#daryl dixon prompt

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

[littlecub9666]

Y/N: You have no idea what I'm capable of!

Daryl: Don't take this personally, but I feel like I'm being threatened by a cupcake.

[discolizardx]

daryl dixon headcanons

darylxreader specifically :)

hello! i always enjoy seeing hc posts so i thought i'd make my own! p.s. send in fic/hc requests if you have any! i'm currently writing for daryl dixon, ted lasso, javier peña, and joel miller. k, thx byeee!!!

he doesn't really show affection early on in your relationship. it takes time for him to let his guard down but once he does, good lord.

if you're walking around together, he is usually making some sort of physical contact. (holding hands, hand on your shoulder/back, just straight up walking so close that your shoulders touch, etc.)

he holds doors open for you. you've told him time and time again that you can open your own damn door but he still power walks ahead of you to get to the door before you can.

he enjoys feeling like your protector. he knows you can hold your own in any fight but he has a need to protect you. he likes knowing that he can keep you safe.

he can get possessive at times. once, he overheard a new resident trying to flirt with you. as you were talking to him, you noticed the his gaze move above your head and the color drain from his face. you turned around to see daryl standing about two inches behind you and death-glaring at the poor man.

one time, late at night after you were nearly bit by a walker, he told you how scared he is to lose you. how he has lost so many people over the years that losing you would break him. he had never been vulnerable in front of anyone like that before. he felt relieved to get it off his chest.

[daryltwdixon]

Writing Prompt Blurb: Daryl x Reader

The fire crackles low, casting soft, flickering shadows over the grass as you lean back against a nearby tree. It’s quiet up here, almost peaceful, no groaning of walkers nearby as you sit on a hilltop outside Alexandria. Daryl’s beside you, busy fiddling with his crossbow, though his gaze keeps drifting to the stars above, a rare moment of calm settled on his usually tense features.

You always looked forward to the nights you could sneak out undetected with him. There was something about being outside the walls. Something about the open air out here, senses heightened for danger unlike when you were safely tucked in your house.

You’re staring up at the stars then too, letting the silence stretch, feeling a strange, weightless calm out here, away from everything. Beside you, Daryl is silent, focused on pulling out the jerky out of his bag that he brought, eyes scanning the darkness.

After a long pause, you sigh, almost dreamily, “You ever think about aliens?”

“The hell you on about now?” Daryl grumbles from beside you, his words muffled as he gnaws on the jerky.

“Just sayin’,” you side-eye him, a smirk tugging at your lips, “Aliens probably wouldn't like us when they come to visit. We suck.”

He snorts, shaking his head in that way he does, amused but guarded. “You say the weirdest shit sometimes, girl.”

“I mean, come on,” you persist, gesturing around at the vast emptiness. “Look around. You think they’d stop by and be like, ‘Oh, the apocalypse hit these guys, let’s hang out and see what happens next!’”

There’s a pause, and you turn to see him watching you, a rare smile slipping across his lips as the moonlight catches in his eyes. He leans back on his hands, settling into the grass, his gaze moving to the stars. “Could be kinda entertainin’ ,” he mutters, “maybe they’d grab some popcorn and watch.”

“Probably already are,” you sigh, letting yourself fall back onto the grass, feeling its prickly texture against your back, arms folded behind your head, “Just can’t see ’em.”

writing prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting :

"Aliens probably wouldn't like us when they come to visit. We suck."

[snailss]

MARCHWERES PROMPT 6- WET DOG PLEASE GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.

Main Masterlist

Daryl Masterlist (includes marchweres)

Prompt list by: @marchweres

CW: Poor writing, short, swearing, reader is referred to as ‘woman’ once but it is otherwise gender neutral, mentions of scars, characters are naked but it is still semi sfw, slightly suggestive, not proof read, lemme know if i missed anything!

Daryl was filthy.

The man was a walking biohazard, his clothing stained with grime and walker guts, yet he still refused to hop in the bath, stating that it was ‘fuckin’ pointless’ until after he had shifted for his hunt later. In a point of desperation to get him clean, you told him you would join him.

Which leads you to now.

You’re slowly rubbing shampoo in the mans hair while he grumbles about something incoherent, his words garbled. There’s a smile on your face while you nod along to the stories of his run, your hands massaging his scalp lightly with each pass of his hair. Despite him being taller than you, you’re behind him, his back pressed flush against your bare chest.

Slowly, you rinse the suds out of his hair and move down. You pour some soap on your hands and begin to rub his back, loosening the tight knots and stress out of his muscles. Your fingers trail lightly over his scars, being sure to kiss the occasional one before you pass by it with the soap.

With open mouth kisses, your lips trail up to his scent gland, sucking against it softly and giggling at the small whine he lets escape. Such a big, strong man, all just to be unraveled by the slightest touch.

“Shit, woman..” his voice trails off, his torso melting into your body and leaning against you.

You hum in acknowledgement, kissing and sucking his neck, leaving a nice plum coloured mark on his throat. The procedere forces a groan out of Daryl, and you think that maybe, just maybe, you should bathe with him more often..

A/N: I’m still new to writing, so please be kind in the comments! I wanted to try some Marchweres Prompts, so here we go!!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 17-18

Prompt: Headache (alt)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

You had not been home long when Daryl came shuffling through the door. He had gone on a run, leaving at the ass-crack of dawn but they were back by early afternoon with two boxes of medical supplies as fruits of their labor. Then he had been helping to move the solar panels and work on the battery hookup with Eugene. You were certain he was thrilled about that. 

You knew he hadn’t stopped; hadn’t told anyone he needed a break. It’s just who he was. Help until the job was done. It was a given that he’d be exhausted. You’d let him relax, maybe shower, while you made a quick dinner. 

Except… he stumbled after closing the door, the tips of the fingers on his left hand pressed against his temple. He didn’t so much as wave before depositing himself face first onto the couch, long legs hanging over the edge of the cushions. If it wasn’t so out of character for him, you’d find it comical. 

“Uh, hi.” You leaned into the room before actually entering. “Rough day?” There was a muffled mhm. “Hungry?” Another muted answer, but this one was mm-mm. God, you wanted to laugh, but that would need to wait until you found out a little more about why your boyfriend came home and immediately attempted to suffocate himself on the living room furniture. 

You knelt slowly, rubbing your hand over the warm leather on his back. You were pretty sure the next noise was a sigh. 

“Are you okay?” You ventured, probing a little more while leaving space in between questions so as not to irritate the archer. You thought he might have said super and was a bit dry, but it was hard to tell with the thick fabric pressed against his face. 

