and noticed his bare calves and bare feet and had to scoff a laugh. “For fuck’s sake, Bucky. Are you wearing anything?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“What if Steve comes home?”

“I’ll hear him,” he reminded you. “Just like I heard you.”

“And why did you think it would be okay if I saw you like this? You knew I’d come in here to start cooking eventually.”

He stabbed the knife into the wooden chopping back and grinned at you, his eyes locking with yours. “You’re the only one that has seen me in less, sugar. Shouldn’t be that much of a surprise,” he waved his cybernetic hand up and down his torso a little smugly.

You felt the heat rise from your toes to your hair, resting back on your chair and curling in on yourself. “I don’t think we need to bring this up now – ”

He rumbled a laugh low in his belly. “I’m wearing shorts, for fuck’s sake. What kind of deviant do you take me for?” he turned around and wriggled his toned bubble butt in his blue board shorts as you resisted a giggle. They were well hidden due to the length of the apron. “See?”

“Do we really need to go there?” you mumbled as he plucked the knife back up and continued his prep. He didn’t look up but you could see his cheekbones rise into a lurid smile.

“Anytime, anywhere, babydoll. You know that.”

You knew that very well.

You shook your head gently and started to push yourself away. “Righto – well, since it looks like you’ve got it all covered, I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky hummed his disapproval. “Nuh-uh. You, stay. You’re not getting out of it that easily,” he paused to stop and point the knife at you. “I’m cooking and you’re gonna open this bottle of wine,” he said, handing one that was on the bench to you along with the bottle opener (you noticed it was one from Stark’s private collection). “And then we’re going to sit down to eat and talk. Clear the air,” he announced, opening the bottle still in his hands when you didn’t reach for it.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” you said as he sighed and poured you both a generous glass of vivid Bordeaux red.

“Drink,” he repeated. “Then we talk.”

“Cheers to you too,” you muttered though credit where credit was due, Bucky had found a good one. He raised himself a glass and toasted you gently.

“Cheers, sweetheart,” he winked before heading to the stove to continue his assault on the kitchen.

“Where is Steve?” you asked, your second glass well and truly going down a treat, loosening you up considerably. You were in your usual seat as Bucky wandered in, now with a shirt and placed a plate before you and one for him at his usual place across from you.

“No idea,” Bucky shrugged.

You weren’t a complete idiot, he knew this. You assumed this is why he’d volunteered dinner and made sure the bottle of wine was on hand. It was discussion time and Bucky knew what you didn’t want to talk about.

You were resisting taking your relationship to the next level. He hadn’t pressured you, but everything had been pointing in that direction and it terrified you.

It was only supposed to be a joyous and mutually beneficial ‘friends with benefits’-type of arrangement. No harm, no foul to either of you until he mumbled that he loved you ‘so fucking much’ a week or so ago as he drifted off to sleep after a strenuous mission and recovery fuckathon upon his return home.

“It’s only us, isn’t it?” you sighed, taking the salad from the middle of the table and loading your plate up before continuing, “You made sure he’s out for the night.”

“Yeah,” he gave a small smile. “He’s at some bar with Sam and Natalia. It’s just us, babydoll,” he confirmed, taking a sip of his wine and watching your reaction through his dark lashes. He had to admit, he loved seeing you squirm. “I asked him to make himself scarce.”

“Of course you did,” you focused on your (argh, perfectly cooked at medium rare, fuck it) steak and piled it into your mouth as gracefully as you could. Bucky watched you, humoured.

“Well, at least you haven’t bolted yet,” he noted jovially.

“Don’t confuse me sitting here without me wanting to do that,” you sniped, ticked off he’d lulled you into a false sense of security.

“Look,” he delicately sliced his steak and took a bite, chewing as he continued, “I know I threw you, I’m real well aware I should have kept my fat fuckin’ trap shut. I just thought I wasn’t comin’ home to you, okay?” his voice suddenly low and eyes were paying very close attention to his food.

You sat up straighter at his confession and he sighed while your eyes widened. “Bucky… what happened?” you put your wine glass down and pushed your plate away with a clang.

He tried to brush the thought away. “It’s not about that – ”

“Buck, it’s exactly like that,” you stood up and walked around the table. He moved his chair back as you lifted the loose skirt of your dress and crawled onto him to straddle across his lap. “What happened?” you begged, lifting his chin for his stony eyes to meet yours, keeping his jaw in your soft palms. “Look at me.”

His cybernetic hand reached for his face and rubbed his eyes, suddenly he looked exhausted. “Was ambushed,” he said quietly. “I’m not telling you the small details – you don’t needa know – ” he held a hand up to your mouth that was open and ready to protest. “By the time Steve got there, I was the last one standing. Don’t worry.”

“Who?” you asked quietly, your warm hands rubbing against his stubbly cheeks before settling on the back of his neck and massaging his smooth, warm skin, twirling soft hair around your fingers to calm him. He moved to rest his forehead on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging to you for dear life - it was uncommon for Bucky to react this way and it terrified you.

You had to remind yourself all you wanted to do was comfort him. That is what you had agreed to in the very beginning when this mess started. Comfort, familiarity, fun.

Not love.

“They tried the triggers,” he whispered, not looking up, the shame evident in his rough voice. “I know they don’ work any more, but babydoll, I just…” he looked up and inhaled sharply. “I thought I was a goner. I didn’t think I was coming home.”

You kissed his hair, only to imagine his fear as he set the scene for you. The devastation your heart was feeling for him to have to go through that - knowing it was something he’d been through for decades and it constantly repeated for him.

“You’re okay, Buck. I’m right here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Not again,” you cooed on repeat, hoping he knew and understood.

He nodded, pulling you closer. You heard a sniff and he tightened his grip again, knowing how intensely he needed you. “I’m sorry about what I said. But I can’t apologise for how I feel, baby,” his voice so low you almost couldn’t hear it. “I love you.”

