nexusnyx - Tumblr blog

[nexusnyx]

do you ever hear people talking about something and you’re like. fuck. let me be real for a second. i’m too much of a commie to have this conversation

[nexusnyx]

someone replied to it and yup, they remembered it: as it was, baby's drabble "wake up, jack", that's where you read that <3

Hi! This might be weird, I hope you don’t mind me asking- did you write a Bucky Barnes series where at one point Bucky sneaks up on the reader, and is hiding out in their apartment? I wish I could remember more specifics about it but I just remember that I loved it and I want to re-read it!

holy shit you just went hard on my memory. love, i did write that but i can't for the life of me remember what story that scene's a part of.

maybe one of my followers can help you?!

help guys. my memory sucks

[nexusnyx]

ㅤㅤㅤ— ˏˋ꒰under neon lights꒱

→ Based on this request. [WC: 1.1k]

Joel became an expert on many things in this damned life, but running away from something he wants is not one of them. OR; How you're Joel Miller's worst (best) habit .ೃ࿐

Although he'd love to say he "tried his best", Joel's no liar.

He never tried a goddamn thing.

Not even once.

The moment he saw it in you—the glint of something wicked looking for any inch of ground to sink teeth and claws in, the spark of desire meeting him, he was done for. Joel dug his heels and stood his ground despite his instincts, not knowing what would come of this.

"Hey, handsome."

Initially, he thought those to be a joke. Now, Joel knows better. "Thought you wouldn't come," is his answer.

You laugh under your breath, the air turning white in front of you.

Joel watches as you remove your coat, boots, and place all of your items in their proper places. The house Tommy found for him is small just like he wanted and it serves its purpose—Ellie's got a roof over her head, and Joel has pieces of furniture and cracks in the walls he busies himself with. It's more than he could've asked for after years of cleaning sewages or doing god knows who's dirty work.

Your disposition to come over to his place every Friday night and sit with him while everyone else hangs around the town's square for food and drinks never faltered.

Joel serves you the whiskey and sits on his porch chair, knowing you'll follow suit.

During the first visits, Joel's had some of the best conversation of his lifetime.

Even if it felt like this was his third one already—he remembered how good it was to have someone else around who also wanted to just enjoy the peace and quiet. Someone who took pleasure in knowing that this was real luxury. This was luck.

Then, Joel remembered how it felt to learn your visits and company were also the thing he kept denying himself.

Lingering looks. The burning touch of your hand brushing against his at every given opportunity. Sultriness dripped from your voice every now and then when he spoke of things that demanded intimacy. When the topic verged on real things, Joel recalled seeing you lick your dry lips and look him dead in the eye before responding, as if daring him to say you were joking, or even ask if you meant your words.

"I don't come here because I'm lonely, Miller. Is that what you think of yourself? That your company's good as nothing?"

"What?"

"Saying that implies your company offers me nothing when you know that's not true. You see me smilin' at you around town, waving hi, waiting for you to appear in the meetings just so I can have someone else to offer my incredibly witty remarks. You're not the go-to 'cause I'm lonely—which, by the way, I'm not."

"Figured you were. Haven't seen anyone else demand your attention back from me."

"It's 'cause they know it'd be worthless."

"Why'd you come then?"

"'Cause I like talking to you, jackass. Why else?"

"I—I haven't..."

"Haven't what? Interacted properly with another adult person in a while? That's okay, we'll take baby steps."

"Don't laugh at me, that ain't nice, sweetheart."

"I thought I was laughing with you..."

"All of this is weird."

"Which part? Having a life again? ... Yeah, it's weird."

Joel hated it when you were at a loss for words now.

It was more than just a habit after all these times—seeking the heat of your skin as you leaned against the wooden porch. His hand moved under your jumper and shirt, opening wide on the lower part of your back. He caressed the skin slowly and watched you from the side as you looked forward.

It was stupid to ask if something was wrong when everything around everyone sort of crumbled to pieces daily, so instead, Joel made a grunting sound to get your attention back on him.

When you looked up, something shone. The redness of your bitten lips made him want to soothe away your pain. Maybe kiss them until they are numb. Sometimes, Joel pretended he could lick you clean from any harm or any sin.

It's a whisper when your voice cuts through the howling wind of the night. "D'you think we'll ever be more than... this?"

It hits like a rock to his stomach.

This—late nights stolen like the first kisses were. Hidden messages, looks, touches, all hidden underneath some shame. All the taking and giving and taking again, both so lost in the pleasure and the touch that neither are capable of looking away when the other pins one with their eyes.

This—crying, and begging, and moaning, all muttered and exhaled because they were pulled, earned, and nothing could stop the pleasure from drooling from the lips.

This—a secret. A habit. A battle cry.

"I don't know." Joel wants to, though. His hand on your back squeezes harder, and he molds the front of his body to fit the back of yours. "I'm..." a lot. Too much. Never bold enough to think about these things. "A lot different than I was when I first got here."

There's a short laugh. "I know. I remember." Your hands smooth the way from his hands to his forearm, and you make yourself more compact to fit in his hold. "I just... I lied to my sister to come here tonight, and..."

It all added up. "Right." Did you have to? "Why did you?"

He regrets asking the second the words are out because the memory floods back with you quoting his words to him. "This is the last time we're doing this." He said that, back when he was still in denial you wanted him too. "I'm not sure if—"

Joel spins you so abruptly that it shuts you up. "I meant that back then, but it's not true," he shakes his head. "I was saying that more to cover my own ass than anything."

"Cover from what?"

"From how stupid I'd feel once you noticed I'm not what you want."

The silence that follows makes his nape itch. Joel's mind learned to listen for all the threats in the woods and the quiet of the houses surrounding them, but his eyes were glued to you.

You tilt your head at him, analyzing him so thoroughly that Joel does fidget.

"Is that what you thought?"

"It was." He can hear the exasperation in your tone as much as he can hear the surrender in his. "I don't mind if you tell people where you're going—honestly." Joel chuckles. "If I'm lucky enough you want to come back..."

Your arms came up higher and hugged around his shoulders. "This is not where I hoped this conversation would go," your pleased smile only makes his inside feel like they're growing too. "You be careful what you say, Miller."

"I ain't scared." His words already got him feeling like an outsider or perhaps an outlaw, so fuck him—he'd use them to keep you looking at him like this for a change. "I mean it." He could get addicted to this.

☆ inbox 💌 ㅤㅤㅤ☆ tip jar ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☆ masterlist ✒️

[nexusnyx]

Hya! I totally love your work! It’s so incredibly written. I don’t know if you would want to do this but if you are taking prompts then could you do a smutty Joel Miller fic or Drabble or whatever with the song “Bad Habit” most especially the lyrics “I wish I knew you wanted me”.

hi darling! this took forever (sorry about that) and it may not be as nsfw as you'd like but i hope you like it :)

[nexusnyx]

Hi! This might be weird, I hope you don’t mind me asking- did you write a Bucky Barnes series where at one point Bucky sneaks up on the reader, and is hiding out in their apartment? I wish I could remember more specifics about it but I just remember that I loved it and I want to re-read it!

holy shit you just went hard on my memory. love, i did write that but i can't for the life of me remember what story that scene's a part of.

maybe one of my followers can help you?!

help guys. my memory sucks

[nexusnyx]

LMFAOOOOOOOOO i hate how much i love this meme

hi mir!!! i've been to parties and trying my best to not let family things get to me. how about you, how have you been?

[nexusnyx]

i’m not sedating anybody. joel makes my mind a problem and i make it everybody else’s problem. 💖

i dont know if you take smut requests for the celebration but if you do, can i request one with joel with a heavy breeding kink and dumbification? tysm!

i... chose the proper time to write this. it's a goodnight and i hope you like it from me. xoxo — main masterlist | fireplace celebration | 🏷️: established relationship, explicit depictions of sex, minors DNI, possessive!Joel, breeding kink, dumbification, overstimulation, soft & rough sex, creampie. once again... filth? [WC: 1.2k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ start carvin', darlin'꒱

When it started, it was far from this... filthy thing. It was sweet, and gentler, and calmer.

It began with soft gestures and caresses, but it slowly evolved into more, and to be frank, sometimes it still is what it was. Joel never quite changed with you as much as evolved. He opened up, showed you different depths of him, and made you realize that carving up something real was still possible, but it took effort.

At first, it's beautiful enough to resemble something heavenly.

Ethereal.

Then, you spread your desire on the table like a feast, and Joel changes how much he puts out—Joel started lying down all the cards, all the ways in which he could pull you apart before he put you back together.

It should make you feel ashamed, but it only made you smile.

Joel was so good, and so fucking earnest in his desires. It made you drunk to be looked by him, and it made you high how much he liked this. As much as you.

