retrosabers

[retrosabers]

had a really weird dream last night but joaquín was in some of it, and there was a specific moment where he was running up these stairs while i kept calling for him to come back and he didn't respond so i called him "captain torres" and he stumbled and i needed to tell you this idk

waiiitttt cause using his rank to get his attention is sooooo like i don’t even know what to say but it sure makes me feel giddy and dizzy

[retrosabers]

*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

[retrosabers]

Frank & Matt Parallels for @anna-hawk ❤️

[retrosabers]

I said this in a reblog but let me just make myself crystal fucking clear:

I want you to know that if you’ve ever sent or wanted to send anons with slurs, racist hate, transphobic hate, or otherwise bigoted nonsense, you could never be the reader character in any of my fics.

these characters would never want you. they would be disgusted by your bigotry, hate and cowardice, just like I am. I hope this sticks in your brain and the next time you try to read one of my fics a voice in the back of your head whispers that this isn't for you. they would never fall in love with you.

maybe you'll stop and think about your actions and the fallout from them for half a second and stop.

from the depths of my heart, fuck off.

and if you're feeling called out by any of the posts today, even if you haven't sent messages like this? please, please do some reading and reflecting. check out these resources @almostempty put together. start actively making this fandom better, not staying quiet and supporting a status quo that allows so many people to be hurt. all silence does is give comfort to racists and uphold that comfort as more valuable than fans of color. make your space inhospitable to racists. it's our responsibility to be proactive with this, as fans in this fandom, but especially as white people (as a white person myself).

[retrosabers]

[retrosabers]

REMY!!! REMYYYYYY

"Beyond Misconceptions" is EXACTLY what I needed today oh my GOD my anxiety has been acting up and this was such a tonic 🥹

The fact that Joaquin is the kind of lover to truly and selflessly go "if you'd be better off with someone else, then I want that for you even though it would break my heart" but then he is so comforted I'M CRYING I LOVE THEIR DYNAMIC SO MUCH

Also, bc you said requests are open, if it's not too much to ask... could we maybe get something where Joaquin is very serious about reader and wants to introduce her to Sam and has a convo w Sam about how he feels? Idk if that's too sappy ofc you don't have to im just swooning thinking about it 👀 - ips anon

Between Sips

about this: wc: 658, characters: joaquin torres, sam wilson (f!reader mentioned), contents: alcohol mention, canon typical injury, joaquin’s a simp, SAMBUCKY if you squint, an: hope u enjoy this my sweet love & as always thank you for your support! <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Joaquin stands up from his desk, walking across the room to plop down on Sam’s. “Hey, come get a drink with me.”

“Man, I’m going home. To bed. You see this?” Sam points to the sling his arm is in.

Joaquin raises a brow at him, “What if I add in pizza?”

“Dude—“

“I wanna tell you about my girl. Please?” He presses his palms together, pleading. 

“Oh now you wanna tell me about your girl? After I’ve got a couple of broken ribs?”

Joaquin tries to bite away his grin but can’t. “You getting the shit beat out of you kinda made me realize I want you to meet her.”

“Little shit— you’re getting me dessert too,” Sam grumbles, grabbing his bag and heading toward the door. 

“That late night cookie place is right across the street,” Joaquin calls after him.

—

Sam watches Joaquin fidget with a smirk on his face. He’s never really seen the man like this, he’s always overly confident. “So, you gonna stall until the food gets here to stall again or—“

Joaquin’s grip on his beer tightens as he gazes down into the amber liquid. “Nah, man. I just, I don’t know— I’ve never met anyone like her before.”

Sam sobers a little bit, realizing how serious Joaquin is. Sitting up, he leans in a little, curious.

“Tell me more.”

Joaquin takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It was kinda random, y’know? One of those things where you meet someone and think, this person might change my damn life.”

Sam raises a skeptical brow, waiting.

“I met her on a mission—nothing crazy, just some intel work. She clocked me right away, which should’ve been my first clue she was special.” Joaquin huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. 

“She’s got this way of looking at me, like she already knows what I’m gonna say before I say it. And she’s funny, man. Not just funny—sharp. Quick with it. Keeps me on my toes. But she’s also… sweet. Kind in a way that doesn’t ask for anything back. And when I’m with her, it’s like—” He stops, searching for the words.

Sam tilts his head. “Like what?”

Joaquin’s grip tightens on the beer again. “Like I don’t have to be anyone but me.”

Sam lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Joaquin laughs, feeling a little shy. “Yeah. Damn.”

“Can I see her?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Joaquin fishes out his wallet, pulling out the photo booth film strip he keeps there. 

Four photos, all of them where he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you— not when you were looking so angelic. Looking at the photo along with Sam makes him miss you more right now. 

“Oh, she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“I…I would do anything for her. I think anything, for real.”

“Would she do the same?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Sam nods, taking a pull of his beer. “And have you told her yet?”

“Told her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

Joaquin’s cheeks warm. He scratches at the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “Was hoping you could give me some pointers?”

Sam sighs. “Maybe I can finally give you some after this weekend.”

“Finally gonna tell him, huh?”

“Yeah, I think it’s about time. He’s got a weekend off appearances, we don’t have a mission. I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, letting his eyes drift to the mounted tv screen playing an old sports game. 

“It’ll be perfect man. Just be yourself.”

Sam scoffs playfully, his eyes returning to Joaquin. “How’d you end up giving me pointers?”

Joaquin shimmies his shoulders. “Must be the natural leader in me.”

“Yeah, yeah. So when am I meeting her?”

“I don’t know, let me pull up our calendar,” Joaquin starts to type in his password, scrolling through the date. 

