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daryl will always outdo you with gifts and it’s not even FUNNYYYYY

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idk if y’all recall season 4 when daryl gets in Bob’s face and grabs his shirt all up close n personal for prioritizing his alcohol problem but HOOOOOOOOOOO

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Follower: *Reblogs*

Me: I love you too

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gave himself a boo boo playing with a bomb

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John Walker is nagging, boisterous, close-minded little parasite.

John Walker knows how to sit quietly with you when you’re crying and don’t want to talk.

John Walker has an interrupting problem. And a ‘finishing your sentence’ problem.

John Walker prefers to share food.

John Walker dismisses your ideas if he’s got one in mind already.

John Walker pays the bill of veterans he sees eating alone and sits with them to talk as long as they need.

John Walker has to learn that teeth really shouldn’t be so involved in kissing.

John Walker feels sorry for himself.

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Authors try to write smut without making it violent and degrading challenge level impossible

Authors try to write smut without tones of pedophilia and incest (often combined) challenge level impossible

Authors try to write smut between two consenting adults practicing safe and loving intimacy challenge level impossible

Authors try not to call gentle, loving relationships “vanilla” challenge LEVEL IMPOSSIBLE.

[saintship]

Farmwork

Rick Grimes x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit sad, suggestive, swearing, L-bombs

It wasn’t exactly a domestic sight; the sky a bit overcast, the looming walls of the prison, the undead snapping and groaning at the fence. What got you was the sight of Rick loosening soil and planting crops, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a concentrated line to his brow like he’d been farming as long as Hershel. Walking closer revealed his flimsy earbuds secured in his ears, which made you smile a bit.

He stands a bit straighter upon noticing his wife, a fondness warming his eyes that made your smile deepen.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed..” You muse.

He smiles faintly, resting an arm on the handle of his shovel.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.. you were dreamin’..”

“Oh, I was?” You tilt your head disbelievingly.

“Yeah, you were talkin’ a little bit..” He takes your hand, drawing you closer to him as he takes an earbud out. “Said my name..”

“Well I’m not surprised..” you huff, placing his free earbud in your ears. The sound of a working song deepens your amusement.

“Really earning your Georgian rep..”

He takes the earbud back, huffing.

“Ain’t exactly a library of songs to choose from..”

A few walkers on the fence increase in volume, making both of you look. You sigh pensively.

“That fence is going to bend at the bottom..”

“And they’ll crawl through..” He finishes your thought, rubbing his jaw. “I knew it would be a problem one day, but not so soon..”

You squeeze his hand gently.

“We’ll figure it out..”

He nods, disturbing the soil absentmindedly with his boot.

You try to ease his racing thoughts, setting aside his shovel and standing behind him to rub his neck. A soft groan escapes him, his eyes closing.

“Christ..”

“It’s like you’re made of concrete..” You mutter, gently loosening the stiff muscles.

“Wish I was..” He mutters, the soreness evident in his strained response.

“I think i prefer you the way you are.” you murmur behind his ear, placing a kiss there.

“mm..” He turns, embracing you securely.

“Your massage wasn’t done, Sheriff..”

“I know..” he says softly, putting one earbud back into your ear.

He sways with you gently; the song wasn’t exactly made for this, but you hadn’t had a moment like this with him in at least a year. The realization of your distance made you hold him a bit tighter. He rubs your back, glancing downward.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

“Just missed you..” You murmur into his chest.

You don’t have to explain your reply; even though you see each other every day, someone who didn’t know you may not be able to tell you’re married. He kills the music, looking in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, honey..”

“No..” you brush a bit of grass off his face. “It’s not your fault..”

He melts a bit at the feeling of being held in your palms, unable to resist stroking your cheek in return before kissing you gently.

“I love you. Never stopped loving you..” He murmurs, so close you feel like you could merge with him.

“I love you too..”

He kisses you a bit deeper, the fence encasing the farm supplies touching your back. You always found Rick handsome, but some moments it just hit you all over again; his arms, his face, his lithe build. And those eyes that looked at you like you made the universe. It didn’t help he was also a good man, making him even sexier.

He kisses you deeply and languidly, years of learning and mapping your body making it effortless to melt any tension in your muscles. His hands run up your sides, his warm palms making you shiver. Your own hands travel down his stomach and untuck his shirt, desperate to feel his happy trail under your fingertips. He inhale, breaking the kiss with his eyes still closed as you run a hand over the sensitive skin below his naval.

