Caryl Secret Santa

Are you a fan of Carol Peletier and Daryl Dixon (aka Caryl) from AMC's The Walking Dead? Do you like to create media (fanfic, gifs, fanart, etc.) for this beautiful couple? Then you've come to the right place. This blog was created in 2013 as a way to celebrate the Carylers and to give each other little happies on Christmas Day each year. Please check in around November to sign up for all the festive fun and holiday joy! This year was the 10th Annual Caryl Secret Santa exchange. You can find links to the past ten years worth of gifts just over there --->. I hope you find some goodies to fill your days (and nights) with Caryl-y goodness! Merry Christmas! Last years gifts can be found here. Established: November 2013

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Are you a fan of Carol Peletier and Daryl Dixon (aka Caryl) from AMC's The Walking Dead? Do you like to create media (fanfic, gifs, fanart, etc.) for this beautiful couple? Then you've come to the right place. This blog was created in 2013 as a way to celebrate the Carylers and to give each other little happies on Christmas Day each year. Please check in around November to sign up for all the festive fun and holiday joy!

This year was the 10th Annual Caryl Secret Santa exchange. You can find links to the past ten years worth of gifts below (included in this post). I hope you find some goodies to fill your days (and nights) with Caryl-y goodness!

🎄🎁Merry Christmas!🎁🎄

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2013)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2014)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2015)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2016)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2017)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2018)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2019)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2020)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2021)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2022)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2023)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2024)

Caryl Secret Santa Presents (2025)

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Another beautiful year of Caryl Secret Santa done! Thank you so much for all the hard work, my dear. Our fandom is luck to have you!

Oh, my gosh! Thank you so much! As long as you Carylers will signup, I will still do these year after year! <3 I love how much love you all put into this year after year! I cannot express how excited it makes me when I get people signing up!

Merry Christmas! Even though it's two days after! I hope you all have a Happy (and Safe) New Year!

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Written For:  @lovesdaryl

Title:  The Best Dream Author:  spanishrose2002 (ramblinrose/theramblinrose) Rating:  T Summary:  Life has been a nightmare at times, so Daryl never takes for granted the moments where his dreams come true.  A/N:  Merry Christmas!  I hope you enjoy! 

The sadness was profound.  It flowed through his veins like it had replaced his blood entirely.  It was something entirely different than any grief he’d ever known before—and Daryl had known his share of grief.

The moment that he’d known she was gone, it had been like a tidal wave crashing over him.  His brain had felt unable to process it—unable to believe it.  There must have been some kind of punchline to the whole thing—a sick joke gone wrong.  That’s what he’d believed, even though something inside of him had known that Rick was telling the truth.

He hadn’t had time to truly process any of it.  He hadn’t had time to mourn.  He hadn’t had time to think about what he might do, or how he might remedy the whole situation.

Hell had broken loose, fast and hard, and it had slammed all of them with one loss after another.

He had almost felt like he’d sobered up, some time later, when he began to truly start to understand what had happened, and he began to think about the repercussions of all of it.  It had been like an awakening, except he’d woken to find that he was in a nightmare, plain and simple.  He’d felt lost, consumed by a sucking pain inside his chest, forever with an ache at his throat that threatened to disarm him entirely. 

He’d focused on saving Beth, because he couldn’t stand more loss.  He’d focused on saving Beth because, once, there had been a little girl that he couldn’t save.  Maybe, this time, he could beat the odds.  Maybe, somehow, it would make up for what he hadn’t been able to do before.

And, in the back of his mind, something made him believe that, if he could save this little girl, it might somehow bring Carol back to him.  It might, somehow, make him worthy of such a miracle. 

He had to believe, after all, that she was still out there.  He had to believe that she was fine.  She was making it.  She was tough.  She was a survivor.  If anyone could go it alone, it was Carol.

He had to believe that, eventually—somehow and some way, even if he couldn’t begin to imagine how that might happen—he would find her, or she would find him. 

And, somehow, she found him.

Somehow, he had done something so right that he’d been worthy of the thing he wanted—needed—most in an otherwise cruel world.

In that moment, he saw her.  He noticed her and did a double-take, convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him.  He’d seen her so many times since he’d lost her—in Walkers, in glances over his shoulder, out the corner of his eye…and, especially, he had seen her while he slept.  Too many times, he’d believed that she would be there, only to wake and find that he was every bit as without her as he had been when he’d closed his eyes. 