“Our calendar? As in your shared calendar with her?”

“Fuck off.”

Sam can’t stop laughing. “I can’t wait to tell Buck.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @moonymeloncholymoney, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7

[retrosabers]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Your honor, there are bite marks on my laptop. tags: daryl dixon's slutty little lap, no smut but def naughty, grinding, kissing, dry humping. inexperienced daryl, premature ejaculation, mentions of arachnophobia, alexandria, no use of y/n yes I know I have like 50 other wips to work on but cmonnn masterlist

It started out as innocent as can be, honest to god.

The first time, it was a run gone sideways—one that started with two cars. The Camry you drove had broken down, leaving the only option of cramming into the single bench truck cab with Rick, Glenn, and Daryl. The rain was coming down in sheets, loud enough to drown out any conversation, hammering the truck’s metal roof like an unrelenting drum. There was no choice but to pile in, no time to hesitate, so you climbed in after them, waterlogged and exhausted, and sat in the first lap by the door.

You barely had time to register anything before strong hands slid around you, stiff at first, then settling firm against his own broad thighs. You looked up, blinking between the three men, before realization hit.

You were in Daryl’s lap. 

Rick and Glenn didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with the flooded dirt roads, but Daryl? Daryl was rigid beneath you.

All sharp edges and silence, he wasn’t the type to give much away. The most you’d ever shared were quick words on hunts, muttered confirmations on runs, but that was it. He never looked at you long enough to let you wonder if he thought of you at all.

But now… now you were in his lap, warm and close, his body solid under yours, and for the first time, you were thinking about him in an entirely new way. He was handsome, sure. Very handsome, actually. But he never seemed to give any inkling of interest in anyone, really. So you never pushed.

Then the truck hit a pothole.

Your body lurched, and before your head could hit the roof of the cab, Daryl grabbed you. Big hands, rough palms, a reflexively strong grip. The sudden pull forced you to shift against him, dragging across the solid expanse of his thighs, and the feeling of him beneath you hit your stomach like a strike of flint to steel.

He hauled you back down hard, fingers digging in before they quickly jerked away as if he’d been burned by your skin. But the movement had you suddenly very aware of his body under yours.

At first, it was just heat. The firm muscles of his thighs, his body wound tight as a steel cable. But then the truck jolted again, another deep rut in the road, and this time, it sent you rolling forward, your hands pushing up into the dash to keep yourself steady.

And that’s when you felt him.

Thick. Heavy. Hard beneath you.

A sharp breath caught in your throat. Even through layers of damp denim, even with your own clothes separating you, there was no mistaking it.

Your stomach flipped, thighs tightening instinctively, trying not to react, but your body betrayed you—your fingers twitched against the dash, a slow, creeping warmth settling between your legs.

Daryl was fighting it—you could feel that too. His fingers moved, palms rubbing against the side of his own thighs, but he didn’t push you away. His breath turned uneven, hitched like he was trying and failing to keep quiet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his head tilted back against the window, jaw clenched so tight it might crack. Every muscle in his body was locked up, like he was willing himself to stillness, willing himself to not react to the feel of your ass against him.

Another bounce knocked you forward, and when your body shot forward again, you had to push your palms flat onto the dash and into him to keep yourself steady, an unintentional drag of your hips that made his breath punched out of him. The sound he let out was barely audible over the rain–a deep, guttural noise stuck somewhere between discomfort and something far more dangerous.

A slow, unbearable heat curled in your stomach, spreading low, making your breath shaky. Your body was already acting of it's own accord, your thighs clenching on instinct, your pulse hammering so loudly you swore it would give you away. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe through it, to ignore the way this felt, the way your hips itched to move just a little more, just to test—to see—

And then his lips were near your ear, his voice barely more than a gravelly rasp, thick with something like desperation.

"Quit squirmin’."

A soft, helpless little whimper slipped from your lips.

You clamped a hand over your mouth immediately, but it was too late. Daryl had heard it. You knew because his whole body jerked beneath you, his hands suddenly at your waist, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. His breath came out sharp and unsteady, his thighs twitching under yours, like every muscle in him was coiled so tight he was about to snap.

When the truck finally rolled to a stop at the gates, you bolted.

You didn’t even look at him, didn’t dare risk seeing what was in his face—shock, confusion, regret, want—whatever it was, you couldn’t face it. Your heart pounded as you threw the door open, practically jumping off his lap, ignoring the way your legs trembled when your feet hit solid ground.

But later—in the solitude of your room–you found yourself lying in the dark, breath heavy, fingers slipping between your thighs as the ghost of that feeling came back with a vengeance.

The second time it happened, it also started out innocent, thank you very much.

For someone who had survived this long into the apocalypse, you sure were damn afraid of spiders. So afraid that when you and Daryl were paired up for a run, you’d nearly died when a nest of them made themselves known. One second, you were reaching into a cupboard for an old can of green beans, the next you were screaming, stumbling back, and then—out cold on the floor.

Daryl had freaked. He’d never seen someone just faint before, not outside of blood loss or injury. He crouched down fast, tapping at your cheek, muttering your name, but you were completely gone. Before he could even process that, a sound outside made his stomach drop—low, guttural hisses, the unmistakable snarl of the dead, drawn in by the sound of your scream.

He didn’t have time to wait for you to wake up.

So, in the most awkward, uncomfortable way imaginable, he scooped you up, hauled you onto his bike, and realized real fast that an unconscious person wasn’t exactly great at holding on. You were too slack, too limp—one wrong turn and you’d slide right off.

Daryl swore under his breath, already sweating at the thought of what he was about to do.

