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indigoraysoflight · 8 months

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tempted to ask for one of the dirty prompts but to spite myself, how about 23?

CARYL pls

Hey there nonny, here you go <3

23. vintage

It was the cabin all over again.

Carol felt the tension between them wrap around her spine like a taut string as they walked inside the dilapidated building to camp out for the night. It was the first time they were alone. Really alone. Without people muttering around them in French with questioning glances, and suspicious prying eyes following their every move. Daryl hadn't left her side since they reunited a few days ago – he simply clasped her hand and led her inside without a word to his French companions.

They'd held each other so desperately when she found him - his face was pressed into the crook of her neck, his fingers dug deep welts in her jacket, and his arms clutched her so close that she felt his heaving breaths right down to the tips of her toes.

His warmth lingered on her perpetually as she kept finding ridiculous excuses to touch him. She felt ashamed of her weakness, but losing him for all this time had made her fear worse. So her arms lingered on his sides when he checked her after a fight; she leaned into him as they walked, brushed against his fingers when she handed him his crossbow, or traced his face every time she checked his head wound and watched him stare at her lips longingly.

Even though everything ached at that look.

Her tears blurred her vision when his eyes roamed her face every spare moment they had together. He'd hesitate for a long moment before brushing them with his thumbs, and pressing his forehead to hers until it was time to keep moving again.

But the deep yearning for each other's warmth had evaporated into thin air the moment they were on this path by themselves. Reality kicked in as days passed, and she saw how different he looked here, how at ease he was with the terrain and the people.

It reminded her of the days after the cabin when she didn't know exactly where she fit into his life. As the distance between them grew, and his hesitance to approach her got stronger – an unexpected spark of sadness followed her.

They found a large, empty room in the building for the night. The floors were crusted marble, an old charred fireplace against a wall with a stack of wood that looked untouched for years, and a rusty bronze chandelier covered in cobwebs smashed in the corner. The walls were all crooked chunks of brick and plaster cracked away with time. Two long windows on either side of the fireplace filtered the dying light in the room.

She turned her back to him and removed her gun, coat, and jacket. There was a rustle of fabric behind her as he did the same. She unrolled their bedrolls and sat with her back against the wall as he knelt down and lit a fire. He reached into his pocket to draw a box of matches when a tiny brown wooden box fell out, rolled across the floor, and clattered against her right foot.

Carol lifted it to find a crude etching of a flower on top of it, she turned it in her hand as he stoked the flames. He chewed his lip and looked at the box, then back up at her. His hair was soft gold in the firelight with threads of silver peeking through it.

"What's this?" The box rattled as she turned it upside down.

"Open it." He sat with his back against the wall, a few feet away from her.

The box unscrewed, and sitting inside was a tarnished silver Jasper ring. It looked about a hundred years old, with soft ochre and black spots forming around the knots on the sides, the crevices, and the rim of the dotted silver bubbles around the textured green Jasper stone in the middle.

"A ring?" Carol furrowed her brow.

"It's a Jasper ring." Daryl's voice was soft, taking her back to another time when he'd used it to tell her a story. "Heard a long time ago that Jasper helps give you the courage to face hardships and strengthens bonds between loved ones that are gone."

She traced the knots on either side of the ring. "Celtic knots," Daryl moved closer and tentatively touched one. "That there is a love knot, a sign of love shared between two people."

Their eyes locked for one searing moment, his eyes lingering on her lips, tears glistening on his lashes. His lips were chapped and dry, he swiped them with his tongue before looking down at his hands. Carol turned back to the ring.

The Jasper stone was a gradient of streaked green and bright points of soft yellow patterns, like a constellation etched in stone. Its shine had dulled over the years, it looked like it had weathered quite a few storms. She could feel Daryl's eyes on her as she twirled the ring.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

She turned and saw him gazing at her softly.

"Found it in this antique shop I was camping in one night when I was alone in the early days." He leaned his head back on the wall. "Reminded me of that ring you used to wear back at the Commonwealth – the one you lost after the battle."