It had taken him a long moment to believe that what he saw was really, truly Carol.  As soon as he was certain that it was her, though, he had run straight for her.

Daryl could feel her body making contact with his all the way down.  He felt the solidity of her—the confirmation that this was real.  She was physically there, and she was wrapped in his arms.    He smelled her—the smell of her sweat, even, seemed like the sweetest perfume that he could imagine.  He had memorized her scents—all of them.  He knew the flavors of her.  He closed his eyes and pulled her somehow closer to him—as close as the laws of nature would allow—and he nuzzled his face against her, pleased to feel her skin against his face as the smell of her filled his nostrils.  He squeezed her tightly, determined that she would never slip away from him again.

She smelled pleasant—clean.  He could smell the scent of her body and a crisp cleanness like when she emerged fresh from a bath.  She smelled so much cleaner than what he had expected, given her appearance there in the woods.

Daryl stirred, confused, and the woods began to change around him.  Darkness began to fall—a darkness that he hadn’t expected.  It wasn’t time for darkness, and the dusk never came and faded so fast. 

“Pookie…”

“Yeah…” He said, as the darkness broke and a different sort of darkness took its place—a darkness with a soft light mixed carefully into it.  He squinted.

She smiled at him.

His heart responded to that smile.  God, he loved her.  He loved her more than he’d once imagined it was possible to love anyone.  And he loved that smile.

“Hey,” she said, softly.  He felt her scratching her fingers lightly through the hair at his temples. 

“Hey yourself,” he said, teasing her.  She understood.  She laughed.  It sounded like music and it disrupted his pulse in the best way.  “Shit…I was…”

“Dreaming,” she said. 

She shifted, lifting a little onto her elbow.  Daryl became aware that he’d been holding her tightly.  He let go enough to give her breathing room, and a bit of room in which to move about, but he kept a hand resting on her waist.  She didn’t try to deter him in any way.

“Still fuckin’ dreamin’,” he said.  “Hope I never fuckin’ wake up.  It’s my favorite one.” 

“And which one is that?”  Carol asked. 

“The one where—you’re in love with me, and I’m in love with you, and we do this shit for the rest of our damn lives.  Whatever the hell time we got left.” 

Carol laughed quietly.  She brushed her cool fingers across his face, before she leaned and kissed him.  He tasted her lips and hungrily took every bit of the kiss that she saw fit to let him have.  He returned it just as enthusiastically as he could, and it didn’t take long before she’d moved closer to him so that she might let their bodies enjoy the same proximity as their lips.

“That’s no dream, Pookie,” Carol offered, as soon as the kiss broke.  She was breathing a bit more raggedly than she had been before, but so was Daryl.  He knew that she could feel his body’s response to her.  He knew, too, that she had to know that it was more than just the natural reaction to the morning—this was for her…because of her. 

She moved just slightly away from him and glanced between them, before she looked back at him and smiled softly.  She hummed and held his eyes. 

“After breakfast?”  She asked.  “Can it wait?” 

“For you?  It’ll wait.  It’ll come back.  Same difference.” 

“I’ll make it worthwhile,” Carol said, winking at him as she sat up.  “Promise.”

“You always do, Woman,” he said.  He reached for her as she was leaving the bed, but his fingertips only brushed against her back, touching the soft cotton of her nightgown, before she stood up.

“The fire’s almost out,” Carol said. 

“I got it,” Daryl said, starting to rise, himself.

“I can put wood on the fire, you know,” Carol said.

“No, you can’t,” Daryl said.  “I already said that I don’t want you messin’ with it.  I don’t want you even touchin’ it.”

“Because the wood is so heavy?”  She asked, laughing to herself.  She heaved the water bucket up and onto the counter, as though that was her personal response to her own question.

“Jesus, Woman!”  Daryl spat.  “I thought I told you not to do that shit, either.”  He rushed over and picked up the little pitcher from the counter area.  “Put the pitcher in the bucket for the water, Carol.  Don’t try to pick the whole thing up!  My whole damn heart just stopped.  Are you tryin’ to kill me?” 

She laughed and turned to face him. 

“It’s barely half-full, Daryl, and I’ve carried a lot of heavier things in my life.”

He caught her face in his hands.  She flinched, slightly, and closed her eyes.  It was instinct—a residual reaction left over from the asshole that hadn’t know what he’d had—hadn’t valued her.  Daryl didn’t hold the instinct against her anymore than she held the occasional flinch against him when she ran her hands over his back and kissed his scars. 

