#nyx10fireplace.ೃ࿐

[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]

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]

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]

heyyy. so what if reader and joel got in a really big argument because he wasn’t being safe and putting his life on the line and that pissed her off. so joel gets on a horse, and rides off into the sunset in true cowboy fashion. when she’s on a supply run with some of the other people from tommy’s town, they find joel, injured and hiding out in a barn. she didn’t recognize him at first, and pointed her gun at him but when he’s like “it’s me.” she’s all like “for fuck’s sake, joel. i almost shot you.” “someone already did.” and yeah feel free to take that anywhere u want <3

that's such a cinematic idea!! you've got a good imagination, Sof. thanks for the request. — main masterlist | 🏷️: established 'situationship', post-outbreak, mentions of past attempted suicide, hurt/comfort, fluff. [WC: 1.7k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ foolish ꒱

All of his recklessness had a direction. A purpose.

Joel had no reason to tend to his own life with careful hands. Not when those same hands had inflicted so much damage already. When they'd caused so much destruction. He knew how to direct his anger and reckless behavior well—to protect, evade, survive.

All of that kept him away from building any kind of real relations, but that goes up in flames after Ellie. And then it really disappears after you.

Joel's scared again. He panics. He cares, and he talks about himself, and he lets spill out secrets he never once spoke about.

He's just not ready for what comes after they're out in the open.

“I just can’t concentrate if I’m worried about you going in with your knuckles and elbows to someone’s fucking face instead of at least trying to keep it cool. y’know? I don’t know. Call me crazy, Joel. I thought you could control yourself.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. That just ain’t fair. Was I supposed to do nothin’?”

“Yes! Exactly. If you���d given me at least one second—”

“He asked if you up for offer. I should’ve fuckin’ killed, him.”

“Joel, he could’ve asked ‘if the little bitch worth a quarter or 10 bucks’ and I couldn’t give less of a shit—”

“You—I swear to god.”

“He’s an animal! And a fucking idiot. But he was the idiotic animal with the goddamn information. Which we needed. And now we don’t have, ‘cause he and his buddies have ran back to wherever the hell they’re hiding and we’re never gonna see them again. And they had the real deal—they had medicine we need that are lacking in the stock.”

“I know. I know. Fuckin’ hell, I know.”

“... you know I’d help you do anything you wanted, right? I don’t care about what they say. And I’d wanna kill anyone who disrespected you like that, too, but we gotta be at least smart before we’re emotional.”

“...Tommy’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“No, he won’t. I’ll talk to him. Make something up.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I know. But I’m gonna.”

“...thank you. … I really am sorry, ‘kay? I’m still gettin’ used to—I just. I saw red.”

“And I get that.”

“...you really do, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Remember how I acted at that river trade? Because of what that man said about you?”

“Couldn’t forget it if someone blew my brains away. … You’re a lil’ crazy, baby, y’know that?”

“Coming from you, Miller. That’s rich.”

“Yeah… It’s kinda beautiful. You’re like—a force o’nature, or somethin’. Fuck, I’m sorry—I’m drunk—but listen. I won’t fuck up again.”

“I know you’ve got my back. I just want you to have yours, too. I worry about you and how you dive head first into dangerous shit ‘cause when it comes to you, you don’t think.”

“... had no reason to, ‘till recently.”

“Well, now you do. Should’ve always had, but now you really do ‘cause there are people, like Ellie, like Tommy, like me, who are gonna be pretty pissed off if you’re stabbed again anytime soon. Don’t make me go feral and have to kill a fucker ‘cause you know me by now. I have the whole thing where I have to bury the bodies I’m responsible for and, honestly—have pity on my back’s sake, Joel. I don’t got the back for that shit anymore.”

“You’re so—can’t believe your fuckin’ jokes sometimes.”

“You’re laughing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m crazy too, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“‘don’t got the back for it’. You’re—You know, I never thought I’d be this happy I didn’t blow my brains out. Last time I thought that Ellie was standin’ on top of a fuckin’ dinosaur and—”

Joel shivered.

You found him as you were searching a barn on a supply run with Tommy, the day after he ran away on Shimmer’s back.

A stom had followed his departure, not minutes later, and he was still out of the gates when the time to close them came by, which meant he’d been locked out. Tommy was the one to give the ‘ok’ for the gatekeepers to shut them down, his face twisted into a painful twist and an apologetic look sent your way, but it was also Tommy who nodded his agreement to go with you when you announced you were going out the very next morning despite the horrible weather and the feet of snow making everything ten times harder.