When he first started, Joel was nothing but a gentleman. He opened you up with his tongue first, always. Then, he gave you his fingers, one by one, until you were a squirming mess. He always took his time. Always whispered and chuckled—dirty, condescending.

It was hotter than you'd like to admit.

Then, Joel started seeing how unabashed you were getting.

His words started to follow the motion.

"Look at you, darlin'. I mean it—look in the mirror. Look at fuckin' good you look right now takin' my fingers. God... what a fuckin' sight. This is what you like, isn't it? Hearin' how much you get me hard and desperate for ya? How much I dream about spending hours inside of ya? Just feeling you hot and tight around me—you're so fuckin' tight, darlin'. Jesus, look at it. That's it. Scream my name all you want. You like when I talk to ya. Get so stupid every time."

He was right about that.

It was just too much. Never fucking enough.

You wanted Joel as much as he wanted you, you like dto believe. Sometimes, you wondered—it felt too big for something this huge to exist inside the same room as you, but then, you caught him looking at you before you looked at him, and it caught up to you. How much he stared, too.

How much he liked to be close.

It did you in, the way Joel enjoyed your proximity.

He explained why he felt so comfortable with you, once. It’d been snowing outside, and you only remembered that because you were lost in how a few snowflakes were falling right on his face as he spoke. They mingled with the foxy shiny bits in his hair and beard, and you were no longer cold. You had his jacket, his body heat pressed next to yours, his voice rich and grounding in your ear.

That’s what got you that wrecked.

He was in this for more than just a release, and even if now sometimes it could be about that, it was more often for that not to be the case.

Joel liked his hands on you. He was vocal about it. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not gonna finish this,” you heard plenty of times.

It took you very little time before you were opening up to him unashamed. Not too long before you were actively pulling you towards the room, or hooking a finger through the hoops of his pants. Joel laughed as he let himself be taken, sometimes even going as far as pretending to protest.

“I’m startin’ to think you like interruptin’ me when I’m workin’ and that’s all.”

“No. I just like seeing that concentrated look on your face.”

“Yeah? Is it familiar to you?”

“How did you know?! That’s exactly it. That—this little pinch here in your brows.”

“You just like playin’ with danger, don’t you. C’mere.”

He knew you did. He just never knew how much you’d been craving and waiting for this, too, and when you started to ask for more, to give yourself more, Joel took it all, sometimes wide eyed, sometimes whimpering just like you.

For him, his darker side came out when you lost the ability for coherent sentence. When words left your mouth, that’s when Joel started to smile. To laugh. To talk at you — something he made sure to ask beforehand, with his cheeks on fire and he southern accent making everything stupidly sexy for some goddamn reason — but talk down.

It felt liberating, to be at his mercy like that.

He cooed at your inability to speak, and spun you around like a doll at his mercy. Melted at the will of his hands and arms. “Turn around for me. Just like that—m’pretty lil’ fuck doll. You’re doing—so good. So damn good. Fuck… those lil’ whines means—feels good for you, too? Can’t even answer—me. Fuck.”

Whenever those memories crept upon you, a shiver ran from the base of your neck all the way down your spine.

Everytime he glued his front to your back and got himself positioned just right, you liked to pull Joel to lay almost all the way on top of you. His weight, his thickness inside you—sometimes utters of lost words came out of you, prayers of his name, incomplete pleas for more, or drowned on, delirious mumbles of how thick he was. Deep. S’thick. Like that. Please. Joel. Joel. So good.

Joel liked taking his time on you, and seeing how long he could drag out his own release.

He was a sadist, a masochist, and, in return, he made you suffer the consequences of being dragged to the edge, only to be pulled back once, twice, three times.

Joel shushed you, kissing all over your face when your frustrated cries ended up with you scratching along his back.

“‘s okay, darlin’. I’ll give it to you. Give it—a sec. Like this… open up for me. That’s it.” Joel liked kissing you when he was buried all the way in, kissing with his tongue and teeth nipping at your sensitive lips. He kissed until you were feeling dizzy and full. “Takin’ me all the way. Are you gonna let me… fill you up?”

“Joel.”

“Joel, Joel. Fuckin’ — love my name. On your mouth. Say it again.”

It was in more than just your mouth. You cried it for him. “Joel.”

“Hold onto me.” Joel hooked his arms underneath your knees and pulled your legs higher up around his middle, starting to slow down his pace. To slam harder into you. Not brutal—with the right hips. The right drag. You were crying with overstimulation, but he stills drags one of his hands between your bodies and presses the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit, making you scream. “Yeah. Gonna feel me twitchin’ inside of you. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Dumb lil’ doll always — cums. When I fuck you like this. Right? Cum for me, darlin’.”

He made you see white, a tunneled and sharp vision, and you did feel twitching inside of you. The warmth of him not only around, but in you.

“‘m not done with you.”

Joel, your mind whispered. He chuckled in your neck, as if he somehow heard it.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. * | send me mail 💌

[nexusnyx]

my heart!!! thank you so much for all of this. 🖤

omg congrats on 10.5k, thats frickin amazing!! ♡ if you feel like writing it,

🖋 + joel miller

"you couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything"

"that's not true"

hi Rhi! first, thank you so much. i stared at your prompt 'till the scene came to me, and i hope you like it. — main masterlist | 🏷️: established 'situationship', post-outbreak, insecure!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, insecure!Joel, mentions of smut, adult themes so minors DNI, feelings confession. [WC: 2.1k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ you call it madness ꒱

Joel had the power to awaken the most potent, brand-new things to your surface. Since he had arrived in Jackson with the bright kid trailing after him and his mountains of pent-up trauma, Joel lived under your skin.

At first, it was because of his cold, indifferent distance.

Then, when the first couple of months passed by and working side by side forced proximity on you two leading you to the realization that a lot of the gruffness and silence was just a facade, the issue became his nonchalant air of detached.

Everything you wanted was to have in him the same effect he had on you.

That tingle. That burn on your nape when the person enters the room. The hype-awareness of their every move. You wanted Joel attached to you, glued to your skin, and when you got it, he made you swallow all your need and desire down with the bitter pill of what having you Joel meant.

Having Joel came with the taste of cheap alcohol, the scent of burnt things, and that quivering darkness that seemed to follow him unless Ellie was around.

It came with his ghosts hanging off his back, and his mind stuck in a limbo that cemented in him the idea that his ghosts weighted more than they did.

It took him months to allow you into his life. Months of you trying to figure out why he pissed you off so much and why even though his monosyllabic bullshit made your skin itch, you still found a way to interact with him at every given opportunity.

When he started laughing at your jokes—no, when Joel started snickering under his breath whenever you made a sharp comment to a fellow worker, it became your addiction. The fact that you were not other people.

Not for him.

Wearing him down was supposed to be about getting him off of your mind, removing him from under your skin.

It ended up being your ticket into his home, his life, his bed.

Joel had this power of making you do things you had no clue you even knew how.

Things that the you from before — a someone who’d been deceased long ago — would gasp out loud at.

But fuck all of that. Fuck anything that strayed away from being the reason for Joel Miller laughing, or god forbid, making him and Ellie happy. 

You’d take it all to pay the price for that.

You’d accept his days of silence and his days of trying to make jokes, or teach you and Ellie how to play the guitar eve if you sucked at it and the girl had what seemed like a natural talent.

So what if Joel sometimes bled his darkness all over you?

You begged for it.

So what if he whispered the filthiest things in your ear as he took you wherever he wanted, however he wanted, claiming you over and over with fingerprints imprinted on your skin, beard burns leaving red trails from your face and neck all the way down to places other people would never get a chance to look at again, according to Joel himself?

Considering how welcoming you were to all of it, one would think you’d know your place. Or at least know better than to expect out of Joel Miller something he stopped believing he can give to anyone a long time ago.

Despite your best judgment, you did hope. You wished, and dreamt of it, and cried about it in silent tears on his damn pillow when he turned away from you to sleep sometimes.

It goes on until he catches up to all of it. 

Joel always catches up to things. Especially if that thing is related to you.

On a winter night, a whole year after he and Ellie have settled and officially made a home, you two are discussing things after dinner in his kitchen.

Ellie went to a friend’s house, leaving the both of you to your shitty pizzas and even shittier booze. Joel, propped against the sink with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair a messy mop of curls, looks pissed off at your comment that, “she gotta at least put the Miller stare away. Time it properly, if she wants to make more friends.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Something only you two would understand. Instead, Joel turns around with that pinch between his eyes.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

You put the mug down, thrown back by his tone, making a noncommittal sound. He repeats his question, confirming you did hear what you thought, and it makes you snicker. “Joel. Would you like a goddamn mirror right now, handsome?”

