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Yknow I never thought that I’d cry reading smut, yet here we are😭
Sleeping With A Friend
summary: You wake up in Bucky’s bed after a night you’re certain will only break your heart. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.6k warnings: smut (18+), idk no real other warnings this time folks, two love sick idiots pining for one another? a/n: this was written for @fvckingavengers’s quarantine writing challenge ! I had the prompt of Sleeping With A Friend by Neon Trees ✨
And why mess up a good thing baby? / It’s a risk to even fall in love So when you give that look to me / I better look back carefully ‘Cause this is trouble / Yeah, this is trouble I’m scared but if my heart’s gonna break / Before the night will end I said, ooh ooh / We’re in danger / Sleeping with a friend
You’re woken by a glimpse of sunlight as it streams in through the bedroom window. It escapes through the sliver between the curtains and you tuck your face into the crook of something warm. Still, it eclipses over your shoulder and you grunt a little as it seeps beyond closed lids and beckons you awake; gentle, at first, but there’s something in its presence as your eyes flutter open that exposes the room around you.
You feel it as you lift your head from the comfort of a broad, bare shoulder, as the delicate touch of a hand slips off your spine and falls to the mattress – a pang of regret. It boils deep down into your stomach. It takes a swift hold of you as your heart starts to race and you glimpse down to the face of a man you’d loved almost as long as you’d known him. A man you’d sworn off, a man who occupied the entirety of your heart and soul and still, always at an arm’s length.
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This is so good!!!
Crucible
Moppet!Douxie x GN!Reader, Soulmate AU | Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Warnings: Fire/Explosion, lots of crying, self esteem issues, misunderstandings cause a lot of emotional turmoil
Note: This is my first fic! I know fics have it worse than art, but if you’d consider leaving tips in the comments, I’d be super grateful! Thanks for taking a look!
It was springtime in Camelot, near the turn of the season. The sun was high, the birds were singing, and you… were late. As a magic user, your life was in constant jeopardy regardless of your employment as the Crowmaster, Crowlord Corbin’s apprentice, penning and sending letters for the kingdom. And in this kingdom, tardiness was not appreciated. Racing through the castle halls with the king’s letters in hand, you noticed movement on your forearms.
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A truly great chapter, it was adorable!
Almost A Thousand Years - The Lady of the Lake | Hisirdoux Casperan
Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]
Word Count: 7,269
Warnings: angst angst angst angst angst, (Y/N) has decided to try and fight those talking doors
A/N: HERE Y’ALL GO
Taglist: @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander
Under the cover of darkness, you found somewhere a little more private where you couldn’t be overheard, sending Archie to watch over past Douxie and, if he saw them, past you.
The small room was dimly lit, reminding you of other places you had visited; ones lit by candles that smelled of herbs and blood. The familiarity was comforting, and to be honest, you really needed that at that exact second. You heard Douxie shut the door, using magic to lock it, while you moved to lean on the wall near the window. You stared at your hands. There was a slight tremor in your fingers. You almost felt sick.
“(Y/N), you don’t- you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” despite his desperation to understand the situation earlier, he didn’t want to force you into anything you didn’t want to do. But this wasn’t optional. You had to tell him.
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This note was supposed to appear in a Christmas fanfic, but after @acesandocs sent me an ask about RoMaunce "Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)" with an art request, I made a decision to post both the fic and the note much earlier. The fic is under the cut, enjoy the Christmas spirit in the middle of summer. :D
Bonus: the fic also tells the story of The Most Ridiculous Scarf's creation. x))
The Winter Wonder
Working until the last client was an awful practice.
Mau couldn't remember when she had gotten a good night's sleep. Hiding behind the storefront window, she rested her head on her hands folded on the counter and tried her best to keep from falling into slumber. She might have fallen asleep for real if it hadn't been for the cheerful music that was playing from the radio.
“Let's not disturb Miss Maura,” a cheerful whisper sounded barely audible next to Mau. A few coins tinkled quietly as they fell onto the counter, and two visitors headed for the exit.
She didn't instantly realize what was happening, and raised her head too late. Before the front door slammed shut, all she could see was Rocky wrapping a threadbare blue scarf around his neck with one hand, and gently pushing his cousin toward the street with the other.