"Is that why you kept this ring?" Carol hated how small her voice sounded.

He nodded, "It gave me hope."

She searched his eyes quietly even though she knew he was telling the truth.

"Dunno why but I thought for as long as I held on to it, you wouldn't forget me. Let me go." Daryl's eyes were pleading. "So when I saw you again, I could give it to you."

"I'm never going to forget you, Daryl."

His exhale trembled out of him, and his eyes glistened.

Carol wiped her tears and looked down at the ring. "Why didn't you give it to me?" The words cracked around the edges.

"Didn't think you'd want it anymore."

She looked back at him. His fringe covered his face and his fingers twitched in his lap. Carol held the ring out, Daryl accepted it quietly. She locked eyes with him and held out her hand. His eyes widened briefly, and shone in the moonlight as he searched her face. She smiled at him softly, and he placed the ring on her finger.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, she swayed her hand to catch the moonlight on the yellow specks of the Jasper stone. She turned to look at his watery blue eyes to find him staring at her longingly.

"What do you think?"

Daryl's lips quirked up, "It suits ya," he said without looking away from her.

Carol's smile wilted into the raw longing she'd felt when she thought she would never find him again. She caressed his jaw and she let herself see him – all of him beneath the thin veneer he'd donned to survive in this strange land.

Her resolve cracked and tears spilled anew when Daryl made a tiny whimpering sound in the back of his throat and pressed his forehead against hers. He turned his face into her palm and pressed his lips to it, then pulled her closer so she could rest her head on his chest. A few moments later, his breathing turned into soft snores, and the raw longing she felt escaped through her lips before she could stop it.

"Should've gone to New Mexico..."

The silence that followed made the fire crackle louder. The Jasper stone glinted in its light. Carol fisted her fingers in his shirt, nuzzling into his chest and letting her tears soak into his skin as he slept.

"It's still out there." Daryl's chest rumbled beneath her ear. She looked up.

"Yeah?" Carol's voice trembled.

"Yeah." Daryl's voice was firm.

His thumb grazed her cheek and caught her tears, his hand wrapped over the ring and held onto her hers tightly.

He kissed the crown of her head, and she nuzzled back into his chest and pressed a kiss to his skin. His arms engulfed her until she was surrounded by him. Daryl. His breath tangling in her hair, his heart thrumming in her ear, his skin grazing her lips, his warmth lulling her to sleep, and his ring wrapped around her heart.

Hope was not lost.

#I hope this is enough proof that sometimes you don't need a kiss or an ILY to convey how much two people love each other #especially not when you have two actors with a chemistry that burns brighter than a thousand suns #and the lack of a kiss is not the reason why some carylers felt robbed at the end #caryl fanfic #caryl short fic #caryl fanfiction #caryl prompt fill #my fics #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl #anon ask #writing prompts #darylneedscarol #caryl: my short fics and one shots

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spanishrose2002 · 25 days

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I'm feeling inspired, but also still working on getting all the way there. It's time for some Caryl oneshots. Any requests?

#caryl #caryl fanfic #caryl fanfiction #carol peletier #daryl dixon

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ninelives2 · 8 months

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Monday August 21st is Fanfiction Authors Appreciation Day!

Give a little love to your favorites, dig deep into the archive and find an author who's new to you & give some love to them too!

#fanfiction authors appreciation day #caryl #caryl fanfiction #carol peletier #daryl dixon #nine lives

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lola-andheruniverse · 5 months

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Dear fellow carylers, just to let you know, without going into much detail: I'm struggling a little a lot with real life right now. I'm going to take a week break to organize my RL stuff so there'll be no fanfic recs this week. Please fell free to keep sending me your recommendations because I truly appreciate it and I'll share them as soon as I can manage. I promise. Love you all! See you next week! Caryl on!

#caryl #caryl fic recs #caryl fandom #caryl fanfiction

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ikkleosu · 10 months

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What was Daryl doing before he was taken?