The nickname does nothing to phase his look. “You sayin’ I’m a bad influence on her? That I’m the reason she ain’t got no other friends?’

“Woah, woah—take it many, many steps back, cowboy—”

“I ain’t laughin’. I don’t know why you are.”

“Because it’s ridiculous!” All your ironic humor is gone. Evaporated like water under the scolding sun. “D’you hear yourself? I said time it properly, Joel. I know exactly just how useful the grouchy look is, trust me.”

“I don’t tell her to do that shit. She’s always been like that.” He turns back around with that stiffness in his shoulders.

“I know.” You try calming yourself, your voice, your tone. Joel can be prickly, as can you. “It’s… her little way. It makes Ellie Ellie, and honestly, it’s what makes her stand out. Her personality’s one of a kind, that’s for sure, and I wouldn’t trade an inch of it for anything else, but she’s—impulsive. And while I love, all I’m sayin is—”

“Other people don’t,” he completes.

“Exactly.”

There was the noise of the final dishes being placed to dry, and Joel cleaning up his work.

“You love how impulsive she is?” Although Joel’s finished, he keeps his back to you. His tone is back to an amused one, for some reason.

“Sure I do.” You loved her since you two were out of town and got stuck in a blizzard together, and Ellie told you about her friend Riley. Loved, with every fiber in you. “It’s not useful, but it just means her fire’s alive. I like that. It’s better than the alternative. You know what happens when people’s fires die.”

At that, Joel finally turns around, drying his hands in his own clothes, fixing his dark eyes on you. “Yeah. I’ve got a mirror.”

God, you think. There he goes again.

You sigh, annoyed and angry, just like that. In a split second. Because of four little words. “If you’re gonna start talking shit about yourself—”

Joel cuts you with his laugh. “Sorry. ‘m sorry.” He steps closer to you, pulling the chair he was using during dinner closer until it’s glued on yours, and he sits. “Dunno why you hate it so much, but I’ve leared better. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Better than the alternative, you guessed. You hummed, not that over your sudden wave of anger.

The way he saw himself contrasted who he was so much that it pissed you off more than any Clicker ever could.

“Hey.” Joel brings up one hand to cup your cheek, and it soothes his cold hand over your jaw, landing on your nape. “‘s fine. I won’t be talkin’ about broken old me, ‘kay?”

Fire raged in your veins and his hand on your neck was the only anchor keeping your from storming off his house.

“It’s like you wanna piss me off sometimes.”

Joel has the audacity to laugh at you. “I just said I ain’t gonna say anythin’, woman.”

“You’re not broken,” you argue, serious and angry enough to get that insanely stupidly gorgeous and self-depracating smile out of his face.

“We’ll just agree to disagree here—”

“No, we fucking won’t. You’re not a thing, you can’t broken if you’re not a thing.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I feel a lot of fuckin’ pieces missing.” Joel rarely speaks with that roughness directed towards you, but that’s better. Realer than the sardonic smile. He sighs deeply, his face relaxing a second after. Tired, he squeezes your neck. “Look—I made a stupid joke. I know you don’t like me talkin’ shit about myself for lord knows what reason, so I won’t—”

“‘Cause they’re not true.”

It surprises you both, you think. The crack in your voice. The shimmery wetness in your vision blurring the sight of a stunned Joel certainly surprises you. 

You swallow the knot in your throat, but it’s stuck there. You speak around it anyway. “It’s the same way you feel when they talk about ‘er, ok?” You sniffle, looking away from him to blink down the tears. “I fucking hate it.”

It’s how you feel when they shittalk Ellie.

The words hang in the air for a heavy second until you realize what you’ve laid on the table.

Joel loves Ellie. That much is known.

You love Ellie. That much was known, too.

When he speaks again, Joel is the one who sounds choked. "You couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything." It pulls your gaze back to him. “Not about me. Ain’t nothing about me worth lovin’.” He shakes his head, and his hand is gone from your neck, leaving only the cold ghost of it in the process. 

You couldn’t love me. 

It’s your turn to laugh.

"That's not true." 

He paused, and you saw his Addam's apple bobbing before he shakes his head, still in disbelief.

“You know what I did. More than anyone I’ve met before. You know there’s nothing here to love.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s the fuckin’ truth,” Joel’s starting to sound on the verge of tears, and your eyes glue to his face.

“Joel, I don’t know what was misunderstood in my little nod and silence when you shared all those things about your past that night, but let me make something clear to you—I know the difference.” Joel’s frown between hsi brown deepens, but his eyes remain on yours. “You think I don’t? Don’t you ever condescend me to the point of thinking I don’t know the different between what’s rotten and what’s not in this world.”

Not saying ‘between what’s good and bad’ is a deliberate choice, and it keeps Joel’s attention hooked.

Somehow, you know this is your only chance, so you forego all thinking and just allow all your feelings for him to pour out of your pores and slip through your lips. 

“I heard all you told me and I don’t give a fuck about what you did when dissassociating out of your mind. What you did to survive, or what you did ‘cause you saw all the real rotten all around. When you say shit like ‘ain’t nothin’ about me worth living’ you put yourself in the same sack as people like that fucker David or other people who really are rotten. Who did and are horrible outta pleasure. Outta desire for it. And that is not you.”

If you could reach to him, this was when.

You lean forward, making the distance between you both smaller. 

This time, you cup his neck.

“And let me make this crystal clear ‘cause apparently it wasn’t. That last thing you did? To save her?” You breathe deeply. “If it was me in your place, I would’ve done the exact fucking same. A room full of wannabe scientists and a bunch of equipment from god knows when, swearing that killing the only person who’s apparently immue is gonna solve something?” You scoff. “Joel, I would’ve burned that building to the ground with everyone in it.”

"You…"

The words never come to him.

Instead, what comes forward is Joel.

Something in your speech breaks the dem that you had no idea existed, and Joel floods towards you.

Crashing his lips against yours, he devours.

His kiss demands a surrender because it delivers things he never gave you before. Joel holds onto your face like a lifeline, groaning against your mouth and lifting both of your bodies to press you closer to him, suddenly desperate. Suddenly devout, and it spills from his eyes.

When Joel pulls back to look at you, there’s a fright and a hope in them that makes you realize why he turned around. Why he kept his distance.

Joel thought you could never get him. Not truly, and not personally.

“You…” he whispers, lips still touching yours. His eyes are saying so much that words evaded him. “I…” Joel swallows so thickly that you hear it this time, and it draws a whimper from you.

“I know, Joel,” you whine, pulling him in for another kiss.I know you could. That maybe now you’ll allow yourself to, all your kisses say. I already do. I already do.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. *

[nexusnyx]

omg congrats on 10.5k, thats frickin amazing!! ♡ if you feel like writing it,

🖋 + joel miller

"you couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything"

"that's not true"

hi Rhi! first, thank you so much. i stared at your prompt 'till the scene came to me, and i hope you like it. — main masterlist | 🏷️: established 'situationship', post-outbreak, insecure!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, insecure!Joel, mentions of smut, adult themes so minors DNI, feelings confession. [WC: 2.1k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ you call it madness ꒱

Joel had the power to awaken the most potent, brand-new things to your surface. Since he had arrived in Jackson with the bright kid trailing after him and his mountains of pent-up trauma, Joel lived under your skin.

At first, it was because of his cold, indifferent distance.

Then, when the first couple of months passed by and working side by side forced proximity on you two leading you to the realization that a lot of the gruffness and silence was just a facade, the issue became his nonchalant air of detached.

Everything you wanted was to have in him the same effect he had on you.

That tingle. That burn on your nape when the person enters the room. The hype-awareness of their every move. You wanted Joel attached to you, glued to your skin, and when you got it, he made you swallow all your need and desire down with the bitter pill of what having you Joel meant.

Having Joel came with the taste of cheap alcohol, the scent of burnt things, and that quivering darkness that seemed to follow him unless Ellie was around.

It came with his ghosts hanging off his back, and his mind stuck in a limbo that cemented in him the idea that his ghosts weighted more than they did.

It took him months to allow you into his life. Months of you trying to figure out why he pissed you off so much and why even though his monosyllabic bullshit made your skin itch, you still found a way to interact with him at every given opportunity.

When he started laughing at your jokes—no, when Joel started snickering under his breath whenever you made a sharp comment to a fellow worker, it became your addiction. The fact that you were not other people.

Not for him.

Wearing him down was supposed to be about getting him off of your mind, removing him from under your skin.

It ended up being your ticket into his home, his life, his bed.

Joel had this power of making you do things you had no clue you even knew how.

Things that the you from before — a someone who’d been deceased long ago — would gasp out loud at.

