I'd Rather Be Sleeping

Okay I hope you don't mind but I'm gonna continue this because- uh- yeah ':]

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"Heyyy, so...~" You slide to sit beside Daryl, watching as he started up a fire to cook the salmon you had... caught. The fish was still cold from the water of the river, its body motionless as it sat upon the wooden stump in use as a table.

"This might sound dumb-"

"You always sound dumb."

"Okay, shut up, first of all," you huff amusedly, shifting on the log and lightly bumping the archer's shoulders. "Let me speak. I, uh, don't know how to gut a fish."

Daryl glances back at you with a not-so-subtle skepticism, his lip twitching up a split moment. "So y'know how to grab a fish like a wild bear, but y'don't know what to do with it after?" He scoffs, looking back to the fire kindling.

"..no. Am I supposed to?" You roll your eyes, ignoring the small flush of embarrassment tinting your cheeks darker. "I just never had a reason to learn."

"Where'd'ja even learn to grab a fish like that, then? For fun?" The man hums with a low chuckle, the kindling catching spark and soon building to a proper fire.

You clear your throat, a beat of quiet passing in the air. Your lack of response makes Daryl look back at you a second, before giving a huff of laughter.

"You're *joking*," he teases, a part of him waiting for you to tell him you really were joking.

"Look, growing up was weird. Boredom does some stuff to'ya," you say defensively, but can't help but smile upon seeing the usually closed-off man laugh.

"'Kay, fine. C'mere." Daryl moves closer to you, pulling out his knife as the fire warms the two of you. That, plus the way your blood rushes when his knee lightly hits yours. You brush that off, however, forcing your attention to the archer now explaining how to clean the salmon.

"So first, t'chu oughtta scale the fish- y'take yer knife, n'just go against the flow of the scales. Comes off real easy most times. Then y'cut off the fins-"

You watch with a curiosity alike that of a child, the glint of metal and fish scales catching in the firelight, popping brightly as if also interested to watch the demonstration.

"-'n when'ya gut it, yer gonna cut from the anal fin to a few inches from th'mouth. Y'remove the intestines 'n shit from there."

Your eyes trace the way Daryl's hand moves so easily against the fish, the practiced precision of his movements a subtle sublime you find in him. The cuts are clean and quick, but you can tell he's trying to slow down so you can understand the process. It makes you fluster, shifting in your spot on the log right next to the archer. The world seems to grow hazy and peaceful, quiet overtaking you two as you simply take in what Daryl's teaching you. You can hear the soft, repetitive click of grasshoppers and the occasional pop of the firewood. The river that flows ever-so-strong a distance away, the whisper of leaves brushing against each other in the wind. It takes you a second to come back when Daryl huffs, adjusting himself almost embarrassedly.

"Hell you starin' for?"

You blink before flushing and realizing you've been staring at the man's face for probably a few good minutes, quickly distracting yourself with a nearby tree that was rather interesting now that you really looked at it-

"Wha- n-nothing. Pft."

Quiet wraps the two of you once more like a used wool blanket, awkward but nice in an odd sense. Daryl moves the cleaned fish over the fire to cook, and while the air seems strained, he takes his seat beside you again. The way his knee hits yours could easily be a coincidence, but it feels too deliberate to be so, biting back a small smile in trade for a soft chuckle.

Imagine you're out with Daryl needing some food and you come across a real nice river and you go 'I know how to fish!!' And instead of actual fishing like with a rod or whatever you use you straight up just jump in the river and grab them. It's efficient somehow but he just stares at you like

i think daryl is like. incredibly vanilla. like not only does he not know what he's doing he'd also be terrified if you asked him to slap you or whatever LMAO like he'd just freeze nd look at you like you're insane. i think he'd only do that sort of stuff if he was in the receiving end of it

also. he has absolutely no game. i saw that one interview where norman said if daryl ever hooked up w any character he wanted him to just. cum early go cry in a corner nd then deny it all. nd ive been thinking about that for three days straight like yes #real if you want to do absolutely anything w daryl you're going to have to be the one making the first move nd asking for it cause his ass is Not doing any of that

Good ending- he begins to smoke less and less bc he sees his partner starting to smoke as well, and he lowkey feels bad about that. Or maybe he tries to stop because the smell of smoke reminds his partner of bad experiences/bad parents or something else

Im sorry but- Price probably stank so bad.. from my experience encountering many cigar smokers

Even worse if he wears cologne, the smell mixed with each other with the worse way possible

Id need him to bath

Had this idea for a while now-

Reader joining the group in season 1 or 2, and yeah everything's okay and stuff but they like. Do not trust Rick. At all. Not because he's a bad person or anything personal, but he's a cop. And they carry really bad experiences with officers/enforcers of law. And Daryl just gets that, yk. Trauma bond n stuff. Like maybe they have a shared experience trying to call the cops for help but it only made their situation worse.

