Sex Pollen This, Mpreg That, How About He Gets A Period Huh. What's He Gonna Do Then. Imagine Blorbo

I'd Rather Be Sleeping

Pairing- Daryl x GN! Medic! Reader

Summary- As tired as you are, it's still your job to help those who need it as medic. You're unsure whether to be grateful or not it's someone you're constantly bantering with, though.

TW- off-character Daryl? Mentions of blood and medical procedures

A/N~ wow I don't know how to conclude stories lol 😔 this was meant to be out like a week ago but I accidently just kept extending the story. Oh well!

The casual ruckus of being pulled around from place to place was an endless energy you were used to. Whether it be something as simple as a few scratches or having to amputate someone's arm without hesitation, you were there. With the way everybody always seemed to need you, being one of the few remaining doctors, it'd be easy to think you never got any rest. This is normally true. Not today, however.

You were, admittedly, quite proud of yourself as you sat back with a deep sigh. The plush of the couch was slightly rustic, but *so* much better than how you'd be on your feet. Moving quickly from place to place with adrenaline rushing through your system for hours at a time wasn't something you'd recommend for fun. You had, finally, for the first time in who knows how long, gotten some time to yourself. Where all other scrapes of time had been spent passed out on the nearest surface, sometimes even standing up, being able to just breath felt like watching a sunset on a Californian beach. Something beautiful that you had earned, a soft smile playing your lips as you felt your eyelids begin to weigh down.

The cool air still lingered with the heat of the day, mixing into almost a blanket-like warmth to the atmosphere. The sky faded into one of those classic pinkish-yellow pastels that you'd expect to see in those cheesy romance movies, but you couldn't complain. The soft colours were much nicer than the deep red of draining blood you saw oh-too-often. Old springs gave muffled creaks as you shifted on the faded sofa, welcoming the idea of a restful sleep you've been so deprived of for the past weeks.

Which you *would've had*, if not for the door shooting open like a stray bullet, startling you and almost toppling off the couch.

"So sorry to bug you, but, uhm- the archer guy just come back from their scavenging, and- well, he's not looking too good."

You stuff your face in the couch cushions and groan with a tired longing before forcing yourself up, rubbing your temples and brushing off the young recruit.

"Mhm, yeah," you mumble, your body fighting with the urge to just let the person go but knowing you had a job to do. Your feet moved quickly to the medical tent almost on instinct, already knowing who to expect there but holding onto that sliver of hope that maybe it was just your sleep-deprived mind playing with you.

No. Of course not. You were a doctor, it was your job to keep tabs on people who frequently visited. And Daryl Dixon was one of them.

Okay. Maybe you were overexaggerating how often he ended up in the medical tent, with the way he was so good on his own. And even if he did get injured, it was usually something small, or he patched himself up. But it only took you one time to watch him try to stitch a deep cut on his own that you decided, yeah, he needed more help than he'd let himself.

Your relationship was... *interesting*, to put it politely. You maybe pushed a bit too much to make sure he was alright, which resulted in pointless banter between the two of you often. But to be fair, it was for his own good! He claimed he didn't need help, you said he was gonna get himself infected. He got himself infected as you said, and you scolded him. He refused your medical knowledge for his pride and you tended to him in spite of it. The whole while throwing meaningless insults at each other. Regardless- there was still a mutual respect for the work you both did.

"Daryl," you greeted with that hint of fading tolerance you held special for him.

He only gave a quiet huff to acknowledge your presence, always hating 'wasting time' in the medical tent.

"Charming as ever, I see," you mutter under your breath, your eyes examining the man infront of you with a trained practice for any immediate signs of injury. It's not hard to notice the way he favours his right side, his lower left arm covered in blood and dirt and shrapnel and whatever else he got into in those woods.

You give a soft click of your tongue, not sure whether to ask what happened or make fun of the usually so-careful archer.

"'What, 'cha explode somethin' recently?" You give a soft scoff of amusement, moving beside him to begin taking out the shards impaling his skin. Your hands move with a careful though quick ease, noting the way Daryl tenses and takes a quiet breath in, though refuses to give any signs he's in pain.

"You'd be interested too if'ya saw a firework stand just waitin' there," He rolls his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "You can do a lot with a lighter. You certainly seem to know that," He teases, poking fun at the way you accidentally set your tent on fire last week. You could still feel the flickering hear of the flames that had grown much quicker than you had thought would've. Thankfully, there wasn't really any lasting damage beside some light burns on your hands and arms and getting scolded.

