mainly sugar, minimal spice

trash writing | 27 | fuck ai

[sugarroott]

sugarroott's master list

The things I've written so far:

COD TF141:

XREADER smoky - one shot - Cap. Price x gn!reader starving - one shot - Simon Ghost Riley x reader fwb - one shot - Simon Ghost Rily x reader perfection - one shot - Konig x f!reader Lucky Me - COD Price x f!reader - pending

X OC the happily ever after universe - tf141 & kortac konig - one big happy family Birdie on Board - Cap. Price (fisher au) x Birdie f!OC - complete aka my pride and joy

SOA:

XREADER it's a girl - Happy x singlemom!reader

X OC Get Over It - Happy x f!OC the other half of me - Juice X f!OC X Happy

The Pitt:

XREADER baby does - jack abbot x f!nurse reader

MISC:

the archer & his bird - daryl dixon x clingy f!reader Firefly - Bucky x f!reader - in progress

Willing to write for: (requests are welcome)

The Pitt - Jack Abbot, Brendon Park, John Shen

SOA - Happy Lowman & Juice Ortiz live rent free in my head

Bucky beefcake Barnes - also rent free, all consuming

COD - Price, Ghost, Johnny, Gaz, König

Animal Kingdom - Andrew Pope fucking Cody

Twilight maybe

The Hobbit

TWD - Daryl Dixon

I edit NOTHING - I am in this for the shits and giggles. Please ignore any spelling or grammatical errors I am sure to make. We're just getting started folks, thanks for tuning in.

These are works of fanfiction and I do not own the rights to those characters. I do however own the rights to my creative thoughts, original characters, and the stories I create using them. I do not consent to having my work copied or used in any way - especially in regard to AI.

divider credit: @dollywons book pics from pinterest - mini me from waffalet character builder

[sugarroott]

Can’t wait for the next parts of “it’s a girl” it’s seriously so good!!

thank you so much!! 🥹

tbh i’ve been having trouble with where to go with it next. i had the plot all planned out but i love daddy happy so much i don’t want it to end 😩

Hopefully inspiration makes an appearance soon! ✨🧚‍♀️

[rynwrites4fun]

TILL DEATH | (TITUS DANFORTH) MASTERLIST

Mini Series

Titus Danforth x F! Wife Reader

Summary: You grew up with the Danforths; your father was Chester Danforth’s right hand man. When he passes, his twins Titus and Ursula inherit the hotel and casino resort empire, but the chair of the High Council goes to Titus. There’s one rule for Titus to claim it: he must be married. And his bride… is you.

Warning: Age Gap (No specified), Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience, Swearing,

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

(Last updated 07/02/26)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

I’m so obsessed, this is fantastic!

[sugarroott]

This is SO GOOD. So good so good so good.

[lauraneedstochill]

SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH in “Ready or Not 2: Here I Come” (prev 🔪)

[mistys-nat]

love him very much

[bastardcompany]

JOHN PRICE Call of Duty: Modern Warfare III (2023)

[moodyabbott]

i have nothing appropriate to say

[mewnbuns]

your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his shoulders while he carries you around in the pool, chatting quietly between little kisses beneath the sun

[ridgeflaw]

andrew pope cody who’s worried about you finding his rap sheet vs. reader who’s printed out his mugshot to include in her journal with little hand-drawn hearts around it <3

[unearthlydust]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR THUNDERBOLTS*

[s3rrrpentine]

jealous pup

[sugarroott]

the archer & his bird - soft!daryl dixon x clingyf!reader

part 2 - good - wrd 1.5k(ish) previous | next series master

With him, things were easy, and not just because of the help he provided.

It was a connection that felt ancient, like the forest had provided for him yet again, this time in a way he never knew he needed. 

You walked along fallen logs like the forest put them there just for you. Your fingers ghosted along the brush like it was something precious. You booped mushrooms like noses, whistled softly to the birds that kept you company. 

And he loved getting to be there. 

He showed you how to set a snare, you showed him the field of wild growing chamomile. 

He told you about Judith, you told him about the nearby berry bushes. 

He killed a walker, you killed three just to prove that you could. 

He admitted to liking things this way, and you nodded in agreement. 

You weren’t happy the world ended, he wasn't happy the dead walked, but you both had found so much peace within it. 

It was hard, neither of you claimed otherwise, but the stillness…it was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking. 

There were things you missed. Air conditioning, snacks that hadn’t gone stale, running water and toilets that flush. You missed your friends, family. Things as silly as brunch and book club, shopping malls and farmers markets. 