Okay, hear me out: Kyle Pick-Up Artist Garrick. In the sense that he is an expert at dates. Has the routine down to a T. Could become one of those douchey pick-up artists on TikTok, but he’s really doing this for the ladies, okay? Raising their standards and all.

Offers to pick you up. Shows up with a bouquet of flowers with soft colors and pastels—whites, light pinks, and light yellows. Tulips, baby’s breath, peonies. When you open the door, he’s gonna whistle lowly and exhale a huff of laughter. "Sorry, I just… wow. You look amazing." Picks out one flower from the bouquet and places it behind your ear.

Holds the elevator open, opens the door to the car—because he isn’t an amateur. Hand on your thigh, but nearer to your knee because he’s a gentleman, but he still wants you to know how much he wants you. Practiced, occasional glances at you in the rearview mirror, followed by a bashful-looking away when he sees you notice.

Pulls out the chair for you. Holds your hand the entire dinner. Maybe his ankles are brushing yours. Makes you laugh the whole time. (So what if he uses the same jokes? That’s between him and the staff at his favorite restaurant.) Feeds you his dessert with his spoon, and then licks the spoon clean.

Waits for you to go to the bathroom to pick up the check. If you don’t go to the bathroom, he’s gonna pretend to instead. You ask him about the check, and he refuses to elaborate further. Just has a lopsided grin on that beautiful face. Infuriating, really. Wraps his jacket around you so you don’t get cold. Lifts you up princess-style if you say you’re too tired to walk in your heels.

Pulls you in for a chaste, soft goodnight’s kiss at your door. Hand on the small of your back, arms bringing you closer, almost in a hug. Groaning softly into the kiss. He knows exactly the angle at which he needs to tilt his head, exactly the amount of tongue he needs to be using.

Steps away politely, but his big brown eyes look up at you. Of course, you ask him to come in. How could you not? He’s such a gentleman. And he comes in, and he backs you into a corner softly until you sit. Kneels and takes your heels off, kissing his way up your leg. He can almost smell it on you.

The night goes exactly the way he wants it to, with your clothes on the floor of your bedroom and you in his arms.

What a shame you can’t find him when you wake up in the morning, right?

Hear me out.

Wait. No. Pipe down and listen.

Its getting to be that time of year again. Where the sun might as well be just five feet away. Y'know what that means. Falling asleep in the sun. Also. Fics about it.

Y'all ever wanna pull an 'erm, akshually-' when reading a fanfic when you see something scienfically wrong or is it just me. I mean no disrespect whatsoever please I love you all you're amazing, but my mind just automatically goes 'well akshually 🤓👆 you can't survive that long bleeding out-' SHHHH BRAIN SHHHH

Sighing because I wanna write for a different fandom but I'd hate to accidentally mischaracterize a character even though I know people don't care but. Like. 😔 I dunno what if I say someone likes the colour blue only to later find out they have a horrible trauma response from blue. Dude. Don't even joke because I just have such ass luck like that.

So stereotypical man knows how to fix stuff, yeah? Like, helping if the washing machine broke or the toilet or the sink has a leaky pipe.

Daryl does not know how to do this. He was never taught, understandably.

I think it'd make a cute drabble with Daryl x Reader where maybe one of the group [Alexandria era] is talking about how a pipe in their house is leaking and they all sorta maybe kinda glance at Daryl because he seems to know how to do a lot of stuff. And he just clams up awkwardly, before Reader mentions they know how to fix stuff like that and offer to do it for them.

And ofc later when Reader's fixing it, Daryl's watching as they narrate what they're doing.

It may or may not be hot to him

Wow i love moths so much <3

I didn't do it at 12 am sharp 💔

Anyway

It's here