Before he could think too hard about the repercussions of it all, he repositioned you in his lap, facing him, legs hooked around his thighs, arms lightly folded in front of you and against his stomach. His arm curled around your back, holding you upright, while his other hand gripped the handlebar. It was awkward as hell trying to steer while keeping you from slumping sideways, but he managed.

Then you started to stir.

At first, it was subtle—your fingers twitching against his chest, a faint murmur against his shoulder. He prayed you’d stay out just long enough for him to get back to camp because if you woke up like this…

But of course, that would’ve been too easy.

A slow, unconscious shift—your body adjusting, pressing closer, your hips shifting forward right against him.

Daryl tensed so hard he thought he might snap in half.

His arm around your back locked up, his grip on the handlebar nearly crushing it. He forced his focus on the road, on anything but the slow friction against his lap. But then you sighed—soft, barely there, breath warm against his neck—and fuck, he felt it. The heat of you, the lazy drag of your hips as your body instinctively sought comfort.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

This was not happening again.

But it was.

And it was so much worse than the truck.

Because now, you were asleep. Unconscious. And your body was doing things that you weren’t even aware of, things that made him ache in ways he didn’t know how to deal with. His skin burned, his breath turned shallow, and goddammit, he was getting hard. Again.

Daryl felt like the worst person alive.

This wasn’t supposed to happen—he wasn’t supposed to react to you like this, not when you weren’t even aware of it. But every little shift, every unconscious roll of your hips, every soft breath against his neck was making him suffer.

By the time you finally started to wake up, Daryl was already gone—face burning, heart racing, his body so tense it felt like a live wire. He didn’t even realize how hard he was gripping you until you let out a small noise, your fingers flexing against his shirt as your lashes fluttered.

As you stirred, instinctively clinging to him, your arms beginning to wrap around his middle for better support, your body pressed closer. He felt your hips shifting just enough to grind against him, forcing another sharp twitch beneath his jeans.

Daryl went rigid.

Your body tensed against him as awareness settled in, your breath catching for just a second. Daryl knew the exact moment you realized where you were—what you were sitting on—because you stiffened, fingers gripping at his shirt, but you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you leaned in. His entire body locked up, his grip on the handlebar going white-knuckled as the warmth of your breath brushed against his neck. The hum of the bike beneath him did nothing to drown out the pounding in his ears, the way heat licked up his neck as your lips barely skimmed the sensitive skin on his throat. He felt you move against his lap too, a gentle rocking of your hips against him. His stomach flipped, his fingers twitched, and for a split second, he froze, completely unsure of what to do, how to stop this without making it worse.

“Stop,” he muttered, voice rough, barely above a breath.

You didn’t.

The vibration of the bike only made it worse. He was so goddamn tense, his entire body fighting against the instinct to react. He was barely breathing, just trying to focus on the road, but it was impossible with your mouth teasing at his skin, the warmth of your body curled into him, the weight of you pressing down in a way that was too much.

It was all he could do to hold you still against him.

"Stop," he said again, but this time it was louder, less like an order and more like a plea. 

Your lips lingered for a second longer before you finally pulled away.

Daryl exhaled shakily, heart hammering, body strung tight, but he still didn’t push you off, didn’t pull his bike over to switch places and get you off of him. He just sat there, stiff and locked up, trying not to let his hand shake where it pressed into your back.

But then when you pulled away, finally listening to his pleas and he looked down at you for a moment, he saw the flicker in your expression—the way your gaze dropped, the way your lips pressed together, the way your hands loosened their hold on him like you suddenly weren’t sure you should be touching him at all.

His chest ached instantly, sharp and unexpected. That wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you—it was that he did. So badly it scared the hell out of him. But the way it had happened, the way he had put you in this situation. You hadn’t been fully aware, hadn’t made the choice, and the last thing he wanted was to take advantage of something your body did before your mind had caught up. And the way you hesitated now, the way you pulled back, made something in him panic.

"Sorry," you murmured, voice softer now, any sense of teasing completely washed away.

Daryl swallowed hard, but his throat felt tight, his jaw locked up so bad he thought it might snap. He wanted to say something, to explain, to tell you that this wasn’t about not wanting you.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was keep his grip firm on the handlebar, eyes locked on the road ahead, his arm still braced against your back as he forced himself to focus on anything but the way his body ached for you to come back.

Now…the third time it happened…you couldn’t say it was all that innocent.

The Alexandria watchtower stood separate from the rest of the town, white and quiet, a lone structure overlooking the entrance. It was meant to be a defense point, a place for vigilance, for keeping the people inside safe.

Right now, it felt like a goddamn confession booth.

You sat on the window ledge taking first watch with your arms draped over your knees, the darkened treetops sway in the night breeze, pretending not to notice how tense Daryl was inside behind you up against the opposite wall. You had been up there for nearly an hour now, and he had barely said a word outside of the occasional grunt, playing with an arrow in his hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You knew why.

You had been avoiding each other even worse since the bike incident—both of you too flustered, too unsure of what the hell to do with yourselves. But it wasn’t sustainable, not in a place like this, where the community was small and jobs were assigned. The universe—or more likely, Rick—had decided it was time for you to deal with it.

So here you were.

You sighed loudly, twisting around to face him.

"I'm sorry," you said, tilting your head back against the window frame, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

Daryl stilled across the small room, the moonlight catching in his hair, but his features remained shadowed, obscured in the dim glow of the lantern that sat on the floor nearby.

“Fer what?” he finally asked, twiddling the arrow between his fingers, rolling it absentmindedly. 

“For everything,” you said, a humorless laugh making your shoulder shake.