He placed a soft kiss on her lips when he was certain that she wasn’t going to respond negatively, thanks to some horrible memory from her past. 

“You carried a lot of heavy shit in your life,” Daryl agreed, his voice low.  He pressed his forehead against hers, and she laughed quietly, letting them rest together like that.  “But this?  This is the heaviest thing I want you carrying right now.  The heaviest thing—the most important thing.  The only thing that—only you can carry, OK?  Let me handle the rest.” 

He dropped his hands and let them rest, now, on either side of her belly.  It was growing.  In fact, it had grown a good bit since they’d first set out on their own.  Back then, it had been practically invisible.  The little one between them had been a whispered promise to both of them for a future that was like something they had barely dared to even imagine. 

Carol would never rest again—truly rest—in Rick’s presence.  Daryl wouldn’t either.  She would always fear that something she did, even with the best of intentions, might land her with something like a death sentence.  Daryl would always remember what it felt like to have her snatched away from him and to have Rick there, trying to explain to him why he ought to find that absolutely acceptable.  He would never truly feel comfortable letting her out of his sight for fear that he might never see her again.

The only choice for either of them had been to set out, together, and try to find a life that suited them both.

And boy had they found it. 

The cabin was small and rustic, but well-built.  They’d chosen it for that reason.  They had no reason to believe that there might be another baby born to them after this one—if this one made it, and they were doing everything they possibly could to ensure that it did—but they’d chosen a cabin with a large open room and with one extra room for a little additional space, if there came a need for privacy. 

For now, they didn’t need privacy.  They had their bed right there, close to where they made their meals, ate them, and spent whatever time they had around the chores that must be done daily. 

The cold of the year was settling in well now, and Daryl had chopped wood and stored it in places already provided for him, so that it would be dry for the winter.  He’d hunted and smoked the meat in the smokehouse that had probably been in use for hundreds of years and still fulfilled its purpose.  They were stocking up supplies, and the pump at the nearby well worked just as it ought to, so they had the water they needed practically at hand.

This was their little slice of paradise. 

Daryl was putting up fences every day, and soon the house would be fully protected.  When the spring came, they would see about a garden.  Carol would can food to make sure that they were well-prepared for next winter. 

They would have a life—the kind that nobody could take from either of them.  Never again.

“The bucket’s only about three-quarters full,” Carol said.  “The pitcher would have been just as heavy.”

“Please—please, Carol.  I ain’t tellin’ you what to do.  Not like him.  But—I’m askin’ you.”  He kissed her face.  He kissed her cheek.  “You told me…I’m a man…”

“The best man…” Carol said.

“Then, let me be the kind of man who takes care of his family,” Daryl said.  “Can you just—let me be that?” 

She smiled at him.

“I’ve never known you to be any other kind of man,” she said.  “And that’s the truth.  But—I won’t touch the bucket again.  I promise.  And—I won’t touch any wood.”

She immediately made a face, and he raised an eyebrow at her in question. 

“What?” He asked.  She laughed before she ever spoke—that musical laughter that made his heart beat out of rhythm in the best kind of fluttery way.

“I won’t touch any wood that you don’t have for me, specifically, Pookie,” she teased.  She winked at him and grinned. 

Daryl immediately felt his face flood with warmth.

“Stop!”  Daryl said.  She snorted, trying to make herself stop laughing.  Daryl couldn’t help but laugh in response.  “OK—don’t stop, but…just for that, I’ma teach you a thing or two about wood just as soon as we finish up eatin’ some biscuits and venison.” 

“I can’t wait for my lesson,” she teased.  She gave him a soft kiss and loosely hugged him, taking a moment to simply stand there and touch him in the easy sort of way that she had, now that she was really his in every way possible.   “What was your dream about, Daryl?”

“Hmmm?” He asked.

“When you were—well, just before I woke you up.   You were having a pretty intense dream.  What was it about?”

He smiled at her. 

“Just you,” he said. 

“What about me?” 

“Just—about the moment before you made me the happiest fucking man on Earth.” 

“That’s some dream,” Carol said. 

“The best fucking dream,” Daryl agreed.

“What happened in this amazing dream?”

“Nothing,” Daryl said.  “I held you in my arms.” 

“That doesn’t sound too exciting,” Carol said.

“That’s where the hell you’re wrong, Woman.  It’s my favorite fucking thing to do.  And I hope I spend the rest of my life doing it.” 