You nodded. “I know, Buck,” you replied quietly.

“And as much as you deny it,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel too, sweetheart.”

You raked your hands through his long dark hair hoping to relieve some tension in his body and pulled his gaze back to yours.

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that,” you begged. “Bucky, I do – ”

“I know, I told you,” he said with a small smile, grasping your sides under his strong hands. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready and I promise I won’t be surprised.”

You couldn’t resist the scoff that bubbled to your lips as he brightened considerably, a playful smirk now on his lips. You slid off his thighs and returned to your side of the table, stuffing your mouth with salad, the aura in the room changed for the better. “Times like this make me really not wanna say it,” you huffed.

“Times like this make me really want to bend you over the table and have my way with you,” he retorted as you choked on a piece of cucumber and he took a sip of wine, completely cool and collected. You swallowed hard and had a sip yourself to calm yourself. Resolve set in.

“Then what are you waiting for, big boy?” you challenged as the table lurched and he stood, his predatory stalk around the dinner table as he hitched you from your seat, his breath heavy down your neck as he took you in. “What am I waiting for? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life and now you’re here. You’ll rue the day you asked, princess,” he hitched you over his shoulder and made his way to your room, slamming the door closed with his foot as the walls rattled and he tossed you on the bed, his hungry gaze telling you to you were in strife.

And you couldn’t wait.

The next morning, the other side of your bed was empty. Cool, Bucky must have been up for a while. You sighed, rubbing your tired eyes. You hadn’t gotten much sleep and your tummy was rumbling after missing most of your dinner the night before for other more extraneous activities.

“Buck?” you called quietly, finding your discarded underwear and throwing his t-shirt from the night before on. You ran your hands through your mussed hair and pushed it off your face before padding quietly back to your room to retrieve your dressing gown in case Steve was home. While he was supportive of whatever it was he thought you and Bucky had, he had announced it was only fair the bedtime behaviours weren’t thrown in his face, to which you and Bucky agreed.

But apparently not this morning.

You burst out laughing as you entered the kitchen. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Bucky looked back over his shoulder. “See something you like?”

“Clearly Steve isn’t home yet,” you noted as you approached him and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, sneaking your cold hands under the apron he wore over the stove and touching his scorching skin. He let out a slight shriek at your cool touch. He never was fond of the cold.

Bucky laughed quietly. “No, Steve didn’t come home. Guess he stayed at the Tower.”

“You told him to stay at the Tower too, didn’t you?” you sighed. Poor Steve. Relegated to the Tower from his own apartment so his roommates could do… well, a lot to each other.

“Yeah,” he snorted.

“Gotta say though. A bit of a fan of this naked chef caper you’ve got going on right now,” you gave his body an appreciative once over and weren’t overly surprised to find your body going back into overdrive for him.

“Naked as the day I was born, kitten,” he confirmed as your hands travelled from his broad, muscular shoulders and traced down his bulging biceps (one warm, the other cool under your touch) through to his delts, lats and descending to grab a handful of bare ass that was begging to be groped. He chuckled darkly, wriggling his butt again. “My junk is very close to the hot plate, sweetheart. Don’t get too frisky. It won’t be a desired result for either of us!”

You stifled a giggle. “Never,” you replied, kissing rippled scar tissue on his left shoulder blade. A visible shudder shot through him as he melted like butter under your lips.

“That feels fuckin’ amazin’,” he crooned, his usually well-concealed Brooklyn accent seeping through due to his increased desire, head lolling back a little. His loose dark hair shimmied across his shoulders softly.

“So, what’s cooking here, chef?” you held his hips and loosened the straps to the apron. You felt him pause.

“Uh, pancakes, baby. What’s cooking back there?” he replied as you raised the strap of the apron over his head, letting it pool at his bare feet and leaving him completely undressed. He swiftly turned the burners off. You turned him to face you as he took a step closer and thankfully, away from the stove and loosened your dressing down, curious as to what may be hiding underneath. “I see you dressed yourself again. Musn’t ‘ave got my memo,” his tone a little miffed as you giggled into his skin. “Nice shirt though. Have one similar. Looks better on you, I gotta admit,” he smiled, running his tongue across his gleaming teeth. “Think you should lose it.”

You nodded as he lifted the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere over your shoulder as he hitched you up and sat you on the bench, spreading your knees wide so he could stand between them.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he licked his full, plump lips predatorily. The heat of his gaze eyes screamed passion, lust and maybe a little danger. Humming, he ran his calloused hands from a tug of your hair to the seam of your undies. He forced your gaze to him as he used his cybernetic hand to push them to the side, eagerly sliding his finger between your warm, slippery folds.

It embarrassed you that you were always on for him. Your breath hitched at the coolness his touch brought and goose bumps cascaded across your body.

“This may be the only place in the apartment that I’ve never had my way with you,” he muttered before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of your neck, your scent as well as his cologne on your skin from the day before grounding him.

Resting your forehead on your shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his chest in hopes to keep upright.

“You okay?” he whispered, his tongue tracing the rim of your ear and his thumb drawing patterns on your clit, your reply incoherent. “Should I keep going?” he whispered as he took one of your hands from him and repositioned it around his eagerly awaiting cock.

“You should definitely keep going,” you insisted, your hand with a mind of its own as you swirled the pre-come around the tip of his straining head and put your palm to work, twisting and tugging as his hips started to move off their own volition.

“We eat here,” he grunted. “You pretty little hand tho...”

You gasped as a current ran through your body. “We’ll just make sure we disinfect,” you shuddered before you could finish the sentence. “Really well,” you finally managed as his fingers sent shockwaves through your system. “God, that feels good,” your head fell back as he smiled wickedly, pleased. “But I want you.”

He took a step closer, released your grasp on him and used his hand to slide his cock in just enough before he used his hands to hold your cheeks, he licked your lip and kissed you wet and wildly, his tongue forceful against yours as he moved within you and thrusting gently. Slow to the hilt, knowing exactly how you liked it. It was perfection how well he could make your body succumb to his whim.