It was obvious to you he couldn’t have gone far.

When you find him, Joel speaks up first. “It’s me.” He somehow heard you coming before you saw him.

Of course he did. It’s Joel.

The voice still makes you flinch—Joel was kneeling on the ground with his thickest jacket wrapped around him and his knees pulled up, and—”Jesus Christ, Joel. I almost fuckin’ shot you.”

As you’re lowering your gun, he goes. “It’s happened before.”

It’s such an oddly-timed joke that it halts your steps toward him, but then, his eyes find yours and it happens, just like always. You two share a private, ‘this is a fucked up joke, but we find it funny either way’ laugh. The same one that bonded you two.

You kneel beside him, taking out the blanket you brought in your backpack exactly for this, and wrap it around his shoulders, rubbing him up and down on his arms and his back.

When you’re satisfied with your job — he quit shivering — you finally make eye contact.

“You got stuck because of the storm, right?” your question comes out in a whisper, and your breath fogs up the air between the both of you.

You didn’t run away, right?

Joel takes a deep breath, and nods. His eyes close for a moment before he leans in slowly until his forehead is touching yours.

“Told you I wouldn’t do that.” Joel said those words a couple of months ago, and you still had trouble wrapping your head around them. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I like it here. With you.

“‘kay.” Your lips search his in the dark and find them waiting for the kiss already. With your hands still on his shoulders, you can feel a lot of tension dissipating when you sigh into the kiss, and Joel seems to fully come back to his body. You pull away against your will, and take a few seconds before you’re able to open your eyes.

His warmth always spreads through you like an oven slowly heating up.

“‘m sorry if I scared you.”

It’s inevitable—a smile blossoms in your face, and you start laughing.

“What?” Joel asks, confused and serving the biggest doe eyes in your direction.

For someone who punched first and asked questions later, a night stuck with the howling story winds made quick work of reminding him he was cared for. “Nothing.” I love you. “You did scare me. I spent all night thinking about whether you were okay or not.” The doe eyes seem to glisten with the soft light, and it pulls you in to seal your lips on his again. “But it’s ok. I just wanna go now and run you a hot bath and massage… all of your body. Is that ok? Can I do that?”

Joel’s eyes said I’ve never felt more vulnerable and that’s going to be a lot, but it also said it’s exactly what I need and I don’t know how to say that out loud. From his lips, it came out, “I… yeah. Yeah, ya can. I wanna… Wash your hair. And—you. ‘s that weird?”

“It’s not.”

“I like that smile on you. ‘s my favorite.”

“I am so happy I left Tommy behind.” Joel laughs at that, and he makes a move to get up. “I’m serious. We’d never hear the end of this.”He gets up with your help, and you two can walk side by side, leaning on each other and not speak of the storm that passed and carried more than just heavy snow all around. The things that are rising and growing between you are deep-rooted somewhere—nothing seems to shake you and Joel away. Only closer together. Tighter. Realer.

🏷 @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

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[nexusnyx]

This is for your sleepover. I am just being a menace knowing what this prompt could cause. I am requesting a fic. Work at all your leisure.

So it is a request for a Dark! King Caspian. Prompts

"i thought i could trust you." "and whose fault is that?"

their breath hitching whenever the other gets a little closer

Maybe if you would like some background

Reader was Caspian's friend that has helped him even after everyone has told them he was a lost cause. But Reader is in love and keeping it from him. But that's just a suggestion you work your own magic.

Okay, we spoke about this and I told you what people have no clue about, but Prince Caspian was my first fictional boyfriend. My first man. I haven't written him in ages and this might genuinely tingle parts of my brain that were long forgotten, but I can't wait. Here we go, Ellie. — main masterlist | 🏷️: Dark!King Caspian, life-long best friends, friends to enemies to lovers to 'friends', pining, mentions of smut, unresolved sexual tension; [WC: 1.4k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ i was never there ꒱

Peace among the Telmarine Kingdoms came at high prices that one but he, the King, was ready to speak for or own up to. It came at the cost of what sometimes felt like his soul if he still believed in those.

Most of the time, you stood by his side as Caspian chose whatever he must.

As his Counselor, you knew what no one else in the world did.