Daryl missed less. Most things he did now, he did then. He hunted for his food and spent hours in the georgia woods while he was at it. He always slept with one eye open and knew hardship long before it was a byproduct of existence. 

As much as he hated what it felt like to lose somebody, he didn’t have something worth fighting for before the world decided it was kill or be killed. 

He wouldn’t have met Carol, and no way in hell he would have befriended Rick. Yet he couldn’t imagine his life without his found family. The people he’d walk through a herd to get back to. Friends he would take a bite for if it meant they made it out alive instead. 

You were quickly becoming a part of that, and it made him nervous. 

Getting close to someone came with risk. Getting close to a woman who refused to come inside was even worse. 

It wasn't to say you didn’t trust him, or that you thought the promise of sanctuary was a lie. He had more than proven himself to you, but one good man in a world that was inherently evil wasn’t very convincing. 

Winter was approaching. Each day you felt the change. The breeze had bite, the nights were long, and the foliage you call home was becoming no more than scattered branches and leaf litter. 

He liked his time with you. He didn’t want it to change, but he couldn’t help wanting you inside. Safe and warm. 

The day was shaping up to be exactly like the rest of them.

He walked the tracks like he made them himself and you made an excellent shadow. 

You were quiet, observant. Curious but never asked the questions that sat at the tip of your tongue. 

He decided to show you how to shoot the crossbow after seeing you eye it a handful of times. He explained what to do, supported your weight when the kickback threatened to put you on your ass, and always took care of reloading it for you. A few practice shots later, you were standing on your own, bracing for impact, squinting down the sight at a particularly fat looking squirrel. 

You squealed when you shot it, only to immediately hush yourself when you heard a dead man groaning nearby. 

You skipped to where it dropped and apologized to the dead creature just before thanking it for its life too.

Daryl couldn’t help the grin from spreading wide when you held up your meal like a prize. 

He taught you how to properly dress the kill for cooking, how to skin the meat so the hide could become something new later. In return, you and your foraged herbs decided you owed him lunch. 

“You thought about it any? Comin’ back with me?” 

You glanced up from the small fire. No emotion clear enough for him to pick out on your face, and worse you said nothing. 

He pushes, you pull back, and that's new for him. 

Usually, the awkward conversation ends after he asks the questions and mentions the prison, but you enjoy making things hard, and for some reason he likes that. 

You. 

Feral you, living in the trees. Soft and kind and careful. 

“You ain’t left yet, gotta mean yer thinking about it.”

You glanced back up, jaw at work. “How many people again?” 

“Pushing thirty if m’countin you.” 

“Men?” 

“Some, got more women now, a few kids.” 

You nodded, rotating the squirrel over the small fire.

“I haven’t thought about it,” you admitted, eyes on the meat stuffed with blue violets and dried leaves meant for tea, “but I will.” 

You were running low on things that made living outside tolerable. Things you could probably find if you just left. Some things you wouldn’t even need if you left, bug spray for one. 

You were running out of reasons to why you couldn’t just go with him. You like him around, and you miss him when he’s gone. 

It was dangerous, the longing in your chest. The need to be close, the anticipation of his arrival. 

The only thing holding you back was yourself. 

The next morning you paced below the low hanging branches, bag packed and hung off your shoulders, dressed head to toe in gifts from the approaching Dixon. 

He saw you and everything inside him lit up, though it didn’t show. He kept that same vague expression and nodded his head towards the path he stomped out that takes him straight to you. 

“C’mon.” 

It was like any other day, a different direction, but the same walk. Quiet, careful, peaceful, until you reached the edge of the forest.  

“No,” you whispered, stepping back into the tree line, “no, I'm sorry I can’t.” 

“Alright,” he sighed, taking that small step back with you, “you ain’t gotta.” 

You glanced his way, then down at the boots with good laces he gifted you like it was nothing at all. “But you think I should?" 

He shrugged, shoulder brushing yours in the shift, “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you in there.” 

“You can guarantee me that?” 

He nodded, “If they do, they’re answering to me anyhow.” 

You sighed softly, taking it all in for what it was. The build up of walkers was thick but manageable, and explained why less and less passed underneath you in the night. Guard towers, concrete walls, fence after fence. There was soft laughter coming down the hill, chatter carrying on the wind like living in this world came easier inside. Your hand found his, a grasp at comfort that made him jolt in place. You looked up wide eyed and holding half a smile, threading your fingers before he had any chance of pulling away. 

“Okay.” 

He glanced down at your hand loosely fitted into his, curious and overly aware of the closeness.

“Alright,” he muttered rolling his shoulders back, soften up the stiffness your sudden touch sent through him. 