“Jesus,” you managed against his mouth. “Bucky,” you breathed as your torsos meshed together.

“I know, baby girl,” he promised, his hips picking up a gentle rhythm, slow and turning you inside out. “It feels fuckin’ amazin’ to me too.”

“I feel it,” you told him, dragging his eyes to meet you. “I feel it,” you confided. The way your heart raced when you were around him, the lust, the need... the devotion to keeping him safe and desire to be all he needed.

You loved Bucky Barnes wildly, madly, terrifyingly so.

“I know, darlin’, I know you love me. I love you so much too,” he sealed your words with a softer kiss, though it seeped with so much passion. “You don’t have to – ” he groaned, unable to hold it back as his hips started moving again. “You don’t have to say it back.”

You managed to push him back at arm's length, his lustfully dark eyes fluttering open as he looked back at you, a little confused. “I do, Buck.”

He breathed, his hands running from your jaw, down the curve of your neck, between your breasts, tickling your belly lightly and resting on your thighs. “Then say it,” he dared.

“I love you, Buck.”

The grin that spread across his face looked like it may have hurt him, his stony eyes shining and the dimples on his cheeks making a rare appearance. “Well, there ya go,” he teased, moving closer again, his lips moving to yours as he returned your affirmation. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You sighed quietly and he shut you up with a firm thrust, reminding you both where you were and the task at hand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him close as his mouth left wet kisses against your skin. He grasped your thighs, getting closer as your head fell back in pure ecstasy. “Need you. Make me cum.”

“I’ve got you, baby doll,” he whispered. “Lemme make you feel real fuckin’ good, okay?” he begged as he moved his warm fingers to your centre again.

“Christ,” you muttered, your gaze dropping to where your bodies met, the sexiest sight and allowing your body to tighten as suddenly all you could see was white, your body quaking as you came undone and collapsed backwards on the bench as he caught you with a humoured huff.

All this power he had over you and the three words said aloud made it even better.

“Yes, baby,” he chuckled lowly, his movements starting to get a little erratic, taking absolutely everything you had to offer to him, not much longer before his hips sped up, bringing him to his climax as well and crashing into you like a freight train as he came, harsh and ragged, desperate. “Jesus, fuck,” he panted, pulling your body impossibly closer. “I love you,” he whispered again, taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “I fucking love you so much. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“I love you too, Buck,” you said again as he gave you a softer kiss, his phone pinging across the counter. “God, that’s not work, is it?” you asked him. You knew your luck was running out, he’d been home for a few days and knew time was dwindling before he was to assemble.

He sighed. “I dunno, sweetheart,” he gave you a meek grin as he gently pulled out, your thighs crossing quickly to avoid a sticky mess across the counter. He sighed and checked his phone. “Worse.”

“Unless it's aliens or robots back to fuck shit up again, it cannot be worse. So, where are you off to?” you sighed sadly.

“Nowhere,” he chuckled. “Steve complaining about livin’ it up in the Tower while we made house here,” he winked. You gave Bucky a shy smile as he rolled his eyes and replied to Steve before picking up the apron and discarded clothes. “Come on, let’s get you showered, love,” he tugged your hair and gave you another gentle kiss. “Then I’ll make you lunch.”

“Dressed?” you asked, hoping to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Probably best,” he sighed, taking your hand and leading you to the bathroom to clean up a long night and another leisurely round against the cool shower tiles. “Grumpy old bastard will be home at some point.”

#make me regret posting this #bucky with the good hair #bucky fluff #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky smut #notroosterbradshaw #posting from another life #if this bombs i'm deleting it

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atom-writings · 8 months

Note

The face fam with a partner who has a dangerous job (police officer, journalist, private investigator) which at one point landed them in the hospital, because of either an accident at work or someone tried to get rid of them. Yet despite what happened they openly told them that they plan to immediately go back to work the moment they're. What will they say to that? Like yes it's admirable, but they were just fatally wounded or that someone actively tried to eliminate them.

hetalia face family with a s/o wounded on the job

2.0k words ~ gender neutral mini scenarios

tw: arthur is having a bad time and is gonna make it your problem, swearing, nondetailed hospital settings

a/n: we here at atom-writings (me its just me) say acab. always

America

Your often life-threatening job is part of the reason Alfred was originally so attracted to you. Yes, you're constantly in danger, but that just makes you even more brave

Like a hero!

He usually doesn't stress out about it that much. Even though there's a risk, he trusts you completely. He could never imagine something actually happening to you. That was until he got a call from the hospital.

“Y/N!” Alfred yells from down the hospital hall. In a moment, he slams against the doorway to your hospital room. He's breathing heavily, hair stuck to his pale face.

Before you can even set your book down to greet him, he's rushing to lock the door and close the blinds.

“Alfred?” You ask, trying to get his attention.

He doesn't respond, frantically securing the hospital room so it's impossible for anyone to enter.

”Alfred!“

Your exclamation made him turn his head for a second, “Yeah?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Making sure the room is safe.”

“The room was already safe, honey,” You say as if you were talking to a child.

“You're damn right it is, I got two men outside the room-”

“Wha-”

“That should be more than enough! But- But I gotta be sure, right?“

”Not right. Alfred, slow down, no one is gonna kill me here-“

He pauses his frantic pacing to look at you, his usually playful face turned stony and serious.

”You don't know that-“

”I do know that. It was just one guy, and it might've been an accident anyway,“ You explain calmly, trying to calm his nerves as he nervously cards his fingers through his sweaty hair.

”But what if it isn't?“

”That's the risk I took when I started this job, okay?“

As you sigh at his dramatics, he rushes to your bedside. Gently, he takes your hands in his.