As his friend, you saw what even Caspian himself tried to hide. And as his lover... well—that part was long gone. But you remembered it. What it was like, having the pieces of him that reminded you of the Caspian that once was. Having the pieces of the King, who reminded you of who you kept falling for. Being trapped by.

Caspian won you back by saying Narnia would collapse without you.

Back then, a couple of years ago, he went into the woods in search of you after the fallout you two had and whispered the words you longed to hear for a long time. "I can't do this without you. Come back to me. You know it's different with us—you know... it's us."

“I’ll come back under one condition.”

“Anything.” The way Caspian uttered words changed after he became King. After power dripped off his shoulders as if his cloaks and clothes carried magic unknown by everyone else.

“It’ll be different. I’m not—your Consort.” The way you spit out the word carried your shame, the memories, and his taste. “Don’t turn me into one. Not again.”

Instead of nodding along, Caspian took his time before answering. He looked around your tent, looked you up and down as if searching for the answer in your body — as he had many times before — and then, after tense seconds of silence, he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

You knew the roundtable were still in talks to marry him to Ramandu’s daughter. Two years of absence and that was yet to change.

Caspian’s stubbornness was as iconic as his sword.

But if he would marry her—and he would, for there was no doubt about the best choice for Narnia’s King, then you would stay clear of his chambers.

“You’ll advise me. Go back to your place by my side.” He spoke in absolutes, and it made you remember that now, you had to look straight into his eyes when he spoke, and not the curve of his lips. Not the dark feathers surrounding his neck, or the secrets he hid in the corner of his mouth.

“So it is.”

It lasted months.

Months of Caspian showing you how much he had changed — so much power, how could one being carry so much power within them — and yet, how much he was still the same. The sudden bursts of playfulness when the two of you were alone in the private gardens of the castle. The knowing looks and entire conversations he was able to carry with you over people’s heads in balls, meetings, encounters. All of that, and the sizzling, almost-alive energy that you two generated when you got too close.

That went nowhere.

“Where did you go?” He asked you in rose garden once. You two had practiced the shortsword together long enough to be dripping in sweat, so you sat under a willow tree and watched as Caspian laid his body by your feet, resting his head on his hand. “None of my soldiers could find you for too long.”

“Narnia is a big place,” you answered. Being difficult with him was a pastime you never grew out of.

Caspian rolled his eyes. “I’m happy your time away in mysterious place never robbed you of your difficultness.”

“How could it? I was born with it.”

Caspian smiled. One of those rare and gorgeous smiles. “I said that when I was a teenager. Will you ever let it go?”

“Never.” That memory was etched into you. Tattooed on the walls of your brain, along with the first kiss of his lips on yours that followed those words.

The air sizzled slightly, and you knew the topic etched too close to dangerous waters.

“And you—did you learn anything about battling with more than one weapon or are we done here?”

It was good enough of a distraction.

The battlefield became your only escapade. The only place you two could be near each other, close, touching, and the hitches on your breath or soft gasps that escaped your lips could be passed by something else other than it was.

A storm, brewing in the distance.

He’d promised you that he’d keep his distance. Caspian promised to respect your wished, but Caspian lied before.

A few days after that, and he brings you back to where you were before running away. 

Harvest festivals were a time of drunkenness, stupidity, accidents.

As his Counselor and one of his first Knights, it meant hours of boring work—being one of the few sober people in a castle full of drunks and high folks was not only tiresome, it was annoying.

When he comes to you offering a glass of — you check with your nose, humming along — absinthe, and his pipe, you think, at least this. At least a little bit of peace.

You two talk for a while. Hushed tones, poised faces. People pass by and greet, sometimes stopping to try and participate, but as always, they feel left out after a while. Nothing and no one can quite keep your pace—you and Caspian developed your own rhythm years ago, and that only worsened with the years.

When he asks to go up to the meeting room, it’s past the peak of night. It must be only a few hours before sunrise, and you think—’the guards can finish this’. So you go up. 

Conversation about the trip to Poppy Fields is so good that you almost miss it.

His eyes on you, heavy and meaningful. The long sips he takes of his glass, and how his voice lowers.

When you do register, it’s because of proximity. You’re standing in front of his bookshelf, checking the new addition titles he acquired in your absence, and then, his presence covers your back like a dark cloud.

You shiver, breath hitching once again. Caspian’s close. Too close for a conversation, and the silence that comes with it makes it known for the both of you.