You shifted to properly sit on the floor, moving your hand in random patterns over his back. Maybe if you were patient, he would decide air was a good thing and sit up to enjoy it. You didn’t have anywhere else to be. It took about five minutes for him to very slowly roll his head toward you, expression drawn and eyes squinted. Uh oh. Your Dixon sense was tingling. 

“What���s wrong?”

He visibly attempted a scowl but gave up after only a brief effort. “Head.”

Oh, the jokes you could make. Not the time, Y/N. 

“Headache.” It wasn’t a question. It was blatantly obvious after he’d given you a clue. Judging from his flushed skin and the tension nearly vibrating over his form, it was a bad one. “Okay, just a second.” Daryl didn’t normally get headaches, so you were unsure how to treat one in a man that never complained and despised feeling weak or vulnerable. As you pulled the shades and closed the curtains, you glanced back at him. 

Weak was a fitting word. If a herd plowed through right now, he’d probably thank them when they started to eat him. 

With the room sufficiently darkened, you crouched in front of him, brushing his hair away from his eyes with a barely there swipe of your fingertips. “I’m going to go get a few things for you. Just relax here until I get back.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled, his arm falling away from where it had been tucked at his side. He let his hand hit the floor with little care. “Don’ need ta go outta yer way. M’good.”

A tilt of your head and tender smile should have been enough of a response, but just in case it wasn’t. “You know better than that. Sit tight.” You backed away from him in case he was about to offer any other objections but he surrendered and turned his hand with a thumbs up. 

You made a list in your head as you shuffled around the house. Pain killers. Tylenol would be okay but you were hoping for one of the stronger ones he’d been given when he’d broken his ribs. He was just as stubborn then so there were probably at least a couple left. 

While on your search, you were passing by other things you needed. Washcloths. The small basin that you reserved for cleaning him up when he came home bloody. And eureka! Pills! 

You contemplated getting him some comfortable clothes but the less he moved right then, the better. As an afterthought, you toed off your boots, quieting your steps significantly when you descended the stairs. If he noticed you bypassing him to disappear into the kitchen, he didn’t voice it. He’d need a glass of water to take the pills though you were certain he wasn’t beyond swallowing them dry. You filled the basin with cool water as well and strategically balanced your burden while padding back into the living room. 

Placing the items on the end table, you leaned down to press the most gentle kiss to the crown of his head. His eyes were closed but you were almost certain he wasn’t asleep.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to move around for just a minute and then you can stay still as long as you want. Deal?” 

“Don’ wanna.” He groaned, reminding you very much of a grumpy toddler. Your hands drifted to his shoulders, pulling up as gingerly as you could to motivate him. 

“Come on.” His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the throbbing in his skull. Those things were counterproductive when dealing with a headache but if you could get him to take the pills and lie down more comfortably, maybe he’d relax a little. “I got the leftover strong ones so this should start helping pretty quickly.”

“Okay.” He was so quiet and looked so small at that moment. You wanted to wrap him up and hold onto him forever. He held out his palm and you handed over the medication, barely getting the glass in front of him in time for him to swallow with the water. 

“Okay, now you get pampered.” You crawled to the far end of the couch next to your supplies and sat, patting your thighs. “Your pillow awaits, handsome.” You were barely able to stifle the giggle when he rolled his eyes before promptly pressing his palm against his forehead with a drawn out whine of ow. 

He stayed silent while stretching out on his back, his head resting on your lap. You smiled down at him while one hand dipped cloth into the water and squeezed out the excess. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got you.” You were gentle and careful when lifting his head slightly to place the cool cloth over the back of his neck. He winced at the movement regardless, making you frown. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He murmured, but you still felt a pang of guilt. 

The second cloth now wrung out, you folded it and placed it over his eyes. When he melted deeper into the couch with a sigh, you grinned triumphantly. That part out of the way, you pressed two fingers, gently but firmly, against each of his temples and began massaging the area. You could feel the pulsing there, so too much would not be beneficial. You began to alternate between that and carefully scratching your fingernails over his scalp to stimulate blood flow. 

After no more than five minutes, before you even needed to rewet the cloths, he was softly snoring on your lap. Still, you continued, determined to make sure the headache was gone before stopping. 

An hour later, you had removed the cloths and stopped massaging. Your fingers carded idly through his hair as he slept. He had turned onto his side and pressed his face into your stomach, not a single line of pain left showing. 

Daryl so seldom got to relax that seeing him like that and just being able to take it all in was something you found you wanted to do over and over again. Maybe you’d start being more appreciative of the time you could spend watching him sleep in the moonlight from the bedroom window. You knew that was going to be your new favorite bedtime ritual. 

A deep breath drew you from your thoughts and back to him, his eyes fluttering but barely opening. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” He whispered against your shirt, back asleep before you could reply. 

“Anytime, love. Anytime.”

[ghostboneswrites2]

ђคɭɭ๏ฬєєภ ђ๏гг๏г

A Daryl Dixon Fanfic Challenge

Welcome back, fellow Dixon fiends, to yet another mediocre challenge from yours truly. 🩸

This challenge is (obviously) in honor of spooky season, so let’s jump right in! 👻

How to participate:

Simply select a prompt from below the cut and get to writing! 🔪 Be aware, each prompt has a unique set of challenges!

🩸Deadline is October 31!

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November!

Once you’ve completed your story, just post it, tag me, and tag the post #ddhh so I can find them all easily!

Rules:

Daryl Dixon x Reader only!

500 word minimum*

5k word maximum*

Must be able to stand alone!

Can be part of an ongoing series, but again, must be able to stand alone without outside context.

Writers may only enter one story from one prompt.

Please clarify which prompt you chose somewhere on your post.

* minimum & maximum word counts are approximate!

Prizes & Results:

Each prompt category will have one winner each.

Results will be decided via polls beginning in the first week of November.

🩸Each poll will be up for voting for 7 days.

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November.

The winner from each prompt will:

🩸Be tagged in an honorary winner post!

🩸Have one story of their choosing linked to every fic I post + my masterlist until December 31, 2024.

Prompts:

Choose wisely! Each prompt has its own unique set of kill counts, quotes, advantages, and challenges.

Here is a key for reference:

Kill Count: Mandatory number of deaths.

Setting/Era: Mandatory setting/era.

Quote: A line that must be included in your dialogue.

Challenge: Something that may make a prompt harder than the others.

Advantage: Something that may make the prompt easier than the others.