“Honey..” He rasps.

“Yeah?” You breathe.

“Can’t be doin’ this out here..”

“M’not trying to, i just wanted to touch you..”

“That is not better..”

You see a glimpse of his smile, and it makes you hold him closer.

“You know how gorgeous you are?” You murmur.

“Stop..”

“Don’t think I will..”

You resume the music, continuing to sway with him for as long as he’ll let you.

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GNGNFNNFFFFFNFND

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Rick is so soft when he comes to bed at the end of the day.

Just when you think you’ll have to fall asleep alone, you feel him lay down ever so gently behind you, his arms sliding around your middle as he lets out the biggest Dad Sigh.

He lays soft kisses on your temple and shoulder, murmuring sweet words, how well you did handling the newcomers, how expertly you handled a breach in the wall that day. How you take the weight on his shoulders and help him lift it. Never patronizing, never trying to yank away his control completely, but rather being right there beside him, sharing the burden of everything that seemed determined to beat him down.

He makes sure you feel him around you, his chest warm against your back and your head slotted under his chin. He’s old-fashioned at heart, and can’t help but indirectly shield you from anything that could cause you harm. Sometimes he pretends he’s back home. Or just in a real house, a real bed. One that doesn’t mold and creak with every shift of his weight. Mourning doves cooing outside. You walk into his dreams and nightmares, you complete him and terrify him.

And then when Carl started to talk about you? When he saw Judith sleeping on your chest?

Rick was absolutely hopeless.

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Happy new year! I feel a bit more inspired to make longer form fics so stay tuned, I appreciate every bit of support<3 :)

[saintship]

Handyman

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit of spice, metallica ;), swearing, Dog!!

Other: POC friendly, most applicable for afab reader

༻✦༺

Daryl hearing you screech his name in excitement used to send a shot of adrenaline up his spine, years of looking over his shoulder making him jump to the worst. But now, things were about as perfect as they could get. He didn’t need much more than you, Dog, and the home you shared.

“What’re you yellin’ about?” Daryl mutters as he walks into the living room, still drying his damp hair from the shower. He’d never admit you were the reason he felt safe enough to use hot water and real soap every once and a while.

“Thought you drowned trying to do the dishes.”

You roll your eyes at his remark.

“Look..”

You showed him what had caused your excitement, a Metallica vinyl in the bin you’d picked up on a run. Most of the vinyls were scratched or warped from the heat, but this one looked usable. He takes it in his hands skeptically, turning it over.

“You sure s’not busted?”

“Have some optimism.”

You take it gently, placing it on the turntable. The needle slowly lowers, the sound of The Four Horseman crackling to life.

“We are old as shit..” You murmur, reminiscing on the memories of playing the same album in your childhood bedroom.

Daryl rarely laughs, but he does pull that stupid half smile that makes your head spin as he rubs Dog’s ears.

“You ain’t old, sweetheart.”

“I’m going to get to those dishes..” You stand, caught in the doorway by Daryl’s lean arm.

“What’s your rush?” He murmurs, the riffs emanating from the turntable seeming like the perfect background noise to his lips on your neck.

“The kitchen is disgusting..” You try to remind him, but his other arm circles your waist, securing you to his chest.

“This ain’t the four seasons, don’t gotta clean all the time..” His thumb traces the elastic of your bra, and you gently separate yourself.

“Okay, okay.. five minutes, and then.. Daryl.”

He’d walked behind you, rubbing your neck gently.

“Hm?”

“Stop..” You murmured half-heartedly.

He gives you a squeeze before relenting, stepping back to pull on his vest.

“Alright.. i’ll be outside..”

The thought of him working on his motorcycle nearly makes you turn your back on your responsibilities, but you start on the dishes, the faint music from the living room and Dog keeping you company.

Just as you’re nearly done, you drop your washcloth, and Dog bends down to sniff and lick it.

“No!” You scold softly, kneeling to quickly shield him from ingesting more of the soap. “Dog, place.”

As he trots obediently to his blanket in the living room, you hear a noise from inside the cabinet you’re kneeling beside. Suspecting some kind of vermin, you retrieve a knife and kneel again, listening. You couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t sound small.

Taking a sharp breath, you quickly open the cabinet door, only to be sprayed in the face by the sink water escaping from a loose valve. A small noise of surprise leaves you as you shield your face, water soaking through your clothes.

“Daryl!”

You hear the door open seconds later, followed by his voice.

