luvlofiie

[luvlofiie]

breaking news: woman is insane about that fictional character, even more so than yesterday

[luvlofiie]

Kiss my neck and tell me repeatedly how I'm yours.

[luvlofiie]

This man makes me so feral. Like, I would burn my whole life down just to touch his skin.

[luvlofiie]

gosh, I wish Joel was real💔

road trips with joel !! ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆

you always pissed him off cause you had your feet up on the dash at all times, your shoes scuffing the old leather of his truck. he had old country on the radio, windows rolled down and the sun kissing your skin. you always looked beautiful in joel’s eyes but something about you seeming so relaxed on the little road trips you took every summer made you extra beautiful to him. johnny cash idly played as his big hands gripped the wheel, driving down endless empty highways. you got bored sometimes so you played silly little games with joel, his hand resting gently on your knee. “y’know i love spending summer with you, doll.” he always said, grinning from ear to ear. he loved you so much it made him sick — the time off work was always worth it.

“joellll i spyyy some sheep!” you giggled, pointing out of the window at a flock of sheep grazing in a field. “aw they’re so cute, i’d love a little baby lamb.” you hummed, tossing your hair over your shoulder and looking over at joel with puppy eyes. “darlin’ we can’t have a baby sheep in the house.” he chuckled, patting your thigh affectionately. “but why not?” you pouted playfully. he chuckled again to himself, shaking his head and grabbing a cold pepsi from the cooler in the backseat.

the nights were spent in shitty motels, giggling as you were tangled in those scratchy floral sheets. neither of you cared, you were just happy to be together. a cigarette hung from joels lips as you both lay in bed, his hand gripping the soft flesh of your hip. “god this place really is awful ain’t it darlin’?” he chuckled, taking a long drag before stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the side table. “yeah but it’s okay joel, im with this hunk in bed.” you giggled, nosing his cheek lovingly. he loved you so fucking much. that night ended in joel’s head between your thighs, feasting on your sweet juices — he loved spoiling his girl.

sticky popsicles from the seedy gas stations you visited, the smell of gasoline and cigarette ash is all you two knew on the 3 weeks of your road trip, sometimes you spent nights cooped up in the back of the truck when you were too tired to find a motel — tucked beneath a gingham blanket, you both watched the stars through the sunroof of the car, stealing kisses and breaths mingling. everything was so intimate with joel, you didn���t think you could ever love someone as much as you loved him. one particular night you were snuggled up in the backseats, seats all the way down as you cuddled up trying to get comfortable on the worn leather of joel’s old truck. “joelll you’re tickling me.” you grumped, commenting on his beard tickling the back of your neck. joel chuckled, kissing the crown of your head. “sorry baby, just can’t resist kissin’ ya.” you blushed at his words, even after all of your time together he managed to make you blush.

again, that night ended with you on top of him — hips bouncing up and down greedily on his length whilst you took what you needed from him. hips moving in circles as you buried your head into his neck, whining a pretty. “joel..!” as you came — he followed not long after, shooting his warm load inside of you. you both basked in the afterglow, truck windows all foggy from the intensity of it all. you looked up at him, all sweaty and tired as you lay your head on his chest. “joelie do you think we finally have a baby?”

the pics r purely for the vibes !! nothing to do with the storyline or readers appearance. i saw the pics of sabrina and was soo inspired to write something about road tripping with joel hehe. 🫣

[luvlofiie]

Obsessed, thank you for the creds girl I love you!! 🤍🤍

hello!!! i love your writing so much😭💗 could i request some dbf!joel no outbreak who randomly runs into reader after years since her dad’s death (they didnt see each other because reader moved without warning or something like that) and shes a completely disaster and denies joel’s help but finally admits that she always wanted him and then idk honestly maybe they fuck maybe they just kiss whatever you want and sorry for this long and bad written request lmao ignore if you want💗

Cigarettes & Sorrow

Pairing: dbfjoel x reader

Summary: in the wake of your father’s passing, you return home to clean out his house, your old childhood home. With your grief, you attempted to stay to yourself until your dad’s best friend Joel shows up and soon you found yourself within his arms soothing you through your loss in more ways than one

Warnings: a bit of smut, language, mentions of death, some fluff

WC: 1.7k

A/n: So sorry for the wait, I was away from home for a few days, but now I'm back, so I hope you enjoy. also thank you to anon for this request.

Moodboard by: @luvlofiie

Grieving is strange.

Your mind wanders, whether you want it to or not—through memories that cling like static. The good, the bad, even the ugly. Your brain digging its nails in, desperate not to forget the little things about him. Who he used to be. Who you were when he was here.

But what’s even stranger is the way the world around you shifts. Subtle things. The air feels heavier walking through the front door of your childhood home. No scent of cocoa waiting. No dad at the table with that soft, knowing smile, cup of your favorite hot chocolate in hand. Just silence.

You pause in the living room and see the dip in his favorite recliner. His whiskey glass still on the table beside it, a tiny splash of amber at the bottom, like he just stepped out for a minute.

His shoes still sit beside the bed. His coat still hangs on the rack. Nothing’s moved, and yet everything is different.

The whole house feels like it’s holding its breath. Like it’s waiting for him too.

Growing up, it was always just the two of you. He dragged you on every fishing trip he could manage, even when you whined and stomped and hated the bugs. And still, you loved it—because it was with him. Even the simplest moments felt important. Real.

Now, walking through his house, your house now, feels like walking through grief itself. It’s in every nail in the wall, every picture frame, every damn creaky floorboard. He’s part of this place. Part of you. And now he’s gone.

You sit at the kitchen table and the memories pour in like a flood you didn’t ask for. They’re thick and unrelenting, wrapping around you until you don’t know where they stop and you begin. You remember the sound of his laugh, the way he used to hum under his breath while cooking, how he’d sneak a sip of your cocoa when he thought you weren’t looking.