Slasher

summary: A classic, gory horror trope! Someone in the group has gone insane! The horrors of the post-apocalyptic world has driven them mad! They’re killing everyone! Who are they? Why have they done this? Who will survive?

setting/era: must be set either in Alexandria or the Prison

kill count: 4 to 8 kills

quote: “How could you?”

challenge: The killer must be a canon character from your chosen era, and your kills must also be canon characters from your chosen era. Killer cannot be Daryl or Reader. Killer also cannot be a canonical villain (like the Governor, Termites, Negan, Alpha, etc.)

advantage: Kills can be done with any weapon of choice, to any character of choice.

Supernatural

summary: A (supernatural creature of your choice) is terrorizing and killing off members of the group. What is it? What does it look like? How does it kill? More importantly, how will the survivors kill it?

setting/era: The Greene Farm

kill count: 3 to 5 kills

quote: “What the fuck is it?!” / “Dead, as soon as o figure out how.”

challenge: Supernatural creature cannot be a ghost, demon, or other spirit of any kind.

advantage: Your supernatural creature can be a classic (werewolf, vampire, wendigo, etc) or it can be something completely original and unexplainable. This gives freedom to describe your monster with as much/little detail as you please.

Paranormal

summary: A paranormal force has made its presence known and brought pain and terror upon its victims. Maybe it’s a demonic possession taking over one of the survivors, maybe it’s an angry spirit taking its home back. You decide!

setting/era: —

kill count: —

quote: “Kill it!” / It’s already dead!” / “So are the walkers!”

challenge: Your paranormal entity must not be visible to the human eye, creating an extra layer of difficulty for the survivors.

advantage: Kills are optional. No mandatory setting/era.

FAQ

Do major characters have to die (like Rick, Carol, etc) or do minor characters (like Olivia, Axel, etc) count towards the kill count as well?

Anyone can die!

Can my supernatural creature be anything that isn’t a ghost or spirit?

Yes! Could even be an alien!

Can I write a story for multiple prompts and only use one for the challenge?

Sure! You can even post them! Just be sure to specify which one you’d like to enter in the challenge, even if you do so by just sending me a message.

For the Slasher prompt, who qualifies as a villain?

Good question. Lots of morally gray characters on TWD, so it can be hard to decide who’s a villain and who’s just an asshole. For our purposes, let’s say Negan, Alpha, the Termites, and the Governor are the villains that are off limits.

Credits:

dividers from: @sister-lucifer

I do not own TWD and its characters, blah blah blah.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway @negansbestie @mfnqueen1 @raynelbabe

[peyton-warren]

Help a girl break her writer's block

I have been fighting bad writer's block for a while (years). And dealing with some mental health issues. So I am running away this weekend to a place with no cell service, just mountains and a river and a tent and my dog, with a brand new notebook and a pretty pen that writes beautifully.

Now here's where you come in....

I need prompts. I need new prompts. I wanna ignore my WIPs and dive into new stuff, drabbles, one shots, what have you to get my writer's block out of the way. I'm hoping by doing this it'll help me get back into the stories I know some of you are patiently waiting for me to finish (Blinded by the Fog, The Art of Resilience, Stick Handling ).

So send me your thoughts, thots and prompts for our favorite muses. You have til Thursday Night (Mountain Time Zone in North America) to make it into my new notebook.

Here's a list of characters I will write for/ want to write for.

Anders Lassen

Aril Levinson

Billy Butcher

Cavillrine 

Curtis Everett

Daryl Dixon

David “Deacon” Kay 

Dean Winchester

Eddie Munson

Evan Marshall

Franklin Clay

Geralt of Rivia

Gus March-Phillipps

Hannibal King 

Jake Jensen

James 'Logan" Howlett/ Wolverine

Lloyd Hansen

Ransom Drysdale

Raymond Smith

Sherlock Holmes (Cavill Version)

Syverson

Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Walter Marshall

Tagging my tag lists for more traction. Please reblog and share.

General Tag List: @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212, @avengersfan25,

@ellethespaceunicorn @foxyjwls007 @gummydummy19 , @cynic-spirit , @rosecentury Anders Lassen Tag List: @wunder-blunder Blinded by the Fog Tag List: @mis-lil-red, @sconnie-doesnt-know, @ronearoundblindly @toooldforobsessions , @hooomansstuff HC Tag LIst: @m07belzen, @used-to-be-bourbonwithice, @hawklin, @geralts-yenn @summersong69, @sillyrabbit81 @mistressmkay Syverson tag list: @mrsevans90 Between a Wolf & Hard Place Tag List: @zealoushound Hidden Sun Tag List: @enchantedbytomandhenry @red42985 @liecastillo @lokislittlewarrior @littleone65

@inlovewithhisblueeyes

[ervotica]

doing a lil celebration for 3k! nothing official, just asking for blurb requests for characters from these fandoms:

fourth wing, twilight, acotar, outer banks, call of duty, the walking dead, stranger things, the maze runner, harry potter

— preferred characters -> liam mairi, garrick tavis, paul lahote, jasper hale, eris vanserra, rhysand, rafe cameron, jj maybank, captain john price, simon “ghost” riley, johnny “soap” mactavish, könig, glenn rhee, daryl dixon, steve harrington, gally, theodore nott

— preferred genres -> WHUMP, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, smut, heavy heavy fluff

can be from my prompt lists or your own request!

tagging some mutuals for reach (please rb if you can!); @wroteclassicaly @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eve175 @rafescurtainbangz @rafescokenostril @theostrophywife @tacticalprincess @thehighladywrites @hotchfiles @jjsmarijuana @kissitbttr @lovelyghst @littlemisstrouble @callsign-rogueone @venuslore @void-my-warranty @vampieteeth @vermithorn @nocasdatsgay @mockerycrow @murdrdocs @shellxrls @targaryenvampireslayer @taintedcigs @princessmaybank @prythianpages @babygorewhore @serpentandlily @sociorafe @proactivetypaperson @morwap @cinnamoncunt @daycourtofficial @azsazz @anqeliclust @tsunami-of-tears @plainemmanem

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Famous Last Words

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Summary: She'll never let him believe he isn't loved, even when he doesn't deserve it.

TW: None.

“Be careful. I love you”

She hears the snort of derision he lets out and resists the urge to roll her eyes at him lest she makes things worse. He’s like a cornered animal when he’s upset, all consuming anger to cover the vulnerability he doesn’t want to acknowledge exists. She’s worried the wrong move will make him tell her to ‘fuck off an’ then fuck off som’ more’ like he had the night before.

“Though’ ya were mad at me” He grunts, scuffing the toe of his boot in the pebble-dashed dirt, other leg poised to keep moving further away from her and closer to the run he’s supposed to be going on.