”This shouldn't have happened.“

”It's alright.“

”It's not alright. I don't want you going back to that job. Please,“ He begs, bringing your clasped hands to his forehead as he looks down, ”Please.“

”I can't do that, Alfred.“

”Why not? You- This could happen again! T-Then what? Do I just have to worry about you all day, every day?“

You nod slowly, “You shouldn't worry... but if that's what me continuing this work means, yeah.

He looks away, his eyes becoming shiny.

“Could you ever just abandon your country?” You say softly, and he pauses, closing his eyes finally.

”No.“

”Then you understand what it's like to be as dedicated as I am. I... I have to go back.“

Slowly, he releases his grip on your hands. He sits back in the chair, opening his eyes again while his face contorts in anger.

”Fine.“

”Fine?“

He sighs, rubbing the side of his face, ”I support you.“

”Thank you, Alfred.“

”No... no problem.“

England

Arthur used to be a lot like you, willing to put his life on the line for a greater goal. He was completely comfortable with risking his life over and over again, but not anymore. No, nowadays he doesn't like doing anything too stress-inducing.

Sometimes he wishes you were more like him, but then he sees how much joy it gives you to help others. He couldn't ask you to change that.

But then he doesn't prevent his worries. Humans are so fragile... what if you leave home and never come back? And unfortunately, it wouldn't take too long for his paranoia to be validated.

The only thing good thing that has happened during this entire affair was that the hospital had apparently called Arthur while you were sleeping. However, that small miracle was immediately undone by waking up to him, pacing nervously back and forth in front of your hospital bed.

”Arthur? You're here?” You stutter out, your voice still slurred from the drugs you had been pumped full of.

“My love!“ He rushes to sit next to you, placing a hand over your cheek, ”What happened? What- Who hurt you?“

You couldn't help but flinch away from his sudden touch, ”It was just- just a hazard of the job.“

“You... almost dying... is just a hazard?” He asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, I mean... at least I survived, right?”

You wait for his response, but he just looks down in anger before standing up.

“Not right,” He spits out, walking to the other side of the room, “NOT fucking right! This- You- I can't believe- How could you do this?”

“Excuse me? How could I do this?”

“Yes! Do you know how much- how worried I was?! All night, all week, every day! You only have one life Y/N, and because of your job, some dickhead almost took it away from you! From both of us!” He exclaims, storming closer to the bed in which you lay.

For what feels like minutes, neither of you says anything. You can't do anything but sit there in shock as Arthur stares deep into your eyes, breathing heavily.

“I'm not going to quit.”

”What?“

”I'm not going to quit.“

”You- YOU ALMOST DIED!“ He yells.

”I know,“ You finally look him in the eyes, challenging him to do anything more, “Are you gonna calm down? Because if you don't, I want you to go outside until you do.“

He steps back, burying his face in his hands and exhaling sharply. Without saying a thing, he walks to the door, turning the nob but not leaving.

”I love you. I'm glad you're not dead,“ He spits out. His words are genuine, despite his harsh tone.

”I love you too. Go calm down.“

Without another word, he gives you a thumbs-up and exits the room.

France

Francis is a sissy in many ways. Like, he will barrel into a powerwasher if he's striking, but also he's scared of being on bridges. So, seeing how nerve-wracking your job is really freaks him out. He always asks, why would you do that to yourself?

But whatever your answer is, he still respects you. He couldn't do it, so someone has to, he guesses.

That doesn't stop him from worrying about you though. He trusts you completely, but it's other people he doesn't have any faith in!

You have to constantly reassure him that everything is alright. But, one day, his worst fears came true.

Once you were filled with sleep medication, prescribed by the readily waiting staff, it didn't take long for you to fall asleep. But instead of finally resting, your brain subjected you to horrible, confusing dreams.

At first, there was only a robot. Beeping quietly while eating at a dinner table across from you. But it was quickly joined by a loud, squawking yellow bird on its shoulder. You tried to escape your chair to shut it up, but you only found you couldn't move, even as the bird continued screeching.

Eventually, it became loud enough for you to jolt awake. But the squawking didn't stop, no, it was only clearer now.

Even the beeping of your heart monitor couldn't distract you from the yelling outside your door. Slowly and painfully, you sat up.

Turns out the screeching yellow bird was in reality, the sound of your boyfriend's anguished wailing. You couldn't understand what he was saying through the haze of the drugs, but even without that, his yelling sounded more French than English.

For a second, you caught his eye. He turned back to the doctor, before finally registering that you were looking back at him. In a flash, he ran up to you. He nearly tore out the IV in your arm as he wrapped you in a painful hug.

”Agh- Francis!“ You yelp and he quickly pulls away, looking sheepish.

”I'm sorry- I'm really sorry- Are you ok? Please, tell me you're alright, dearest!“ He sputters out frantically, taking your hands in his.

”I'm ok.”

“Thank GOD! I was so worried, my love,” he presses a soft kiss against the back of your hand, “I heard everything that happened, I can't believe it... what a horrible accident. I'm so sorry that happened.”

You can't help but chuckle at his overly emotional demeanour, “I survived, that's all that matters.”

He smiles, ”Now this... it is not going to happen again, right?“

”Well... I mean- I'm not gonna quit.“

”You're not?“ He looks at you in disbelief.

”No, I still got stuff to do there. Plus, I really... can't imagine my life without that job, Francis.“

He remains quiet for a moment, his face conflicted. Gently, he sets your hands down again and leans closer.

”Well, then let's get you healed up as soon as possible, Dear. We cannot have you missing too much.“

Canada

Oh boy. You're gonna stress out Matthew so much. He's already worried about so much all the time, and now he has to worry about you getting killed on the job too?

It won't take you getting hurt for him to beg for you to not do something so dangerous.

But he'd never push the issue. He knows you're doing something good, and it makes you happy, he just wishes it couldn't take you away from him.

So when it almost does, he doesn't take it very well...

This was perhaps the first time you'd ever woken up before Matthew. Normally, he'd be the one to shake you awake, promising to take care of you that morning. But today, your eyes fluttered open only to see him, his head on your lap, fast asleep.