This house is a museum of him. Every room, a shrine. And you can’t decide if you want to stay or burn it all down just to stop the ache.

You don't even realize how long you’ve been crying until your sleeve is soaked.

Then—the doorbell.

It doesn’t scare you, not the sound itself. It’s the timing. The way it slices through your grief like it knew you were about to drown in it. You wipe your face, the chair scraping loudly across the floor as you move. You already feel annoyed—probably some salesman or a neighbor who means well and says all the wrong things.

But when you open the door, it’s him.

Joel.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice low and rough like gravel under tires. His eyes flick away and back again, and he scratches the back of his neck like he doesn't know what to do with himself. “Saw your car. Figured I’d check in.”

He’s holding back. You can feel it. Like breathing too loud might set you off. He’s giving you space, and somehow that carefulness is worse than anything. Because you didn’t want to need anyone—especially not him. But you don't say that. You don't say anything.

Joel just stands there, solid and quiet, hands rough and stained from a life of fixing things. He’s not the type to ask what’s wrong. He just shows up. Always has. And sometimes, just his presence makes the broken things hurt a little less.

Maybe… maybe he’s the only one who could fix your heart.

“Yeah, I just…” you start, words trailing off.

“I know,” he answers softly.

He does. Somehow, he always does. The weight behind his eyes tells you he’s hurting too—he lost someone, same as you. Maybe not by blood, but close enough. And maybe you’re the only one left who understands what that means for him.

You step aside, the door creaking as it opens wider. He steps in without asking.

The house swallows him up like he belongs in it.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just walks slow through the living room. The walls still show everything you ever did—your drawings, your awards, your childhood frozen in time. Your dad never took them down. He was proud like that.

Joel pauses in front of a photo—one where you’re six, smiling wide with a missing front tooth, holding a fish bigger than your head while your dad beams behind you on a boat.

Joel's thumb brushes the corner of the frame. His jaw flexes like he's chewing something unspoken.

You stand a few feet behind him, arms crossed tight across your chest, not sure if you're keeping yourself warm or guarded. You don’t know if you should lean into this comfort or push it away.

“I remember that trip,” you finally say. “I begged him to let me drive the boat. We ended up spinning in circles for like an hour.”

Joel turns, mouth twitching into something almost-smile. “Bet he was proud.”

“He is,” he adds after a pause, and it hits you harder than expected.

You try to smile, but it dies on your face. Joel sees it. Of course he does.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, voice raw, breaking open. “With all of this.”

He doesn’t respond. Not with words. He never was the talking type. But you hear his boots move across the floor. Then you feel him, close behind you. Warm. Solid. His arms slip around your waist, and you let him, even though part of you screams that it’s too much, too soon, too complicated.

You sink into him anyway.

He smells like motor oil and sun-drenched cotton. Like everything familiar. Everything safe.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs.

And somehow, those three words are enough.

His arms were around your waist, holding you close, like the floor is about to open up and swallow you whole.

And honestly? You kind of want it to.

Because nothing feels real—not the quiet, not the ache, not even Joel, breathing against the side of your neck like he might break if he let go. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, clinging like he’s the only thing anchoring you.

Maybe he is.

You turn your face, slowly, and there he is—so close. Eyes dark, searching. His brow furrows like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something stupid.

So you do it for him.

You kiss him.

Soft, at first. Just lips, pressed and hesitant, like you’re both still pretending there’s a line here that matters.

But then his hand slides up your back, cups the side of your face, and everything snaps.

His mouth crashes into yours. Hard. Hungry.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything else. Years of almost and regrets and quiet what-ifs. His tongue pushes past your lips, deep, claiming, and you moan into it, breath stolen and heart slamming against your ribs.

Your hands claw at his shirt, yanking it up, dragging nails across skin that’s hot and solid and so fucking real. He groans low in his chest, hands already on your ass, lifting you—lifting you like you weigh nothing—and walking you backwards toward the hallway.

“Bedroom,” you gasp against his mouth.

He doesn’t answer.

Just kicks open the door and drops you onto the bed like you belong there.

He peels his shirt the rest of the way off, eyes never leaving yours. The room’s dim, shadows everywhere, but you see the way his chest rises and falls like he’s been holding back since the day you first smiled at him too long.

You yank your own top off, then your bra, and his gaze drags over you like a hand, slow and reverent and filthy.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you.”

You open your legs in invitation. Challenge.

He takes it.

Your jeans are gone in seconds, his hands rough and impatient. He drags them down your thighs, mouth following—hot kisses, sharp nips, a groan when he catches the scent of you.

He presses his face between your legs like he’s home.

And then his tongue slides over your clit, slow and flat, and your entire body arches off the mattress with a cry that sounds nothing like grief.

“Fuck—Joel—”

His name breaks apart on your tongue as he sucks your clit, finger sliding into you, thick and curling, and you can’t stop moaning, can’t stop grabbing his hair, grinding against his face like a woman possessed.

You come like that—hard, loud, shaking—his name a prayer and a curse all at once.

But he’s not done.

He crawls up your body, beard soaked, mouth swollen, and kisses you with the taste of yourself still on his lips.

You fumble with his jeans, desperate now, breathless. He helps, dragging them down with a groan, cock hard and heavy, flushed dark and leaking.

He lines himself up, and pauses—just barely.

You nod. “Do it.”

He thrusts into you in one long, slow slide, and the stretch is perfect. Deep. Hot. Your back arches and your legs wrap around him like instinct.

“Jesus—you feel so fuckin’ good,” he grits, hips already moving, deep and dragging. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing skin, groaning low every time you clench around him.

You meet every thrust. Hips rising, arms around his shoulders, mouth at his ear whispering every filthy, broken thing you’ve ever wanted to say.