He led you past the walker traps, whistled sharp, and the first gate pulled open. His hand in yours, holding on like you might fly away. One closed, another opened, and you had made it farther than he thought you would. 

“Is this your little bird?” A woman asked and that alone made your face flush before you could stop it. 

Daryl grumbled something foul that you couldn’t make out but it made her laugh. He kept his head down, shaggy bangs hiding his own blush from view. “You wanna get ‘er set up? Show ‘er round?” 

“What?” You squeaked, holding his hand tighter, “where are you going?” 

“Gotta go find Rick,” he grumbled, so offhandedly like you should know who that is and why it mattered more than this, “I’ll be back around.” 

You wanted to run, rush back into the safety of solitary and silence. Fight or flight, and with you it’s always flight. Something warm touched your elbow and you flinched before you could make sense of it. 

He followed through, hand cradling where the joint bends. 

“This is Carol, she’ll show y’the place.” 

“Carol,” you echoed, glancing at the short grey-haired woman he spoke on vaguely. Best friend, badass, great shot. 

“That’s me,” she chimed, too cheery, too bright. 

You glanced down at the thumb brushing against your arm, then back up searching steel blue, “Who’s Rick again?” 

“He’s the guy I was out there with, head of the council here.” 

“I have to meet him?” 

He nodded, failing to mention that you’ll have to meet the whole council while you were at it, but one baby bird step at a time.

“And you’ll be right back?”

Carol made a sound. Half sniffle half snort, choking down a laugh the absolute best she could. 

“Ain’t going far, I’ll find ya.” 

You nodded hesitantly, searching for the half of you that had kept yourself alive all this time.  

“Alright,” he grumbled, sliding his hand across the small of your back as he maneuvered around you. One foot in front of the other towards the tower. 

“You two seem to get along well,” Carol grinned. You didn’t know her well enough yet. You didn’t pick up that hint of teasing, or the glimmer of joy that came from watching you turn their hardened redneck into mush with something as simple as touch.  

You turned and gave her a small, hopeful smile, “I trust him.” 

“You’re smart to,” she nodded, watching him watching you over his shoulder as he walked away, “he’s a good one.” 

hand holding? scandalous! thanks for reading, love you bye.

taglist: (lmk if you want to be added/removed at any time!) @idkmanimjstired @firefirefeline @philiasoul @bedshrooms @lillybahng @t0xicsl33p @wizardparfait @jewellthebooknerd @yolandcat @kitschykryptid @chxrrybomb22 @riirikenobi @blushinglace @we-have-a-2319-2319 @ilanything @berriesandcreampie

I do not consent to having my work copied, and I absolutely do not consent to having my work fed to or translated by AI.

[wistfulyears]

surprising pope after work on father's day. decorating his pickup in balloons and bumper stickers. sitting in the truck bed with your little one who was too impatient to share her cupcake. "there he is, baby, say it, go on!" "father's day! happy, happy surpriseee! cupcakes!"

pope stops in the middle of the parking lot when he notices you, his sunset-silhouetted beauties, his girls. his eyes glass over. he never thought he'd see forty-five, and he never thought it'd look so beautiful. your daughter bares her rainbow frosted grin, squirming and kicking in your arms. she hits you in the face with her balloon, but all you can do is dodge it and laugh. you're so proud of her and you're so proud of him. he deserves the fuss.

"happy father's day, andrew." you smile and sigh. you hold out your hand for him to come take and he staggers toward you, a tender wobble to his chin. "i - baby..." your excitement splits into hurt and worry. "don't cry, w-why're you crying? this is to celebrate you, we love you..." he swallows you up in his eyes and strokes your daughters little curls. his voice cracks and he says, "i know. i can feel it."

[alchemyfreak321]

THEY CAN TELL US WHERE, THEY CAN TELL US WHEN...DON'T TELL US HOW

[solarsdiary]

reminding myself that 7 kudos is 7 different people who have read my story and actually liked it

and idk about you but if 7 people came up to me in real life and said “hey we really liked your writing” i would just cry on the spot

[sugarroott]

the archer & his bird - daryl dixon x clingy f!reader

part 1 - trees - wrd 1.7k series master | next

see ml for warnings & info - ps i dont edit shit if you see a mistake IM SORRY if you don't know how to or are not capable of climbing trees, surprise yes you actually can.

Three stories high, supported by a cluster of branches, you stared down at the man in leather. He circled the oak tree three times and still hadn’t given up. It’s where your tracks start and end, but you were nowhere to be seen. 

Normally you’d cover your tracks, a habit you picked up some time ago, but you didn’t have time. You barely made it out of sight as it was. 