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To: @the-aviatrix From: @tigereyes45 A/N: They asked for wallpapers for their phone so I made a handful. All the quotes are ones said by Carol, Daryl, or both of them in the show. I hope you like at least one of them. :)

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written for: @theresnosafeharbor4myships

Title:  Sanctuary Author: @lovesdaryl Rating:  R Summary: Carol has freed the group and leveled Terminus. Both she and Daryl are weighed down by their memories of the place, and as the group is moving on after their reunion in the woods, they have a cleansing conversation. A/N: Merry Christmas to theresnosafeharbor4myships from Secret Santa! I hope you will have a wonderful Christmas with your loved ones and find some peace over the holidays. Much love, and Caryl on!

Rick, holding Judith, his eyes swimming with tears.

Tyreese, hugging his sister, both of them laughing with joy.

Abraham and his group of newcomers looking on, taking in these unfamiliar relationships, slowly becoming part of the group.

And Daryl, walking next to her, silent as always, apparently hoping that she wouldn’t notice the glances that he was stealing, every few steps, his eyes full of wonder.

Since she had become an expert at observing people, and Daryl in particular, she noticed at once when he started to slow down, falling back, back, back, toward the end of the group, alsways making sure that she kept matching his footfalls so she wouldn’t pull ahead of him.

So he’d stay next to her, silent, stealing glances every few steps, eyes shining.

When only Glenn and Maggie, their rear guard, were still walking behind them and everyone else was in front, she looked up and directly met his eyes as they attempted to steal another glance.

„What?“ she asked, not unkindly, just in a „I am done with you taking hours to work up to saying what is burning a hole into your tongue, so just come out and say it“ way.

The skin around his eyes tightened for a moment as he inhaled sharply before looking ahead again.

„How did you -?“ 

He faltered.

There were too many questions he wanted to ask, all at the same time, that started like this.

Survive?

Find us?

Plan that?

Do it?

And knowing him as well as she did, better at times than her own heart, she understood all of them in the silence between them.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she briefly raised her head as if in defiance, and he heard Rick back at the prison, telling him that she would survive on her own, and felt his rage bubbling up again for an instant until it was overwhelmed once more by the miracle of her walking next to him, unharmed.

She had survived, but at what cost?

„I … went back to the prison, and I saw …“

It was her turn to falter as the disastrous attack unfolded again in their minds, and she had to brace herself before continuing.

„Ty, he had … Judith. He was the only one I saw when I arrived, just in time to see the end. I didn’t know if anyone else …“

Her voice broke and he considered reaching out his hand to touch her, but the thought alone made his heart race and he couldn’t even look at her, which he thought was really wild, in view of the fact that he had lifted her right off her feet earlier.

When she spoke again, her voice was raw with pain and grief.

„I thought they were the only ones left - a man who cannot kill, and a newborn. I couldn’t just -“

„Naw, course not,“ he agreed.

„When we came across the signs they had put up, we followed them, but stayed out of view. We wanted to see first, before they saw us. For all we knew, this was the Governor all over again.“

He nodded. They had certainly tried this approach as well, but since Gareth had told them that his scouts had watched them bury their weapons bag they had clearly failed - unlike Carol.

„We saw what they … what they did to the people they had lured in. How they locked them into those freight cars like cattle, how they brought them out one by one to …“

Again he nodded to spare her having to find words for the unspeakable things they had both seen at Terminus - human bodies butchered and hacked up and smoked like so many heads of cattle and stored as food, with no shred of compassion, no heartbeat of kindness for their victims, their last moments an assault on their senses, a glimpse of what was in store for them, unmitigated terror and pain until the very last moment.

She drew a shuddering breath and he looked up to find her looking at him as they both continued walking, the steps of their family ahead and behind them. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

„At first I didn’t know any of you were in there, I just knew I had to stop those … monsters, but then …“ She blinked and a single tear ran down her right cheek. „While I was setting up my attack I heard them yelling their orders as they were bringing another group out of one of those train cars, and I saw …“

He expected her to mention a child, maybe a girl that reminded her of Sophia, or a woman and her child, or - Hell, he didn’t know what he expected, but he was not prepared for what she said next.

„Rick.“

Her voice was full of tears now and he felt as if his heart would shatter. Rick, who had exiled her during a run without talking about it to anybody. Rick, who had made this decision alone without input from anyone, without listening to any opinion but his own, when Carol’s actions that had prompted her exile had had nothing at all to do with him.