His eyes finally flickered up to you, uncertain, but it was enough for you to want to keep explaining yourself. You felt stupid, so so stupid.

“I mean it,” you said, hands pushing against your cheeks, trying to scrub the redness already creeping up your skin, “It won’t happen again. Even if we get stuck in a crowded truck together, even if I faint from another god damn spider attack. I swear to you, Daryl, I will stay far away from touching you,” you glanced at him, and trying to ease the tension, you added: “Next time I’ll just sit in Rick’s lap,” 

Daryl’s eyes flickered away for a long moment, something ghosting through them that he was clearly trying to push down. His gaze shifted toward the corner of the room, where nothing but overturned boxes and dust sat in the dark, like he could find the right words buried somewhere in the silence.

You let out a slow breath, thinking that was it, that he’d let the conversation die the way he always did. But then, suddenly, he spoke up.

“Don’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

His jaw tensed, fingers flexing as he set down the arrow, “Don’t sit on nobody’s lap.”

The words came out gruff, like he hadn’t meant to say them, and the way he turned his head slightly, like he was bracing himself for your reaction, made something in your chest tighten.

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. The only sound was the wind rustling through the leaves below, the distant hum of Alexandria behind the walls until he spoke again.

“…I liked it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl shifted, uneasy, fingers finding his mouth, chewing weakly on the skin of his forefinger like he was regretting opening his mouth. “When you… did that,” he mumbled, gaze flickering toward you before dropping again. “I liked it.”

Your stomach flipped. You studied him, the way his shoulders curled inward slightly, the nervous twitch of his fingers, the pink creeping up his neck. He was avoiding your gaze, embarrassed, like he expected you to laugh, to brush it off, to tell him he was imagining things.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you pushed off the ledge, moving slowly, deliberately, making your way over to him. When you knelt down in front of him, his breath hitched, his fingers clenching, his entire body going still.

You reached out, fingers brushing over his jacket, trailing up toward his shoulder. His breath shuddered, his muscles tightening beneath your touch.

“You liked it?” you murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, tilting your head. “Which part?”

Daryl’s eyes darted to yours, filled with something uncertain, something hesitant. “What do ya mean?”

“Tell me,” you said, voice softer now, a little breathless. “Which part you liked.”

He didn’t answer right away. His skin was growing pink even in the dim light of the tower, the tips of his ears burning as his fingers twitched against the floor He was looking everywhere but at you, like he was trying to will himself out of this conversation.

You took that moment to shift forward, climbing into his lap without hesitation. His breath stopped, his body going rigid beneath you, hands jerking up before he forced them back down like he didn’t know where to put them.

Your thighs bracketed his hips, your hands settling on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“Did you like when I sat on your lap in the truck?”

Daryl felt like he wasn’t even breathing beneath you, his hands splayed beside him, fingers curling against the wooden floor as if itching to touch you. His eyes finally caught your gaze and stayed there, flickering between hesitation and something deeper, something you knew he was fighting against.

His voice was barely a murmur, thick and hoarse when he answered.

“…Yeah.”

A slow smile curled at the edge of your lips, and you leaned in, close enough for your nose to brush against his.

“What about the bike?” you whispered.

Daryl swallowed so hard you heard it. His hands finally moved, gripping your thighs where they rested against his, unsure but there, fingers flexing as if he was testing his own restraint.

“…Yeah.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth, the tension so thick it was dizzying. His body was wound so tight, his grip tightening slightly on your thighs, his entire frame burning beneath you.

“Daryl,” you breathed.

His fingers dug in slightly. His eyelids were heavy, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out.

Then his blue eyed gaze dropped to your lips.

Something in your chest tightened, anticipation coiling low in your stomach as you leaned in, testing, waiting to see if he’d stop you again, if he’d push you away like before, tell you no in that reluctant way that left you aching even worse than before.

But this time, he didn’t.

This time, your lips brushed against his and he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands flexing hard against your thighs, fingers gripping like he was trying to ground himself. Then his lips molded to yours, hesitant at first, like he was still trying to figure this all out. 

But the moment you let out a small, contented sigh against his mouth, he made up his mind. 

Daryl grabbed at you, rough palms sliding from your thighs up to your hips, and pulled you into him in one desperate, instinctive movement. You gasped softly, fingers tangling into his hair as your body pressed flush against his, the warmth of him searing through the fabric between you.

The pure thickness of him beneath you, solid muscle and broad strength, sent heat rushing through your veins, and then—fuck.

You felt him. Hard, heavy, and pulsing between your legs.

Another shaky whimper slipped from your throat, muffled against his lips, and Daryl groaned at the sound. It was deep, wrecked, vibrating through his chest like he was a man starved of this for far too long. When his mouth parted, panting from the overwhelming friction, you seized the moment, sliding your tongue past his lips to meet his. The taste of cigarettes and something undeniably him flooded your senses, warm and intoxicating, making your head spin.

The friction. The push, the pull, the way his body fit against yours—it was maddening. You rocked again, just enough to feel the way he twitched beneath you, just enough to make his hands clench as they reached back to grip your ass, his hips jerking up in response. The sharp, choked noise he let out sent heat flashing down your spine, turning your thoughts into nothing but molten, aching need.

You ground down on him harder, the steady roll of your hips chasing that friction, the ache building between your legs as his hands dug into your denim clad flesh, guiding you into him like he couldn’t help himself. The obscene noises of lips and tongues and heavy, desperate breathing filled the still night air, drowned only by the distant rustling of leaves outside the tower.

Daryl was unraveling beneath you.