“Maybe she ran off,” one said, his partner in crime it seemed, “she took off fast.”

“Nah,” the man in leather rumbled, “she’s around here somewhere.” 

“We’re losing daylight Daryl, we can circle back tomorrow.” 

Daryl. Daryl in the leather vest. Only Daryl seemed to know better, because you wouldn’t be here tomorrow. If you made it out of this spot they’ve cornered you in, you’ll be long gone before they make it back to the camp they claimed to have. 

“Can’t just leave her out here t’die, you saw her…” he trailed off, kicking over a loose stone, “looked like she forgot what food is.” 

You peered down, curiosity getting the better of you. That wasn’t a comment made lightly. It wasn’t a comment a man who wanted you for all the wrong reasons would make. Your shift caught the hunters attention and you snapped back into position. The blend of earth tones you’ve scavenged camouflaging you against the rough bark. 

“Alright,” Daryl muttered, eyes on you and pretending not to see a thing, “I’ll just leave her m’pack, come back around like you said.” 

You shifted slower this time, eyes on his, watching the torn up canvas backpack strip off him.

Him, all sweat and muscle and discretion. 

It looked good, too good.

Against your better judgment, you stayed. You picked apart his pack, and he left more than you’ve scavenged in months. A pocketknife, freshly sharpened. Water half drank and a well loved plastic bag that had some form of jerky in it. There was a long sleeve shirt, socks with holes in the heels, and an arrow that had snapped clean in two. 

All usable. All needed. 

The forest shifted. The birds went quiet, the breeze softened, and his boots crunched softly against the stiff leaves. 

He was surveying the space. Slow movement, skilled in the practice of careful quiet. You watched curiously as he got closer, waiting for the louder, more obvious set of shoes, but nothing followed.

“You’re Daryl,” you whispered, lingering closer to the forest floor than before. 

He looked up, and there you were, dressed up in his clothes. He dropped his crossbow with a hesitant nod. 

You fiddled with the sleeves of the oversized long sleeve, anxious to be wearing it but needing the extra layer it added more. 

“Is it just you?” 

“Just me,” he replied instantly, words rougher than boots on gravel. 

You walked gracefully down the branch, clinging to the center of the tree trunk to get a better look at the archer. “You left me things.” 

“You needed it.” 

“Why?” 

“Shits hard out here alone.” 

“I get by.” 

“I see that,” he muttered, placing the bow at his feet and shrugging a different pack off his shoulders. It was cleaner, heavier too. “Got some more water, food too.” 

“Why?” 

He glanced up, a mess of yellowing leaves and dying branches and you. He was so undeniably taken with you. Your dirt stained cheeks, the intentional mess of hair and twigs that hides you so effortlessly. “You need it.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

His eyes softened for no more than a blink, “nothing.” 

You wanted to believe that. You almost did. You felt something deep in your bones that was vaguely familiar to trust, but you knew better. “Good people don’t exist anymore.”

“That ain’t true where I’m from.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Come down here and maybe I’ll tell ya.”

You climbed up rather than down. Fleeing from what you were absolutely sure was a trap. “I don’t want it.” 

“Yeah y’do,” he drawled, setting out the contents of his pack like he had packed for a picnic. 

A blanket folded neat. Two bottles of water, crystal clear and mouth watering. Foil covered something that looked enough to feed you for days. 

“Think about it,” he muttered, shrugging on the empty bag with a step back. 

“You’re leaving?” Your voice squeaked more than you wanted it too. 

He kept moving. That same graceful movement that suggested he and the forest had mutual understanding, “I’ll be back.” 

He came back the next day. More food, more water, a jacket your size. You still didn’t come down from your perch. 

It didn't sway him, and the visits became routine. A part of your day that was anticipation and excitement you did too well at hiding. Every time he came to your corner of the forest, you were closer. Curious but quiet.

He pushed, but never far enough to trigger your fight or flight. He would gently remind you of the offer on the table. Safety in numbers. Safety with fences and walls. A roof over your head and food that didn’t come at a cost. 

It seemed too good to be true, and so did he. The man who visits like an old friend, leaving gifts at your tree like you were a forest fairy considering granting him a wish. 

Your feet were dangling today. Swung over the branch, no longer hiding at the familiar pattern of his light steps through the terrain. 

You still had his long sleeve on, his socks. Hair clean and braided back thanks to the soap, brush, and hair ties he left out yesterday. 

You looked more like yourself than you had in a very long time. 

He approached with caution but his bow was down. He wasn’t searching, just walking. 

“Brought you something,” he muttered, shrugging off his pack as he got closer. 

“I never would’ve guessed.” 