He could have understood this act of cruelty from Tyreese who had lost his girlfriend to Carol’s decision, but he would never accept it from Rick, a former law enforcement officer who, more than any of them, should have known to stick to some sort of process before essentially sentencing someone to death because it was next to impossible to survive out there alone.

The courage and compassion it would have taken for her to do all this, put herself in danger like this, in order to save Rick of all people, was beyond comprehension.

„And you did it anyway, wow.“ He sounded awed, but continued in a very matter-of-fact tone. „Just goes to show you’re not what he wanted us to think you are. You’re not this cold blooded monster he painted you to be when he got back. You survived out there and remained decent and human and compassionate.“

She shook her head very slightly. „I had no time to think,“ she whispered. „If there had been time, maybe I would not … I don’t know. I can’t say. But there wasn’t, and so … Once the fence was down I went into the compound with the herd, and I came to a room that held all the things they had taken from people.“ She took another shuddering breath and he believed that he knew what was coming. His right hand briefly reached back to brush against his crossbow as he waited for her to continue.

„I … When I saw it, with the watch, and I hadn’t seen you among that group, you were probably hidden behind one of his henchmen because there was this whole group to get you, you were all half stunned by whatever they had done to you inside that box car, so I had no idea …“

She was crying now, tears running down both her cheeks, her shoulders heaving.

„Tyreese and I had seen before how they got people out of those box cars to … but we had never before been close enough to even see if they were getting men or women, so I couldn’t be certain if … and I though that I was just a day or two late to save you, I believed you were dead when I saw …“

He did reach out for her now, his heart seemingly pounding through his whole body, and lightly brushed her hand with his. „‘m here,“ he mumbled. „Can’t imagine what it took ya to do that. Don’t know if anyone else woulda been up to it.“ And now he looked at her, not glancing, and his eyes were full of admiration. „And you’re still so kind, despite all that.“

„Can I come back from this?“ she whispered. „Can I come back from setting this compound on fire and delivering the people in it to the walkers?“

„Ain’t got nothin’ to come back from,“ Daryl replied firmly. „God knows how many people they murdered, and how many lives you saved by sending ‘em to hell where they belong. They woulda kept killin’. Ya did nothing wrong.“

Her face was still full of doubt, doubtless the seeds that Rick had planted, sprouting in her mind, but he was having none of it. „And if it won’t let you sleep despite that, you’re not alone.“ He moved his hand, and suddenly he was no longer just lightly brushing the back of her hand with his.

He was holding her hand, firmly, tightly, clearly not planning on ever letting go again.

„Ya got me.“

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Written For: @breb23

Title: ceilings Author: @lola-andheruniverse Rating: T - Teen and Up Audiences Summary:  I need you to stay. Just think about it. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to punch holes in all them boats. While washing her face, Carol thinks that maybe she could stay. At least, she could try. Oceanside needed their boats intact, after all. (S10 study through Carol’s sleepless eyes). A/N:  Breb!!!! I was so happy when I saw that I got your name this year. You were my Secret Santa two years ago and I re-read your gifts many times. It has such a special place in my heart and I wanted to write something just as special to you. I don’t think I managed it lol but I hope you like this little fic. I tried to put together all the things I know you like: s10 Caryl, too much of angst and hurt/comfort (sorry), a bit of smut and happy pillow talk..after all, it is Christmas. Caryl gets a happy ending! I hope you have a great day, celebrating with your loved ones, and a wonderful 2026, full of joy, happiness and love.

I need you to stay. Just think about it. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to punch holes in all them boats.

Carol stares at the ceiling above her head while Daryl’s voice keeps echoing in her mind. Fully clothed, but barefoot, she lies down on her bed and stares at the familiar small cracks and dirty spots. Thinks about what he said and twists the friendship bracelet he made her earlier. 

I need you to stay, Daryl had said, his voice weary after they’d spent the entire night fighting walkers and putting out the fire caused by a damn falling Soviet satellite…as if their lives couldn’t get any more ridiculous and the solution to end the madness was to have her with him, by his side.

Sleepless, she thinks about how she knows all the imperfections of that particular ceiling by heart. That first winter, after the Kingdom fell and she moved back to ASZ, Carol dedicated each night to commit them to memory, while avoiding sleep and the consequential nightmares. The thin crack near the window resembled the scar Henry had on his right knee, the result of tearing it open after falling from the roof of the gazebo in the center of the Kingdom. The concentrated cluster of tiny damp spots at the opposite side of the ceiling, close to the door, reminded her of Sophia’s freckles. And right in the center, directly above Carol’s head, a series of thicker cracks around the light fixture looked like cold, mocking rays of sunlight.