But fuck all of that. Fuck anything that strayed away from being the reason for Joel Miller laughing, or god forbid, making him and Ellie happy. 

You’d take it all to pay the price for that.

You’d accept his days of silence and his days of trying to make jokes, or teach you and Ellie how to play the guitar eve if you sucked at it and the girl had what seemed like a natural talent.

So what if Joel sometimes bled his darkness all over you?

You begged for it.

So what if he whispered the filthiest things in your ear as he took you wherever he wanted, however he wanted, claiming you over and over with fingerprints imprinted on your skin, beard burns leaving red trails from your face and neck all the way down to places other people would never get a chance to look at again, according to Joel himself?

Considering how welcoming you were to all of it, one would think you’d know your place. Or at least know better than to expect out of Joel Miller something he stopped believing he can give to anyone a long time ago.

Despite your best judgment, you did hope. You wished, and dreamt of it, and cried about it in silent tears on his damn pillow when he turned away from you to sleep sometimes.

It goes on until he catches up to all of it. 

Joel always catches up to things. Especially if that thing is related to you.

On a winter night, a whole year after he and Ellie have settled and officially made a home, you two are discussing things after dinner in his kitchen.

Ellie went to a friend’s house, leaving the both of you to your shitty pizzas and even shittier booze. Joel, propped against the sink with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair a messy mop of curls, looks pissed off at your comment that, “she gotta at least put the Miller stare away. Time it properly, if she wants to make more friends.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Something only you two would understand. Instead, Joel turns around with that pinch between his eyes.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

You put the mug down, thrown back by his tone, making a noncommittal sound. He repeats his question, confirming you did hear what you thought, and it makes you snicker. “Joel. Would you like a goddamn mirror right now, handsome?”

The nickname does nothing to phase his look. “You sayin’ I’m a bad influence on her? That I’m the reason she ain’t got no other friends?’

“Woah, woah—take it many, many steps back, cowboy—”

“I ain’t laughin’. I don’t know why you are.”

“Because it’s ridiculous!” All your ironic humor is gone. Evaporated like water under the scolding sun. “D’you hear yourself? I said time it properly, Joel. I know exactly just how useful the grouchy look is, trust me.”

“I don’t tell her to do that shit. She’s always been like that.” He turns back around with that stiffness in his shoulders.

“I know.” You try calming yourself, your voice, your tone. Joel can be prickly, as can you. “It’s… her little way. It makes Ellie Ellie, and honestly, it’s what makes her stand out. Her personality’s one of a kind, that’s for sure, and I wouldn’t trade an inch of it for anything else, but she’s—impulsive. And while I love, all I’m sayin is—”

“Other people don’t,” he completes.

“Exactly.”

There was the noise of the final dishes being placed to dry, and Joel cleaning up his work.

“You love how impulsive she is?” Although Joel’s finished, he keeps his back to you. His tone is back to an amused one, for some reason.

“Sure I do.” You loved her since you two were out of town and got stuck in a blizzard together, and Ellie told you about her friend Riley. Loved, with every fiber in you. “It’s not useful, but it just means her fire’s alive. I like that. It’s better than the alternative. You know what happens when people’s fires die.”

At that, Joel finally turns around, drying his hands in his own clothes, fixing his dark eyes on you. “Yeah. I’ve got a mirror.”

God, you think. There he goes again.

You sigh, annoyed and angry, just like that. In a split second. Because of four little words. “If you’re gonna start talking shit about yourself—”

Joel cuts you with his laugh. “Sorry. ‘m sorry.” He steps closer to you, pulling the chair he was using during dinner closer until it’s glued on yours, and he sits. “Dunno why you hate it so much, but I’ve leared better. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Better than the alternative, you guessed. You hummed, not that over your sudden wave of anger.

The way he saw himself contrasted who he was so much that it pissed you off more than any Clicker ever could.

“Hey.” Joel brings up one hand to cup your cheek, and it soothes his cold hand over your jaw, landing on your nape. “‘s fine. I won’t be talkin’ about broken old me, ‘kay?”

Fire raged in your veins and his hand on your neck was the only anchor keeping your from storming off his house.

“It’s like you wanna piss me off sometimes.”

Joel has the audacity to laugh at you. “I just said I ain’t gonna say anythin’, woman.”

“You’re not broken,” you argue, serious and angry enough to get that insanely stupidly gorgeous and self-depracating smile out of his face.

“We’ll just agree to disagree here—”

“No, we fucking won’t. You’re not a thing, you can’t broken if you’re not a thing.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I feel a lot of fuckin’ pieces missing.” Joel rarely speaks with that roughness directed towards you, but that’s better. Realer than the sardonic smile. He sighs deeply, his face relaxing a second after. Tired, he squeezes your neck. “Look—I made a stupid joke. I know you don’t like me talkin’ shit about myself for lord knows what reason, so I won’t—”

“‘Cause they’re not true.”

It surprises you both, you think. The crack in your voice. The shimmery wetness in your vision blurring the sight of a stunned Joel certainly surprises you. 

You swallow the knot in your throat, but it’s stuck there. You speak around it anyway. “It’s the same way you feel when they talk about ‘er, ok?” You sniffle, looking away from him to blink down the tears. “I fucking hate it.”

It’s how you feel when they shittalk Ellie.

The words hang in the air for a heavy second until you realize what you’ve laid on the table.

Joel loves Ellie. That much is known.

You love Ellie. That much was known, too.

When he speaks again, Joel is the one who sounds choked. "You couldn't love me if you tried. You couldn't love anything." It pulls your gaze back to him. “Not about me. Ain’t nothing about me worth lovin’.” He shakes his head, and his hand is gone from your neck, leaving only the cold ghost of it in the process. 

You couldn’t love me. 

It’s your turn to laugh.

"That's not true." 

He paused, and you saw his Addam's apple bobbing before he shakes his head, still in disbelief.

“You know what I did. More than anyone I’ve met before. You know there’s nothing here to love.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s the fuckin’ truth,” Joel’s starting to sound on the verge of tears, and your eyes glue to his face.

“Joel, I don’t know what was misunderstood in my little nod and silence when you shared all those things about your past that night, but let me make something clear to you—I know the difference.” Joel’s frown between hsi brown deepens, but his eyes remain on yours. “You think I don’t? Don’t you ever condescend me to the point of thinking I don’t know the different between what’s rotten and what’s not in this world.”

Not saying ‘between what’s good and bad’ is a deliberate choice, and it keeps Joel’s attention hooked.

Somehow, you know this is your only chance, so you forego all thinking and just allow all your feelings for him to pour out of your pores and slip through your lips. 

“I heard all you told me and I don’t give a fuck about what you did when dissassociating out of your mind. What you did to survive, or what you did ‘cause you saw all the real rotten all around. When you say shit like ‘ain’t nothin’ about me worth living’ you put yourself in the same sack as people like that fucker David or other people who really are rotten. Who did and are horrible outta pleasure. Outta desire for it. And that is not you.”

If you could reach to him, this was when.

You lean forward, making the distance between you both smaller. 

This time, you cup his neck.

“And let me make this crystal clear ‘cause apparently it wasn’t. That last thing you did? To save her?” You breathe deeply. “If it was me in your place, I would’ve done the exact fucking same. A room full of wannabe scientists and a bunch of equipment from god knows when, swearing that killing the only person who’s apparently immue is gonna solve something?” You scoff. “Joel, I would’ve burned that building to the ground with everyone in it.”

"You…"

The words never come to him.

Instead, what comes forward is Joel.

Something in your speech breaks the dem that you had no idea existed, and Joel floods towards you.

Crashing his lips against yours, he devours.

His kiss demands a surrender because it delivers things he never gave you before. Joel holds onto your face like a lifeline, groaning against your mouth and lifting both of your bodies to press you closer to him, suddenly desperate. Suddenly devout, and it spills from his eyes.

When Joel pulls back to look at you, there’s a fright and a hope in them that makes you realize why he turned around. Why he kept his distance.

Joel thought you could never get him. Not truly, and not personally.

“You…” he whispers, lips still touching yours. His eyes are saying so much that words evaded him. “I…” Joel swallows so thickly that you hear it this time, and it draws a whimper from you.

“I know, Joel,” you whine, pulling him in for another kiss.I know you could. That maybe now you’ll allow yourself to, all your kisses say. I already do. I already do.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. *

[nexusnyx]

So much love to you sweetheart! Major congrats on hitting 10! That’s SUCH a huge achievement! You deserve 10,000 more and you *know it*.