Oh look, it feels like 2015 again and I’m combining evidence into one post for a theory. Bring it back for the remix. Okay so let’s go back to the script leak to start this theorising...

So, this tells us many many things about the set up. It tells us that Carol is looking for Daryl, and has thus discovered he is missing. Her finding his bike cannot just be a random “Carol’s out for a walk and finds Daryl’s bike”. It is MOST likely they have an agreed place where they meet or leave stuff for each other. At the end of season 1 filming, there was a location that was made to look American. It appeared to feature a garage and a bathing station.

That seems a reasonable place for Carl and Daryl to meet up - especially the bathing stations SCREAMS Carol. So lets assume that’s what this is. Now, again, having Carol just rock up and Daryl’s not there, or his bike is and he’s not, with no background to it doesn’t really work (but this is TWD so it might happen but... assuming not). They need to establish that they have this meeting place, or exchange post or whatever it is. To do that they can either show Caryl there together in a flashback, or them separately there collecting and leaving letters and goods for one another. Obviously the former is preferable, but whatever. We know Norman filmed at this location in his pre-France clothes, and with his bike:

So at the very least we will see him there and not just proof he’s been there before. And presumably what happens is Carol shows up expecting to find him, and only find his stuff and proof he’s been there. But with this info in mind, let us look at the promo for the season and a theme that is emerging:

On it’s own, Daryl deserving a happy ending, is a bit “so what”. Particularly as it appears he went looking for it someplace not at home, and without the looming presence of Carol, it might be a very sucky thing for us Carylers. BUT it isn’t, and this is where it gets interesting...

I’m sorry, what did you just say??? “He was SO CLOSE to getting what he wanted” BEFORE he was taken. Well that’s interesting.

Obviously when Daryl left, they were very vague about why and what he was looking for. Maybe it was Rick, and maybe he was close to finding Rick - but the “being where he wanted to be”, that doesn’t sound like Rick related. It does - of course - make me think back to Leah (*spit spit*) and “where I belong” . And it must be remembered that Daryl was clear in Find Me he KNEW where he belonged, and it was with his family. So we have a discord here - he knew he belonged with his people but he went out looking for something, and at some point while out looking he gets CLOSE to finding what he wants.

There’s only IMO one way to square that circle, and it comes clear when we go back to the idea of Daryl deserving his “happy ending” and spending the spin-off DESPERATELY trying to get back home. From that we can only assume home is where he wanted to be, getting what he wanted.

Thus, he had changed his mind. He was coming home. He had realised what he wanted was there, and always was. He was going home to CAROL. SHE is what he wanted.

And it is possible that Carol knows that, and THAT is why she is on his tracks so fast. Because maybe at that meeting place I mentioned at the start, Daryl had told her - either in person, or in a letter, that he was coming home and she was what he wanted and where he wanted to be was with her, wherever she was. He just had to go do this thing first.

So, when he didn’t turn up, she knew it wasn’t just that he’d met someone, decided to settle someplace else. She KNEW he was coming home and him NOT meant something bad had gone down, and when she finds his bike - well bad luck anyone who has been involved in Daryl’s absence cos they are about to be dead.

#caryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #what am I going to tag this stuff?#spin off spoiler spec #Raisethedead #pilgrim #I dunno

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shimmershae · 9 months

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“Stay awake.” (a Walking Dead drabble, Caryl).

Oh, look. I actually do remember how to string words together (badly, lol). Sorry for this. I opened up my prompt list and this is what came pouring out. I guess you could say I needed to purge some feelings or something. ;)

Season 10. What if they both went back after the cave collapse? What then? Just a dash of Caryl angst for your Sunday morning. Please do enjoy.

Her head lolls like a ragdoll against his shoulder, her breath nothing more than a faint puff against his neck.

She’d gone back. When the despairing group had moved on. When he’d left her, crumpling beneath the mountain of her own self-hatred. His shattered trust, his silent, tearful recriminations.