The two young men who frequented the eatery, and who were different from most of the visitors, were constantly drawing a lot of suspicious stares. When Rocky had first brought his redheaded cousin to the place a few months ago, it had been noon on a workday, and the workmen who lunched at the eatery had become strangely quiet when the two young men had taken the only available table near the exit. Until that day, Rocky had always sat at that table for some reason, but every time he had been lucky enough to come to the eatery when there were few or no other guests. On his first visit with Calvin, though, it was as if he had deliberately chosen the busiest time of day. Like he wanted them to be noticed. But Rocky had guessed, apparently, that they had attracted too much attention, and since then, alone or with his cousin, he had shown up at the eatery either when honest people were busy working or at closing time, when honest people were getting ready for bed.
Such was the case to-day.
“And the following composition will immerse you…”
With a click of the switch on the radio panel the main room fell into silence. Despite the approaching Christmas, Mau was in a horrible mood, and even with all her love of music, she had no desire to listen to another sickeningly festive song. It was a cloudy, unusually snowy day in St. Louis, and Mau was apparently infected by its grayness, so even her usual chores were draining. Mau's father and the owner of the eatery, Mister Augusto Venza, had been away for a couple of weeks in Chicago on extremely urgent business, so Maura had to serve the clients alone and, moreover, had to meet 1928 all by herself. Though she was rather glad of the latter.
There will be no fuss.
Slowly, one by one, Mau counted the coins that Calvin and Rocky had left as payment for the coffee, and was surprised to find a piece of paper folded several times next to them. Unfolding it, Mau saw some amusing, almost childish, drawings in red crayon. On the first one, she herself was sleeping with a terribly sullen expression in a daisy field under a big, angry raincloud. In the second, Rocky held a sheep, which resembled a cloud of cotton candy and was eagerly munching on that raincloud, above his head, while the cartoonish Mau was already smiling. Next to these sketches was a wry caption:
“Don't be sour! Let sweet dreams eat all the bitter thoughts. R.”
Chuckling, Mau shook her head. She scrutinized the drawing for another minute or so, then sat down on the floor behind the counter and pulled one of the wooden baseboards towards herself.
“Come on, stop being stubborn…”
Finally, the baseboard gave way, revealing a narrow gap at the bottom of the counter that Mau used as a stash for part of her tips. She folded the sheet tighter and put it with the notes Rocky had sometimes left on his previous visits.
The front door suddenly swung open, letting cold air into the room. Mau's heart leapt, and she hastily pushed the wooden flap against the gap, then hastily stood up from the floor and shook off her knees.
“What is it, my dear? Are the spoons running away from you again?” the old Missis Bruno creaked in Italian.
“You have a keen eye,” Mau answered her also in Italian and added: “The usual for you?”
The woman nodded and headed for the far table. As she looked at her, Mau noticed the bright green knitted scarf under her coat and walked to the kitchen to serve Missis Bruno her favorite cheese ravioli.
“You have such a lovely scarf,” she said as she passed by. “Where did you get it?”
“Knitted it myself,” the woman's eyes flashed with pride. “There's some wonderful yarn at Scaffidi's now.”
“You're such a talented needlewoman,” Mau said, putting the pot on the stove. “I can't knit at all.”
The eatery became awkwardly quiet for a moment. Maura's revelation made Missis Bruno squirm uncomfortably in her chair. The mere thought that a woman of Mau’s age could not knit not only disturbed her, but appalled her. From the kitchen, Mau couldn't hear the old woman muttering worryingly to herself:
“Poor girl, there was no one to teach her…”
But even that wasn't enough of an excuse for her. She had friends, neighbors, and yet Maura Venza, at the age of twenty-two, could not knit! It's not a long way to ruin one's fate, thought Missis Bruno, nervously rubbing her napkin in her fingers. No, she could not let it go! A little while later, she said loudly:
“This is just unacceptable. What's your father thinking about? Certainly not that his daughter is so mature and can't knit. That's embarrassing,” her tone changed from condemning to admonishing. “Tell you what, Mau, honey, I'll teach you how to knit. It's easy, you'll see. Mama left you needles and yarn, didn't she?”
“I don't think so. Even if she did, it remained in Kansas City,” Mau lied habitually, barely containing a grin. She was amused at Missis Bruno's attitude toward such things. No wonder, though; things had been different when she had been young. Mau couldn't prove to her that knitting wasn't a required skill now.