Slowly and hesitantly, you reached out to pet his soft golden hair... but were interrupted as the motion started him awake. He shot up, hitting his head on your hand and yelping.

”Y/N! You're awake!“ He groggily exclaims, a huge smile plastered onto his face.

”Ye-“ You were promptly cut off by him suddenly rushing forward to hug you, pulling you against his chest tightly, “M-Matthew...”

“Sorry!” He let go, blushing a little, “Oh, uh, and sorry about all... the t-things...“

You were about to ask what he was referring to before you followed his eyes, looking over to your other side to see a pile of stuffed animals, chocolates, and other gift shop items.

Turning back to him, you rhetorically asked, ”You were busy, huh?“

”I'm sorry! I- Well, I couldn't sleep last night... so... that's how I kept myself busy...“

”Wait, when did you fall asleep?“

”I think like... 5?“

”It's 7.“

”Yeah...“ He rubs the back of his neck nervously, looking embarrassed.

”Matthew...“ You coo, but he quickly stops you.

”It's alright. I don't care about that. Are you ok?“

”It... hurts a lot. But, I guess I'm alive... so I'm ok.“

”Oh, you poor thing! I told you you should've quit a long time ago, then this... this nightmare wouldn't have happened!“ He tells you, looking at you comfortingly.

But all you could do was shake your head, ”It was worth it.“

He starts to speak, but you continue, “Yeah, this isn't preferable, but as soon as I'm capable, I'm heading back there.”

“Why... I- Honey, please- Please don't. For your sake...”

”I gotta.“

”You don't have to! I make more than enough to support both of us-“

”I like my job, Matthew.“

He pauses, his eyes becoming glossy. Before he starts to talk again, he wipes his nose, ”Please... I'm so scared...“

”Scared? You're not the one doing the work-”

“I'm scared that next time you won't make it out alive!” He tells you firmly, choking back a sob.

“Matth-”

“I know it makes you happy! But- But is it worth dying for?”

“I won't die. Even if I did... yeah, it was worth it.”

He wipes his eyes, looking up at you with an uncomfortable smile, “I guess... I guess then... then it's fine.”

“I don't want to upset you,” You reach out to intertwine your fingers with his.

“I know. It's... It's gonna be ok.”

“It's gonna be ok.”

#heta tag #hetalia imagines #hetalia x reader #aph england x reader #arthur tag #hws england x reader #alfred tag #aph america x reader #hws america x reader #francis tag #aph france x reader #hws france x reader #matthew tag #aph canada x reader #hws canada x reader

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kandisheek · 2 months

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FIC REC WEEK 10 – FOUND FAMILY

If it ain't baroque, don't fix it by idioticfangirl

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Pietro/Peter, Clint/Natasha, Wanda/Sam Rating: G Words: 1,740 Tags: Disneyland, Team Bonding, Crack

Summary: Much to her mother's chagrin, the Avengers take Cassie out for a 'family' day at Disneyland

Reasons why I love it: They're all such idiots, ugh, I love them. Scott the concerned parent is adorable as hell, and the team scattering in a million different directions feels like exactly what would happen if someone made the mistake of letting them into Disneyland. This fic is adorable, and we get way too little Scott in this fandom as is, so I highly encourage you to give this one a read!

Laser Tag, You're It! by Corsets_and_Cardigans

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,223 Tags: Team Bonding, Laser Tag, Established Relationship

Summary: Bucky found that the future held a lot of new things. Scary, wild, fun, things. Things they never thought of back in the day. Things they did think of that hadn’t come to pass, or were long since outdated. But one of the best things, he’d found, was laser tag.

Reasons why I love it: Steve, Bucky, horny jail for both of you! Though to be fair, who could resist Tony Stark wearing black tac gear? I love all the team hijinks, and the laser tag scene is super well written! This fic is fantastic, and I hope you check it out for yourself!

Cake Toppers And Fireball Piñata by Naivelittleprincess

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 1,709 Tags: Birthday, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Crack

Summary: For a bunch of master assassins, spies, and superhumans, the Avengers are lousy at secret keeping. Forget world domination or holding lives hostage, their enemies should just get Earth's mightiest heroes to plan a birthday party and be done with it. Tony's surprise(?) birthday bash.

Reasons why I love it: Awww, look at the Avengers trying to keep secrets. I'm sure this won't end in absolute disaster. Steve and Bucky are ADORABLE in this, and I really love how nonchalant Tony is about this entire ordeal. Plus, the party at the end sounds like so much fun, I want to be there. This fic is great, and I hope you give it a shot!

Clint Barton is an Excellent Final Girl by Bella_Dahlia

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Bucky/Clint Rating: T Words: 3,711 Tags: Avengers Movie Night, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pining Tony

Summary: It's movie night, and our favorite only slightly dysfunctional super hero fam watches Nightmare on Elm Street. That's it, that's the fic.

Reasons why I love it: I agree 100% with Peter that Nightmare on Elm's Street is required viewing. This fic is so much fun, I love all of the team shenanigans, and of course, Peter's take on Stony's hopeless flirting is hilarious. I love this one, and I bet you will too!

Christmas Steve by Just_Bill

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 1,514 Tags: Domestic Avengers, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree

Summary: When a friendly Christmas brawl gets out of hand Natasha knows the perfect stand-in tree.

Reasons why I love it: One does not simply challenge Steve, I suppose. This fic is so funny, what with the whole team being utterly resigned to what's going to happen and acting accordingly. I really love the Stony in this too, they're so cute together. This fic is lovely, and I hope you go and check it out for yourself!

#marvel #stony #fanfic #fic rec #fanfic rec #ficrec #a year in fanfic recs #avengers family

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party-gilmore · 1 year

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To PROPERLY follow the tradition of Die Hard, considering Violent Night is of course the spiritual sequel bastard love child of it and Home Alone, we now of course need a sequel with higher stakes.

