I'm Obsessed Rn So Yall Have To Suffer With Me-

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

This is your signal to let yourself write the deranged, uncomfortable, disgusting fiction that you've been thinking about.

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

Been on my mind for a while- sorry for not posting in FOREVER 💔

But short drabble bc

⭑⭑⭑

The wind brushed against the fading green leaves, the trees lining a pathway deeper and deeper into the ever-growing scaping of plants and herbs and every so often a walker or more. The mindless chatter between you and Daryl dealt with everything and nothing, the conversation as flexible as the river that rushed so.

"Nah, that wouldn't work," Daryl huffed, his crossbow thrown over his shoulder and watching you a few paces ahead of him.

"You don't know!" You smile cheekily back at him, your arms out as you balance on the railroad, cracked and rusted from disuse, with small weeds growing inbetween the cracks and over it. "We could at least tr- oh, fuck-!" You startle, missing your footing and almost falling if not for Daryl quickly appearing by your side.

"You okay? Wha's wrong-" he looks down to see what could've startled you, falling quiet.

There, in the overgrown grass, simply grazing in all it's glory- a box turtle, eating a rather large beetle it found on the ground.

Daryl looked back at you, your shoulders square and a step behind the other man, watching the creature intently as if it insulted you personally. You saw the archer's lips twitch, likely biting back a small smile.

"...you jokin'?" His gruff voice finally rises, shifting the crossbow on his shoulder.

You bristled lightly. Who was he to judge? "Hey, turtles are freaky, okay? I'd rather not get biten from it, thanks." Maybe it was kinda irrational, but really, people downplayed turtles. They could be hella fast. And the way they bit? Mm, thanks, but no.

He gives a low chuckle that he fails to pass off as a cough, crouching down and carefuly tracing the yellow-black pattern of its shell as if to prove to you it was a harmless creature.

"Never thought I'd see you scared'a somethin' like a turtle," he teases, picking up the turtle. It immediately retreats to its shell on the touch, though its' sharp red eyes peek out from the pocket of where its' head is.

"Dixon, I swear-"

"Relax, 'm not gonna throw it at'chu," he rolls his eyes, looking at the boxed animal a moment longer before setting it back down. "Probably."

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.

Alexandrian era, with Reader being apart of or being in a solo traveling band. Trading songs and tales for a night under a roof. Madelyn Mei type songs. Yaelklore type songs. Yk yk???

BARD READER :0

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

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?