Can I ask for…

🖊️ Breath-hitching when they get close with Joel? I feel like it’s such a JOEL thing. His expression stays the same, his body language is stiff, but he can’t deny the way his heart stops when you’re nearby 🥹

SO MUCH LOVE TO U

So, there you go tingling all the right bits in my brain. I love the idea of tension with Joel because he's just soooo serious, isn't he? I wanna thank you first of all, babes, idk if I'll ever make it to 10k more but just knowing you think I deserve it is good enough. — main masterlist | fireplace celebration | 🏷️: established relationship, soft!Joel, pet names, mentions of smut, minors DNI; [WC: 1.2k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ edges start to burn꒱

This thing with Joel was new. Tentative, and big.

It was like a dip in deep ocean, something you have only one clear memory of.

After dancing around each other for far too long, he’d done something about the tension that was born in the air every time the two of you were alone, and now, it was like getting to know Joel all over again. All the nervousness, the electric shocks whenever he bumped into you or talked too close to your ears—everything it took you goddamn months to get used to, and the fact that it now came with more.

It was torture, and yet, you both loved it.

Since the kiss after the campfire, now Joel smiled at you differently.

You’d seen it the first time after he pulled away, his hands still cupping your neck and his arms around you holding you back from collapsing on the floor in a thousand tiny pieces. He was smiling. It was—shy. Coy. A little cocky, too, specially with the smugness in his voice when he said, “open your eyes, darlin’.”

Joel became a hazard to your health.

Every time he inched closer, it made the oxygen in your body to behave funny—it stilled. His voice and his presence were like the zero degree hit mark, and you became ice under his touch before you melted away.

He takes it slow.

Painfully slow, if anyone asked you, but it’s still fine. Joel’s look has a promise of something bigger, and it keeps you on your toes. It’s better that he grows you used to the curling in your toes when he kisses you long and deep, or trail his hands on your body.

That’s how you’ll survive something more—dosed on him.

Joel crawls inside of you like something wild. He comes in bit by bit, trusting your smiles the more they come. He takes a while before allowing you to caress him the same you he loves doing you.

While his hands have trailed almost all of your body — trembling, shaking, breathing through the assistance of his own breath too close to yours and his gaze holding a dark cloud over you, his whispers of ‘it’s ok, darlin’—feels good, doesn’t it? I like seein’ you squirm like this’ driving you into a foggy haze — that was all that happened. Joel kissed you and ground your hips into his, letting you claw at his scalp and hold onto him for dear life, but it was only you who fell apart at first.

Then, one day, your hands traveled underneath his shirt, and sighed, melting into it.

Not away from it. Joel continued his ministrations, sighing deeper into the kiss, opening up beneath you.

Getting underneath Miller’s layers was similar to bringing an untamed horse inside close borders—it came with drawing boundaries, and going through them slowly. Surely.

Joel opened up about his past before he could feel comfortable to get naked for you.

It was like he needed you to see him before seeing the rest. A map of scars and a long past.

It’s intense, and more than you expected, but not in a bad way. It’s real.

He’s so Joel that you know him better than you knew people who grew up around you. He understood the deepest and darkest parts of you, shrugging them off as if they were nothing.

Joel showered you in compliments whenever he could, much like you did with him. Yours always came out much shier than his, but he blushed at them all the same.

On a Sunday, you wake up to the smell of coffee and find him in the kitchen with your vinyl player turning the whole place into a dream. Maybe it’s the Spring air outside, and the pink light streaming through your glass, or maybe it’s him—

Joel’s leaning on the counter, shirtless. It’s definitely him.

Or maybe you’re still dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

He spins around with the mug in his lips, but you see the smile behind it. Your smile.

He gives you a curt nod, then uses his free hand to make a come hither gesture.

You walk towards him, drunk in sleep and the view you’re graced with, and then walk until your body is all pressed on his. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Joel sips his coffee before putting the mug down behind him. He then hugs properly, putting his face on his neck. “Mornin’ to you, too.”

You chuckle. “Sorry. Thought I was still dreaming there for a sec.”

“Is that so?” His breath tickles your neck, and you nuzzle your nose in his hair. He’s been using the coconut shampoo you gave him, finally. “Didn’t know you dreamt about me being indecent that often.”

Heat burned in your cheeks, and you were thankful for being hidden in the crook of his neck. “Shut up.” You feel him pulling back to look at you. “You know what I mean.”

“I might know what you mean, yeah.” Joel laughs a little. “I told ya I’d be dropping by the first day that it was hot early in the mornin’ to get a look at your window. I washed the dishes and saw the sink was drippin’, too, so I fixed that. Might’ve gotten sprayed in the process.”

“So handy, Miller.”

He leans until his lips were brushing on yours to answer, “You knew that already,” in a whisper.

It was way too early to be trembling like this, “Unlike some people, I haven’t had my coffee yet.” It comes out a little breathless.

Joel hums thoughtfully at you, and presses a kiss on your waiting lips either way.

How could you be so delusional to think you’d need coffee when he was here. Joel’s better than coffee. Sharper, too.

When he kisses you like this, it made you remember the hidden books in Elena’s secret library that you read when you were younger. The ones you wished you could take it home and read until all the light went out of the sky—lines and thousands of words of exactly this; his hands felt hot. They made your body respond like a magnet.

Joel left a trail of heat wherever his hands passed by, and it woke you up much faster than caffeine would dream of.

Your own moans your muffled to your ears by the sound of his soft sighing, and that was all you needed to press harder into him; slithering your body on his. Joel responded by untangling from you with his heavy breathing and his smile turned up a thousand watts. “I really like this ‘just woke up’ look on ya,” he says before dipping to kiss along your neck.

Your only answer is a whine, and trying to control the desire to start climbing him as you had times before.

His skin is so hot under your palms that they’ve been running all over his back as kissed you lazy and awake, and you can feel the dampness in your underwear because of the way he squeezed your thighs and your ass.

When Joel nibbles on a sensitive part of your neck, you whine louder. Whine his name.

“‘kay, ok, I hear you.” Joel then scoops you up by your ass, pulling a surprised yelp from you. “C’mon,” he laughs.

He makes his way to your bedroom, and you think—definitely still dreaming. You’ll believe it’s real when you eat something.

Maybe him.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. * | send me mail 💌

[nexusnyx]

🖋️ “can’t you see how wrecked I am for you” + Bucky Barnes (any version of him that you like) 🤍

But also congrats on the 10.5K!! That’s amazing!

It's been a while since I wrote for my tin-man (Joel brain-rot is eating me alive), so thanks for the first Buck request 🤍 And tysm baby, I'm super happy abt it 🤍🤍 — main masterlist | fireplace celebration | 🏷️: pining, strangers to co-workers to pining idiots, avenger!Reader, love confessions, Bucky my darling I missed you; [WC: 1.4k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ sink your teeth ꒱

The thing he hated the most was the sight of blood.

No one knew that but you. Not even Steve, before he left.

Bucky grew to hate the sight of blood, which was inconvenient in his life of work, which meant there was yet one more thing he needed to learn how to disassociate from, and that was always a hassle. While his mind was enhanced to handle all the years of things piling up on it, there was only so much a single person could handle.

Thank whatever it was for Wakanda. For Sam.

For you.

Even if you wrecked him. Even if Bucky ended up twisting himself into two just to get trouble of your way, and even if that stole him the little bit of sleep he grew to have.

He just never knew it was mutual.

It stays hidden until the inevitable happens, and a mission strands you both in the face of deadly danger

It’s when he sees blood dripping down your face that Bucky notices how in deep he truly is.

The location is… somewhere in Slovakia. Mission target is unclear, as of two hours ago. You’d been injured, and Bucky’s priorities had sort of—shifted. Despite all training, despite his best judgement, they’d changed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Bucky took care of the agents. The threats, and also the weird ‘alien’ technology.

After almost a decade now, the word had lost all meaning to him, and none of it even mattered anywhere. Alien, or not, from this Earth or from another parallel fucking unvierse; Bucky had no interest in whatever it was that Belova spoke about in his ear, so Bucky uttered the only information he cared about. “Agent Widow’s in the top perimeter. The interference’s coming from there. I’m going in for her.”

There’s protest to his statement, but Bucky had expected that.

Neither Sam nor Yelena’s voice have any success in stopping him.

Bucky removes his gadgets, knowing that Fury’s instructions, while sometimes unclear and often incomplete, were never wrong.

Some would call it a miracle, or astonishing; the way Bucky manages to ignore the glowing orb in the middle of the room, floating in the middle of a glass container in pure, red energy. He scans the room, looking for the only thing he needs to find.

You’re in the corner of a room.

The only red he could ever care for is the one in your face.

“Hey, Barnes.”

He dashes towards you.