May I propose: Jingle Hells.

[spoilers for Violent Night below]

During the events of Violent Night, an ancient enemy of Nicumond the Red, sleeping/locked away, deep within the earth/ancient vault prison, begins to stir.

His enemy has spilt blood again, for the first time in millenia... He can feel it. The stains of his past seeping into the frigid ground, vibrating the threads of destiny tying the two together.

Enraged, not so much at the fact that his enemy still lives and breathes but more because Nicumond has dared to pretend to be something else, to have hung up his hammer for so long, to have run from their eternal struggle...

After an X year long struggle to free his bonds, fueled by a renewed and raging thirst for vengeance, he BURSTS forth from the earth and streaks across the sky through the glimmering trail of the aurora borealis and a conduit, looking to all like a red comet burning away all the glimmering blue and green.

Santa is unprepared, unready. His adventure a few years past, he is no longer actively repressing his memories and accepts that they are part of him, but has still tried not to tap into the violence any more than absolutely necessary. Perhaps a scene or two of Mrs. Claus recognizing the restlessness in him now that it's been awoken, and doing her best to help him express it - pulling him away between breaks for axe throwing and mead, or some fun flirtatious sparring, a couple of other cute couples scenes that are just... sliiiightly violent. in adorable ways (with I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus playing in the BG) - so that he exercises it a little and gets it out just enough it doesn't bottle up and explode.

But it's not enough to fend off his ancient enemy with multiple millennia's worth of rage and vengeance.

After a brief battle, he's dragged down between the cracks in the earth, between the thin slots in the very dimensions themselves, molten rock sizzling and hissing as the craggy ravines begin to seal themselves up behind to leave only the corpses of his elven color guard littering the room as evidence - but not fast enough to avoid Mrs. Clause, jovially entering the room with a tray of cookies.

The platter clatters to the floor, cookies crumbling and scattering everywhere. She takes in the scene, hand to her heart, eyes darting as her brain processes just what's happened.

Then we hear the music change and see her eyes grow stony cold and those low drums from the Nicumond The Red score on the original OST pick up but it's a slightly different melody/song used for her theme and we get the dramatic montage of her braiding her hair and putting half of it up and now for the first time we see the shaved and tattooed side of her head and strapping her Good Boots on and swapping out the floofy dress for war leathers and furs and she grabs her husband's hammer in one hand and her own ornate axe in the other and it's full on silver haired visible buff strength under rotund fat and I can not stress this enough sexy as fuck

Anyways that's the plot of the second movie, she's gotta fight his minions through a couple layers of Holiday Hell to save her husband being held captive by Some Guy He Literally Hasn't Thought About In Millennia And Honestly Kind Of Forgot About And Can't Even Remember His Name, But Who Is Convinced They Are Archenemies With Massive Beef.

Layers include but are not limited to:

Black Friday at Walmart

Creepy Desatured Foggy Massive Christmas Tree Forest Canopy With Ornament Rigged Up Ass Shrapnel Grenades That Explode in Puffs Of Bright Neon And Shattering Glass And The Sound Of Bells, Having To Leap From Huge Branch To Huge Branch As She Fights With Nothing But Eternal Dark Fog Below Shoild She Fall

Silent Hill Style Abandoned Mall Christmas Village

A Distorted Memory Of A Happy Family Christmas Dinner Designed To Try And Trick Her Into Stopping, To Lure Her With A Dream Promise Of Peace And Happiness And Family And Everyone All Okay And Back Home Together (something something tragic child related backstory? a lost sheep son seeming like he's finally come home? a daughter who fell in battle?) That She Has Manage To See Through And Then Kill Everyone She Loves Even Though She Knows It's Not Real It's Not Real Its Not-

Inside A Snowglobe That Keeps Getting Jostled and Shaken And Turned On It's Various Sides For Sick Matrix Style Gravity Changing Fight Scenes

Interspersed with increasing comical scenes of meanwhile back at Hell HQ, Santa is tied up and bloody and frantically wracking his brain and trying to ask leading questions to figure out who the FUCK this guy torturing him IS without clueing the obvious megalomaniac into the fact he's... got no fucking idea.

The big key point the MOST important part of the movie is the way Santa's face lights up and the way he looks at his wife when she kool-aid man's through wall to save him all bloody and clothes torn and hair in disarray and wild eyes, just the biggest brightest most utterly devoted 'I love a woman who can kick my ass' expression possible in the history of time and space.

#violent night #violent night spoilers #violent night sequel #(fan plot)#jingle hells

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sweetearthandnorthernsky · 1 year

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tag from @thalion71; ty fam :D

post the last sentence/line from your WIP or wherever you left off in your art.

Morinel’s face grew stony and dark as Narmeleth told them of the fall of Tham Mirdain and even needed to walk away to collect herself as Narmeleth told of how she had fought and even partially wounded Celebrimbor before the Enemy himself took him into captivity.

brain is currently soup rn; so if you see this n wanna do it, consider yourself tagged!

#my fic #theoretically i think this is going to end up creating a One Shot but for now this is what it is in the Doc tm #tag games #og post

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ao3feed-crimeboys · 1 year

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Fool the Mastermind

by TheKidwBlueGlasses

Movement in the shadows caught Tommy's eye then: a figure was hunched over itself on its hands and knees, the lingering flames of green fire dissipating around it. It stood up. Tommy's breath hitched.

Wilbur.

It was Wilbur. Alive. He turned to face them, his face was a stony mask and Tommy felt a rock drop into the pit of his stomach. Oh fu- ________________________________ this was inspired by fanart made by tamatojam on twitter! I kinda just blacked out while looking at it one day and all of a sudden, its 2 am and now I'm posting it. Oh well.