“Been thinking about this for years,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Fuckin’ dreamed of it. Woke up hard more times than I can count—couldn’t even look at you without wanting—”

“Then take it,” you gasp. “All of it. Take me.”

And he does.

He fucks you like he’s trying to erase the time between now and that first kiss. Like your body’s the only place that ever made sense. His hand slips between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing circles that make you whimper, legs trembling.

You come again—louder this time, tighter, body clenching around him like he’s yours.

And Joel—Joel falls apart.

With a gasp. A growl. A broken sound as he spills into you, hips grinding deep, holding himself inside as long as he can.

You don’t let him go.

Even when he collapses onto you, breathing hard, skin slick and hot and trembling, you keep your arms around him like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you blink.

The room’s quiet now.

Just breath. Just heartbeat. Just the smell of sweat and sex and something that feels dangerously close to love.

You both fall asleep like that—tangled and ruined and full of things neither of you is ready to say.

[luvlofiie]

oh my gosh I need to get a life

love notes

pairings joel miller x sunshine!reader

summary a sweet series of joel miller notes. soft little pieces of his heart as little love letters tucked into your every day. he never asks if you found them. you always do. and he always knows. he’s always there.

tags lots of fluff, quiet love notes, domestic moments, and joel being sweet. set in jackson, post-outbreak. established relationship, and lots of gentle, everyday affection. love in the little things. acts of service as love language, he loves you in silence, quiet love notes, post-it note romance. gets spicier.

masterlist dividers by: @uzmacchiato

you groan as you shuffle into the kitchen, sleep still clinging to your limbs. the coffee tin’s half empty, same as your energy.

you pop the lid and something flutters out. a folded scrap of paper, taped to the inside.

you unfold it, his handwriting unmistakable.

“hope this makes your morning a little better. like you always make mine.”

you lean against the counter, smiling into the quiet, coffee forgotten for just a moment. he grumbles from the other room.

“you find it?”

you call back, voice warm. “yeah. i did.”

“good,” he says. “was worried it’d fall into the grounds.”

it’s laundry day. again. you’re folding socks when one of yours feels heavier than usual. you tug at it—and out falls a tiny square of paper.

“you wear the warmest things but you’re still the one keepin’ this place cozy.”

you glance toward the door where he’s chopping firewood, sleeves rolled, hair a mess. he doesn’t see you watching—but he pauses like he feels it.

you slip the note into your back pocket. you’ll keep it. like you keep him.

you’re brushing your teeth when you spot it. a square of paper tucked into the edge of the mirror behind your toothbrush cup.

it wasn’t there this morning.

you pull it free, toothpaste foam threatening to spill from your mouth.

“every time you smile into this mirror, i fall in love again.”

you’re still holding the note when joel walks by, pauses in the doorway. he doesn’t say anything and just watches you smile.

you rinse and mutter, “you’re such a sap.”

you open the fridge after dinner, just to peek. one slice of pie is left, barely hanging on. there’s a sticky note taped right to the container.

“left you the last piece ’cause you always let me have the first.”

you turn around to find joel pretending to be very busy wiping down the table.

you hold up the pie. “you’re trying to make me cry over dessert?”

he shrugs. “worked?”

you kiss his cheek. “might’ve.”

it’s late. you’re tucking an extra blanket into the corner chair, the one by the window.

something crinkles beneath the cushion — and when you lift it, a folded note slides free.

“this is the spot where i first knew you felt like home.”

you sit there for a while, blanket draped across your lap, eyes misty.

joel finds you minutes later, leans on the doorframe.

“you remember?”

you nod. “i never forgot.”

he walks over and pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“me neither.”

you’re changing the sheets when you find it — a tiny folded note tucked deep in the pillowcase.

it must’ve been hiding there for a while.

“just in case you ever forget how much i love you."

your hands still. the quiet hum of the house fills the space where your breath used to be.

joel walks in, drying his hands on a dish towel. he sees you holding the note and stops in his tracks.

“you weren’t supposed to find that so soon,” he mumbles.

you smile, hugging the paper to your chest.

he walks over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad you did.”

it’s pouring outside. the kind of steady, peaceful rain that softens the world. you’re curled up on the couch, blanket tucked under your chin, mug of tea balanced in your hands.

inside the mug’s handle, a little square of folded paper.

“you make rainy days feel like sunshine.”

you blink, surprised. then glance toward the kitchen, where joel is drying dishes with a quiet smile on his face.

“you hid it in my mug?” you ask, grinning.

“figured you’d need something sweet before the tea cooled.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he taps your shoulder gently on his way past. “and you’re the light in this house.”

you wake up late, sun pouring through the curtains. joel’s not in bed but his warmth still lingers in the sheets.

on the nightstand is a note in his handwriting, folded neatly over a coaster.

“you talk in your sleep. last night you said my name like it was a prayer.”

you’re still holding the paper when he walks in with two mugs.

“you sleep okay?” he asks, gently.

you nod, eyes soft. “dreamed of you, i think.”

he hums. “guess we were dreamin’ the same thing.”

you’re getting ready for a short patrol, slipping your jacket on when something crunches in the pocket.

you dig around and pull out a folded napkin, wrapped around a crinkled note and two homemade granola bars.

“i packed the snacks you like. don’t tell ellie i stole hers.”

you laugh, pressing your lips together so it doesn’t escape too loud.

joel’s sitting on the steps, tying his boots. he glances up at you.

you lean down and kissed his lips.

“you’re sweet when you’re sneaky.”

you’re slipped into your coat for a walk, just to clear your head — the kind of quiet escape you’ve both learned to recognize in each other.

your fingers brush paper tucked in the pocket.

it’s small, folded once, his handwriting scratched a little messier than usual.

