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feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes braiding Bucky‚Äôs hair and painting his nails! thank you!!¬† I thought this was cute so I wrote a story for it. ** Practice on Me New York in August, Bucky thinks, is a special kind of hell. He‚Äôs laying on the floor of his apartment with the shades all drawn and a fan blasting directly on him. He‚Äôs wearing nothing but his boxers. His entire body is pressed to the cool hardwood of the floor. There‚Äôs a cold washcloth over his forehead. An iced water sitting next to him. And yet none of it is making a dent in the heat. It‚Äôs thick. It‚Äôs awful. It‚Äôs like breathing soup. ‚ÄúDefinitely hell,‚ÄĚ he says to the dark room. ‚ÄúOne-hundred percent, Grade A, whole wheat hell.‚ÄĚ His phone rings. Bucky cracks an eye open, then gropes around on the floor for it until he can stab at it. ‚ÄúWhat?‚ÄĚ Clint‚Äôs voice echoes through the speaker. ‚ÄúOooh, you sound angry. What‚Äôs wrong?‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúI‚Äôm hot,‚ÄĚ Bucky says. ‚ÄúMy air conditioning is broke, and the guy can‚Äôt fix it until Friday.‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúOh god.‚ÄĚ Clint sounds horrified. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs the worst thing I‚Äôve heard today.‚ÄĚ He pauses, and then says, ‚ÄúWell, second worst. My favorite taco guy was out of the spicy guacamole. I had to settle for regular.‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúIt must be hard being you,‚ÄĚ Bucky says dryly, and Clint laughs. ‚ÄúAnyway. What do you want?‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúI was going to ask if I could come over,‚ÄĚ Clint says. ‚ÄúBut I think now it would be better if you came to my place instead.‚ÄĚ Keep reading : feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes braiding Bucky‚Äôs hair and painting his nails! thank you!!¬† I thought this was cute so I wrote a story for it. ** Practice on Me New York in August, Bucky thinks, is a special kind of hell. He‚Äôs laying on the floor of his apartment with the shades all drawn and a fan blasting directly on him. He‚Äôs wearing nothing but his boxers. His entire body is pressed to the cool hardwood of the floor. There‚Äôs a cold washcloth over his forehead. An iced water sitting next to him. And yet none of it is making a dent in the heat. It‚Äôs thick. It‚Äôs awful. It‚Äôs like breathing soup. ‚ÄúDefinitely hell,‚ÄĚ he says to the dark room. ‚ÄúOne-hundred percent, Grade A, whole wheat hell.‚ÄĚ His phone rings. Bucky cracks an eye open, then gropes around on the floor for it until he can stab at it. ‚ÄúWhat?‚ÄĚ Clint‚Äôs voice echoes through the speaker. ‚ÄúOooh, you sound angry. What‚Äôs wrong?‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúI‚Äôm hot,‚ÄĚ Bucky says. ‚ÄúMy air conditioning is broke, and the guy can‚Äôt fix it until Friday.‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúOh god.‚ÄĚ Clint sounds horrified. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs the worst thing I‚Äôve heard today.‚ÄĚ He pauses, and then says, ‚ÄúWell, second worst. My favorite taco guy was out of the spicy guacamole. I had to settle for regular.‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúIt must be hard being you,‚ÄĚ Bucky says dryly, and Clint laughs. ‚ÄúAnyway. What do you want?‚ÄĚ ‚ÄúI was going to ask if I could come over,‚ÄĚ Clint says. ‚ÄúBut I think now it would be better if you came to my place instead.‚ÄĚ Keep reading

feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes...

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