You give a light hum, a smirk playing on your lips as the air between you sparks with a playful challenge.

"Fireworks, huh? That's a shame, then. Maybe if you had stepped a bit closer-"

"Maybe if you had been in the stand when it happened-"

"Maybe if you had taken me with you, I would've-"

"Maybe if- *ow*-"

"Sorry."

You finished taking out the shrapnel, now cleaning the dirt and blood off with a rag. The sharp sting of hydrogen peroxide you used to help clean the wounds took Daryl off guard, the banter dropping from there.

Minutes passed in a comfortable silence as you worked, Daryl just watching with a faint interest as you applied some salve to the worst of the cuts and bruises.

"M'kay, well..." You hum, after a bit, taking a step back to check if you missed anything. "I'd say try to take it easy, but I doubt you'll do that."

Daryl stands up and stretches, your eyes darting away and trying to ignore the way his torn clothes and toned body is unfairly hot- what, who said that-

"'S jus'a few scratches. On'y reason I'm 'ere 's 'cause your little assistant got nervous," the archer spoke plainly, moving to stand at the entrance way of the medical tent. The sun had went from a bright, hot afternoon, to a more hazy evening. The sky dripped with pastels that faded into each other, seconds slowly dragging the sun down the horizon alike curtains closing on a performance. The bustle of the people usually constant had now lessened as daylight waned with the persistent progression of time.

"Kyle?" You chuckle softly, remembering the way the young protégé had burst into the room when you were so ready for some proper rest. He was definetly a bit jumpier than what you'd recommend for the tasks he wanted to learn, but he was so insistent and determined... who were you to deny one knowledge of healing? "He means well. Just a bit nervous," you summed up. Daryl just gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, silence falling onto both once more.

You leaned on a nearby tree that provided shade in the hotter days as the year grew closer to summer. The lack of talk between you two was normal- you didn't really need to to feel comfortable with the other- but today's seemed... different, in a way. The noiseless air stretched on, and you glanced at Daryl only to see him quickly look away when you caught his eye. He looked as if he wanted to say something. He had a lot recently- lingering near the medical tent, fidgeting with the hem of his torn jacket as if waiting for the right moment to approach you. But for the past week, you've been busy and tired and just looking for the next moment of rest. Looking back, you felt a bit bad you didn't pay as much attention as you usually did to the loner.

You shift in your spot, the silence evolving to be more awkward than before.

"...you alright?" You speak out of nowhere.

"What? Uh- yeah. 'Course," Daryl scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching as the sun began to dip on the edge of the sky.

"Riiiight," you hummed, though laying off on the question. Maybe another time. For now, all you could do was take in the fading daylight and finally let yourself rest.

OBSESSED with a reader who is so stupidly oblivious you wanna strangle them. With someone trying to hit on them, be it shy and subtle or loud and extravagant, and they just don't get it. Something else they don't get. Why the other character gets so flustered when they so easily hum 'Mm, that's nice, darlin' or 'thanks, love'.

PLEASE. More characters who use nicknames like it's people's proper names. Who is an idiot when it comes to love, not in a soft submissive way, but in a way that they just love so much the have trouble discerning the lines of romantic and platonic.

Fennec came up with this poll but made me make it instead so whatever

Reblog for a greater scientific range? That's a thing people say, right? Anyways, help me torture my friend :D

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

what’s the vibe of your blog. everyone has their own. is it an art gallery exhibit serving canapés. a nightclub. a knights of the round table situation. a book discussion meeting. a lonely hearts club newspaper section. a bedroom where you and two friends are chatting. the school of athens debating matters of consequence. a garden tea party. a bacchanal. an agatha christie murder novel style tense dinner party. etc

I'm?? Wow???? I love this so much seriously though I choked on my drink when I saw this thank you so much

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

Guys I NEED. A fic with Sanji and Reader skating/ice skating and Sanji turns out to be not so good at it. Sure he picks up pretty fast, he's good on his feet, but he's still clumsy and just haaappensss to need to hold onto them. The fact he falls and accidentally brings you down with him is purely coincidental, he swears!! He's still gonna apologize a thousand times and treat you to your favourite meal, though.

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