“I am mad at you, you’re mad at me too” She raises an eyebrow before scanning her eyes down, taking note of the way he’s picking at the skin of his thumb; a nervous habit he’s had the whole time she’s known him. He’s nervous, as if one fight will make her leave him, as if she’s going to suddenly realise he isn’t worth the effort. She huffs a small, understanding smile at him “I still love you, and I’m never going to risk that not being the last thing you hear me say”

He pauses at the gate, tilts his head to the side and looks at her properly, sees the way she’s looking at him wide eyed and concerned, the way her shoulders are tense. Whenever they fight he convinces himself he’s being left, talks himself into thinking she doesn’t care and here she is, mad at him, fighting with him and still refusing to let him believe she doesn’t whilst being scared he won’t come back for different reasons.

He strides forward suddenly, twisting his body to close the gap between them and slings an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to press his lips to the top of her head. He lingers, lips against the hair he loves so much.

“I love ya”

“Be careful. I love you” She repeats, knowing the words have sunk in when he raises one side of a lip fleetingly before opening the clanking metal chain.

-

It was a stupid fight, in hindsight, the kind they probably wouldn’t have if anyone had eaten a full meal for dinner rather than whatever percentage of rabbit there was split between twelve people. Or maybe they would, because they could have twelve rabbits and Daryl would still give his up for someone else, and it would infuriate her just the same that he sacrifices his own wellbeing for them at every opportunity. She suspects it’s only half about taking care of others, and maybe a solid thirty percent just not thinking he deserves care; the other twenty percent she is entirely unwilling to examine.

It was a fight though, one that ought to have been kinder than it was. One that she wishes she could have kept her cool in, but she’ll be fucked if Daryl is the only one who gets to be angry. She stews on it, sitting perched on the solid prison cot, playing it over and over in her mind until she hears heavy footsteps outside the makeshift door. She’d recognise them anywhere, his distinctive gait and well-worn shoes that always scrape on the second step when he’s not trying to sneak. The consideration, even in his unconscious actions, is part of the reason she loves him as fiercely as she does.

She doesn’t get up, doesn’t allow herself to follow the overwhelming urge to rush towards him when he opens the bars and lifts aside the curtain. He bites the inside of his lip.

“’M sorry”

“Me too”

She moves then, coming to a stop in front of him to run her hands over the solid muscles under his shirt, checking him for cuts and scrapes, feels him exhale underneath her palms. He’s always taken by the act, no matter how long they’ve been together or how often he goes out. He remains captured by the tenderness and care she bestows upon him. He is, still, so unused to the kindness, so out of depth when the only gentleness he’s known has been a cover for malice, false sense of security so quickly followed by pain.

“Ain’t sure what I did t’ deserve ya love” He mumbles into the same spot on the crown of her head. The spot he kisses when he fucks her, the place his chin rests when he hugs her after a long day, the spot he’d patted condescendingly when he was too embarrassed to admit he liked her but needed an excuse to make contact.

Finally, after almost twenty four hours of not making contact, at least twenty three too long, she kisses him, presses her lips firmly to his, relishing the way he instantly responds. When she pulls away it’s with a smile, an always fucking present smile he’ll never get enough of, the smile that’s his.

“You don’t have to deserve it, you don’t have to earn it, its just there”

He eats more that night, sitting by the fire running a thumb soothingly on her knee as he takes a well earned swig from a bottle of water. He wants her to see it, wants her to know he's trying; and if he has to trick himself into it by thinking it's for her, caring for himself because she needs him to, then it'll have to do for now.

[littlecub9666]

Y/N: *staring at Daryl dreamily.*

Carol: "You're in love."

Y/N: *flustered and tries to play it cool.* "I think you're delusional."

Carol: "I think you're in denial."

[scarisd3ad]

Scarisd3ad Halloween writing challenge ‘24 masterlist

Main masterlist

Taglist

[A/N] - so this year I couldn’t find any October writing challenges that really fit what I normally like to do in October so I decided to make my own . So here’s the prompts I’ll be writing to this Halloween season.

Prompts

October 1st - haunted house with Billy loomis and Stu macher.

October 2nd - carving pumpkins with Carl grimes

October 3rd - taking the party trick or treating with Steve Harrington

October 4th - matching Halloween costumes with cooper and his kids

October 5th - Ouija board with Micheal afton

October 6th - ‘are you scared?’ Paddy (speak no evil)

October 7th - haunted corn maze with Steve Harrington

October 8th - baking with Joel miller

October 9th - movie marathon with Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley

October 10th - pumpkin spice everything with Joel miller

October 11th - ‘are you afraid of the dark’ slasher!Joel miller

October 12th - getting chased through the woods with billy loomis and Stu macher

October 13th - first Halloween with Joel miller and baby Sarah

October 14th - rainy days with Daryl Dixon

October 15th - ‘I hate horror movies’ with Stu macher

October 16th - training with Billy loomis and stu macher

October 17th - ‘I’m cold’ with Glenn Rhee

October 18th - apple picking with Joel miller

October 19th - Halloween party with Stu macher

October 20th - decorating for Halloween with cooper Adam’s

October 21st - sneaking out with Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley

October 22nd - concerts with Eddie Munson

October 23rd - spiked punch with Steve Harrington

October 24th - carnival with Micheal afton

October 25th - ‘I think you two are a little too old for this’ with Eddie Munson

October 26th - ‘you are coming with us’ with tatum Riley

October 27th - ‘my parents won’t be back until midnight’ with Steve Harrington

October 29th - ‘it’s not even scary’ with Carl grimes

October 30th - handing out candy with Joel miller

October 31th - ‘stop scaring me’ with Stu macher

[snailss]

MARCHWERES PROMPT 19- SILVER

MAIN MASTERLIST

DARYL MASTERLIST (includes marchweres)

PROMPT LIST BY @marchweres

CW: Unrequited love, Age gap (reader is in their 20s, Daryl is in his late 30s), prison era, mentions of death, poor attempt at angst, reader is hinted at being female, written in Daryl’s POV, small allusions to sex, let me know if I missed anything.

PLEASE GIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM

Since long before time, the story of werewolves have been twisted and changed among cultures, but the one statement that always remained true was the fatality of silver. It's said that supernatural creatures like werewolves were often left vulnerable to the touch of the metal. It was their Achilles heel.

The feeling in Daryl's chest felt much like his lungs had been punctured by silver.