His lips only parted from yours to move hungrily against your neck, dragging over heated skin, sucking at the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. Every press of his mouth sent shivers racing through you, made your fingers clench tighter in his hair as your hips rolled against the hard length straining beneath his jeans.

The brush of his scruff against your throat had you moaning, a sound that made his hands twitch where they held you, gripping tighter, pulling you down against him like he was chasing it.

You weren’t even thinking anymore.

Not about Alexandria, not about the watchtower, not about anything except how good he felt, how his hardness was aching perfectly beneath you, rubbing just right against the throbbing need building at your core.

Daryl sucked in a ragged breath, dragging his mouth back up to yours, capturing your lips again like he was ravenous for it. His tongue met yours in a messy, desperate tangle, his hands flexing against your hips as he rocked you down into him, his groans spilling into your mouth, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You could feel it. The way his muscles were wound tight, his hips bucking beneath yours, his breathing turning ragged, uneven. He was so close. He was overwhelmed, so overstimulated, so completely lost in the way you were moving against him that he didn’t even realize he was chasing it, rutting up against you like he needed it.

And then you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more deliberate, grinding down just right, and Daryl broke.

His whole body seized beneath you, hands clenching at your ass as his hips stuttered up into yours, a wrecked, choked noise tearing from his throat as he came apart. His muscles locked up, every part of him going rigid as the pleasure overtook him.

You pulled back just enough to watch his beautiful face scrunched up, long, greasy hair pushed back just enough for you to see everything—the deep crease in his brow, the way his mouth fell open on a desperate, shuddering groan, the sheer helplessness of it as he twitched beneath you, his release spilling warm under his jeans. His grip on you was bruising, fingers digging in so tight you knew you’d be wearing the marks of him tomorrow.

His chest heaved beneath your palms as you released his long locks from your hands, his whole body shuddering through the aftershocks as reality slowly returned to him. When his eyes finally blinked open, dazed and so beautifully wide, his sweat-slick face somehow managed to flush even redder.

“I—I’m sorry—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him as you tilted your head, watching him freeze beneath you again, all flustered and wrecked, like he was seconds away from bolting if you let him. His wide, desperate blue eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting for something, bracing for the worst.

But you just grinned.

“Don’t—” you began, voice full of warmth and maybe a little teasing, “Don’t ruin the single hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire existence.”

Daryl didn’t find it amusing. If anything, he went even redder under your gaze, his entire body tensing as he turned his head away, looking anywhere but at you. Like if he avoided your eyes long enough, maybe the last few minutes would magically undo themselves.

“Hey,” you murmured, reaching out to grip his chin, forcing him to look at you. His skin was burning under your touch, his breath shallow, his pupils still blown from what had just happened. “I’m not done with you yet,”

Daryl swallowed hard, his jaw shifting under your fingers. “But I—”

“You just got to have your fun,” you cut him off, voice dipping lower, slower, as you leaned in, letting your mouth brush against the outline of his lips, “What about me?” You rolled your hips against his lap, slow and teasing, making him shudder beneath you. “Gonna leave me hangin’, Dixon?”

Daryl’s hands slid up, moving with more intent, his palms splaying over your ribs, fingers flexing just beneath your breasts. He wasn’t just reacting anymore—he was choosing this. He looked up at you, eyes dark, lips parted, voice just barely above a whisper.

“I wanna…” He hesitated, his brows furrowing like he was trying to find the words, trying to ask for something without knowing how. But then, his hands moved to your back, gripping you firmer, like he was realizing what he wanted even as he said it.

“I wanna make you feel good.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl swallowed, his thumbs skimming over the soft skin beneath your shirt, his gaze locked onto yours, searching. “Tell me how,” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with something desperate. “Show me what you like.”

Something hot and deep coiled in your stomach at the way he said it—so eager, so earnest, his hands shaking slightly like he was aching to touch you but needed you to let him.

“You sure?” you murmured, voice barely more than a breath.

His grip tightened. “Yeah.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, leaning down to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. His breath hitched, and when you rolled your hips again, this time he wasn’t just taking it.

This time, he was meeting you halfway.

[retrosabers]

big bad gentle joel miller

gif cred 🤍

[retrosabers]

someone at marvel needs a raise because i always talk about how annoying it is when people who are the direct opposite of what the punisher stands for turn around and use his logo, and low and behold in daredevil born again, we see two corrupt cops with that skull tattooed on their bodies.

i just KNOW this is gonna be good

[retrosabers]

i need to be spayed

good girl

summary: a late-night drive turns into something far more sinful when you push joel past his breaking point.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

content warnings: smut, good girl praising, pet names used, riding, no y/n used, no reader description, established relationship, truck sex, p in v sex, no protection.

a/n: inspired by doja cat's song freak. umm...very self indulge too. sorry, not sorry. divider by @saradika-graphics.

“Joel,” you whined, fingers trailing up his thigh, nails teasing over the rough denim.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles going pale as a sharp hiss left his lips. “Honey,” he warned, voice thick, strained. “Don’t start somethin’ you know I can’t finish. Not here.”

You pouted, pressing your palm against the heat of his growing bulge. “I need you.” Your voice was breathy, needy, and you knew exactly what it did to him.

“Fuck,” Joel growled, his jaw clenching as his eyes flicked from the road to you, dark with hunger. “Be a good girl, alright? We’re almost home.”

But you weren’t feeling patient. The ache between your legs was unbearable, your soaked underwear proof of just how desperate you were for him.

“No,” you murmured, sliding your hand away from his thigh and under your skirt. “I can’t wait. Need to ride you so bad, cowboy.”