“You’re gonna wear my name out, girl-"

He stops in his tracks as he sees the predicament you’re in, water spraying you relentlessly, Dog having abandoned his blanket to come lick the water from your face incessantly. 

Daryl laughed—he really laughed, supporting himself on the wall.

“How the hell-"

“Daryl!” You exclaim, though his amusement made you fight a laugh yourself.

“Idiot..” He shakes his head, still grinning as he leans down and tightens the valve. “You are soaked..”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” You huff, still fighting off Dog’s excited licking.

Daryl takes his towel from earlier off the counter, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Guess you needed a shower too..”

“Alright, Dixon..” You throw the towel, taking the sink faucet and aiming it at him.

“Hey! The hell’s the matter with you!” He tries to dodge the water, crouching behind the counter.

“I think you missed a spot in the shower!”

The song on the vinyl was now Dyer’s Eve as you laughed at the sight of your boyfriend feebly blocking your onslaught of water. He darts up beside you, wrestling you for the faucet, at which you squeal and object, only to be sprayed again.

“No!” You laugh uncontrollably, water absolutely everywhere, the cabinets, the floors, on Dog, and the both of you. You stop his attacks the only way you can think of, walking right up to him and kissing him deeply.

He turns off the faucet, his body nearly limp with surprise. He takes your face in his hands, one traveling through your now wet hair before you separate for breath.

“Made a mess. You’re stupid..” He mutters, and to anyone else, it would be mean. But you know his ‘Daryl-speak’ well enough to know that he might as well have told you he’d die for you.

“So’re you..” You kiss him again, and he allows himself to be pressed against the counter, his hands on your sides. A few of the dishes clatter to the side as he flips your positions, placing you on the countertop. Your skin feels warm despite the water covering both of you as he eases off your damp shorts.

“This okay?”

“Yes..”

You tug at his shirt.

“Only if you want to..” You murmur.

He pants for a moment before pulling off the shirt with a small grunt, his scars now visible. Your lips meet his again, hoping to comfort him. He absorbs your soft moans into his own lips when his hands rub at your inner thighs, low noises crawling from his chest at the feeling of you.

“Shit..” He mutters, unabashedly dropping to his knees, his face level with your hips.

“You want it, sweetheart?”

༻✦༺

[saintship]

close call!! currently working on fluff fic :)

i have such a cute blurb idea and a diabolical angst fic idea for daryl 🤭

[saintship]

HUBBA HUBBA

▪︎𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣 “𝙎𝙤𝙖𝙥” 𝙈𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙝 | 𝙏𝙁 𝟭𝟰𝟭– 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙡𝙚 ▪︎

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i have such a cute blurb idea and a diabolical angst fic idea for daryl 🤭

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IT WAS SO GASSSSS I LOVE THEM ALL SM

Not a twd post but please let this reach the right people😭

Bucky Barnes gets along with women SO much better than men and it’s not even funny

It’s not in a pursuing kind of way, it’s literally just that he vibes with quiet community over loud competition, dry humor over loud insults, a shared glance rather than a confrontation. Mommy issues? Yeah maybe.

He admires women so much because he can’t imagine being so composed when dealing with some of the men he knows.

Also I’m seeing thunderbolts soon i’m so excited to see my huzz

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I have feelings for Yelena Belova

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Apocalypse’s spring

Prison era!Rick x fem!bitten!reader, a bit of honoring Lori’s death

warnings: angst, fear of death, grief, implied su1c1de, description of injuries

༻✦༺ It was a few days into the first warmth of spring. Only a few stray piles of snow remained on the bows of trees and atop swathes of briar, which you weaved through quietly on your walk back to the prison. A large rabbit swayed limply from your belt thanks to a knot Daryl had taught you. You really liked how he was taking some of the weight off Rick. It was frustrating that he still held onto Shane’s ideals; the separation of women and men in the group. It made you want to rip your hair out when he refused help, but if Daryl was the one relieving Rick, you were just glad it was happening at all.

The prison came into view, light filtering through the trees to light the widening path. When you heard the hiss and gnashing of a walker, your fear dissipated to annoyance that you’d gotten so close to having an uneventful day of hunting. drawing your knife, you turned, expecting one or two. It felt like your throat closed when you saw how far the herd stretched; if you remembered clearly, it was around the same size as the herd the group had to clear when everyone arrived.

Shame burns in your gut as you run. Even though plenty of people would do the same, this period of your life had almost conditioned you to be ashamed of choosing against the fight.