This proximity’s dangerous, and it makes a knot climb up your throat. 

He’d promised.

Frozen, you stand there in silence, your words forgotten and the topic of the conversation unknown to you, carried away by the wind. All you can feel is how his chest is only a couple of inches away. He removed his cloak, leaving only his white blousy tucked in his pants, and know what he looks like without taking a glance back.

“You promised me.” It comes out as a sad, choked whisper.

He knows you’re too weak to ever want to push him away. “I did.” He sounds surprised. Not at breaking his promise, but that he did one in the first place. Caspian’s hands find your waist, and they might as well be balls of fire for the way they burn through your clothes, warming the skin under. “I tried.”

He had. Both of you had, you knew.

"I thought I could trust you." To try harder. To keep your promise.

Caspian chuckles at that, dark and low. His face inches closer, his lips ghosting over your ear in that way he knows makes you weak— "And whose fault is that?" With those words, he pulls your body flushed against his, and then brings his lips to your neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses that goes from under your ear to the column of your throat.

Caspian lied before, but never to you.

But then again, if you thought about it, he had promised long ago that he would never hide what he really feels for you. He promised that first.

You spin around in his arms when Caspian’s teeth sink against you, and bury your moan in his mouth, surrending entirely to the ocean of him and everything you missed. You’re shaking, hands trembling and chest panting, but so is he.

Neither of you will make past the table this first time, but this table had seen your naked body before, and it had seen its King falling apart by your hands.

This was your fault. And his. And you two were guilty, willingly, together. Over and over again.

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[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.

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[nexusnyx]

It was hard to just pick one for Shuri but this is what I shall start with 😮‍💨

🖋️ when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine + Shuri

I missed writing for my wife and I won't lie, this makes me very happy. — main masterlist | 🏷️: pining, fluff, flirting. [WC: 1.7k]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˗ˏˋ꒰ why don't you stay here tonight꒱

She made it easy to call her Your Grace.

That's all Shuri was. Graceful. Whatever the situation may be—whether it was in her happiness, her anger, her cleverness; even in her cockiest moments, Shuri kept her poise.

During the celebration of seven years since the rebirth of the Heart-Shaped Herb, Shuri, or as you always called her, Your Grace, does something she’s never done before. A new step in this well-rehearsed dance you two have had since you met at the UN Conference seven years ago, and it sends you into a frenzy. If rumors were to be believed and the Panther had the ability to hear even the slightest shifts in people’s heartbeats, you were doomed.

One single touch, and you’re faced with the side of you that never sees the light: speechless.

Surprised.

The drop-in is almost theatrical, but you’ve grown to love it.

Her Majesty does it very rarely—only in occasions that are truly special does she drop from the sky like a comet, landing on her feet like the Panther she is, but you eat it up every time, with your bare hands, licking the tip of your fingers.

Certainly, she knew how good it looked.

After, when the party’s in full swing and she’s changed into her formal attire — a gorgeous and intricate white suit of three-piece, where none of them are like the traditional cuts of a suit. Some parts are adjusted to hug her body tight and perfectly, while others flow effortlessly behind her.

When she’s done with most of the small talks around the oval room the party’s taking place, you’re nursing your second glass of the exquisite drinks they prepared.

Shuri finds you leaning against the balcony of the bar, and you feel her presence before you hear her voice.

“So you found a flight.” That’s her introduction—a short nod to the last text messages you two shared a few hours ago.

You turn around, smiling already, and you use a slow nod as gateway to gather your thoughts at her proximity. “I had to. The Queen of the most powerful nation on Earth said she’d revoke my journalism rights within her borders if I missed the party to celebrate her biggest feat, so.” It had nothing to do with how much you missed her perfume. This perfume—the sharp and woody scent of something uniquely Shuri, mixed with an aphrodisiac smell you would swear in court existed only for her, and that lingering layer of honey she left behind every time she passed.

Shuri extended her hand and you shook it, happy to have the start of your usual dance with her.

In the seven years you two knew one another, the dance had been perfected.

At first, you and Shuri only shared extended, polite jabs and jokes above the heads of people who deserved it. After a year or so of that, you exchanged phone numbers. Another year into that and you were granted a special entry into Wakanda’s borders, and the exclusive right to interview Queen Shuri Udaku in all matters that regarded Wakanda, the Avengers Initiative or anything that was not of this Earth.