Bucky’s hand shook like this for the last time when he was still being woken up by night terrors, and his hands felt like ghosts of someone else’s. This time, they feel like his, very much. They’re used to touching you, but never this firmly. Bucky cups your face in his hands and starts assessing your body as soon as he kneels down beside you, securing the gun and putting it in his pants.

“You were told to wait.” He sounds like a wreck.

Feels like one too, when he gets a closer look to the blast you must’ve took. The biggest wound is on your temple, and another significant one is in your eyebrow—the reason you’re covered in blood. Why your eyes are bloodshot from the liquid that dripped into it.

The smile that pops on your face is bloody, too. “Who else would’ve stopped him, hm?”

The mention of ‘him’ makes Bucky follow your gaze, finding him, lifeless a few meters away.

It explains why the orb’s still alive, and you’re in this state. “He was Strange’s problem. How much did we miss? How much did he hurt in you? I called the evac downstairs. Sam’s pissed at me, but he must be finding another way in. We’re gonna be out of here in a minute.”

“Dunno if we’ll make it that far.” Her voice sounded distant, and it snapped him back into sharpness.

“Shut up.” Bucky made quick work of ripping a piece of her old flannel jacket to press hard against the wound, no matter how much her wince hurt in him. “You were told to wait, damn it. What the fuck were you thinking?”

It sounded… emotional.

Bucky saw it in your eye—it went unnoticed by his ears, but when Bucky notices your eyes widening and your whole face taking in the surprise of how he’s cracking with this situation, Bucky can feel it.

How much this all affects him.

The new Avenger is a classified, Unprotocoled asset of pure, destined energy. We found her in a classified location. Her life is a classified matter. But from now on, I want you to welcome her as one of your own. 

He was supposed to learn how to work with you, not how to feel all over again.

Once he’s satisfied with the improvised bandage around your arm wounds, Bucky tries getting you to get up, but you whisper to him, so small and so unlike you that it stops his attempts; “wait, wait. Wait, Buck.”

“You gotta get up. It’s getting hotter, and you know it. I’m not looking at it, but I can feel that thing getting wider. Please, sweetheart—”

“It’s a beacon.”

“—you hafto’—what?” Bucky halts. “What are you talking about?”

A smile blooms in your face. “The orb. It’s a beacon, Buck.”

“A beacon? For… who? For what?”

“The right location. The right—universe.” He sees it, then. That faint, green-ish glow in your eyes. “Wanda was hurting and she erased us all from existence, Buck.”

He feels lighter than gravity and, somehow, larger than the ocean.

Somewhere in the wiring of his brain, the Winter Soldier slaps files into his field of vision, and his eyes are obscured by images that were once burned into him—experiments, incosintensies, fragments and forgotten pieces; a tale of an entire group of people, and something about how all of that connected to the instability in this… “realm”.

Scientists had no other word for it, back then. Russian was a poetic language.

Bucky swallows the cotton in his mouth and looks at you, shining in red light, and emitting something of your own inane power. Something old, and earthly.

Bucky wants to be buried in the green of your eyes, suddenly emerging in your iris.

“I can’t do this—” Bucky’s choked. The heat on his back has nothing on the heat inside of him, this thought that if everything ceases to end and somehow only takes you, it might as well take him, too. “It’s gonna wreck me. If you go—if you disappear. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare fuckin’ do it.”

Your smile only widens. 

“I can’t wreck you, James,” you lean closer to him, letting all your weight rest in him. “I like you all put together. The whole picture… is beautiful.”

It makes him laugh. It’s comic. “You can’t?” You had. In one year—eleven months, a few days, and some hours. 

Over thirty six missions, countless nights spent together by now. Fighting. Training. Talking. Opening up under the powerful, yellow light of the Moon lighting up the sky in New York, while Bucky could only think of ‘how did my life end up here, like this after everything’. You already had wrecked him. You gave him back this. Bucky presses his forehead on yours, and lets his heart come out from everywhere.

Screw his sleeve—Bucky let it come out of his eyes, his lips, his chest that pressed into yours.

“Can’t you see how wrecked I already am for you?” When was the last time he cried?

Bucky lost any notion he still knew how to.

Then, he felt something coming between the waves wetting his vision—he felt plushy, comforting lips pressing against his, louder and hotter than any magical obr or other parallel universe could ever be, and he fell apart.Bucky fell apart in your lips, and was put together by your hands and arms wrapping around him, holding him in place. Bucky was held by you, and felt light and dark enveloping him all around. Bucky saw a green light, and he suddenly was overwhelmed by the nostalgic taste of home, which he’d long ago forgotten.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. * | send me mail 💌

[nexusnyx]

i dont know if you take smut requests for the celebration but if you do, can i request one with joel with a heavy breeding kink and dumbification? tysm!

i... chose the proper time to write this. it's a goodnight and i hope you like it from me. xoxo — main masterlist | fireplace celebration | 🏷️: established relationship, explicit depictions of sex, minors DNI, possessive!Joel, breeding kink, dumbification, overstimulation, soft & rough sex, creampie. once again... filth? [WC: 1.2k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ start carvin', darlin'꒱

When it started, it was far from this... filthy thing. It was sweet, and gentler, and calmer.

It began with soft gestures and caresses, but it slowly evolved into more, and to be frank, sometimes it still is what it was. Joel never quite changed with you as much as evolved. He opened up, showed you different depths of him, and made you realize that carving up something real was still possible, but it took effort.

At first, it's beautiful enough to resemble something heavenly.

Ethereal.

Then, you spread your desire on the table like a feast, and Joel changes how much he puts out—Joel started lying down all the cards, all the ways in which he could pull you apart before he put you back together.

It should make you feel ashamed, but it only made you smile.

Joel was so good, and so fucking earnest in his desires. It made you drunk to be looked by him, and it made you high how much he liked this. As much as you.

When he first started, Joel was nothing but a gentleman. He opened you up with his tongue first, always. Then, he gave you his fingers, one by one, until you were a squirming mess. He always took his time. Always whispered and chuckled—dirty, condescending.

It was hotter than you'd like to admit.

Then, Joel started seeing how unabashed you were getting.

His words started to follow the motion.

"Look at you, darlin'. I mean it—look in the mirror. Look at fuckin' good you look right now takin' my fingers. God... what a fuckin' sight. This is what you like, isn't it? Hearin' how much you get me hard and desperate for ya? How much I dream about spending hours inside of ya? Just feeling you hot and tight around me—you're so fuckin' tight, darlin'. Jesus, look at it. That's it. Scream my name all you want. You like when I talk to ya. Get so stupid every time."

He was right about that.

It was just too much. Never fucking enough.

You wanted Joel as much as he wanted you, you like dto believe. Sometimes, you wondered—it felt too big for something this huge to exist inside the same room as you, but then, you caught him looking at you before you looked at him, and it caught up to you. How much he stared, too.

How much he liked to be close.

It did you in, the way Joel enjoyed your proximity.

He explained why he felt so comfortable with you, once. It’d been snowing outside, and you only remembered that because you were lost in how a few snowflakes were falling right on his face as he spoke. They mingled with the foxy shiny bits in his hair and beard, and you were no longer cold. You had his jacket, his body heat pressed next to yours, his voice rich and grounding in your ear.

That’s what got you that wrecked.

He was in this for more than just a release, and even if now sometimes it could be about that, it was more often for that not to be the case.

Joel liked his hands on you. He was vocal about it. “You keep lookin’ at me like that and we’re not gonna finish this,” you heard plenty of times.

It took you very little time before you were opening up to him unashamed. Not too long before you were actively pulling you towards the room, or hooking a finger through the hoops of his pants. Joel laughed as he let himself be taken, sometimes even going as far as pretending to protest.

“I’m startin’ to think you like interruptin’ me when I’m workin’ and that’s all.”

“No. I just like seeing that concentrated look on your face.”

“Yeah? Is it familiar to you?”

“How did you know?! That’s exactly it. That—this little pinch here in your brows.”

“You just like playin’ with danger, don’t you. C’mere.”

He knew you did. He just never knew how much you’d been craving and waiting for this, too, and when you started to ask for more, to give yourself more, Joel took it all, sometimes wide eyed, sometimes whimpering just like you.

For him, his darker side came out when you lost the ability for coherent sentence. When words left your mouth, that’s when Joel started to smile. To laugh. To talk at you — something he made sure to ask beforehand, with his cheeks on fire and he southern accent making everything stupidly sexy for some goddamn reason — but talk down.

It felt liberating, to be at his mercy like that.

He cooed at your inability to speak, and spun you around like a doll at his mercy. Melted at the will of his hands and arms. “Turn around for me. Just like that—m’pretty lil’ fuck doll. You’re doing—so good. So damn good. Fuck… those lil’ whines means—feels good for you, too? Can’t even answer—me. Fuck.”