“you always know how to calm me down. even when i don’t say i need it.”

then you hear his footsteps behind you.

he doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself beside you. his thigh presses gently into yours. his hand finds yours.

it’s late, and you’re ready for bed.

a note.

folded once. the edges soft from fingers lingering too long. there’s a smudge of ink where his thumb probably pressed too hard.

you unfold it and read:

“i ain’t never been good at sayin’ things. but i hope you feel it anyway.”

it’s not long. it’s not fancy.

but it’s everything.

you slip quietly out of the room and find him in the kitchen, stirring sugar into a cup of tea.

he looks up, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. just studies your face, like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

you don’t say anything either. you walk right up, wrap your arms around him, and hold him like he’s something soft.

and fragile.

and home.

he exhales slowly into your hair, the tension in his shoulders easing. his arms come around you like they were always meant to.

he doesn’t ask if you read it. he doesn’t need to.

you felt it.

late autumn, jackson’s first snowfall.

you wake up to the hush that only snow brings. outside the window, the world is blanketed in fresh white.

you went into the kitchen, chilled but curious, and find a note stuck to the coffee tin with a magnet shaped like a crooked heart.

“happy first snow. i remembered you said it’s your favorite.”

you smile instantly, remembering how you once told joel, offhandedly, barely even thinking that the first snow always felt a little magical.

behind you, the door creaks and he steps inside, boots dusted white, cheeks pink from the cold.

you laugh and launch into his arms before he can shake the cold off.

your one-year anniversary.

you’re not expecting anything. you’d said no fuss. just a quiet day, maybe dinner if the power stays on.

but when you open the drawer, a piece of worn paper flutters out.

“one year ago today, you looked at me and smiled. i’m still not over it.”

your heart stutters.

joel walks in behind you. he’s trying not to smile.

“turn around, sweetheart. ”

a bouquet of fresh flowers.

you step forward and rest your forehead against his chest. “i love you, joel.”

he presses a kiss into your hair, voice low and rough. “i love you more.”

“had a bad dream. didn’t want to wake you. just needed to know you were real.”

found under your pillow after you noticed the sheets were rumpled more than usual.

you sleep in longer than usual. joel was gone when you woke, though the sheets were warm, the air still held the weight of him.

joel comes in moments later, mug in hand, eyes a little tired.

“i didn’t mean to wake you last night,” he says gently.

he sits beside you.

“didn’t want to ruin your sleep.”

“you’re never a ruin,” you whisper, and rest your head on his shoulder.

the sun is warm. you’re humming in the garden patch behind the house, talking to the squash vines like they’re old friends.

“you talk to the plants when you think no one’s listening. they like it. i do too.”

found tucked into your gardening gloves.

you blink, unfolding it carefully.

you glance toward the porch, and sure enough. joel’s sitting on the steps, arms resting on his knees, watching you with that crooked half-smile that never fully reaches his mouth unless he’s looking at you.

“you’re spying again,” you tease.

he shrugs. “i am, and proudly.”

you wrap the scarf around your neck on the first chilly morning of the season. something falls out and flutters to the floor.

a note, tucked between the folds.

“didn’t think i’d ever like autumn again. then you came with your damn scarves and apple pie.”

found folded inside the knit scarf you always wear once the leaves start turning.

you smile, heart thumping. he’s out front, sleeves rolled, cheeks pink from the wind.

you walk out, scarf tight, and toss an apple slice his way.

he catches it mid-air. “you find it?”

“yup,” you say, cheeks warm.

he smirks. “only for you.”

you didn’t make it to midnight. neither did he. you both nodded off tangled under a blanket and empty glasses nearby.

the next morning, you find the note slipped under your glass, a tiny smudge of ash on the corner.

“you're the first person i wanted to kiss 24/7. still do.”

found under your glass on new years morning.

you walk into the kitchen, where joel’s already making breakfast, hair sticking up at odd angles.

you say nothing, just wrap your arms around him from behind and press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“mornin’,”

“happy new year, miller.”

the sun’s out for the first time in weeks. you’re on your knees in the dirt, planting the tiny new shoots you bartered for at the last jackson market. you reach under the flower box to adjust its footing and feel paper brush your fingers.

“spring makes everything bloom. you make me soften.”

found under the porch flower box when you’re planting the first seeds of the year.

you glance up, heart doing that fluttery thing again.

joel’s watching you from the porch, arms crossed, trying not to look obvious.

you hold the note up like a trophy.

“i’m gonna start putting you in a flower box if you keep saying stuff like this.”

he chuckles. “least i’d get some sun.”

you catch him red-handed.

you’re pretending to look for the cinnamon, but really, you’re watching joel from the corner of your eye.

he’s in the living room. thinks you’re distracted. he pulls a note from his back pocket. worn and folded just like all the others and carefully tucks it into your current read on the side table.

you wait until he leaves the room. then you grab the book and open it to find:

“you caught me this time.”

you smile, heart full to the brim, and tiptoe into the hallway.

he’s already halfway up the stairs. you call out, “joel?”

he turns. you hold up the note.

“i think you’re due for a kiss.”

he raises a brow. “that so?”

you nod. “caught you fair and square.”

he smiles wide, just for you.

you press it to your chest, eyes warm. “you don’t have to hide them, you know.”

he shrugs. “kinda liked the hunt.”

you grin and slip your arms around his waist. “then next time, i’m leaving you a note.”

his eyebrows lift. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “but good luck finding mine.” you’re true to your word.

the next morning, joel is suspicious from the moment he wakes. his coffee is poured, breakfast warm on the table, but you’re suspiciously chipper.

grinning behind your mug like you know something he doesn’t.

because you do.

he pretends not to notice. you pretend you didn’t spend twenty minutes figuring out where to hide the note without him spotting you.

he checks his boots. his coat pockets. even lifts the lid of the sugar jar like maybe you got creative. nothing.

you say nothing. just kiss his cheek and remind him to be careful on patrol.

he kisses you back, lingers a second longer than usual.

when he came back, you found him hunched over the kitchen table, brow furrowed like he’s working a puzzle. he doesn’t even hear you walk in

“you looking for something?”

he glances up, caught again. “i might be.”

you hum, lean against the doorway, smug.