  Just think about it. Daryl had added, quite quickly, knowing that he needed to give her the choice because if he just told her to stay, she would run the other way by stubborn principle alone. After all, Carol was a runner, and in the middle of the night, alone, there was no reason to be ashamed to admit it. She felt ashamed, however, that Daryl also knew this about her. He knew her all, by heart, just like she knew that fucking ceiling.

  Carol closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, wishing that the tears welling up in her eyes to not fall (she knows that if she starts crying, she won’t be able to stop and she’s so, so tired of crying).  With her eyes closed, she tries to imagine that she’s lying on the boat again and that there’s no ceiling above her. No cracks or spots, only stars that look just like stars. Just the sea, that went up and down, up and down, in a cadence that helped her forget that she was who she was. A failed mother with all her children dead.

Otherwise, I’m gonna have to punch holes in all them boats. Daryl’s voice cuts through her grief and Carol opens her eyes again. Despite the sorrow and the grief and the loathing in her heart, he gets to her. Pushes, demands, in his own way, for her to stop running. For her to stay.

“I don’t know how.” Carol whispers to the ceiling, her voice faltering, tears running from her eyes to her ears, to pool on her pillow. Henry and Sophia stand on opposite sides of the room, looking at her.

It takes a long time for her tears to dry out, but they do. She finds out that it helps to keep fidgeting with her friendship bracelet. A safeline. Her children vanish as the sun comes up and takes the darkness away. She decides that sunrise is as reasonable a time as any to get up and start another day, but not before fixing her gaze one last time on the cracks above her head. Those that she always thought looked like rays of sunlight. At dawn, with her room bathed in orange light, Carol notices that each one ends in a somewhat triangular point. Like arrows. Wooden arrows carved by Daryl.

While washing her face, Carol thinks that maybe she could stay. At least, she could try. Oceanside needed their boats intact, after all.

____________________________

The infirmary ceiling is white and smooth, without a crack or speck of dirt in sight. Looking at it, her right arm heavy and immobilized at her side, Carol wonders how they manage to keep it so clean. She imagines Siddiq walking around with a broom and mop, dusting and washing the ceiling, wearing a floral cap to protect his hair, and laughs.

“Hey there. You awake or trippin’?” Daryl greets, a light laugh in his tone too. He’s sitting in a chair beside her bed, shoulders sagged with weariness and worry.

“Why would I be tripping?” She answers with another question, trying to sit up but not quite managing it because of grogginess. Daryl quietly helps, bracing her with one hand while rearranging her pillows with the other so she can have some support.

“No sleep. Too much sleep. Pain killers. Plenty of reasons. You choose.” He murmurs and sits back, groaning a bit because of his bad knee. “Are you feeling alright?”

The room she’s in is completely lit by the sun, which means she spent the rest of the night there and a good portion of the morning too, but Carol has no recollection of it. The last thing she remembers is screaming Daryl’s name while hanging upside down in that haunted school, full of zombies, whisperers, and her dead children. Afraid of dying, however surprising that may be to her.

“I’m fine.” Daryl gives her a loaded look and Carol sighs, giving in. “My arm aches.” 

“I bet, you ripped it open somehow with glass. Lost a lot of blood too.” He pauses and then, shily, traces the bandage with one of his fingers, eyes intent on it. “There was a lot of blood. And a lot of walkers. At first, I thought…I thought…Real luck Michonne was there too to think straight.”

Daryl stops talking, because there’s no need for any more words. Carol can hear his fear in the silence, in everything that he doesn’t say.

“I’m sorry.” She quietly says, taking his hand on hers. Her friendship bracelet between their wrists. He instantly brushes his thumb against the back of her hand. 

“Siddiq gave me some pain killers for you to take. Yah need to come back in a few days to check them stitches. Gotta drink a lotta fluids too. Rest. Sleep.” 

“We don’t sleep.” She teases, but it is the wrong move to make because he lets go of her hand and gets up.

“Stop.” Daryl warns her, tired and frightened, and goes to the door. “Gonna tell everyone you’re awake. Lydia’s worried sick. Do yah wanna stay here? Or come home to rest there?”

Carol glances at the immaculate ceiling above them, too clean and perfect for her sorrows. 

“Home. I want to go home with you.” 

“Gotcha.”