Whenever those memories crept upon you, a shiver ran from the base of your neck all the way down your spine.

Everytime he glued his front to your back and got himself positioned just right, you liked to pull Joel to lay almost all the way on top of you. His weight, his thickness inside you—sometimes utters of lost words came out of you, prayers of his name, incomplete pleas for more, or drowned on, delirious mumbles of how thick he was. Deep. S’thick. Like that. Please. Joel. Joel. So good.

Joel liked taking his time on you, and seeing how long he could drag out his own release.

He was a sadist, a masochist, and, in return, he made you suffer the consequences of being dragged to the edge, only to be pulled back once, twice, three times.

Joel shushed you, kissing all over your face when your frustrated cries ended up with you scratching along his back.

“‘s okay, darlin’. I’ll give it to you. Give it—a sec. Like this… open up for me. That’s it.” Joel liked kissing you when he was buried all the way in, kissing with his tongue and teeth nipping at your sensitive lips. He kissed until you were feeling dizzy and full. “Takin’ me all the way. Are you gonna let me… fill you up?”

“Joel.”

“Joel, Joel. Fuckin’ — love my name. On your mouth. Say it again.”

It was in more than just your mouth. You cried it for him. “Joel.”

“Hold onto me.” Joel hooked his arms underneath your knees and pulled your legs higher up around his middle, starting to slow down his pace. To slam harder into you. Not brutal—with the right hips. The right drag. You were crying with overstimulation, but he stills drags one of his hands between your bodies and presses the pad of his thumb against your swollen clit, making you scream. “Yeah. Gonna feel me twitchin’ inside of you. You’re gonna cum, aren’t you? Dumb lil’ doll always — cums. When I fuck you like this. Right? Cum for me, darlin’.”

He made you see white, a tunneled and sharp vision, and you did feel twitching inside of you. The warmth of him not only around, but in you.

“‘m not done with you.”

Joel, your mind whispered. He chuckled in your neck, as if he somehow heard it.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeiaaa — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @sirtommyholland — @capbrie — @hawsx3 — @superflymaterial — @ashleyforeverareject — @girlofchaos — @queerponcho — @am-3-thyst — @nyotamalfoy — @my-tearsricochet — @ponyboys-sunsets — @peqchsoup

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ* . join my Fireplace celebration. * | send me mail 💌

[nexusnyx]

who would've thought

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 9 —  The night you make a decision. [“You told me to think about it, and I did."] [1.5k]

SUMMARY: Growing older turned out to be fun. It turned out to be lascivious, and whimsical. All Bucky ever wanted was to find someone as crazy as him, and willing to live life with some good in it. Bucky has fun.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ꒰˗꒱

“It smells good,” you announce.

The words prompt Bucky to inhale deeper than before, only to attest to the words. Inside the pot it looks good—the spices are turning the meat to a colorful red, sparkled in the green of herbs and the thickness of the sauce is as pleasing as the scents he registers. “It does,” he turns around to smile at you and catches your eyes already on him.

You support your head on your hand, elbow sitting on top of the table where your laptop is, filled with work. Every time Bucky catches the intensity in your gaze, his initial reaction is a type of nervous giddiness—he’s reluctant to say the word shy, but Bucky grew up and developed his mind in a time when women had to be brave to be as bold as you are, and the kind of eyes you give him sometimes makes him squirm.

“What?” you ask.

“Stop giving me eyes.”

You laugh at him. The audacity. “I’m only looking at you, Barnes.”

“No, no, you’re not.” He turns his attention back to the pot, feeling the tingle on his back. “See? I can feel it.”

“Feel what?”

He loves hearing your voice through laughter. “Your eyes on me.”

“Good, means your super senses and whatnot are still up to date despite the good old age.” This time he has to laugh with you. Most people in his daily life either have the utmost respect for him or fear Bucky somehow. Since day one all you do is look at him like he’s a guy—not just a guy, or any guy. Your guy, thank whatever god is looking. “Laugh all you want, I’ll look as much as I want.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

He turns for one more look, one that has a conversation of its own.

I like it when you look, my love,

I like looking, my love.

Preparing food turned out to be one of the parts he loved the most about routine. When Bucky started working again, everything felt different. Stranger.

Foreign.

It’s been decades since Bucky felt like a stranger in a strange land, but everything about this world made him feel that way.

All of it except for you.

When he’s cooking, you’re working.

Bucky returns from the Avenger Tower to meet you in your apartment almost every day. Casper, the doorman of your building, now opens the gates when Bucky passes with his bike and nods an “evening, Sargent!” and the words are starting to register as the beginning of what coming home feels like.

‘Evening, Sarge’ marks the start of Bucky cooking while you’re finishing up work, and you two talk about the day apart, sharing everything and updating one another on the lives of people sometimes the other one had never even met.

This evening, he saved on his phone a recipe for pasta Alfredo, and Bucky talked a lot about the trainees of agents as he prepared the sauces from scratch.

Every time he had to say important things nowadays, he felt what his therapist defined as the ‘most common aspects of anxiety’. Recognizing them made things easier not only here in his personal life—work and everything else benefited from understanding all the different layers with which his past and being deleted from existence did to him.

Bucky’s experiencing stomach tightness, the fogginess around the thoughts.

Your touches keep him grounded.

‘Grounding techniques are important, James.’

‘I just don’t see how touching grass makes a difference when I’m malfunctioning—’

‘Don’t call it that, you’re not a machine.’

‘‘Kay, when I’m frozen, and fuckin’ stuck, you’re telling me that doing stuff for my senses’s gonna help somehow?’

‘Try it. Ask for help.’

“I did it.”

“Did what?” you ask him.

Bucky serves both plates and enjoys the view of you bent over the table organizing the cutlery, and pouring wine into both of the glasses.

He needs a second before replying. “You told me to think about it, and I did it.”

There’s no need to further elaborate because there’s a direct link, Bucky discovered, in unfinished conversations between people who live together.

“You did?” you ask.

There are a few moments of silence as you two take the first sips of the wine and appreciate the food he’s cooked.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” your voice is only an octave above a whisper. “To listen to it.”

When you told him your job would make you move, Bucky’s mind spiraled into options long before you told him to think about it.

“Scared of what?” he asks.

You shrug. “‘m not sure.” Part of him is sure, but he keeps it to himself. You’re prone to shutting down and not finishing your thoughts if someone interrupts you. “It’s not like—we’re not breaking up. And—whether you decided to stay here in Manhattan or you’re coming to somewhere closer, we’re still us. I’m just—I never had to deal with… this before.”

‘This’ could be the decision to live together or something more—a partner to choose things with, perhaps. Even though you were in your early thirties, Bucky knew he was the first man who managed to properly keep your attention for longer than months, so he nods along, waiting for you to continue.

When he looks up to find your eyes waiting for his, Bucky pauses.

The fork stills, suspended in the path between his half-finished plate and his mouth, and Bucky’s lips part.

The way you look at him. It could tear him apart from limb to limb or sew him back together. It could put all of his dusty particles and glue them into something solid again.

“It was quite easy,” he admits. It had been. As easy as enrolling once was, a decision so simple and so factual. “Deciding to retire.”

This time it’s you who turns into stone.

Bucky’s heart pounds in his chest despite his certainty that his decision was a good thing. While your brain catches up with his words Bucky can feel the prickling in his neck, and your whisper of, “What?” is what pulls the strings on the corner of his lips.

His smile makes you come out of your stupor.

“Retirement. Not working anymore—well, I’d never lie to you and say I’ll never ever work for Fury again. I told him he could call for consults any time he’d like but since all he had to say was ‘sure thing, Barnes, if I need a tip on how to be broody or how to make a Captain America listen to me you’re the first one on my list’ I think those calls will come rarely. If ever.”

The clink of your fork dropping and your chair being pushed back is all the notice he has before Bucky has a lap full of you.

He laughs inside your hold—the hands that always cup his cheeks and thread through his now much shorter hair.

The strands of white in his hair now pull your look away from his eyes sometimes; you loved the white, as much as you loved Bucky’s everything, and that’s why it was so damn easy.

“I’m not sure what to say,” your voice trembles, so Bucky squeezes you.

“Hmm—‘thank god, it’s about damn time’?”

Making you laugh means his day was successful. “Bucky!”

“What? It’s what almost everyone said.”

“Well, I’m not everyone—”

“Clearly,” he makes a point of pushing you closer to his body, and gets some giggles in return.

“and… I—I wasn’t expecting that.” It softens him how you’re melting to the news. “I just…” your eyes pierce through his, diving deep into the blue. “Are you sure about this, James?”

James.