Joel groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that sent a pulse straight to your core. His free hand shot out, trying to grab your wrist, but you batted him away with a teasing giggle, fingers already slipping beneath the damp lace of your panties.

“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, his hips shifting in his seat like he was fighting against every instinct in his body. “Just wait a goddamn—”

The truck swerved slightly before jerking to a sudden stop on the side of the empty road.

In a blur of rough hands and frantic movements, Joel had his jeans shoved down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, already leaking for you. Before you could even process it, he was yanking you onto his lap, big hands gripping your hips, pressing you down against the aching length of him.

You gasped, thighs trembling as the head of his cock nudged against your entrance, the stretch sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. Neither of you knew who had shoved your skirt up or moved your panties to the side, but it didn’t matter.

Your nails raked down his chest as you rode him, chasing the delicious friction, your moans swallowed by the humid air inside the truck. His t-shirt was the next to go, your fingers greedy as they tugged it over his head before you buried your hands in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan.

“Such a good girl,” Joel praised, voice thick with admiration as he watched you move for him, take him so well. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you. “Goddamn, sweetheart, you were made for me.”

You whimpered, soaking in his words, the heat of his body, the roughness of his hands, and the way he looked at you—like he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

“Just need my cock so bad, huh?” Joel rasped, his voice wrecked, heavy with amusement and something darker. His hands gripped your hips tighter, rough fingertips pressing into your skin like he wanted to brand himself into you.

“Yes,” you moaned, rolling your hips faster, chasing the friction, the stretch, the way he filled you so perfectly. The truck’s worn leather seat creaked beneath you, but all you could focus on was the thick heat of him, the way your body welcomed him. “Fuck, Joel, feels so good.”

He let out a strained chuckle, but there was no humor in it—just a man on the edge of losing himself. “Honey, slow down,” he groaned, his hands fighting against the rhythm you set. “Ridin’ me like a goddamn horse.”

You didn’t listen. Couldn’t. The pleasure had taken over and made you greedy. You dug your nails into his shoulders, drinking in how his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growled, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck, dragging you down to him. His lips crashed into yours, rough and unrelenting, swallowing every moan and every gasp like he needed to consume you whole.

You whimpered against his mouth, your movements turning frantic, desperate, grinding down against him. His cock twitched inside you, and you felt him shudder beneath you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he panted, breaking the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips, his breath hot, ragged. “Takin’ me so damn well. My perfect, filthy girl.”

His praise sent another jolt of pleasure through you. Which made you clench around him, made him groan deep in his chest. His hands abandoned your hips, skimming up your back, slipping under your shirt, calloused fingers dragging over feverish skin.

“Need to feel you,” he muttered, voice thick with need. Then, with a flick of his wrists, he yanked your top over your head, his lips immediately finding the soft skin of your throat, biting, sucking, leaving marks—proof that you were his.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his salt-and-pepper curls, pulling just enough to make him grunt. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your ear before he pulled back, eyes dark and wild, locked onto yours.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” he murmured, teasing, coaxing, voice dripping with praise. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded frantically, gasping as his hands slid back down. He gripped your ass, guiding your movements making you feel every inch of him, every delicious drag and thrust.

“Good girl,” he breathed, voice almost reverent. “That’s my girl.”

You didn’t last long—not with Joel beneath you, filling you so perfectly, not with his rough hands guiding your hips, making you feel every inch of him, not with the way his voice wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his fingers digging bruises into your skin. “Use me, honey. Wanna feel you come. Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock.”

A desperate whimper tore from your throat as you rode him harder, chasing the heat pooling low in your belly, the unbearable pressure building with every slick roll of your hips. The truck’s windows had fogged up, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air, but all you could focus on was him—Joel, wrecked beneath you, his jaw clenched tight, his dark eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You could feel how badly he wanted to let go, how much restraint it took to let you take control, to let you set the pace. But he was holding back, waiting for you.

Always so good to you. Always putting you first.

That thought alone sent you over the edge.

Your body tensed as pleasure crashed through you, white-hot and consuming. A cry tore from your lips, your walls fluttering around his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. Joel groaned deep in his chest, his grip tightening as he fucked you through it, his pace turning rougher now, more desperate.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, watching you fall apart, his voice raw with pride and hunger. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come for me.”

You barely had time to recover before he gritted out a curse, his body going rigid beneath you. His hips jerked up, driving deeper as his own release hit. A wrecked moan fell from his lips, his fingers locking around your waist as he spilled inside you, filling you with warmth, his breaths ragged and uneven against your skin.

Neither of you moved. You just stayed there, chests heaving, your bodies still trembling from the aftershocks. His hands softened on your hips, no longer gripping, just holding, as if he couldn’t bear to let you go just yet.

“Jesus, honey,” he finally muttered, pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Damn near lost my mind.”

You smiled breathlessly, threading your fingers through his damp curls. “I like making you lose your mind.”

He let out a low chuckle, his hands roaming up your spine, tracing soft, absentminded patterns over your heated skin. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Neither of you was in a rush to move, to break the spell of the moment. The truck, the road, the rest of the world—it all felt miles away.

Joel held you close, pressing another kiss to your bare shoulder, murmuring against your skin.

“My good girl.”