She’d gone back and now it’s a race against time because he can feel her fading away, could see it in the unfocused blue eyes that had briefly pierced the dirt and the grime when he’d found her.

“Stay awake. Need you to…”

(pierced his guilty heart and soul).

“Need you.”

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #Carol Peletier #Daryl Dixon #stuff that I write #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons #smile because I finally wrote something #cry because these two idiots are painfully in love #AMC needs to do something about it

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my-mt-heart · 4 months

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Kicking off 2024 with something fun(?) for a change. If you remember my minisode days, you may or may not remember one where I wrote Caryl beginning their relationship as enemies. One dear friend really loved it—why, I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️— but a year later, I wrote some additional scenes for her as gifts. She encouraged me to post them publicly, so now here I am doing that. Enjoy the links below along with a sneak peek 🫣

Stupid Bitch Part 1

Stupid Bitch Part 2

Stupid Bitch Part 3

#caryl #caryl fanfiction #carol peletier #daryl dixon #darylneedscarol

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tessaservopoulos · 25 days

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give me something i can feel (give me something real)

In the wake of finding Carol in the solitary cell, Daryl and Carol spend a night together.

A s3b Daryl/Carol canon divergence AU.

#caryl #twd fic #carol x daryl #caryl fanfiction #carol peletier #daryl dixon #otp: cherokee rose #give me something i can feel give me something real

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that-left-turn · 9 months

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This fic isn't ready for proper posting, but since I seem to have a bad habit of flashing my dirty drafts on Tumblr 🙈🙊 here's a small sneak peek of the setup.

If you choose to read, thank you 💞 Hope you enjoy!

✿*°⋆ ✿⋆────── CHEROKEE ROSES (a Caryl TWD: Dead City variant)

"He shows up limping, with a gash on his forehead which has scabbed over, and various visible scrapes and bruises. He's tired and dirty, swaying slightly with the breeze when Carol arrives at the gate. He's shown up without Lydia."

Lydia is abducted, whisked away to parts unknown and the shadow of Sophia looms as Carol and Daryl set out to find her.

˖✿*⋆✿

The Maggie & Negan spinoff reimagined as a storyline tailored to Carol and Daryl. Set sometime during the time jump in the series finale, "Rest in Peace."

Some of the characters from TWD: Dead City will appear, but no Negan and no Maggie. Other supporting characters have appeared on the flagship show in minor or recurring capacity. ──────⋆✿ ⋆°*✿

He shows up limping, with a gash on his forehead which has scabbed over, and various visible scrapes and bruises. He's tired and dirty, swaying slightly with the breeze when Carol arrives at the gate. He's shown up without Lydia.

"Where is she?"

Carol's heart's in her throat. She can't be dead. She can't be dead. Lydia has persevered more hardship than most, even by apocalypse standards. She's survived abuse, homelessness, famine, mutilation, amputation... She can't be dead. Lydia is the child who lived, who's thrived—the one who broke the curse.

"I'm sorry," Elijah says, as if that makes anything better.

As if Carol can't hear... feel a syncopated pressure, a whooshing in her ears of her own pulse—very much alive—while Lydia, her child surprise whom she didn't want and didn't choose but loves all the same, is lost somewhere along her courier route. A route Carol gave her, along with the same fate as all the other children.

"We fought, but they were just too strong. They took her," his voice breaks and Carol can see the toll it's taking on him. How weary and heartbroken Elijah is. She can't allow herself to feel his pain, so she can't offer him support and she has no time to expend on comfort.

"What do you mean, they took her?" She knows her voice has grown cold, softer. Deadlier. Someone took Lydia. Someone took her. She's alive somewhere out there, captive and Carol can focus on that bit. She won't fall apart if she has a goal, a mission. "Who are they?"

She knows, intellectually, this isn't Elijah's fault, that he cares for Lydia, but Carol trusted him to protect her. Lydia wasn't ready, yet, for an extended excursion, or to fight outnumbered against a superior foe. She was still learning how to master a new weapon, adjusting to the changes in her balance.