“Not good. Not good at all,” the old woman continued to wail. “Back in my days…”
Mau sincerely hoped Missis Bruno hadn't heard the low chuckle that escaped her lips. She pulled a small bag out of the freezer. Knitting. Well now! There was a book she couldn’t finish for more than a month, and today there were mountains of plates, cups, and baking pans to wash. What knitting to think of.
Listening to Missis Bruno half-heartedly, Mau soon put a steaming plate of cheese ravioli with pesto in front of the old lady and returned to the counter. With the toe of her shoe, she again tried to discreetly slide a piece of baseboard back into the gap.
“…and then on Christmas Day…” Missis Bruno persisted. The wooden part wasn't falling into place. Mau frowned and mentally cursed. Why had she even opened the stash in the middle of the day?
Oh, yes, Rocky. Rocky and his funny drawing.
…and his old worn-out scarf.
Mau looked outside the window, watching the snowflakes fall slowly. She rarely got a chance to go outside, but Rocky, given his very specific occupation, had to be out in the cold a lot. And sleeping in the car in this weather must have been uncomfortable, too… it wouldn't take long to get sick. The mere thought of that made Maura uneasy. She pictured him huddled under his coat and a thin, shabby blanket, huddled in the back seat of the car, and she clenched the side of the counter tighter. He had been taking time out of his day for so many months now to come to her and just cheer her up with something: a humorous story, a funny trinket, or a little candy. As if whenever by any means he could find a little bit of warmth somewhere, he had always rushed to share it with her. And now, more than ever, she felt the desire to return that warmth to him a hundredfold. Slipping the teaspoon to the floor, Mau ducked under the counter and pulled back the flap of the stash.
“You know, Missis Bruno… I think you're right. I really should learn to knit. Could I ask you to lend me needles until my father returns and show me how to do it?”
“Of course,” the woman said enthusiastically, obviously pleased that her story had piqued Maura's interest. “Maybe you want to make something specific?”
“A scarf,” Mau answered without hesitation.
“Oh, a scarf is quite simple,” the woman squinted her eyes, smiling broadly. “With my advices, you’ll do it in two evenings. It's the dresses that require all sorts of tricks, but this…”
After a moment, Mau sat down in the chair opposite Missis Bruno and handed her a few crumpled bills. All her tips from the last couple months.
“Good. Can you buy a couple skeins of good yarn for me, please?”
Two evenings was easy to say! A week had passed before Mau could manage to do anything right at all. And Christmas was the day after tomorrow! So little, so little time… Mau yawned. She could hardly keep her eyes open, and therefore even had stopped watching whether the rows of stitches were knitted straight or not. She finished her work only in the morning, and fell asleep, holding her knitting in hands, with the needles dangerously close to her eyes.
And overslept.
In the morning, after freshening herself up, she hastily stuffed the scarf into a bundle of paper and rushed to the eatery. She spent the whole day in anticipation, hoping Rocky would come, and every time the bell over the door jingled, her heart jumped in her chest. Until finally the young man appeared on the doorstep, shaking off the snow from himself.
“Today is on the house, in celebration of Christmas,” she told him, setting coffee and a plate of chocolate pancakes with raspberry jam, garnished with three raspberries and sprinkled with powdered sugar, in front of him. And while Rocky, as if being hypnotized, stared at this gorgeousness and tried to guess if the berries were purposefully arranged in a heart-shaped pattern or not, she shoved the bundle into the pocket of his coat, which hung on the clothes rack behind him.
When Rocky walked out of the Venza family's eatery that evening, he couldn't stop smiling dreamily. He passed by the lamppost, dancing around it, and laughed softly, putting hands into his pockets. To think that Mau had baked pancakes just for him, and damn, what pancakes they were! But… what in the world was that?
He stared in puzzlement at the slanted bundle, and immediately opened it.
Seeing… a scarf.
Or rather, it looked like a scarf, except… the blue stitches wiggled from side to side, the crookedly sewn buttons reminded two eyes, and what should have been white trim on both ends looked more like jagged teeth. If it was a scarf, it was the most ridiculous scarf he had ever seen.
“How did you knit to me, buddy?” Rocky murmured, twirling the knitted mess in his hands. But there was no clue neither on the scarf nor in the paper shreds of the wrapper. Frowning, Rocky looked over his shoulder at the eatery and bit his lip.
Could it be that it was made by Mau?