It was a lot.

Her smiles certainly made it easier.

After a few minutes of more small talk and light-hearted jokes, someone interrupts—a Dora Milaje.

She tries whisking Shuri away, and usually, this is where she parted with you—the woes of admiring someone so unattainable as herself were these.

Limited time.

Never any privacy.

But—”tell him that he can wait, Ayo. I’m having a nice talk. The first in weeks, if I’m being honest. Can’t I enjoy it?”

Ayo, as confused as you, looks between Shuri and you, nodding after a couple of times. “It is you party, My Queen. Enjoy it as much as you’d like. I’ll find something to entertain him.”

And with that, Ayo walks away, leaving you two to the bubble you’ve created around each other once again.

“So—you were talking about how the implants could help them with their reading comprehension skills. Go on.” Shuri grabs the glass and sips, looking up at you expectantly.

You have to open and close your mouth a couple of times to get anything out of it.

It comes out stuttered before your mind changes gears and remembers how to think again.

She’d blown off people and situations to speak to you before—that was normal. You two were… friends. But—in a public gathering? A national celebration, one that had not only Wakandians, but also the exclusive ring of international connections who were allowed into these lands? You were pretty certain you’d seen Captain America walking around not even twenty minutes ago, and you were certain that one on the other side of the party was Carol Danvers, and yet, here she was.

Shuri listened with the attention of someone who had nowhere else to be.

This was… unexpected.

A rare move, but one that could still be found in the dance of your mind.

She had done this before.

In Versailles, two years ago, Shuri ditched the meeting to pull you aside and give you a tour of the place once you’d said you had never been before. You two ended up in a random roof smoking the best weed of your life, speaking of loss and rebirth.

You still dreamt about that night.

About how close you two had been, and how much your hands were clammy with sweat the whole time due to the proximity.

You lose yourself in the conversation a couple of times, too distracted by the gold rings on her fingers, the buzzcut that got in her last trip to Brazil with those razor lines and, of course, the glimmer of her technology on her arms.

She’s talking about poems now, and how much she enjoyed your last recommendations when it happens.

“I think I liked it,” she said. “She knows how to write in different ways. I liked your favorite one a lot.”

“Siehl’s got a way with words,” you agreed.

She took a deep breath, and then, as if doing so was normal and not a certain path to re-arrange your insides into outsides, she quotes the poem in her sultry, gorgeous voice, which had smoothed out since she started speaking a lot more. “In this story, you have claws. In this story, happily ever after has bite marks in it. In this story, you are free and terrifying. In this story, you get away. In this story, you bleed. Iin this story, you survive.”

All of your breath is gone, and your mouth has run dry by the time she says ‘survive’ with the life-knowledge of more than just her decades of life.

“Is that you have that tattoo?” She asked, pointing over at your left arm.

You look down at where her fingers pointing even though you know what’s in it. “I—yeah.” The girl in your tattoo had a bitten book, her jaw is drenched in blood and she looked victorious. It was your favorite.

“It’s my favorite.”

Goddamn it. You could barely look at her. “Mine too.”

“I’m glad I recommended you Ísis. She’s a great artist.”

This time, you looked up, only to find her eyes already on yours. “I’m waiting for the day you’ll get yours.”

“I still haven’t decided what I want. I want too many things, I guess.” Shuri scoffed. “Too much.”

“They’re a big step, but you’ll know it when you know it.”

“What if I’m scared of needles?” Her question came accompanied by a shit-eating grin.

It made you smile, too, cheeks heating up at the sight of Shuri’s gorgeous smile. “I think you’ll live, Your Grace.”

“I might not.”

You laughed, because it was a laughing matter. “I’m sure one of your well-trained soldiers could protect you from feeling all that pain alone.”

“What if I want you to do it?”

It does its work—it traps you on the spot, and by the look on her face, it’s exactly what she wanted.

Something that had been catching her eye behind your shoulders pulls her gaze again, and Shuri looks back at you with double the determination.

“I’ll go tomorrow if you tell me you’ll hold my hand the whole time.” Nothing in her tone says ‘this is a joke’, and you have to swallow down a knot to answer her.

“They might be a little… sweaty. I get—second-hand nervousness. Not so comfortable.”

“Of course it is. It’s your hand. Better than feeling needles pricking into me all alone.”