"I tried to follow." He's pleading with her, wanting her to know that he tried. Carol's been here before and trying isn't ever enough. Letting someone else protect her children—Rick, Daryl, Elijah—no matter how capable and well-meaning, in the end, her children die. She's negligent. Careless. Unfit to parent. "Got as far as some place called New Babylon."

˖✿*⋆✿

Lydia stares, bewildered, at the river. The island in the distance... At least she thinks it's an island. The big buildings, half-obscured in the fog, look imposing even from a distance. Testament of the world she can hardly remember.

They've traveled far, she knows that, hours from where she was separated from Elijah. He was just left on the ground, vanishing in the distance and Lydia doesn't know how badly hurt he is. If he's still alive. It gnaws away at her, but she needs to stay in the moment. Alert. Ready.

It's a young woman leading the group and she speaks a foreign language with the others. Lydia isn't sure, but she thinks it might be the same one Princess speaks sometimes. Spanish. She has dark hair, pulled up high on her head, like Rosita used to and she moves with the same confidence. Light in her step and vicious with her dark-bladed knives. In a direct fight, Lydia can't match her. Not anymore. Not yet. She doesn't understand their conversation, so she's at a double disadvantage.

They've encountered others along the way and their group now includes two other reluctant travelers. A younger boy and a girl who might be around Lydia's age. They ask questions and cry. Beg to be let go. Plead with their captors. Lydia smiles at them, to let them know she's friendly, but she doesn't speak. She knows the value of being silent, unnoticed. Underestimated.

There's a boat that will take them across the water and it makes Lydia nervous. When the opportunity comes to break free—and it will come—how will she cross this river? She knows how to swim, having lived on a riverboat early in the apocalypse, but she doesn't know the currents or what's in the waters. Doesn't know if she can still swim with only one arm.

˖✿*⋆✿

When the gate opens, Daryl is greeted by Ezekiel and he's suddenly filled with dread. Something's happened and Daryl breaks so abruptly he nearly clears the handlebars of his bike. "Where is she?"

The other man looks sympathetic. Pained, like he knows his words will change Daryl's reality forever. Look at me. Just look at me. He's held Carol at the loss of her children—twice—but who will hold him if Carol's gone?

"New York, probably."

Daryl stares for a beat. That doesn't make no damn sense. He squints at the leader of the Commonwealth. It's only been a few hours since he left and Carol couldn't possibly have planned a trip to New York in that amount of time, not without him knowing. They make regular forays into Pennsylvania, but it's a big damn state with a lot of Amish communities and CW intel so far hasn't extended all the way to New Jersey, much less New York. Why would she head to a place that's probably a massive walker infestation?

"Mercer is with Carol and Elijah, planning."

Elijah. The pieces fall into place. The she is Lydia, not Carol and Daryl needs to get to her. To Carol. He twists the throttle and takes off in a spray of gravel. He should thank Ezekiel, but he doesn't have time for that. Carol needs him and Daryl needs to get to her before she takes off for New York without him. Every second counts.

˖✿*⋆✿

"It's a military mission," Mercer says, "not a diplomatic one." He's speaking to Carol's back as she's busy stuffing things into her oversized doomsday bag. His eyes flick to Daryl as he enters the office. "An extraction behind enemy lines is not–" He stops when Carol turns, but she doesn't look at him. She makes eye contact with Daryl and the other men no longer matter.

She looks... formidable and Daryl nods. They will go, together. Just the two of them. Carol doesn't need comfort and she can't sit on the sidelines. "I'll get a car," he says, "Tell the kids."

"I should come," Elijah says. "I know where they went and I'm a good fighter. You need backup."

Mercer scoffs, "You can barely stand up straight right now."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Daryl can see the truth of that statement. Elijah is tired and unsteady, holding onto the back of a chair. Definitely worse for wear, but determined. Steadfast. They won't bring him, not for this, but Lydia deserves that in her life. "You heal up, so you can look after her when we come back."