The breeze rustled through Daryl's hair while he hunted, crossbow in hand. The sun was shallow on the horizon, a soft glow looming over his face. It was well after he said he'd be back, and he had no doubt that the residents of the prison were worried, but he didn't care. The soft air of the evening gave him peace of mind, unlike the chaos of the bustling community the ex-Woodbury residents had just recently joined. Despite the abundance of people who had just allied with his group, his mind was stuck on one person in particular.

You.

You, the embodiment of Aphrodite herself, with your warm smiles and soft, lingering touches. You had come with the group when they rescued you from Woodbury, and the brunette took a particular liking towards you. Despite his normally touch repulsed self, he found himself craving your soft skin against his more frequently than not.

You were younger than him, in a happy and healthy relationship with a boy from Woodbury. He shouldn't be wanting you like this. It felt wrong. You were of legal age, of course, being in your late 20s, yet it still felt so, so dirty to be pining over you like this, especially when you didn't return his advances. With each interaction he had with you, his chest coiled tighter in an emotion he couldn't describe. Guilt? Jealousy? Envy? He wasn't quite sure anymore. All he knew was that the feeling was painful, harsh, and like a stab to the heart.

Daryl continued to trudge through the thick undergrowth. As he followed the tracks of his prey, thoughts of you continued to infiltrate his mind. The feeling of despair clawed at him relentlessly, cutting off his airways and twisting his chest into knots. You were not his to desire, not when your heart already beat in time with another's, not when you were tangled in someone else's sheets.

When he finally caught sight of his prey, Daryl paused, his crossbow at the ready. His mind drifted back to you, to the way your eyes sparkled in the sun and your laugh filled up a room. He knew he was being foolish, that he was setting himself up for defeat, but he couldn't help but imagine a world where maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to win your heart.

With a deep breath, Daryl pulled back on the trigger, letting the bolt reach its target. As he retrieved his kill, Daryl allowed reality to truly sink in.

You would forever be his silver bullet.

a/n- the ending feels rushed to me :(

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

MarchWeres Day 10

Prompt: Cockwarming (NSFW alt prompt)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Tabby (oc)

Warnings: Well, Cockwarming; werewolf shifting

Daryl Dixon did not play fair. He was usually Tabby’s good boy, bending to her every command, whimpering and writhing below her when she bounced on his cock, man and wolf. The delicious sounds he would make as she wriggled herself down, down, down until her body stretched to accommodate his knot when he was shifted.

It wasn’t often that the roles were reversed. Daryl was powerful and enjoyed giving that up and handing Tabby the reins. It was a way for him to escape the chaos.

Then there were days like today.

Tabby was utterly bare, cunt stuffed and stretched around Daryl’s cock while he did nothing more than watch her, touch her. He spent time connecting freckles, licking his fingertip to circle her nipple and watch it pebble. Once in a while, he would do her the kindness of stroking her clit with soft circles, just enough to stimulate her, make her flutter around his length.

That, however, wasn’t the magnificent torture. She had been still, warming his cock for just under an hour when she felt it, saw it. He dragged his tongue across his teeth, canines long and pointed. It was the only warning she got before he partially shifted, swelling and growing inside her, making her eyes roll back and her legs tremble.

“Oh, god. Oh, fuck.” She was so close just from the change in his size. His shift stopped there, claws and fangs and cock. Clever fucker.

“Don’tcha move, Spitfire.” He pulled her forward almost roughly, pressing her against his chest and claiming her mouth before he nuzzled her cheek and nipped her earlobe with the tip of his fangs. “An’ don’tcha dare cum.” He let her sit back, the movement making her jolt, his girth stretching her in all the right ways.

“Daryl, I can’t—I need to move, baby.” Tabby’s hands caressed his chest, down over his belly, and latched onto the each side of his open jeans, wanting nothing more than to feel the skin of his thighs flex beneath her ass. Before she could finish that thought, the stretch and pressure eased as he shifted back.

“That better then?”

The redhead whined, confused about what to feel. His human form was delicious, made for her cunt to squeeze. He could get her off without touching her clit, always tapping that perfect spot inside her. His wolf form pushed her limits, nearly splitting her in half. She would cum over and over with no room to squeeze him. And when he would knot her, well—she had lost consciousness before.

“Both are so good, baby. Please fuck me, one way or another.”

Daryl smirked, brushing away an unruly curl before both hands went to her breasts, fondling and weighing, but spending little time before continuing on a journey to settle at her waist. He watched her face intently as he shifted again, his eyes dropping to her belly. He could see himself sheathed there, protruding beneath her skin.

He was sure it didn’t hurt her, though it was sometimes uncomfortable, she had assured him it was nothing more than that. Tabby gasped, her cunt spasming. “Oh. Oh, Daryl. I’m—I can’t—”

“Don’t do it.” He warned, claws tapping rhythmically against her hips. He didn’t stop her when she started to bounce, the smallest of movements to acclimate her body to the size of him.

“Oh god, I’m cumming!” His hands slid from her waist to her lower back to steady her as she writhed and screamed. God, she almost took him right along with her, his knot swollen and sitting snug against her entrance.

Not yet.

Daryl waited patiently for her to slump against his chest, holding to him tightly and heaving for breath between apologies. After a moment of reprieve he hooked a finger beneath her chin and led her to look at him. He was shaking his head and clicking his tongue at her, eyes glowing and form shifting, uttering two words before the wolf completely took over.

“Bad girl.”

[indigoraysoflight]

“Spicy food in India” | Caryl prompt

requested by @that-left-turn ❤️

~

Cardamom & Curry

Carol stared at the fish. They’d been in Munnar for three days, and Carol had already gathered three South Indian recipes to take home. She decided to try making fish curry for lunch instead of finding a local restaurant, but there was one problem. Carol had never filleted a pomfret before. Daryl was the one who always filleted fish in their home, but he was asleep, so she was on her own.

Henry and his dad, Ezekiel, had planned a trip to Kerala, South India and wanted Lydia to go with them. Lydia and Henry had been dating for three years, and Carol adored Henry. He was respectful – if a little spoiled – and he loved Lydia. She knew Daryl liked him too but was extra grumpy around the boy who was dating his adopted daughter. Henry and his dad travelled a lot and often took Lydia with them. But Daryl refused to let their kid go across the world by herself, even though their kid wasn't really 'a kid'. So, Ezekiel generously extended the invitation to Lydia’s adoptive mom and her adoptive mom’s platonic best friend, who also happened to be Lydia’s adoptive father. To say their first dinner together had been awkward would be an understatement. 