“maybe you just missed it.”

you step closer, brush a curl from his forehead. “want a hint?”

he tilts his chin, inviting. “hit me.”

you lean in and whisper against his ear. “page 237.”

and went outside.

you’d caught him rereading it late at night, the pages softened by time and thumbed-through affection.

he finds the note folded neatly at the page you marked, stuck between a paragraph about dust and distance.

"even when you’re quiet, i hear you. even when you’re gone, i feel you between my legs, in my chest, under my skin. you ruin me, and i want more. always.”

“jesus, baby…” he murmurs, almost to himself.

joel reads it twice. folds it once more, careful, and tucks it into his back pocket like it belongs there—like it always did.

by the time you walk into the room—barefoot and innocent like you didn’t just unravel him with one line. joel's still holding the note.

he looks up at you, eyes a little glossy, a little wide. stunned in that quiet joel kind of way. all softness and awe and love that has nowhere to go but into you.

“you tryna start something, sweetheart?”

you shrug, lazy and sweet. “maybe i’m just reminding you.”

his hand finds your waist. then your throat. gentle, possessive, reverent.

“remindin’ me of what?”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw, whispering the answer against his skin:

“that i'm yours and you're mine. always.”

joel groans low in his throat. you swear you feel it echo through your bones.

“you ever gonna stop leaving these?” he murmurs, voice thick with something softer than sleep.

“not unless you want me to.”

he shakes his head, gaze pinned to you like you hung the damn moon. “don’t you dare.”

"you too."

“come here,” he mutters, already walking you backward toward the bedroom. “you started it, baby. now you finish it.”

and you do.

with nothing but quiet gasps, loud moans, the sound of skin coated with sweat slapping and the rustle of worn sheets and the sound of joel loving you.

[luvlofiie]

barking like a dog in heat. I need to ride his hands like yesterday

[luvlofiie]

Gosh I freaking need this bad.

Can’t get over how good he looked in this scene so I might as well write something bc imagine…

Dbf!joel who came over for dinner with your family and you two didn’t see each other for weeks, so the excitement is big.

Dbf!joel whose eyes are on you every single time while you guys are eating, making it hard for you to act normal, the throbbing in your panties already unbearable.

Dbf!joel who just looks too good on this day, made his hair nice for you, wore that one shirt you liked on him so much.

Dbf!joel who lies to your father and tells him he isn’t feeling well so your father suggests him to stay in your house.

Dbf!joel who when the night falls and everybody is asleep, sneaks into your bedroom, seeing you in bed, smiling to you with a little “Hey, sweet girl”

Dbf!joel who doesn’t need lube because you have been aching for him since the last day you saw each other, slipping right into you.

Dbf!joel who keeps a hand on your mouth, so your parents won’t hear anything while gently hushing you with coos and whispers to you “shh. I know, baby. I know.”

Dbf!joel who thrusts into you quickly and hard, seeing his sweet girls fucked out eyes looking up to him as he keeps eye contact with furrowed brows.

Dbf!joel who absolutely missed the way your cunt felt around him as he whispers absolute filth into your ear. “fucking missed this, baby. Look at you taking me so well.” “Take it sweetheart, that’s what you made for, c’mon now.” “That feel good huh? That’s your spot yea?”

Dbf!joel feeling your orgasm approaching putting a thumb on your clit, rubbing and praising you. “That’s it, angel. Gonna cum for me now?”

Dbf!joel who fills you up, kisses your forehead and praises you, before putting the blanket over you again and saying goodbye for now as your tired eyes slowly drifting to sleep and him silently leaving your room again.

[luvlofiie]

I need him or I die

imagine cowboy joel, who just got back into the dating game, and thinks he sucks at planning cute dates, cause he’s not into the whole romantic dinner type of thing, going to a fancy restaurant and dressing up nice, instead he takes you to his favorite spots around his land such as a small creak, or a lake, where he goes skinny dipping!!! at the big age of 52. he would take you to a lone willow tree, and have a picnic with you, just napping and talking with his southern drawl in the shade, running his hands through your hair as you lay your head on his chest. oooh maybe he would take you camping (i hate camping but if joel miller took me camping i would be like a girlscout) and start a fire and he would play the guitar for you, mumbling things like “this song reminds me of you sugar” and starts playing i walk the line by johnny cash. and maybe just maybe he would do the whole fancy dinner thing, but at his house on his ranch, eating outside at his porch with you, not bothered by the mosquitoes around when you look so pretty and smell like candy and talk to him in such a sweet voice. so yeah cowboy joel miller is just a little insecure about the whole thing but is just so damn good at it. i need help.

[luvlofiie]

me after hearing Lewis Pullman say “spit it out” in The Starling Girl:

[luvlofiie]

no because…. yea.

and if I said the Thunderbolts are more of a family than the Avengers were

[luvlofiie]

A man's cock is so polite, it literally stands up so you can sit down

[luvlofiie]

the way i searched “Bob Thunderbolts x reader” and HUNDREDS of fics posted within the past 4 DAYS appear 😭 you guys worked FASTT.

[luvlofiie]

STEVE ROGERS WOULD PUNCH THE SHIT OUT OF DONALD TRUMP!!!!!

[luvlofiie]

rip 2012-2014 tumblr, you would have LOVED thunderbolts*

[luvlofiie]

This is so post 2020 “y/n stark” coded and I love.