“Well, in that case…”

“You’ll come?” Shuri’s smile widens.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? I’m not sure even what day is it tomorrow, but if I had any plans, now I don’t anymore.”

That gets a little chuckle out of her, and Shuri nods at you. “Okay. That’s perfect.” She looks over to somewhere on your back again, and sighs. “I think my General’s trying to warn me in a polite way that I’ve been here for too long and I need to go mingle. But I’ll be back soon—”

then, she does it.

Shuri breaks the seven-year long dance you two had of talk talk talk talk into your ears were filled with each other’s voices and your chests were swimming with other’s words, idioms, syncrascies, and never touch, by passing by you and squeezing your waist.

She leans in to whisper in your ear.

“There are two secret doors here that lead to top of those arches outside. The view is beautiful and the sun is setting in forty six minutes.”

And then, she leaves, taking all of her heat with her, but letting her hands linger on your body for as long as they can.

Goosebumps rise in her absence, originating from the place her hand touched and spreading all over your body.

Shuri touched you over your clothes, and you could swear your skin was on fire either way.You know an invitation when you hear one, and your eyes start searching the minute you remember how to think a coherent thought. However long that takes.

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

[nexusnyx]

* . FIREPLACE . *

In honor of over 10k of you being present, I decided to do a slumber party! I asked all of you if there would be no issue with how long it'd take for me to go through all the requests & games, and since most of you voted 'no issues', I'm giving it a chance.

I want to leave my thank you to every reader who interacts with my stories. All the replies, reblogs and comments you leave are what motivates me to keep sharing things. Without further ado, let's party!

→ The party will continue until I've cleared my inbox! Requests are open until further notice.

ㅤㅤ▹ Feel free to send one request or more; ㅤㅤ▹ Be patient with me, please. Politeness when asking for things is always a plus :) ㅤㅤ▹ If in doubt whether I write for this character or not, just send me an ask!

How this cabin party will work:

→ Send the emoji of your request and what else is needed for me to complete it the best way possible. Example: "🖋️ soft te-encounter + Joel Miller”.

ㅤㅤ▹ 🖋️ your prompt in 1k words .ೃ࿐ send a prompt + character and i'll write a drabble of it. here's a list of prompts you can look at. (any other list from this page is a good call!)

ㅤㅤ▹🎶 your playlist  .ೃ࿐ send a character or ask me to go through your page and make a short playlist based on what I know.

ㅤㅤ▹🎨 moodboards & 5 headcanons .ೃ࿐ tell me if it's for you, for a character you like or a ship, and i'll hit my pinterest to give you the moodboard + five headcanons I associate with the chosen person.

ㅤㅤ▹🎧 song recs .ೃ࿐ a little more specific than 'your playlist', you can ask me for a song commendation based on what i know of you, a feeling, a character or anything else you'd like!

ㅤㅤ▹📖 fic recs .ೃ࿐ ask me to recommend you a favorite or a work i've been going through! i can only recommend fics from characters I read, though.

ㅤㅤ▹📚 book recs .ೃ࿐ to my bookworms, i would love to discuss a bigger library. interested in a book recommendation for you? i can try!

Mutuals 'no pressure' tag ▹ @sweetdreamsbuck , @fandoms-writings , @bvckysmoon , @cocoamoonmalfoy , @cordiformity , @foreverindreamlandd , @intrepidacious , @inklore , @jettia , @laters-gators , @mrsmischief209 , @psychedelic-ink , @pellucid-constellations &lt;3

[nexusnyx]

Hello sweet pea! Sending in an ask for you!

📖 - recommend me a fic you’ve read for any character! I’m open to reading pretty much any character, I love finding new blorbos! 🤭

Hi sweetheart!

📖 I've been stuck in my Joel mind-rot for a while now so I only have Joel favorites (ohhhh no), but if you've read all of these - which might be the case 'cause let's be honest, just let me know in the replies and I'll make a part two. My current favorites and re-reads:

Stay in Bed, by @psychedelic-ink. (It's a masterpiece in progress, as I like to think of it.)

Head Filled with Parasites, also by @psychedelic-ink because everyone needs their dose of Musician!Joel;

Unspoken, by @softlyspector. One of the most heartwrenching and delicious Joel pieces.