[retrosabers]

Me just after opening a Word document

[retrosabers]

commissions bc i need to make rent

i hate coming on to tumblr with my sob stories but tl;dr, i had to quit my job in november due to personal reasons that meant i physically couldn’t stay and even though i’ve found another one, it’s been hard to support myself as it’s only part time. now, i know it is my responsibility did mine alone to pay my bills HOWEVER i can be a circus monkey to anyone who wants a commission.

commissions are paid for fics, but they’re a little longer, you have as much control as you want and every last detail is up to you. all the faqs for my commissions can be found here — i write for all the characters i write for on this blog, but if you want to ask about one please don’t be shy! it might be that i’m down to write for someone who isn’t on my list. it’s all done via ko-fi and turn around time is normally within seven days. the minimum price is £4 rn so absolute bargain tbh

these are completely no pressure. i’m just putting this out here on the off chance someone might want one, or even a simple reblog is appreciated. thank you for all your continued support

faqs

ko-fi

- jazz❤️

[retrosabers]

[retrosabers]

first impressions | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Joaquín visits the Avengers Training Facility, he meets you for the first time and quite literally falls head over heels for you. Warnings: Mentions of fighting/combat/body slamming, Word Count: 1.5k A/N: I got this as a request and I just loved the idea so much. It's different than anything I've written for Joaquín before as none of my readers have been Avengers, so this was a fun challenge. I hope you enjoy!

“Wait, so this is a legit training facility for Avengers?” Joaquin asks, the awe clear in his voice as he and Sam walk side by side into the lobby, trying to take everything in all at once, even though there’s too much to see in one go.

Sam nods. “Yeah, that is why I invited you out here today,” he laughs a little. The kid is always so shocked when it comes to the world of the Avengers and ‘superheroes’. Sam likes it though – it’s like being around his nephews and getting to see the childlike wonder for the world again, just from a grown man instead.

The two men continue walking inside the facility. Sam points things out here and there, making note of important places like bathrooms and the kitchen, until they finally reach the actual training rooms. The second they walk in, Joaquin’s eyes are drawn to you.

You’re in the far left corner of the room, clearly in the middle of combat training. There’s someone else sparring against you but it’s clear that you have the upper hand. You take them down with ease. To Joaquin, it looks like you don’t even think about your moves before you make them. You sweep the legs out underneath your sparring partner and send them falling to the mat. They groan and then laugh as you offer a hand to them to help them stand up again.

Joaquin thinks it’s the most attractive thing he’s ever seen.

“Who is that?” He asks Sam.

Sam follows his gaze and settles on you across the room. He almost rolls his eyes. Of course you are the one that the kid is drawn to straight away. He tells Joaquin your name. “She trained in the Red Room, hence her effortless fighting style. Don’t even try to go up against her unless you want your ass kicked, Joaquin.”

“I sure would let her kick my ass.”

“Joaquin.”

He looks at Sam, a stupidly large grin on his face. “Introduce me? Wait, no. I should introduce myself. I don’t need Captain America to do it for me.”

Sam sighs, then shrugs. “Your funeral.”

Joaquin throws a look at Sam over his shoulder as he walks away from him, heading over towards your sparring mat where you’re now alone, your partner having left. You’re sitting down on the edge of the mat, dabbing away sweat with a towel.

“Hey,” he starts, “I’m Joaquin Torres, I’m the new Falcon.” He extends a hand to you, intending for you to shake it. He’s a classy guy, he thinks. A hand shake is a good place to start.

You surprise him by taking his hand, then moving to stand up. But instead of actually standing up, you pull on his arm and use your strength and technique to flip him over your shoulder and onto the mat. He lands on his back with a groan. 

Sam, still watching from the door of the room, almost bursts into laughter.

“Okay, ouch,” Joaquin mutters, pushing himself to sit up. He turns around to look at you only to find you standing up and smiling down at him. The look on your face instantly makes him blush. He’s known you all of five seconds and you’re already making him blush.

“Sorry, was that not what you were offering?” You smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean… we’re in the training room, you’re walking up to me while I’m on a sparring mat… seems obvious to me.”

Joaquin stands, ignoring the pain in his back from the sudden landing. He’s annoyed by the fact that he finds the way you handled him so attractive. “I was actually just offering you a handshake and introducing myself,” he explains, a little sheepishly.

You look at him, amused. The man is cute, you can admit that. You knew full well he was just introducing himself before but you’d seen a chance to throw him off his game before he undoubtedly started flirting with you and it had clearly worked. The red in his cheeks was obvious and undeniably adorable.

“Oh, my bad,” you hum, extending a hand to him again and introducing yourself.

Joaquin looks down at your hand. “I dunno if I trust you enough to accept a handshake.”

You grin. “I promise I won’t do that again. I’m offering a real handshake.”

Tentatively, Joaquin takes your hand and shakes it. Thankfully, he doesn’t get thrown to the mat again. Sam, across the room, seems a little disappointed at the fact. “I, uh, I’m here with Sam– uh– Captain America,” he explains, stumbling over his words a little. Hell, is he nervous around you? Joaquin doesn’t get nervous. 

You glance over your shoulder and give Sam a little wave. You’ve met him several times in the past. He’s a good guy and the perfect person to take on the mantle of Captain America. And this good looking man in front of you is his choice to replace him as Falcon. Not bad, Sam, not bad.

“I figured,” you say. “I saw you two walk in together. And Cap and Falcon have always been inseparable, even when Sam was Falcon and Steve was still around. I’ve gotta say, Sam made a good choice in picking you just based on looks alone.”

Joaquin almost raises a hand to his cheeks, as if he’ll be able to tell if he’s blushing by touching his face. Now you’re out here complimenting his looks? Joaquin had not expected this from you… he hadn’t really had any expectations at all, but flirting and flattery was well and truly off the table until now.

He runs a hand through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, I know,” he says, fully aware he’s coming off as incredibly cocky. “My experience in the Air Force was also taken into consideration but my looks obviously came first.”

Ah,  you think, two can play at this game. 