Words: 2197, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), other mentioned characters

Relationships: Tommyinnit & Wilbur Soot, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: Inspired by Fanart, by tamatojam!, who you should go check out btw, Wilbur Soot's Resurrection, Alternate Scene, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, just a smidge, Deity Wilbur Soot, Child of Death Wilbur Soot, Deity TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Chaos Deity TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, all I'm gonna say fam, is Dream greatly miscalculated dudes, crimeboys enjoyers come get yalls juice, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Unhinged Tommyinnit, Feral Tommyinnit, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

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random-writerings · 1 year

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My Yaz

Masterlist // AO3

“But if I can’t be The Doctor,” The Master used his control to redirect the Qurunx’s energy beam towards The Doctor, “neither can you.”

The Doctor cried out in pain, falling to the ground. She lay there, unconscious, unmoving, while the Qurunx destroyed the planet. From inside the TARDIS, the companions watched in shock, unsure what to do. Yaz was the first to move, rushing out to help The Doctor. Her fear of losing The Doctor pushed all other thoughts from her mind. All she could focus on was making sure The Doctor was alright.

She ran across the stony ground, trying to keep her balance as the whole planet shook. She reached The Doctor and picked her up. Yaz spared a quick glance at the unconscious Master but turned back towards the TARDIS. The Doctor’s safety was the only thing that mattered to her. Besides, this was his plan, and if it blew up in his face, then that was his problem, not hers.

Yaz carried The Doctor bridal style, holding her close as the Qurunx continued tearing the planet apart. The TARDIS opened its doors for them while the other companions hurried over to check on The Doctor.

“She’s fine,” Yaz said, sounding as though she was trying to reassure herself more than the others. “She’s fine.”

She gently lowered The Doctor to the floor, the companions gathering around. They all reached out, each holding a part of her body, like her head or arm, supporting her. The Doctor began to stir, gasping softly. The Doctor glanced around, looking up at the worried faces of her companions. Her friends. Her family.

“Extended fam,” she muttered, smiling. Then her eyes landed on Yaz. “And my Yaz.”

She felt drowsiness creeping up on her once more, so she kept her eyes on Yaz. She wasn’t sure what would happen next. If this was it, if her time was ending, then she wanted Yaz to be the last thing she saw.

Her eyes closed as she passed out again.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfic #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #thirteen x yaz #thasmin #thasmin fanfic #i'll love you 'til the end of the earth

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midnight-mama · 2 years

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Canon Muse info

These are the notes for my canons♡ These are NOT debatable.

☆I don't ship: Butchie(Butcher/Hughie), Stucky(Steve/Bucky), Stony(Steve/Tony), ThorJane, or Thoki(Thor/Loki).

-This ain't me knocking these ships or telling you that you can't like them. Do you, fam.

☆9/10 I'm not writing anything romantic related with Butcher. That's just not how I write that muse.

☆I ship based on chemistry here. Therefore, I don't really plan on making plots that have pre-established relationships often. I do sometimes, though.

☆This whole blog is multiship. That includes both my Ocs and Canons

☆I write ALL my muses as Bisexual. The only expectation is A-train. He's more so exploring his Sexuality when I write him.

☆My characterization is based on Canon material and my headcanons. Please don't come debating with me on how I write my muses.

#muses #Muse info

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elwenyere · 3 years

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A Very Small Grease Fire (and Other Human Disasters)

(Thanksgiving ficlet for the Stony and Avengers fam; also on AO3)

The Avengers didn’t have the best track record with Thanksgiving. The first time the dinner had ended in disaster, it had been Steve’s fault. One rainy fall Sunday, just months after the Battle of New York, Steve had been picking at a bowl of mint-chip ice cream, feeling tired of getting looks of sympathy about the holidays and absolutely exhausted by feeling sorry for himself. If Bruce and Clint hadn’t chosen that particular afternoon to ask him whether there was anything special he wanted for Thanksgiving – raising the question with just enough gentleness to make Steve’s jaw tighten – he probably would have said, “I’m a sweet potatoes guy” and left it at that.

Instead, Steve had been seized by a spirit of mischief. Putting on his most morose poker face, he had proceeded to invent a series of Depression-era dishes, from “Hoover Rolls” to “Poor Man’s Potatoes,” the recipes for which he concocted out of the blandest ingredients he could imagine. By the time he was in the process of describing his third Crisco-based dessert, Steve was sure he had gone far enough to reveal the joke; but Bruce and Clint had continued nodding encouragingly and jotting down notes.

The results had been borderline inedible. And even though the sight of Tony doubled over with laughter when Steve finally fessed up had thawed out a part of his heart he hadn’t even known was still on ice, the experience of eating a holiday dinner in which half the dishes tasted like over-starched socks forced even Steve to admit that the prank had been a bit of a Pyrrhic victory.

The second time…well, Steve would have said the second time was his fault too – though he supposed the rest of the team would blame the extremists who tried to kidnap the governor. Clint had just started basting the turkey when the “Assemble” alarm went off, and the team had to pile in the Quinjet to deal with a hostage situation at the capitol. It should have been an easy job – in and out with plenty of time to take the butter for the piecrust out of the freezer – but then one of the extremists had pulled the pin on a grenade just yards away from a state senator’s eight-year-old son, and four hours later Steve was waking up in the burn unit at Walter Reed hospital with the anguished sound of someone shouting his name still ringing in his ears.

“You fucking idiot,” the same voice had greeted him, and Steve looked up to see Tony sitting by his bed, the lines around his eyes drawn tight over a surgical mask. “You’re supposed to be a tactical genius, and you haven’t learned a single new method for containing explosives since basic training in 1943? I’m going to equip your suit with goddamn ballistic plates.”

“Tony,” Steve managed, feeling a halo of pain radiate up his scalp. “Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”

Steve thought he saw something mist across Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The more fully he became aware of his body, the more he noticed the pull of his skin cells contracting in uneven loops around the burns on his torso, and it was taking a considerable amount of energy to keep Tony’s face in focus.