They’d been saving up for a big vacation for a year and a half now, so the timing worked out. Her catering business was going well this year, but Carol doubted they’d ever be able to afford this expensive rental. The luxury cottage was built with rustic stone and wood, and nestled on top of a hill, surrounded by tea and cardamom plantations. Ezekiel had given them the tour when they arrived, but the space was too big for her taste; she would’ve preferred a cozy but comfortable cottage with a view of the rolling hills. Still, she’d smiled graciously every time he pointed out an expensive feature on the property while Daryl sulked in the back. There was an odd tension between Daryl and Ezekiel, and she'd figured out why after what happened yesterday. Carol thought it best to stay with Daryl today and take some time to think–

“You tryna fillet the fish with your mind? Just gotta use a knife.” 

Carol blinked, realizing she had zoned out and she was still staring at the pomfret. “Is that how it works? I thought if I stared at it sternly, it would fillet itself.”

“Gimme.” He limped over and started filleting the pomfrets with impressive precision. 

“Show off,” she muttered under her breath.

His hair was dishevelled, and he wore cargo shorts and a faded tie-dye t-shirt that Sophia had made for him years ago. She pushed his fringe back to examine the cut on his face, held together by butterfly bandages. They'd been more generous with their touches lately – especially since they got here – but she didn't mind, and she didn't think he minded either by the way he leaned into her touch.  

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” he said without looking up at her. 

“You’re lucky you didn't need stitches.” He looked up at her then, his eyes intense as they flicked down to her lips. She realized she was just running her fingers through his hair now and stepped back. 

She and Daryl woke up before dawn the last two mornings and, in a jetlagged daze, walked along the path through the tea plantation to catch the sunrise. They didn’t expect it to rain on their way back yesterday. She slipped and would’ve tumbled down the path, but Daryl steadied her, lost his balance, and landed in the tea plantation. Besides a large cut on the left side of his face, tea leaves stuck to his elbows and knees, and a sprained ankle — he was intact. His eyes held a fear she hadn’t seen in five years –  fear and something else – as he frantically checked her for injuries and then held her in his arms for a solid minute in the rain.  

“This fish isn't going to marinate itself,” she said in a chipper voice and mixed the spices in a bowl to calm her heart rate before smearing a generous amount of the paste on the fish. 

“That’s enough. Dunno if I need more spice.”

Carol smirked and batted her eyelashes at him. “But I thought you liked it when I’m spicy, Pookie.”   

“Stop.” 

They fell into the rhythm they had in their own kitchen. She sauteed the onions with the spice mixture while he squinted at the recipe she’d scribbled on a paper pad and started cutting the tomatoes – stopping every few seconds to pop a slice in his mouth. Carol took a deep breath and focused on the onions. Something had viscerally shifted between them on the long flight over here. She’d clung to him on the plane during turbulence, and after they landed, they kept reaching for an excuse to touch each other. She’d been so unguarded in the way she leered at him that Lydia and Henry had given her a knowing look more than once.  

“Where’s the royal family? I’m guessing Lydia is with them?” Daryl casually fed her a slice of tomato and then sucked the juice off his fingers. 

They’re gone, and I’m in trouble. Carol steadied her voice. “Lydia, Henry, and Zeke went sightseeing; they won’t return until after dinner.” It’s just us, and you keep doing that thing with your mouth, she thought.

Carol let the curry simmer while they stepped onto the balcony and lounged on the chairs, staring at the green expanse. The air was dewy and perpetually scented with a hint of cardamom. Sophia would’ve loved this place. She would be perched on the balcony with her sketchbook, scribbling away and absentmindedly picking at her nails. 

“Why didn’t ya go with them? I’m sure Henry’s dad will miss you.” Daryl growled and picked at his nail. 

The tension between Daryl and Ezekiel got worse when he limped on their way back yesterday, and Ezekiel offered to pay for a doctor to take a look at him. Carol knew he would refuse, and thankfully she had packed some first aid supplies because she knew this man too damn well.

Carol rolled her eyes. “I wanted to stay and take care of Lydia’s dad, so he understood.”

Daryl’s lips quirked up, summoning a flutter in her belly. What are we doing here, Daryl? She wanted to ask. They’d been tip-toeing around each other for years now. Or she thought they were. Maybe this is all they’d ever be – platonic best friends who lived together, who raised a daughter and lost another. Two people who let their touches linger too long, reached for each other when they were afraid, longed for each other when they were apart, and sometimes slept in each other’s arms but never crossed that line. Always something more, but never quite enough. 

“Surprised he hasn’t asked ya out yet.” 

Carol blinked at Daryl, wanting to point out the irony in what he’d said. Irritation coursed through her as the curry burbled away, and she decided to come clean about what had happened the previous evening. 

“He did after dinner last night.”

“What?” Daryl looked like he’d been punched in the gut; Carol tried to ignore the twinge of guilt and failed. 

Ezekiel had helped her load the dishwasher in the kitchen and asked her out before they retired to their rooms last night. He’d been a perfect gentleman – charming, respectful, and chivalrous. But all she’d thought about was how Daryl’s eyes had lingered on her lips before dinner when he’d told her she looked beautiful. 

“I told him I’ll think about it.” They weren’t in a position to anger their host, even though she felt that Ezekiel would accept defeat graciously and not put them in an awkward position. 

“Why didn’t ya say yes?”

“Why does it matter?”

Daryl’s behaviour was giving her whiplash. He practically undressed her with his eyes last night and almost launched himself at Ezekiel for complimenting her at dinner. Now, he was pushing her to date the man.

Daryl peered through his fringe, his eyes earnest. “He’s real charming, rich, generous, and clearly has a thing for ya.”

Carol crossed her arms. “If he’s so great, why don't you go out with him?”

“Pfft. Ain’t my type.” 

“What is your type?” Carol raised her eyebrows, ignoring the heat that crept up her cheeks as Daryl’s eyes roamed her face and lingered on her lips before he pried his gaze away.

“Don’t change the subject. He’s corny and a bit pretentious, but he doesn’t seem like an asshole.”

“So, that’s what you want then? For me to date Ezekiel?” Her voice wavered, but she held his gaze, her anger now simmering to the surface and prickling at her eyes. Is that what he wanted? Then why did he look at her like that all the time — like he was afraid of losing her? Had she gotten this all wrong? Did she spend years pining after a man who was finally telling her he was not interested? 

Daryl looked away. “I want ya to be happy. He’d treat you like a Queen and-”

“-I should get started on the appam.” 