“Clearly,” you mutter. “I mean, you can’t be an Avenger unless you’re attractive, right? I know we’re meant to save the world and stop the bad guys and all, but it doesn’t hurt for us to be nice to look at… both for the general public and each other.”

Joaquin is pretty sure he resembles a tomato at this point with how much he must be blushing. He can’t remember the last time he was complimented this much. And all from someone who had basically body slammed him as a way of greeting. 

He really shouldn’t find that as hot as he does.

He clears his throat and nods. “Uh, yeah– yeah, you are– you’re so right.” He rubs his palm on the side of his jeans, trying to remove the sweat from it. Sweaty palms, stuttering over his words… what kind of person are you making him into?

“Well, Joaquin Torres,” you say, taking a small step towards him. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around more often since you’re officially an Avenger now, won’t I?” 

Joaquin nods, then remember he has to actually reply to you. “Yeah, if Sam lets me come back after embarrassing myself and making a pretty poor first impression on the only other Avenger I’ve ever met before,” he replies with a small laugh.

He’ll definitely be thinking about how embarrassing this whole situation has been for him for many, many days and nights to come. 

“Sam and I get along pretty well,” you shrug, “so I’m sure I’ll be able to convince him to let you come back around if he rescinds his invitation because of this first impression. And who’s to say it wasn’t a good one?”

Joaquin raises his eyebrows. “Being body slammed sounds like a bad first impression to me.”

“To me, the fact that you didn’t go running away like a puppy with its tail between its legs after I did that says that you’re willing to learn how to make sure that’ll never happen again,” you explain. “Now, I can’t make any promises that I won’t do that to you again… but, you know… lessons can be learnt.”

He lets out a small, breathy laugh. You can’t promise that you won’t body slam him again? Why does that make Joaquin feel so breathless and hot? Oh, he needs to get out of here before he makes an even bigger fool of himself.

“I’ll see you around, Joaquin Torres,” you grin, stepping back away from him and picking up your gym bag that’s on the ground. You sling it over your shoulder and turn away, walking towards the exit. As you walk past Sam, you fist bump each other.

Joaquin stands on the mat, staring after you. It’s only when Sam appears beside him that he snaps out of it. He meets Sam’s eyes. “She’s my favourite Avenger.” He means every word.

“I thought that was Ant-Man.”

Joaquin pauses. “Don’t tell him I said that,” he says. “Now… when can I come back here?”

[retrosabers]

matt murdock headcanons

i have about 4000 words to write for my thesis so instead i am writing these. enjoy xx

matt takes his coffee black. nothing else added, literally just black. anything else overwhelms his senses. for the first six months of your relationship, you kept accidentally leaving little coffee grounds floating in the bottom that made him want to die, but he loves you so he did not say anything.

actually, matt is the king of "i love you so i won't say anything." if you burn dinner or wear that one scratchy jumper that overwhelms him or flood the bathroom so it's a gosh darn slip and slide, he won't say anything. why would he? he loves you as you are.

matt doesn't need you to guide him in public but he will hold your arm or hand just because he wants too. he especially likes when your hands are loosely intertwined and he can feel your pulse against his skin. it's calming for him.

sometimes he forgets that you weren't always in his life. he'll tell a story from college as though you were because it just doesn't feel right to have lived a life where you weren't in it.

matt rarely calls you by your name. it's always sweetheart, and sometimes baby.

although one time foggy heard him call you the latter and then called matt baby girl and babycakes for a week until karen threatened to beat them both up

on the subject of foggy & karen -- they both love you!! they'd always been protective of their little trio but you fit in perfectly.

those two quickly become your best friends.

josie's for drinks after work on a friday is standard. matt will always have an arm looped around your waist, or a hand on your thigh, or just any form of physical contact really. mostly because he's over protective.

matt doesn't get hungover and it's really fucking annoying. you've seen him pound back pint after pint, just to wake up feeling fresh as a daisy the next day.

the good news?? he's vision impaired so he won't open the curtains when you're hanging out your absolute arse !!

he's the best at looking after you when you're hanging, though. he'll make you a smoothy and a greasy breakfast.

actually, matt is just the best in the mornings anyways. you'll always have a cup of coffee made before you're awake, with breakfast on the counter.

living with matt is domestic bliss tbh

that's not to say you don't argue -- you're both human and in his line of work, both day job and night job, it comes with its bad days and times when he keeps shit bottled up

so you prod and you poke until he explodes and finally, you argue and it's cathartic as hell

matty is very overprotective too, which has lead to tension

it was a little over the top at first, but you settle for having life 360 on both your phones and letting him know when you arrive places safely

even when you have really bad arguments, you always find your back to each other

one time you joked "i'll send you a text if wilson fisk murders me" and he didn't find it funny

actually he almost cried

the be all and end all though is that against the back drop of new york city, and even though you're in the arse, you are everything that's pure in matt's world.

[retrosabers]

thanks for including my headcanons! <3

* = 18+. 2025 Lists. 2024 Lists

* Headcanons - Bucky Barnes - @retrosabers

Kinktober Day 3 - Logan Howlett - @librababe99

* Filth - Tony Stark - @mostly-marvel-musings

* Banchetto: Dolce - Terzo - @angellayercake

* More Than Worthy - Bucky Barnes - @navybrat817

* Delicious + * Don’t Be A Tease - Bucky Barnes - @jobean12-blog

* Tyler Owens - @inklore

* Tied To You - Drew McIntyre - @wallofchynax

Carmen Berzatto - @brunettemarionette

Heartbeats - Matt Murdock - @elseishollow

Enjoy

[retrosabers]

PEDRO PASCAL in a new still of 'THE LAST OF US' Season 2