Just Another Typical Day

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: It's just another typical day living and working with the Thunderbolts* and also dating Bucky Barnes.

WARNING: THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!

"Wakey wakey! Time to start the day!" Alexei enters your shared room with Bucky at the New Avengers Tower. His loud Russian accent echoing throughout the room, "Up and at 'em, as you Americans like to say, eh?" The Red Guardian leaves as quick as he comes in.

You pull the blankets over you and Bucky and curl into his side, "I thought he'd tire of that by now," you grumble, nuzzling your face into his neck.

Bucky sleepily chuckles, "Same, we greatly underestimated him."

"Yup," you lean in to kiss him, but there's a knock at the door this time and you hear Yelena say, "You two better come out soon. You know how Alexei gets when it comes to breakfast."

Bucky groans, "Maybe I should've kept my place in Brooklyn."

"Yeah, maybe," you giggle and kick off the blanket and sheets. You and Bucky made sure to start sleeping with clothes on after Alexei had barged into your room while you two were naked far too many times.

You two quickly dress and step out into the hall, the same time Bob steps out of his room. You bump shoulders with him, "Mornin', Robby."

He shyly smiles and nods, "Y/N, Bucky. Morning." Despite knowing and living with the guy for a little over a year, he's still very shy with you and the rest of the New Avengers.

You all meet in the kitchen where everyone is spread out doing their own task of cooking breakfast.

Today, John is at the stove cooking the bacon, Ava is making omelets, Bob and Yelena are working together to make French toast.

"Just in time! Bucky and Y/N, you'll cut the fruit for the fruit salad!" Alexei gestures to the section on the large kitchen island where an array of fruits are spread out.

Alexei considers breakfast and dinner time as family time. Therefore, he makes sure everyone cooks and eats together like a family. Everyone except for him because, despite his good intentions, he's not very good at cooking. Therefore, the Red Guardian sits back and lets everyone else do the work while he scrolls on his phone.

You and Bucky stand beside each other, cutting your respective fruits and tossing them into the large bowl. Bucky hums to the music softly playing in the background and you sway to the music.

You also hear Ava and John arguing at the stove, "I just don't understand how you don't like scrambled eggs?" Ava says in disbelief.

"I just don't like the texture!"

"Most people usually say that about sunny side eggs."

"Well I'm not most people!"

You tune them out because arguments and bantering is very typical with this group. You weren't there when the group was first formed, but you take everyone's word for it when they say that they all tried to kill each other in the beginning.

Honestly sometimes it still seems like they're trying to kill each other.

You clear your throat and speak up, "So, John, you excited for visitation in a few days?"

John's wife, Olivia, had filed for divorce and got full custody of their son. Bucky smirks at you, you often played mediator when members of the group began to argue.

John clears his throat, "Yeah. I'm meeting them at the park again. He-He's getting used to me again, which is nice."

You nod, "One step at a time. Just gotta continue to show that you still love and care for him. You got this."

"Thanks," John murmurs.

"Dang it," you hear Bob say and you look to the other side of the kitchen island. He has egg all over his hand.

Yelena chuckles, "It's okay. At least you got it in the bowl this time."

"You good, Robby?" you ask him with a smile.

Bob sighs, "I've been watching a lot of cooking shows recently so I wanted to try cracking an egg with one hand."

You chuckle, "Not everyone gets it on the first try. Bucky sucks at cracking eggs. Gets shell bits in 'em every single time." You look at your boyfriend with a teasing smirk.

Bucky groans, "Must you always-"

"Yes, because it's funny and adorable," you kiss his cheek and it makes Yelena gag.

"You two are cute and disgusting. I hate you guys."

You throw her a wink, "Love you too, Lena."

The rest of breakfast prep continues with more banter and a few burnt bacon strips, but, overall, a success.

Everything is plated on the table that you're all sat around. Bucky serves you your food first then grabs his own food. You all eat and chat with each other, enjoying the normal morning you have before the business of work and saving the day hits you all.

You look around the table with a grateful gleam in your eyes. You're happy you joined this band of misfits turned heroes.

(A/N: AVENGERS TOWER FICS ARE SOOOOO BACK!)

[luvlofiie]

Me rn

❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜ but with Tommy cause lord knows there’s barely anything for him😔 and it’s reader who’s stressed and he helps her relax?

AN | You’re so right and you should say it. I’ve been a Tommy stan and I’ll die a Tommy stan. Enjoy some softness 💕

Pairing | Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Reader has experienced significant trauma from canon-typical violence

Word Count | 3k

Masterlist | Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You jolted awake, sitting up and gasping for breath as your eyes scanned the dark, quiet bedroom. Clammy and tense, you scrubbed a hand down your face, willing yourself to calm down.

It was just a dream. A nightmare. Another hellish reminder of what had happened. What you had witnessed was forever etched into your memory. You hastily brushed away the tears rolling down your cheeks, attempting to keep your crying as quiet as possible.

“Hey, hey.” Tommy sat up next to you, his hands seeking you out in the darkness of the bedroom. There was only a sliver of pale moonlight streaming in through the curtain, bathing you both in an almost ethereal glow. Your body relaxed slightly at the feeling of his hands on yours, tenderly pulling away your hands from your face, “it’s okay. I’m right here—I’ve got you.”

“I…” you trailed off, at a loss for words. How did you even begin to describe what had started to haunt both your days and nights? You didn't have to with him; he understood even if he hadn't been there with you.

You burrowed your cheek into his hand, letting his gentle touch ground you. You were at home, safe, in your bedroom with Tommy. He made gentle sounds as he brushed away your tears, reminding you that everything was okay. Once your initial panic wore off, he pulled you into his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you as you burrowed your face in his chest. Your tears quickly soaked through his shirt, but he didn't loosen his hold on you; you could have ruined a thousand shirts and he wouldn't have cared.