____________________________

After freeing Negan and watching him leave Alexandria unnoticed, Carol returns to his cell and lies down for a while on its makeshift bed.

The ceiling there is made of a hard and dark concrete, from the foundation of the townhouse above them. Random stains of dampness and whatever more all over it. She reflects about how heavy it lingers there, sustaining all the weight above; just like the decision she just made weighs heavily on her heart. 

She recalls how Daryl smiled a few hours earlier, when she said they should have gone to New Mexico when they had the chance. How, even amidst the storm their communities were and all the worry and anxiety it was causing him, he could still smile at the thought of running away with her. To a brighter, sunnier place, where people weave bracelets.

Carol stares at the concrete ceiling and toys with her bracelet, trying to mentally prepare herself for the moment when Daryl would learn what she just did. Tries to imagine how disappointed he would feel, when the time came, even though her reasoning was solid and took care of their two major problems. Two birds, one stone kind of deal. How upset he would be that she went behind his back and lied to him about not having anything to do with it - because she knew she would have to lie. Daryl couldn’t know. What Daryl didn’t know, he couldn’t be blamed by proxy.

“It’s my burden to carry, not yours.” Carol says to the Daryl in her mind’s eye, at the foot of the stairs of Michonne’s house, smiling at the thought of going to New Mexico with her. “Only mine.”

____________________________

“You still should have told me.” Daryl tells her, frustrated, angry, but not angry enough. Not as much as she deserves, anyway. Their lives just turned a whole new page in all this shitshow. Lydia, missing. Siddiq, dead. Dante, the Whisperer equivalent of a trojan horse. But that’s what Daryl is mostly upset about: that she went behind his back. Again. Carol knows that he is also afraid that, if she goes with the team that wants to look for the herd, she might do something erratic again. Get herself hurt or others. Get lost. Or worse…Leave him behind.

  “I’ll help you look for her.” Carol replies, avoiding the path he wants to follow with this conversation. Trying to bring his attention back to Lydia. “But..I don’t think she wants to be found.” 

  “Are we talking about her or we talking about you?” He asks and Carol just exits the kitchen without answering. Runs away from their disagreement. From his upset, sad eyes. The truth of his words.

  She finds herself at the balcony at the top of the house, where she and Lydia passed the time and shared their grief together when being around anyone else was too much to handle. Unceremoniously, Carol lies down on the wooden floor and looks up. Staring at the sky usually helps when she is feeling the way she’s feeling right now. Half wanting to throw herself off the balcony, half wanting to go down the stairs, find Daryl and bury herself in his arms. 

  She looks at the passing clouds and tries to soothe the hurt in her heart. Because it hurts how much Daryl keeps trying to reach her, to communicate, to talk some sense into her head. How he just doesn’t give up. 

  In a low voice, she hums a song that always comes to mind when she gazes at the clouds. Something she used to sing to Sophia when she was little. They would lie on their backs in the backyard to pass the time when, for one reason or another, Ed decided that Carol had lost the privilege of taking the girl to the nearby park. They would hunt for clouds shaped like rabbits and dolls and Carol would sing.

  “Sure as I’m breathing, sure as I’m sad, I’ll keep this wisdom in my flesh. I leave here believing, more than I had, this love has got no ceiling.”

  A cloud shaped like a Cherokee rose slowly drifts overhead before disappearing from her sight. She hopes Lydia is safe and sound out in the woods. She takes a deep breath and composes herself. It’s time to go find the herd.

____________________________

There’s no ceilings inside the cave to distract Carol from her feelings. No ups, no bottoms. Just endless walls and walls of stone closing in on her. Squeezing her heart, her lungs, her mind. 

  Daryl keeps herself at this side all the time. Don’t bullshit me, he says. You gotta promise, he begs. I gotta know we’re on the same team, he cries. He holds on to her, to their story. We don’t fight for revenge. Shines his light for her. His whole light. Daryl is all but made of light. Her man of honor, her best friend, her ride or die. We fight for our future. 

  And Carol tries, she really, really tries to hold on to him, to his obvious and selfless love for her. She tries to hold on to them.

  But the walls keep closing in and the sound of the walkers are just like the sounds that came out Sophia and Henry’s mouths when they became walkers. She tries to hold on.

  But fails.

____________________________

The wooden ceiling above her head is made of linear planks and rich with maroon, reddish and auburn colors. Pretty, soothing, ancient.

  It reminds her of Daryl’s hair.