“Everybody’s fine but you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “And the doctors said you should be able to move to the general floor in a few hours. So shut those baby blues and let the serum do its job, because there’s a whole team of keyed-up superheroes waiting to see you, and they’re emptying the hospital vending machines fast enough to cause a run on the Frito-Lay factory.”

Steve had drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that, finally waking up long enough to eat a holiday dinner of contraband take-out, which Natasha had smuggled into the hospital using only Thor’s tendency to knock over delicate instruments and Bruce’s oversized jacket.

“When you sign up to be an Avenger, no one warns you about doing overtime as a falafel mule,” Bruce had mused, leaning back to let Natasha steal a fry off his plate.

“I still think we could have gotten that eighth kebab if you’d been willing to consider pant legs as additional real estate,” she told him.

"You should all be eating stuffing and pumpkin pie,” Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here on Thanksgiving.”

“Listen, Cap,” Clint replied, waving a dolma at him, “if you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for the purgatory potatoes you tricked me into making last year. At least this year we have food that doesn’t have the texture of fast-drying cement.”

“Those tubers had truly been abandoned by the gods,” Thor agreed solemnly. “But I maintain that the Big Band Banana Pie was actually quite delicious.”

“Just don’t make the third-degree burns and hypovolemic shock a holiday habit, Rogers,” Tony put in. “Some of us are trying to watch our blood pressure.”

Tony had leaned over to adjust the settings on Steve’s bed as he spoke, and by the time he finished, a dull tugging sensation across Steve’s chest had loosened – the pain subsiding almost before Steve could register that it had been bothering him.

So that was why, after two years of throwing wrenches in the Avengers’ Thanksgiving plans, Steve was determined to make sure that year three went off without a hitch. He’d drawn up an elaborate plan for maximizing the utility of the Tower kitchen’s two ovens and seven burners and for optimizing the team’s various culinary skills. The operatives had been briefed the night before, and by 10:30 AM on Thursday, Steve was fluting a pie crust, Bruce was stripping fresh thyme leaves into an herb blend, Clint was whipping up a roux for the mushroom gravy, Thor was mashing potatoes and parsnips in an industrial-strength metal vat, and Natasha was dicing carrots and celery with a speed and precision that felt vaguely unsettling.

After checking the team’s progress against his itinerary, Steve turned to the next task on his own list: bringing Tony Stark his emergency coffee. Bruce had just made a second pot, and Steve poured some into the largest cup he could find: a purple novelty mug, featuring a drawing of the Hulk and the words “You Wouldn’t Like Me Without My Coffee.” He paused to tuck a few biscuits into a napkin (Tony’s relief at sighting fresh coffee sometimes opened up a narrow window during which Steve could feed him breakfast without being noticed), and headed down to the lab.

He found Tony standing with both arms braced against his worktable, designs for what looked like the paneling of Steve’s uniform projected in front of him. Steve cleared his throat, and Tony whirled around, the slump of his shoulders morphing into a graceful lounge by the time he was facing Steve.

“I was just about to come up,” he said. “I have a few finishing touches left here and then I’m all yours, Cap. Give me everything that can survive being the tiniest bit overcooked.”

Steve walked over to put Tony’s coffee on the table and then felt his breath catch in his throat when Tony reached out and took the mug from his hand instead.

“There’s no need,” Steve responded to cover his reaction, flexing the hand that had brushed Tony’s as he let it fall back to his side. “We’ve got the schedule covered for now. I was actually hoping I could talk you into a snack break.”

He waved the napkin of biscuits experimentally.

“Are you cutting me from the Thanksgiving roster, Rogers?” Tony asked. “Just because one time I set a very small grease fire – which I contained almost immediately, by the way.”

“The vase I broke when I sprinted into the kitchen would beg to differ,” Steve smiled. “But it’s not that. I just wanted to do this for you: a big dinner and sitting down with family.”

“For me?” Tony blinked at him. “Why?”

Steve started to cross his arms across his chest before realizing that he would risk crushing the biscuits. He settled for clasping his wrist with his free hand instead, widening his stance slightly and taking a deep breath. Come on, Rogers. Take it on the chin.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I woke up in this century alone,” he said, “and that you were the first person stubborn enough to make sure I wouldn’t stay that way. Now I wake up to a kitchen full of people who tease me about my lists but who know why I need them – who will eat dinner rolls that taste like soggy chalk just to make me feel at home.” He paused. “People who stay by my side for eight straight hours at the hospital.”

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, his heart rate picking up speed as memories of those same eyes flashed through his mind in quick succession: tearing up with laughter over a plate of cornstarched bananas, pinched with fear over a surgical mask, narrowed in concentration over the remote control for an adjustable bed.

“Romanov has an awfully big mouth for a spy,” Tony said with a rueful smile.

“I think it was a tactical leak,” Steve acknowledged, “to motivate her mark. She knew I needed a push. Because I’ve messed up the past two years, and I needed to tell you: pretty much everything I’m thankful for in my new life is here because of you.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes darting quickly across Steve’s face as if JARVIS were scanning it for data. Steve held up under the silent scrutiny as long as he could before letting out an explosive breath.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt you,” he said quickly. “You’ve got work to do, and I’ve got to go make sure everything’s on track upstairs. I’ll uh – I’ll have Bruce come get you when dinner’s ready.”

He started to make an about face toward the door, but Tony caught his arm and held him in place.

“Give a guy a goddamn minute, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m having to do a major cognitive reboot over here. It takes a while for the operating system to come back online. Just…sit down? Let me show you the new flame retardants I’m adding to your uniform.”

Steve complied. And as he watched Tony run through the specs, gulping coffee and nibbling absently at the biscuits, he realized that he knew what Tony was saying even before Tony finally spoke the words: “I’m thankful every time you wake up.”

#stony #stevetony #stony fic #festive ficlets #avengers as family #idiots in love #they're human disasters your honor #this got out of hand #and personally I blame every single character in this Tower #happy thanksgiving #stony fam

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