Bucky could say he’s as sure of this as he is of the fact he wants to hear you say his name like that at an altar.

He could say he’s as sure as he is of the fact he loves you and he’s ready to live a life, not just fight for it, but that would make you cry, and truthfully, all Bucky wants is more of your smiles and perhaps you for dessert.

“Never been more sure.”

Growing older turned out to be fun. It turned out to be lascivious, and whimsical. It meant having dinner with the person he loved, sharing good news, and then ending the night by making the neighbors hear how well he eats what is good.

All Bucky ever wanted was to find someone as crazy as him, and willing to live life with some good in it.

He found even better—he found you.

So given the teachings he’s had over the past years, he decides to do something for himself before his time as James Barnes runs out— Bucky has fun.

☆ inbox 💌 ㅤㅤㅤ☆ tip jar ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☆ masterlist ✒️

[nexusnyx]

would you accept a prompt for tms bucky? 🥺💕

a prompt as in something extra other than the chapters? because yes, for sure!

i'm currently 2k in 'holland' and i'm already super duper sad 'cause it's only downhill from there :')

[nexusnyx]

i hope the sobbing was only metaphorical but i am thrilled you liked it!! <3

who would've thought

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 9 —  The night you make a decision. [“You told me to think about it, and I did."] [1.5k]

SUMMARY: Growing older turned out to be fun. It turned out to be lascivious, and whimsical. All Bucky ever wanted was to find someone as crazy as him, and willing to live life with some good in it. Bucky has fun.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ꒰˗꒱

“It smells good,” you announce.

The words prompt Bucky to inhale deeper than before, only to attest to the words. Inside the pot it looks good—the spices are turning the meat to a colorful red, sparkled in the green of herbs and the thickness of the sauce is as pleasing as the scents he registers. “It does,” he turns around to smile at you and catches your eyes already on him.

You support your head on your hand, elbow sitting on top of the table where your laptop is, filled with work. Every time Bucky catches the intensity in your gaze, his initial reaction is a type of nervous giddiness—he’s reluctant to say the word shy, but Bucky grew up and developed his mind in a time when women had to be brave to be as bold as you are, and the kind of eyes you give him sometimes makes him squirm.

“What?” you ask.

“Stop giving me eyes.”

You laugh at him. The audacity. “I’m only looking at you, Barnes.”

“No, no, you’re not.” He turns his attention back to the pot, feeling the tingle on his back. “See? I can feel it.”

“Feel what?”

He loves hearing your voice through laughter. “Your eyes on me.”

“Good, means your super senses and whatnot are still up to date despite the good old age.” This time he has to laugh with you. Most people in his daily life either have the utmost respect for him or fear Bucky somehow. Since day one all you do is look at him like he’s a guy—not just a guy, or any guy. Your guy, thank whatever god is looking. “Laugh all you want, I’ll look as much as I want.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

He turns for one more look, one that has a conversation of its own.

I like it when you look, my love,

I like looking, my love.

Preparing food turned out to be one of the parts he loved the most about routine. When Bucky started working again, everything felt different. Stranger.

Foreign.

It’s been decades since Bucky felt like a stranger in a strange land, but everything about this world made him feel that way.

All of it except for you.

When he’s cooking, you’re working.

Bucky returns from the Avenger Tower to meet you in your apartment almost every day. Casper, the doorman of your building, now opens the gates when Bucky passes with his bike and nods an “evening, Sargent!” and the words are starting to register as the beginning of what coming home feels like.

‘Evening, Sarge’ marks the start of Bucky cooking while you’re finishing up work, and you two talk about the day apart, sharing everything and updating one another on the lives of people sometimes the other one had never even met.

This evening, he saved on his phone a recipe for pasta Alfredo, and Bucky talked a lot about the trainees of agents as he prepared the sauces from scratch.

Every time he had to say important things nowadays, he felt what his therapist defined as the ‘most common aspects of anxiety’. Recognizing them made things easier not only here in his personal life—work and everything else benefited from understanding all the different layers with which his past and being deleted from existence did to him.

Bucky’s experiencing stomach tightness, the fogginess around the thoughts.

Your touches keep him grounded.

‘Grounding techniques are important, James.’

‘I just don’t see how touching grass makes a difference when I’m malfunctioning—’

‘Don’t call it that, you’re not a machine.’

‘‘Kay, when I’m frozen, and fuckin’ stuck, you’re telling me that doing stuff for my senses’s gonna help somehow?’

‘Try it. Ask for help.’

“I did it.”

“Did what?” you ask him.

Bucky serves both plates and enjoys the view of you bent over the table organizing the cutlery, and pouring wine into both of the glasses.

He needs a second before replying. “You told me to think about it, and I did it.”

There’s no need to further elaborate because there’s a direct link, Bucky discovered, in unfinished conversations between people who live together.

“You did?” you ask.

There are a few moments of silence as you two take the first sips of the wine and appreciate the food he’s cooked.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” your voice is only an octave above a whisper. “To listen to it.”

When you told him your job would make you move, Bucky’s mind spiraled into options long before you told him to think about it.

“Scared of what?” he asks.

You shrug. “‘m not sure.” Part of him is sure, but he keeps it to himself. You’re prone to shutting down and not finishing your thoughts if someone interrupts you. “It’s not like—we’re not breaking up. And—whether you decided to stay here in Manhattan or you’re coming to somewhere closer, we’re still us. I’m just—I never had to deal with… this before.”

‘This’ could be the decision to live together or something more—a partner to choose things with, perhaps. Even though you were in your early thirties, Bucky knew he was the first man who managed to properly keep your attention for longer than months, so he nods along, waiting for you to continue.

When he looks up to find your eyes waiting for his, Bucky pauses.

The fork stills, suspended in the path between his half-finished plate and his mouth, and Bucky’s lips part.

The way you look at him. It could tear him apart from limb to limb or sew him back together. It could put all of his dusty particles and glue them into something solid again.

“It was quite easy,” he admits. It had been. As easy as enrolling once was, a decision so simple and so factual. “Deciding to retire.”

This time it’s you who turns into stone.

Bucky’s heart pounds in his chest despite his certainty that his decision was a good thing. While your brain catches up with his words Bucky can feel the prickling in his neck, and your whisper of, “What?” is what pulls the strings on the corner of his lips.

His smile makes you come out of your stupor.

“Retirement. Not working anymore—well, I’d never lie to you and say I’ll never ever work for Fury again. I told him he could call for consults any time he’d like but since all he had to say was ‘sure thing, Barnes, if I need a tip on how to be broody or how to make a Captain America listen to me you’re the first one on my list’ I think those calls will come rarely. If ever.”

The clink of your fork dropping and your chair being pushed back is all the notice he has before Bucky has a lap full of you.

He laughs inside your hold—the hands that always cup his cheeks and thread through his now much shorter hair.

The strands of white in his hair now pull your look away from his eyes sometimes; you loved the white, as much as you loved Bucky’s everything, and that’s why it was so damn easy.

“I’m not sure what to say,” your voice trembles, so Bucky squeezes you.

“Hmm—‘thank god, it’s about damn time’?”

Making you laugh means his day was successful. “Bucky!”

“What? It’s what almost everyone said.”

“Well, I’m not everyone—”

“Clearly,” he makes a point of pushing you closer to his body, and gets some giggles in return.

“and… I—I wasn’t expecting that.” It softens him how you’re melting to the news. “I just…” your eyes pierce through his, diving deep into the blue. “Are you sure about this, James?”

James.

Bucky could say he’s as sure of this as he is of the fact he wants to hear you say his name like that at an altar.

He could say he’s as sure as he is of the fact he loves you and he’s ready to live a life, not just fight for it, but that would make you cry, and truthfully, all Bucky wants is more of your smiles and perhaps you for dessert.

“Never been more sure.”

Growing older turned out to be fun. It turned out to be lascivious, and whimsical. It meant having dinner with the person he loved, sharing good news, and then ending the night by making the neighbors hear how well he eats what is good.

All Bucky ever wanted was to find someone as crazy as him, and willing to live life with some good in it.

He found even better—he found you.

So given the teachings he’s had over the past years, he decides to do something for himself before his time as James Barnes runs out— Bucky has fun.

☆ inbox 💌 ㅤㅤㅤ☆ tip jar ♡ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ☆ masterlist ✒️

[nexusnyx]

Hey babe, so glad you’re back!!!! Would you please please write something with Joaquin Torres? I need it so bad and no one does it like you

i could do a short prompt! how about you send me something from the Fireplace celebration (there's a list of prompts I liked there)?

[nexusnyx]

have you ever thought of doing a face reveal on here? not sure if you’ve done one already? ~

show my face? nah. never done and don’t think i ever will tbh