He reaches out to clasp the younger man's forearm, to steady him, but mostly to extract an agreement. Elijah meets his eyes, unwavering. His grip on Daryl's arm firm as he nods almost imperceptibly. It's a promise. A pledge on his honor.

"Firepower won't help and you know it," Carol's voice breaks the moment and Daryl's attention lands squarely on her once again. "You can't bring a convoy to New York, it'll be too visible. Subterfuge is the only way to get in and out without risking Lydia."

Her breath gets shaky and Daryl can see the shimmer in her eyes, so he holds out his hand for Carol to take. Draw whatever strength she might need. She laces their fingers together when her hand finds his and Daryl smiles at them completing the gesture without breaking eye contact. Things are different now.

"Daryl is the best hunter/tracker we have and he knows Lydia better than any of your men." She looks into his eyes as she continues speaking to Mercer.

There's always a frisson of pleasure whenever Carol compliments him, even when he feels self-conscious and awkward. She's the smartest person Daryl knows, so if she thinks highly of him, he's not without worth. He matters. He matters to her, just like she matters to him.

"We're quiet, don't need words between us and Carol is the head of intelligence 'round here. No one's better at infiltration or information gatherin'." He squeezes her fingers. Together, they're enough.

Mercer sighs, resigned. He's not happy, but he knows better than to argue with the united front of Dixon. "One of the troopers, Vasquez, had family in that region. They could still be there. He'll give you directions."

✿*°⋆ ✿⋆────── Who's Who:

The trooper to whom Princess talks about toilet paper (TWD 1102 "Acheron: Part II") is called Vasquez and on Dead City, the owner of Easy Stay Motor Inn mentions "Vasquez down the road" as someone who might have sent Maggie to spy on them (DC 101 "Old Acquaintances"). The familial relationship between the two is entirely of my making—Vasquez is a relatively common name in the tri-state area, so suspend disbelief liberally and reapply as needed.

˖✿*⋆✿

Dedicated to the TWDU power brokers, McDermott, Gimple, Jorné and Zabel: "May your penis hurt when you pee."

#caryl #caryl fanfiction #dead city #cherokee roses

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celtic-crossbow · 1 month

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I absolutely love writing Daryl as being captivated, even discreetly so, with Carol. Just…with the desire to give her everything, worship her. And she’s just as enthralled with him but neither of them realize the extent of the other’s devotion.

Idiots. Both of them. I love it.

#murda writes #caryl #twd caryl #daryl dixon #carol peletier #daryl x carol #carol x daryl #caryl fanfiction #caryl is endgame

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a-hackneyed-premise · 4 days

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Strangers - on AO3

#caryl #carol peletier #daryl dixon #caryl fanfiction #caryl fanart #twd fanart #if no one else is going to draw my fics #i guess I'll do it myself!#more experiments in digital art #i tried using the watercolour feature #its really tricky #but so is actual watercolour #so... swings and roundabouts i guess!#digital art #artists on tumblr

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indigoraysoflight · 11 months

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7. “Seeing you like this and not being able to help – it breaks my heart.” for caryl

This was supposed to be not so angsty but I have failed that I think. lol Thanks for your patience. Hope you like it <3

If Only for One Evening

Carol chewed her lip and watched as Daryl struggled to make the pasta sauce obey him. She brought the kids back to their home from school and found him cooking. Judith grimaced and told him to let Aunt Carol help. He grunted Don't need help, I got it as she took RJ to their room, his eyes never leaving the sauce.

Now Carol lingered near the front door, her eyes on the gruff man concentrating in the kitchen. They only shared distant conversations when they met in passing, and yet she felt a surge of affection for Daryl at this moment. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face as he furrowed his brow at the boiling pots before him. Aromas of acidic tomatoes mingled with spices filled the space. The counter was a graveyard of vegetable scrapes and scattered seasonings.

His sleeves were pulled back to his elbow, and his sweater was covered in red splatters. His eyes darted back and forth from the sauce to the wilted paper with a scrawled recipe in his hand which she only assumed he had acquired from Nabila or Aaron. Or C0nn^e.