Carol went to the kitchen before the tears formed in her eyes, hating the open plan of the cottage where she could feel Daryl’s eyes follow her. Her hand reached for the pink bauble pendant resting on her chest. After Sophia died, they’d grown closer and built a wall between them at the same time. But when Lydia came into their lives, the wall started breaking down. She hoped, in time, they could pick up where they left off. Now, she didn’t know why she thought this vacation would be a new beginning for them. Daryl was never going to see her as anything but his best friend. She’d waited too long. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl loved watching her cook. Her hair was tied up in a bun; she wore a loose Bowie t-shirt, baggy sweats, and soft fuzzy elf socks Lydia got for her last Christmas. The aroma of cardamom and chilli lingered in the air as she poured rice batter on a pan to make the rice crepes they called appam. He wished he could walk up and wrap his arms around her, kiss the nape of her neck and see if he could taste cardamom on her skin. I bet Ezekiel didn't think this hard before he made his move. He sighed. 

Daryl didn’t know how many days he had left to savour her presence, reach for her hand when they walked up a crooked path and watch the sunrise wash over her freckles. She looked radiant last night in the blue dress that hugged her form and illuminated her eyes. He knew sooner or later, she’d meet a man who deserved her. I didn’t think it would be this soon. To think he’d hoped this vacation would give them time to figure out what their future looked like. Even if Daryl selfishly wished to be with her, Carol deserved someone who could offer her the world. Ezekiel sure as hell checked all the boxes.

Carol deserved all of this. Lavish vacations, a charming partner, and children who adored her – who were safe and in her arms. She deserved a comfortable life after everything she’d been through.  

Daryl’s work as a contractor was unpredictable, and renting a cottage of this size for twelve days was out of the question. He thought the trip he’d taken her and Sophia on to the Grand Canyon had been extravagant because he’d spent a chunk of his savings to upgrade them to a big cabin with a mini-pool. Now Henry’s rich father entered the picture and showed him up with one effortless, generous gesture and an offhanded “We vacation here every summer”. The universe could’ve kicked him in the balls, and it would’ve hurt less. 

Daryl walked into the kitchen and started slicing some red onions to soak in lemon juice because he needed something to do before his thoughts choked him. Carol’s eyes were far away when she held up a spoon so he could taste the curry; the heat from the spices hit him straight in the back of his throat and lingered on his palate. 

“Why did you stay after Sophia died?” 

Daryl coughed. “What?”

“You heard me.”

It didn’t even occur to him to leave after Sophia died. When he’d rented the basement apartment in Carol’s house all those years ago, he only wanted a cheap place to rest his head as he went through trade school. Daryl hadn’t expected to fall so deeply in love with Carol and co-parent her child with her. Before he knew it, he'd moved upstairs into the spare room, and he walked the kid to school every day and helped with her homework. He’d come to love Sophia like she was his own daughter. When she died, he and Carol had anchored each other through their shared grief over the loss of their little girl. Then, another kid walked through the doors, and they were given another chance.  

“I loved that kid. I know Sophia wasn’t mine, but she was.” He didn’t expect his voice to break as his eyes lingered on Carol's pink bauble necklace. 

“I know. But that’s not what I asked.” her voice was soft, her eyes crystal in the afternoon light – she was crying in the kitchen when he was busy leering at her. He wanted to kick himself for being an idiot again. 

Carol pinned him with her gaze. “Why’d you stay?” 

“Why didn’t ya say yes to Ezekiel?” he deflected.

“I’m not interested in him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t love him.” Carol’s voice was a desperate whisper. “Ezekiel wasn’t the one who held me through my grief. He didn’t take my daughter trick-or-treating or scour ten game stores to find the obscure video game she wanted. He didn’t make her chicken soup with alphabet pasta when she was sick. He didn’t treat me and my daughter like we were the center of his universe-” Carol’s voice broke, and she wiped her tears. 

“Carol-” 

“-I thought we were on the same page, Daryl, and hoped we’d have a stroke of luck with the change of scenery, but I guess I was wrong.” 

Did she really not know? Had he not been clear enough about how he felt? He loved her so much he’d let her walk into a pretentious rich guy’s arms—shit. As he played the thoughts over in his mind, he realized how they must’ve sounded out loud. I fucked up. Words chased each other in his mind as he struggled to explain. 

“Our luck’s run out,” Carol sighed and turned to leave.

Before he could think too hard, he pulled her close and kissed her. Her lips tasted of cardamom, and her. Carol. A small part of his mind worried about her shoving him away, but instead, she melted in his embrace and drew him in for more. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His lips were softer than she’d imagined. He kissed her deeply and slowly like he had all the time in the world. His hands were everywhere – caressing her face, gripping her waist, tangled in her hair – like he was tracing her silhouette in his memory. When they came up for air, her mind was molasses, and her thoughts returned to her slowly. He traced her jawline with a featherlight touch and looked at her like he worried she would disappear. Carol blinked away the tears and ran a finger alongside the butterfly bandages on his face. Their eyes met, and he held her hand to his cheek and kissed it. 

“Why’d you stay?” she asked again. 

“I stayed because I belong with you.”

There was nothing else she could say but kiss him again and wonder why she hadn’t done it sooner. 

“Why did you tell me to date Ezekiel?” she asked between kisses. 

“I’m an idiot.” He kissed her back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After their make-out session, they took a quick break to catch a breath and have lunch – a bowl of fish curry with rice crepes or appam. They’d been eating spicy food for days, and he always regretted it in the morning, but that didn't stop him. He dove in immediately, savouring every bite as the sharp taste of chilli and cardamom hit his palate. Sooo good. He could still taste the fish, and it melted in his mouth. He couldn’t slow down if he tried, so he helped himself to a red onion slice soaked in lemon juice and hummed as the acid cut through the savoury richness of the curry.

Carol watched him with a smile – her gaze soft and open. Most of her hair had escaped the bun, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips looked swollen and kissable. His brain short-circuited; he didn’t know whether to continue eating the curry or kiss her. She solved his problem by scooping some fish with the appam and feeding it to him; Daryl held her gaze as he ate and licked the pads of her fingers with his tongue. 

He didn’t know which one of them closed the gap. He didn’t care because he was kissing the woman he loved. His hands pulled her close, and her fingers grabbed his hair as they stumbled toward her bedroom. The taste of cardamon and curry lingered on his tongue as he pressed openmouthed kisses to her neck.   

“Your lips taste spicy, Pookie.” 

“Thought you like it when I’m spicy.”

Her laughter bounced off the walls as he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him. 

_________________________________________________________

A few notes: 

Munnar: Munnar is a hillstation in India’s Kerala state. It's surrounded by rolling hills dotted with tea, coffee, and cardamom plantations.