Need to See You, by @mvtthewmurdvck (this belongs to their Rain!Verse series, idk if you ever read for Simon Riley but I swear up and down this is worth every second);

2:22 am, by @sweetdreamsbuck, this is one of my comfort Bucky pieces and if you want something magical to read, this is it!

fool me twice, which you probably have read?, by @inklore because you know that's my breakfast lunch and dinner since it came out. (hi laur, you feed us well <3)

[nexusnyx]

📚 may I specifically ask for recs of books with non-american authors? I wanna start branching out more! Fiction is best but I don’t mind a non-fiction rec!

Giggling, twirling my hairrrrrr, screaming! I love recommending non-american authors, babe, so here we go:

Who Cooked the Last Super? by Rosalind Miles, one of the most interesting reads I've had in a while. (She's English, but we forgive her, just for the time of the reading.) "Men dominate history because men write history. There have been many heroes, but no heroines. Here, in Who Cooked the Last Supper?, is the history you never learned--but should have!"

The Stream of Life, by Clarice Lispector (one of my favorite Brazilian authors <3). It's considered her greatest work and I won't bother with any descriptions because going in with no spoilers is even better.

Babel, or the Necessity of Violence, by R. F. Kuang (who is Chinese-American, so we ignore the second bit here 'cause the novel's worth it). This became one of my favorite books. It's that good. "Traduttore, traditore: An act of translation is always an act of betrayal."

The Collected Stories of Machado de Assis, by Machado de Assis. He's a black Brazilian writer who's been considered one of the greatest in here for a long time. His stories are cinematic as fuck, and his characters are so interesting, and I'll never forget being 12 years old and crying over Whale (a dog in his tale). Among my favorites of his are The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas and Dom Casmurro. The first one's narrated by a dead young (Brás Cubas) and the second is the story of Capitu, and if whether she cheated on her man or not (it's narrated by the guy's POV, so it's so biased and fuck, it's SO good.)

Hope you like one of these, Cocoa <3333

[nexusnyx]

For the slumber party, may I please get a book rec? I am honestly open to anything. I love mafia romance, grumpy x sunshine, single parent romance, fantasy, smut, horror, monster fucking. I’m open to pretty much anything lol

Also congrats again!! You’re incredible and deserve the whole world!💜💜💜

Book rec coming your way!

If you wanna read something a little heartbreaking but extremely wise & insightful, read The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa,

if you want something about rivalry, friendship and truth, "M. L. Rio's sparkling debut is a richly layered story of love, friendship, and obsession..." (< I love this review about it), read If We Were Villains,

if you want a rec about relationships, feelings, and connection, read Conversations with Friends, by Sally Rooney.

Thank you so much love! If you end up reading any of them I'd love to hear your thoughts 💜💜

[nexusnyx]

it's me again whoops dfvfdvf I'm in desperate need of a book recommendation, something spicy and fae related perhaps?? I just realize I never read a fairy romance so now I'm curious to read one, thank you ily <333

i'm shaking in my boots rn how dare you ask me for the one thing i don't read ahlasklask i'm legit climbing up the walls i am so sorry, Sil, but i've never read a single fae spicy book (although I've heard they're great!!!) so if anyone knows any good recs, feel free to drop them below!

i promise i'll probably know if you ask for another one?! i'm just a bookworm geek who's unable to rec something she hasn't read before :>

[nexusnyx]

once again congrats bby! it's very well deserved <333 could I request ▹🎶 your playlist  .ೃ࿐ of my page please? or joel miller with enemies-to-lovers vibes <333 which ever one is the most fun for you, thank you!!

And once again, thank you beautiful! I adore you and it makes me happy that you're here to celebrate this.

Because it's you, you get both.

Here's Psychedelic & Smooth, your playlist. And I'll be working on an enemies-to-lovers drabble and dedicate it to you 'cause they're both fun as hell to do <333

[nexusnyx]

Hii!

Can you make a playlist from the vibes you get from me? I love the playlist you make!

uhhhh, another playlist request! i often see you in my notifs being extra sweet; i passed through your Tumblr to get a bigger feel of your vibes, and here's the result, babes:

☆ the wild cat ☆

[nexusnyx]

Making this one easier

🎶 of me/page when you have the opportunity please.

oh, this one was easy! i hope you like it, Ellie:

mischief not managed 🎶

[nexusnyx]

Here I am with another one 😌

🎶 — would you go through my page and make me one? 🥺

Here you are my lovely! And it was my utmost pleasure trying to create the Soundtrack for the one & only Remi; hope you enjoy it:

cabin of love 🎶