He glanced up. A joke. Not enough to make him laugh but enough to get his attention. He took a second to look at you. For a woman living in the trees, you clean up okay. 

The dirt across your cheeks was a memory, the rat's nest that was once your hair had been sorted. Still, you looked like you belonged up there, like you and the trees were a package deal. 

Your feet swung sweetly underneath you and he noticed a hole in the seam of your boots. His socks, a few sizes too big for you, visible through the crack. 

“I’m gonna pull it out and imma need you to stay calm ‘bout it.” 

You tensed. He knew you would, but warning you only seemed fair. He dragged the zipper down and pulled out a gun. 

Small, simple, something that wouldn’t be missed. 

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. And he set it down at the base of the tree like an offering. 

“It ain’t much but it’s got bullets.”

“Why?” 

“Didn’t like the idea of you out here without one.”

Your voice went small, weak and disbelieving, “thank you.” 

“Ain’t nothing,” he shrugged. 

He liked his time outside the walls too much sometimes. He loosened up each step further from the safe haven in the making. There was no one watching him, thanking him, or trying to talk about nothing.

Outside the prison it was just him, the breeze, and you. 

He was getting ready for the day, taking no more than his fair share of rations, when the lecture he had been anticipating started up behind him. 

“You don’t think you’re wasting your time?” 

“Nah,” Daryl rumbled, inspecting the spare sets of boots in the shared pantry. He had done a pretty decent job at guessing your sizes so far. The jacket fit well, the beanie he gave you was warm and snug, but his view of you is limited by bark and leaves.

“She won’t even leave the tree.” 

“She’s scared.” 

“Or she’s using you for resources.” 

Daryl finally looked up, entering into a stone-cold staring contest with Rick. 

The prison had plenty, more than enough of everything to go around. The people were clothed, fed, safe under an actual roof and behind two layers of fence. You were alone. He didn’t know for how long, maybe he’d ask one day, but it didn’t really matter. 

You were trusting him. Allowing him closer, little by little, and that wouldn’t stop because Rick wasn’t convinced you’d finally come back down to earth. 

Rick broke first. A long dramatic sigh and a step back. “I’m just saying, you’re out there everyday. We’ve got people here, work to be done.”

“My works done.” 

“You haven’t been on a run in two weeks. You spend more time with her than you do on the hunt.” 

Daryl scoffed and shoved two different sizes in his bag to be safe. “Tell that to the deer y’had for dinner last night.” 

The branches swayed in the afternoon light, golden rays blocking his view of the heavens you live in. 

“I know yer out here,” he rumbled, squinting with a hand over his eyes. You switched it up. Three trees down, higher up than you’ve ever been. Out of sight but certainly not out of mind. 

You weren’t hiding. Testing, maybe even teasing. 

“You gonna make my old ass climb this damn thing?” He asked, still looking up the wrong tree. The tree you prefer. 

The branches are thicker. There’s a blunt edge you hang your bag on. The base where the main branches split creates a decent enough spot to sleep in. It’s not much but it’s been your home. 

“I don’t know, can you?” 

His head turned so fast his neck cracked, but he still couldn’t see you. Your words were soft and they echoed around the quiet woods, making it hard for him to pinpoint the source. 

You peered down cautiously, clinging to the thin branches as he walked through the brush. Back and forth, until he stared up at the canopy of dying branches with a huff. 

“C’mon now.” 

He was looking right at you, though he didn’t seem to know it. You rolled an acorn between your fingers before tossing it down, giggling softly when it hit him dead center in the forehead. 

“For a hunter you’re not very aware of your surroundings.” 

“I’m a tracker,” he muttered, crunching the acorn you’d tossed under his boot, “ain’t no tracks up in the trees.”

“I have a gun now,” you said, climbing down to a more manageable level, “I could shoot you.” 

“Y’could try,” he countered, tapping his shin with the crossbow that wasn’t yet loaded. 

“If I come down…you promise you won’t do anything?” 

“Only one way yer gonna find out.” 

You considered it, for too long maybe, but you made your way down. Grace with each move, one branch at a time until his hand was in reach.

A silent offer, and to his genuine surprise, you took it.

fingers crossed this isn't total buns. cheers to the squirrel man, thanks for reading, love you bye.

taglist: (lmk if you want to be added/removed at any time!) @idkmanimjstired @firefirefeline @philiasoul @bedshrooms @lillybahng @t0xicsl33p @wizardparfait @jewellthebooknerd

I do not consent to having my work copied, and I absolutely do not consent to having my work fed to or translated by AI.

[fairycosmos]

cradling the em dash in my hands what the fuck have they done to you