There was certainly a chance that someone had put the bundle in his coat by accident, but somehow Rocky felt like there was no mistake. It was definitely a present. A self-made Christmas present. From Mau. For him! Rocky straightened the scarf and lifted it as high above his head as his arms could reach, looking at it like at an absolute miracle. The scarf, swaying in the wind, stared up at him with its button eyes and its crooked, white-toothed grin. And Rocky, as he continued his way toward the Little Daisy, smiled broadly back at it.
“Zib, please have mercy,” he kept whimpering, clutching at the man's pant leg. Zib made another attempt to make a step, but after dragging Rocky across the stage floor a little more, he gave up again.
“Kid,” Zib sighed, “if you don't let me go, I'm just going to sit on you.”
“Oh, please! I'll even be your personal horse, taking you out to the audience every night, right under the spotlight…”
Zib gave him a confused look and snorted nervously.
“No, I think I'll pass, thank you.”
“It's a matter of life and death, Zib! What can I do to get you to say yes? I'd do anything. Give anything. Literally. Even my eye teeth.”
“Why on earth are you so damn eager?” The man flailed his arms up. Rocky pulled himself closer to Zibowski's legs, squeezing them like a vise.
“It's just Christmas. I can't resist the urge to do good deeds. What a stale dry man wouldn't be heartbroken at a picture like this? Just imagine: a poor, unfortunate soul burning with a passion for music, but locked in a prison of pots and pans… as the servants of Euterpe, it is our duty to rectify such injustices! Even if only once a year.”
Zib groaned doomedly. He looked down at Rocky tiredly, then up at the ceiling, then back at Rocky, whose blue eyes stared back at him, not even with a plead, but with an almost childlike hope.
“I'm going to regret this…” he muttered, sighing heavily.
The next bright, frosty morning, Mau went down to the eatery and began her routine. She wiped off the dust, pulled open the curtains, opened the window vent, turned on the stove and set a batch of muffins to bake, began to prepare the batter for tomorrow as usual, and then…
…heard the music.
From the street, very close by, came a jaunty jazz tune, accompanied by the singing of several male voices. Mystified, Mau rubbed her hand over the fogged glass of the window and looked outside… no, it couldn't be. She ran out onto the porch and, still not believing her eyes, stared at the whole orchestra on the sidewalk in front of the eatery. When Rocky noticed her, he stepped forward and twirled around himself, playing his violin with an unusually wide smile. Looking at him, Mau laughed warmly and outlined the musicians with her hands, as if silently asking: How? How is this possible? Rocky only fleetingly lowered his gaze, paying her attention to his new scarf, and then winked at her, continuing his improvised dance with the violin.
It was a real wonder.
Soon the music and singing subsided, and Maura, still grinning happily, loudly applauded.
“Bravi! Bravi! Oh, but please hurry inside, I don’t want you all to catch cold! Come on!”
Zib's band could barely fit into the cramped space of the eatery, but that only made the atmosphere more welcoming. When Rocky cheerfully introduced Mau to all the musicians, whose names immediately mixed in her head, she brought out cinnamon coffee for each of them and a vase of ginger cookies to bite until the cupcakes were ready.
“Mind if I smoke?” Zib asked, making himself comfortable in the old chair. Mau shook her head, locking the door. No, there will be no working until the last client today. Today will be only the celebration.
“How could I say no after such an amazing concert? How did you all even sign up for this?”
Zib chuckled, giving Rocky a sly look.
“Well, let's just say he's got a long way to work it off.”
“Oh, it was worth it,” the young man shrugged nonchalantly.
Following the cozy Christmas aromas, the tiny room was filled with stories from Zib's band's past, music and laughter. Mau couldn't remember when she had felt so alive, so it was like a dream. Such a sweet, sweet dream. In her mind, she went back to those distant noisy evenings in New York, when every holiday she and her father celebrated in the large company of the Riva family. When there was no fear or anxiety, when there was warmth and hope in everything. Mau's gaze lingered on Rocky. She didn't understand how he, with all his troubles and hardships, every time managed to do the impossible: even if only for a short period of time, but to bring her back that long-lost hope. But it was then, on that sunny Christmas Eve, when she finally heard in herself undeniably loudly: I love you.
After more than one hour and more than one cup of coffee, after a series of stories and a particularly noisy argument, Sy climbed up on the counter and began to dance and juggle apples to the lively rhythmic clapping…
When suddenly, dumbfounded, with a key in his hand, Augusto Venza appeared on the doorstep.