“Tommy,” his name was but a whisper as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. He was so gentle, his touch reverent and loving. That made the tears come harder as you realized that this man was one of the best things that had ever happened to you, “it was the same dream. Again. I-I….I want it to stop.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“Every night when I wake up, I check to make sure you’re there—because I can’t... I can’t lose you, Tommy.” Your voice was thick with tears, and Tommy had to fight back his own. “Even when you are there, I worry...sometimes I think, what if it had been you and not Joel? And it's so selfish of me. I just…I don't want to feel like this forever. I want to be normal again. I don’t always want to go around and just be expecting the worst.”

“Honey.” He turned your face up toward his so he could meet your eyes, “there is nothing wrong with you. You went through a lot. Its going to be hard for a while but it won't always be this way. You’ll get better….we’ll all get better.”

“Promise?”

“I do,” he pressed kisses to your forehead and cheeks, before brushing his lips lightly against yours, “I promise.”

“Okay,” you kissed him, slowly and gently, trying to memorize every touch, taste, and feel of him, “can you…hold me tonight?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, slowly laying back down and pulling tightly into his arms, making you feel both safe and sound, “sleep. I'll be right here. I'll stay awake all night if you need.”

“You need rest too,” you sniffled softly, “try and get some sleep too.”

“Let me worry about you, yeah?” He kissed the top of your head, “just rest.”

“Love you, Tommy,” you whispered, sleep already tugging you back into its sweet embrace. At least with Tommy holding you, you might be able to get some dreamless sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The thought of going outside Jackson again was enough to have you reeling. You didn’t want to go, you wanted to stay home, safe and with your family. But, you realized, it wasn’t even truly safe inside anymore either. Not when the sanctity of your home had been compromised. It didn’t matter that you knew it was more or less a fluke experience and unlikely to happen again. But it didn’t matter.

All you could see was the destruction and death upon your return with Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and Joel. Joel. It was watching him almost die, getting beaten halfway to death that haunted you. You had no clue how he had survived, hell, how any of you made it out alive, but you did.

You returned, wanting nothing more than to see your husband and sleeping for a very, very long time. Unfortunately, no rest ever seemed to come for the wicked and when you returned to Jackson, it was like coming back to a version of hell that nothing could have prepared you for.

But there wasn’t time to mourn, to rest, to destress, to make sure you were okay. No. The city needed help, its people needed people and no matter how much you were hurting, you’d never turn away from the opportunity to help.

So you worked without resting, without making sure you were okay.

And now, several months later, you were still jumpy, still having nightmares, and never relaxed. It was like your body never got the message that it could be off high alert. Your body was always buzzing and vibrating, waiting for what came next.

Tommy had noticed; everyone had noticed. It was like the only other person that understood was Joel. Joel, your brother-in-law that had bounced back as everyone expected. He was tired and so were you. At least you had someone to commiserate with while he recovered and you helped him as much as you could. You liked spending time with him; sometimes it felt like he was the only one that understood. 

“Hey - are you listening?” you blinked a few times as your eyes adjusted to the man standing in front of you. Jesse had a look somewhere between annoyance and pity on his face, “where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” you whispered, “sorry.”

“We’re going out on patrol, it’s our turn. We have to go,” he said nodded towards the stables as you swallowed thickly, “we have to go.”

“Jesse,” you whispered, wondering how you could possibly get out of patrol. You knew that Tommy had pulled strings with the council since you’d been back to make sure you didn’t have to go out. But there was only so long he could protect you before you needed to take care of yourself. Your heart was fluttering around wildly in your chest as you frowned at him, “can you take - “

“I’m sorry,” he reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “the council isn’t willing to keep switching your shifts. I tried…Tommy tried.”

“Okay,” you took the gun he held out to you, the weight in your hand feeling foreign and off putting. You holstered, feeling like a caricature of yourself; you from a few months ago, from before, would have laughed. You would have never acted like this, “let’s go then.”

“It won’t be long or too far out,” he promised as you padded after him to get your horses, keeping your eyes peeled for Tommy. Before you managed to leave, you heard your name being called, followed by your husband running up to you, a worried expression on his face. 

“Tommy,” his name fell from your lips like a prayer as he wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I tried but-”

“It’s okay,” you insisted, pulling back and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I can’t keep hiding forever.”

“Here,” he took off his flannel jacket, the one you loved so much, and put it on you, immediately enveloping you in his scent, “it’s cold out there. I’ll be right here when you get home. I promise.”

“I know,” you sighed softly as he buttoned up the jacket before pulling you in for another kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you,” his voice was low in your ear, just for you. There was a deep frown on his face as he looked you over. You reached up and put your hands on his face, studying all the freckles that dotted his golden skin. You kissed him and he kissed you back, putting every fiber of his being into the kiss, “right here, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed before letting go of him and turning back towards Jesse, “bye.”

He gave Jesse a hard nod as he watched the two of you leave, his own feeling like it was breaking in half.  He had done everything he could to try and help you come out of the haze you were in, but he knew that there was only so much he could do before you just needed to face your demons head on. He just hated that he wasn’t going with you. But in some ways, he supposed, it was better that he wasn’t there. 

But he’d be right there the moment you got home.  And Tommy Miller was determined to make sure you knew how much he loved you, and that he’d always protect you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you got back the next evening, your nerves were shot. Part of you was glad to have gone out and conquered at least some of your fears, but the other part just wanted to get home to hide. It was uneventful and Jesse was right, everything was fine. Very fine. You hoped that over time, going back on patrol would become easier again. 

You weren’t a damsel in distress; you were the hero of your own story. Right now it didn’t feel like that...but you held onto hope that you’d get back to yourself soon. 