He poked at the pasta boiling in another pot and growled every time he dropped a noodle before catching it. His last attempt was valiant as he slowly pulled the noodle up with a fork before it slipped from his grasp.

“Get out here, you little shit!” he growled in frustration, trying again.

Carol couldn’t help but giggle at his look. “Seeing you like this and not being able to help – it breaks my heart." She failed to keep the laughter out of her words.

“Stop,” his reply was quick – like a reflex.

“Are you sure you don't need help?”

He hummed absentmindedly, zapping the humour out of the air, barely looking up from the sauce.

She still stood by the door, her eyes on the pot as the scent of charred onions and tomatoes rose up. “I’ll–uh–leave you to it then,” she turned towards the door.

“Wait," he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I dunno what I’m doing.” Daryl shook his head.

"I need you.” His voice was urgent, eyes had hints of desperation that she knew only had to do with the sauce before him. Yet, settled heavily in her chest.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and she waited to see if he'd amend what he said, but he stared back silently. Words escaped her as she was transported back to a time before the Commonwealth – before she broke them.

He blinked at her lack of response and looked down. “You don’t gotta–”

“ –Step away from the sauce,” Carol interrupted quickly. She hooked her canvas bag on the wooden coat rack behind her. He stepped back when she came to stand beside him and turned the knob on the stove to let the sauce simmer.

Carol added the pasta water and deglazed the bottom of the pot. He observed everything she was doing quietly. As she scraped at the charred remains of the onions and grape tomatoes, she felt his gaze shift from the sauce to her. His breath tangled through the loose curls around her face and found her skin. And she realized this was probably the closest she’d been to him for a while. Deftly, Carol picked up an Al Dente noodle and turned off the stove.

“Pfft. Likes you better than it likes me.”

“Well, can you blame it?” Carol responded, chewing the noodle. Briefly forgetting the tension between them.

Daryl’s eyes drifted down to her lips, “Nah.”

She noticed the faint redness on his lower lip where he often chewed it, and turned quickly to the sauce, covering the pot. “Drain the spaghetti, let the sauce simmer for a few more minutes, and it should be done."

“Thanks."

Carol managed a quick nod and a half smile as she stepped away from him. Nervously she pushed a ringlet of hair behind her ear. “That recipe looks delicious, by the way. Whose is it? Aaron’s? C0nn^e’s?”

“Yours.”

Carol blinked at him. “What?”

“You made it for us a once back at Alexandria – before everything. I memorized it, but dunno if I got it right.”

Carol’s eyes burned. “I think you did,” she whispered and turned away quickly before the wayward tear betrayed her and rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, you wanna stay for dinner?” he asked softly as she gripped her canvas bag tightly, her back turned to him.

Ask C0nn^e, she wanted to say, take this opportunity to bond with her. Carol had seen them chat when he was patrolling near Union Station. He always looked so happy with her. This would be a great time for him to explore that bond. See where it took him. But the words refused to leave her lips.

“Aunt Carol! You’re staying for dinner?” Judith appeared in the living room.

Carol’s hand loosened on the rugged canvas of her bag. Her eyes turned to Judith, then landed on Daryl.

“Please.” His voice was soft yet heavy enough that it dragged her away from the front door.

“Alright. Let's see what this pasta tastes like.” Carol and Judith beamed at each other.

As Daryl carefully served them dinner, Judith and RJ showed her their school progress reports. Later tonight, Carol would return to her empty bachelor apartment where the walls would judge her silently in her loneliness. But watching the kids giggle as they told her of their school day, Dog's head resting on her lap, and Daryl’s soft gaze warming her from inside out – Carol let herself feel like she was home. If only for one evening.

#apologies to every Italian person who has to witness my abhorrent pasta cooking skills in this short fic #caryl fanfic #caryl short fic #caryl fanfiction #caryl prompt fill #my fics #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl #anon ask #writing prompts #darylneedscarol #caryl: my short fics and one shots

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