“Carol!” Her name ripped from your throat.

“The gate!”

She didn’t need any more explanation, pulling you inside while Carl closed the entrance again. Hundreds of walkers slammed up against the barrier, from one end of the fence to the other, snarling and spitting, crawling over each other in their hunger. You took Carl by the shoulders; poor, ill-fated Carl. You can’t imagine another universe where you’d be gripping a child this young, asking him to act like an adult. You understood indulging him with responsibility, but it also made you want to smack Rick. Would Judith be the same story?

“Go tell everyone inside what’s going on, please.”

He nodded, taking off while you and Carol stayed and started working on clearing the walkers that had gotten their arms stuck through the gaps. You were exhausted from the day, the sprint to the gate, the stress of the last months. A walker forces her way to the front; a little girl. Her little pink shoes and pigtail braids look out of place. Distracted by the heart wrenching sight, you were pulled tightly to the fence by the dozens of grasping arms, your abdomen level with the girl’s head. The sharp pain on your stomach followed by the damp sensation of blood was dull in your mind, all you could do was stay upright and keep taking down the gnashing, infected things.

The group worked at the herd for nearly three hours before it was safe to retreat inside, the stragglers not powerful enough to breach the gate. Finding a small bathroom, you lifted your shirt to reveal what you already knew was there. It was a messy one, the bite unclean and jagged. Pieces of skin frayed, blood still seeping down your hip. While you were trying to decide what to do next, Rick’s voice made your blood run cold.

“Here I was, thinking we got off with no serious injuries..”

His accent was always a bit rougher when he spoke quietly. You loved the way he said certain words, the way he’d roll his eyes when you imitated him. It seemed like everything you loved about him was rushing through you as you came to grips with the bite. Your mouth opened a few times, but Rick didn’t need you to say anything. His hands, still battered and partially bloodstained, run down your arms gently as he stands behind you. The touch releases a shaky exhale from your lungs.

“I need you to stay calm..” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. He looked so tired these days.

“I’m not gonna fight.. or run, or anything.” You rasp.

He nods, his eyes flickering to the bite in your reflection.

“I.. I wish I could-"

You shake your head, and he falls quiet.

“No use trying to bargain.” You murmur.

Frustration passes over his expression, but it’s stifled by his shaking voice. He leans down, close enough to speak at nearly a whisper.

“Thank you.. for everything..” He murmurs into your hair, and it feels like the room is spinning. You’re expecting to jolt awake, to see your cell walls around you and lay back down in relief. But all you could feel was Rick’s chest brushing your back, his hands holding your shoulders, his soothing voice reaching every corner of the dingy bathroom. You formed the only words that kept coming to mind.

“I don’t want to go..”

Your voice sounded unlike yourself, almost juvenile. The kind of tone Carl used back when he wasn’t allowed to have a gun.

Carl. Oh god, Carl. You miss the kid already and you’re not even dead yet.

Rick’s breath shakes as he exhales. In the mirror, you watch his brow twitch that way it does when he’s holding back what he really wants to say.

“I’ll stay with you..”

Your head shakes, though you don’t feel in control of your body.

“No.. I have to end it..”

His hand grips the basin, and you can feel it; the hint of anger that always bleeds into grief.

“Are you positive you want to do it yourself?” He murmurs, his eyes trained on the sink.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a question to you; you knew he was more important; he had to have a peaceful memory of you, and besides, he’d had to kill Sofia, and that was more than enough for one person’s lifetime.

He slowly turns you around, wrapping you in his arms. Closing your eyes, you could just pause all of this for a moment, pressed against his chest with your arms embracing his back. You feel the brush of his lips over your hairline, and that’s when tears threaten your eyes.

“Rick..” You breathe shakily, but he soothes you, holding you tighter.

“Shh.. I know..”

Your heart feels like it’s being constricted when you feel him slide a pistol into your holster. He walks you out to a side entrance, the forest nearby. The sun was setting. He gathers you against him one last time, squeezing you comfortably before pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m always with you..” He whispers.

“I’m with you too..”

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to pretend you didn’t care about Lori, but you did. So you press your lips to his stubbled cheek, a bit of your tears clinging to his skin.

“Bye, Rick..”

You step down through the destroyed part of the prison, starting toward the woods. Dappled sunlight flits over the path, the Georgia breeze tousling your thin flannel.

You can’t bring yourself to look back, but if you did, you would have seen Carl walk up silently to his father’s side.