Your home was brightly lit, warmth spilling from the windows, with Tommy waiting for you. You almost ran when it came into view, but decided to make yourself walk at a calm pace. There was nothing to fear, nothing to run from, but so much to get home to. 

You opened the door, the familiar creak making you feel at ease. The first thing that came into view as you came inside and kicked your boots was the vase of flowers that was on the table. They were fresh and beautiful, and not shockingly, all of your favorites.

“Tommy?” you called softly, and were instantly met by the sound of his approaching footsteps. He stopped in front of you, a big, soft grin on his face, and his hair down and curly as ever. Dressed in a soft sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants, he looked cozy—so at home, so at ease.

As soon as your brain made the connection that you were home, and he was here, your husband, you couldn’t help the sniffles and tears that welled up immediately, running down your cheeks before you knew what was happening. 

A panicked look colored his features as he closed the gap and hugged you tightly, his embrace almost too tight. Almost. But it was never enough.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you sniffled. “I promise. I’m just... I’m so glad to be home. With you.”

“Shh,” he whispered softly, “‘m always gonna be here. You know that. Now, how about this…you just relax and let me take care of you.”

“Tommy-”

“I wasn’t aware I was asking a question,” he teased, getting a huff of laughter out of you. You nodded gently, giving into him without any real opposition; besides, you knew better than to argue with one of the Millers, “let me do this, please.”

“Okay,” you nodded and a comfortable, peaceful silence fell over the two of you. Tommy’s deft fingers worked to unbutton your (his) jacket, which he hung up in the coat closet. He removed the holster that was still strapped onto your thigh and put everything away safely and out of your sight. His gentle touch sent shivers down your spine, causing goosebumps all to erupt all over your skin.

“C’mon,” he took your hand in his, fingers tangled with yours as he started heading up the stairs. You trailed after him, realizing that you would have easily went wherever with him; you trusted him completely. 

He led you to the bathroom, making quick work of turning on the hot water, and pouring some oils into the tub. You couldn’t even remember the last time you took a bath; your body was practically aching and begging for it. 

A small sigh escaped your lips as he ran and grabbed a couple of clean, fluffy towels before turning his attention back to you. He reached for the hem of your sweater, meeting your eyes to make sure you were okay before taking it off your body. You watched as he studied you reverently, his golden brown eyes almost never leaving you. You attempted to reach behind you to take off your bra but he gently pushed your hands out of the way, doing it himself instead. Your body was so relaxed into his touch, and he soon had your pants and underwear off too. He held his out hand to help you into the tub before taking off his own clothes and getting in opposite you. It wasn’t sexual—but the intimacy of simply being with him made you want to cry all over again.

“Thank you,” your voice cut through the silence as he turned the water off and relaxed into its warmth as well.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he insisted, running his fingers along your calf, “I want you to be able to be comfortable and calm. I know it’s been hard, but I hope you know that you always have me.”

“I know, Tommy,” you took his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, causing a warmth to color his cheeks, “you always have me too. It’s just been…hard. But it’s been for everyone, I don’t know why it’s affecting me this much.”

“Just because it was hard for everyone, doesn’t make the fact it was hard for you any less important,” you offered him a tightlipped smile in response, “everyone heals differently. But you’ve been...throwing yourself into doing so much, I’m afraid that you haven’t taken the time for yourself. You need to take care of yourself too, yeah?”

“It feels-”

“It’s not selfish,” he knew exactly where your train of thought was going and was quick to shut it down, “if the roles were reversed, what would you tell me to do?”

“I…” you huffed dramatically before splashing some water at him, “you know I’d be telling you to take time for yourself and make sure you heal yourself too, not just everyone else.”

“Exactly,” he winked at you, before reaching for your hand and pulling you onto his lap. Your hands went to his chest and you sighed softly, admiring the man that you called yours. He played gently with your hair before you leaned in and kissed him, letting the time melt away as you lost yourself to his touch.  There was something that felt so grounding about being there in that moment with him. Just the two of you. Nothing else.

“Tommy…” your voice trailed off as you ran a hand through his curly hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. He made a small sound of content as a serious look settled on your face.

“We’re going to be okay, you know,” he reached for your hand, resting his palm against yours, his touch gentle, “probably doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will be. It always is.”

“I suppose,” you admired how much larger his hands were, entwining your fingers with his, “and if it’s not?”

“It’s going to be. Promise.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you warm enough?” you were already burrowed under the covers, finding the bedding clean and fresh. You turned just enough to look at him before nodding, “good.”

He went to close the window, leaving it open just a small crack for a bit of fresh air. You stuck your fingers out from under the covers, motioning for him to come over, “please say you’re going to join me.”

“I was going to let you get some rest,” his hands were on his as he raised an eyebrow, bringing a smile to your face, “you sure you want me intruding on your peace and quiet, darlin’?”

“I always want you,” you huffed, causing him to laugh softly as you moved closer to the middle of bed so he could join you, “just wanna lay here with you.”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in defeat before stripping off his shirt and getting into the bed next to you. His strong arms reached for you, pulling you tightly into his large, warm body, “that better for you?”

“It’s perfect,” you agreed, tangling your legs with his. There was something that made you feel so safe and comforted by being held by him. You inhaled his familiar smell before pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “thank you, my love.”

“Like I said, you have nothing to thank me for,” he insisted, “I know it ain’t much, but I just wanted to do a little something special for you.”

“It’s more than,” you insisted, “I feel better, I do. It’s been getting better and I know a lot of that is because of you. I don’t know when I’ll feel completely back to normal but this is already a lot better than it was.”

“Whatever you need,” he ghosted his fingers along with you before swiping his thumb along your bottom lip, “I’ll do it.”

You kissed the tip of his finger, eyes on his as you offered him a look of acknowledgment. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. 

And you knew you could always count on Tommy to be there for you.