Appam: Appam is a thin and lacy fermented rice pancake. Traditionally, it’s eaten with stew or coconut chutney. 

Pomfret: This delicate white fish is a staple in coastal regions of India.  

Fish curry recipe for the curious minds (if you plan on making it, please don’t forget to marinate your protein). 

[fanfics4all]

Not Used to Freedom

Request: Yes / No Thank you @badthingshappenbingo​ for my card! 

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1342

Warnings: Slavery, mentions of sex slave (But not in detail) 

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s):

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Even in the apocalypse, people sucked. My parents traded me to some asshole for supplies. They got a lot for me, but now I was stuck to a man who treated me as if I wasn’t a human. He made it clear I was his property now, nothing more than an object to him. He was the leader of his little group and made sure they all knew I was his as well. No one was allowed to talk to me and I wasn’t allowed to speak without permission from ‘Master’. At least he let me wear clothes when he dragged me around on a leash. This has been my life since I was a child. Great parents, right? 

Now that I was a woman ‘Master’ would touch me. He loved touching my body and did it every chance he could. I hardly even flinched when he took my virginity. This was all I’ve ever known. I was nothing more than ‘Master’s’ servant, who came when called. It was the only life I really knew anymore and I hated it. The only thing I can remember from my past is my name. Y/N. I repeated it to myself every night so I’d never forget. Because even though I knew it was more than likely never going to happen, I still had hope I’d escape or be saved. 

Today I was locked in the small room I had come to know as my bedroom, if you can even call it that. All I had was a bed, ‘Master’ kept all my clothes in his room. He had to pick all of them out each day. I was stuck waiting for ‘Master’ to let me out. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. It was the only thought going through my head when I was alone anymore. I didn’t want to forget my name no matter how hard ‘Master’ tried to make me. A loud gunshot broke my thought and my head snapped to the door. What was happening? More gunshots joined the fight and I heard screaming. My eyes widened and I pushed myself against the wall. I covered my ears to try and drown out the sounds, and shut my eyes tightly. 

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N, Just focus on your name. That’s the only thing you need to know right now. 

After a bit it was quiet. I didn’t remove my hands from my ears or open my eyes. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I was so scared. What if I got blamed for this somehow? ‘Master’ loved to punish me when he was angry, even if I didn’t do anything. I heard a few footsteps coming closer to my door and whimpered quietly. 

“You check that one, I’ll check this one.” Someone with a gruff voice said. That wasn’t anyone I’d heard before. Someone tried my door handle, but it was locked, like always. 

“It’s locked.” A softer voice said. 

“I got it.” The gruff voice said. There was pounding on the door and I whimpered. I shrunk into myself as much as I could. I did not want to get punished. I heard the door break down and started crying, quietly. 

“Wait hold on.” The softer voice said. I heard footsteps come closer and suddenly my hands were being gently pulled away from my head. 

“Hey, you’re okay.” The voice said and I shook my head, keeping my eyes closed tightly. 

“Can you look at me, please?” He asked. I slowly opened my eyes and saw a kind man looking at me with worried eyes. 

“My name is Glenn, this is Daryl.” He said, motioning to the man behind him. I glanced at him and he looked mad. I shrunk into the wall a bit more, but the man, Glenn, gently moved my face to look at him again. 

“What’s your name?” He asked and I blinked a few times. 

“Y-Y/N…” I whispered and he smiled at me. 

“Y/N, can you tell me why you were locked up in here?” He asked and I gulped. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” He reassured me. 

“Master didn’t let me out yet…” I whispered and his eyes widened. He looked back at the other man, Daryl, whose eyes were also wide. 

“Was it that asshole that ran this place?” Daryl asked and I nodded slowly. 

“Well, the fucker is dead.” He said and my eyes widened. 

“R-Really?” I asked and he nodded. 

“Yes. They’re all dead.” He said and I just blinked a few times. I let the news settle in and relaxed a little. 

“You can come with us, we have a safe place.” Glenn said and I stiffened a bit. 

“Oh no, you’d be free, Y/N. You can live your own life.” He clarified and I looked at him confused. 

“F-Free?” I asked. Glenn nodded and offered me his hand. I bit my lip and shakily took his hand. He helped me up and smiled at me. 

“I promise you’ll be safe and free, Y/N.” He said and I gave him a small smile. 

The two men led me through the halls that were once my hell. I clung to Glenn’s hand, but he didn’t seem to mind. We walked into the main room and there for a few other people standing around. They turned to look at us and pointed their guns at me. 

“Who’s that?” A woman in an army uniform asked. 

“Hey, relax! She’s not a threat.” Glenn said. Daryl nodded and they lowered their guns. 

“This is Y/N, we found her locked in a room. She was… was forced to work for Noel,” Glenn said and they all looked at the collar on my neck. I blushed and looked away. I felt Glenn gently squeeze my hand. I heard someone walk up to me and saw brown boots standing in front of me. 

“Y/N?” A man with a southern accent asked. I looked up and saw a man in a sheriff’s uniform. 

“How long have you been here?” He asked. 

“M-My parents traded me f-for supplies when I-I was seven…” I quietly answered. Everyone looked at me with wide eyes and a few people even gasped. 

“You’ve been wearing that since you were seven?” A young boy asked and I nodded. 

“M-Master has kept me for himself.” I said and I saw their faces change to anger. I shrunk back, but Glenn gently pulled me a little closer to him. 

“They’re not mad at you, Y/N. They’re mad at what Noel has done to you.” He said and I looked at him confused. 

“Sick bastard.” A ginger man said. 

“He’s gone for good now, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about him anymore.” The man in the sheriff’s uniform said. 

“Come on, let’s get her back.” A woman with a southern accent said. 

“Agreed.” Glenn said and smiled at me. 

“Alright, let’s head out.” The man in the sheriff’s uniform said. Everyone headed for the front door, but Glenn stopped me. 

“Here.” He said and reached for my neck. My eyes widened and I flinched, but he gave me a reassuring smile. He pulled out a knife and very gently cut the collar off my neck. He pulled it off and I looked down at it in his hand. 

“You won’t need that anymore.” He said and tossed it to the side. I looked at it lying on the floor broken and let out a sob. 

“T-Thank y-you.” I said through tears. Glenn gently wrapped an arm around me and pulled me in for a hug. The first genuine hug I’ve felt in years. 

“You’re gonna be alright, Y/N. We’ll all help you.” He whispered and I nodded. He pulled back and still smiled at me. He offered me his hand and I took it a bit more confidently this time. He turned and led me towards the rest of the group. Was I finally free now, or was this all just an act?

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