  Ezekiel moans beneath her and she is overcome with guilt. Feels like she is betraying him, but files away the little voice inside her head, which sounds like Alpha, that asks her “which one?”.

____________________________

“No matter what you do, you lose people.” Alpha mocks her, as if her subconscious choosing that bitch to be her inner voice isn’t mockery enough. Apparently, Carol really, really hates herself. “Sophia, Lizzie, Mika, Henry, Ezekiel…And if you go back, Daryl could be next.”

  “I could never let that happen.” Carol angrily answers, trying to free herself from under the boat and debris of the shed that are on top of her. The collapsed ceiling above her head is a metaphor for her own broken mind; the slow walker coming at her, happily growling at the easy meal he is about to have.

  “Your track record does not inspire confidence.” Alpha points out, as if Carol didn’t know it already. “You know what you gotta do. I could’ve been anyone, but you chose me because I get the job done.”

  “I don’t want this.” She murmurs and is again surprised by how much she really doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want to die. She just wants the pain to stop. She wants to live painlessly and free of grief and guilt. She wants to remember Sophia and Henry as happy, forever freezed in time children. She wants to be free of her ghosts.

  “Just look at the flowers…” No. “… like you’re supposed to.” No!

  Carol looks once more time at the broken ceiling and focuses all her energy and strength on the blue sky above. Gratefully, it’s the same shade of Daryl’s eyes. She pictures herself back in the dream she had, where Daryl would make them breakfast and she had a different wedding ring on her finger. A simpler life, with him. Intently, Carol manoeuvres her shoulder, the always-so-easy-to-dislocate shoulder, and with a push frees herself. She can still hear the distinctive sizzling of his frying eggs and hear him getting some dollarbills to buy jam while she gets up, stabs the walker and collapses on the ground, utterly spent.

  Alpha looks at her with something akin to pride in her eyes.

  “It’s never too late.” Carol affirms to herself, out of breath, but certain. Alpha vanishes, and takes with her a good part of the weight she has carried since Henry’s death. Finally silenced.

  She was ready to run towards Daryl.

  ____________________________

Epiphany aside, Carol doesn’t know how to express to Daryl that she is here to stay. Even so, she tries.

  She’s helping him set up a trap of nails and cans on the staircase of the abandoned hospital, which is their last stronghold in the Whisperer War. Daryl’s going on and on about how Michonne just felt to help some other people and that he would’ve liked to go with their friend. 

Telling her, without using the actual words, that he no longer believed Carol wouldn’t leave too.

  “I’m still here,” she tells him softly, and he looks at Carol like he really wants to believe her, but words are not enough anymore. He doesn’t believe she means it, even though she does like she never did before. Or maybe, Carol thinks, with a knot in her stomach, Daryl doesn’t want her anymore. Maybe his love for her really did have a ceiling. Maybe it was better for him that it had a ceiling. Daryl deserved better.

  They keep working on the trap, side by side, but in silence.

____________________________

“It’s over, right?” Daryl quietly asks, searching her eyes to get his answer.

“It is.” Carol answers, concealing the fact that she nearly sacrificed herself on top of that cliff, with no desire to die in her heart, only the desire to keep him (and all of them) safe, even if it cost her her life.

“You get what you wanted?” 

“No.” It pains her to admit, the longing in her heart for him when he is right in front of her crushing her. “And I won’t. Not really.”

“Well, you still got me.” Daryl’s voice faltered a little bit.

“Yeah?” Carol didn’t want to cry. She was really so tired of crying. She was tired of seeing him cry too. 

“Yeah”. 

Daryl reaches and hugs her and she does her best to not break. There is so much left unsaid. So much to do to repair their bond, to rebuild the trust she knew she shattered. 

“New Mexico’s still out there.” He slightly jokes, smiles, and warms her heart. Forgiving her of everything, just because she came back to him.

Carol chuckles. “Yeah. Maybe someday.” Impossible man. Not for the first time, she realizes how much she loves him. How lucky she is to have him. And wants to do right by him. “We still have things to do here.”

____________________________

“You never know when to stop.” Daryl bursts, angry, frustrated, fed up. Done. 

Carol doesn’t understand where all this is coming from, but she knows it’s been repressed all day. Months, actually.

“That’s all that matters, yah bein’ right, huh?”

It’s like being stabbed in the back. She knows he’s not trying to hurt her, that he’s suffering and venting his anger because he can no longer contain his feelings. But she can’t shake the feeling that everything Daryl says is like a stab in her skin.

“You wanted to run, so yah ran. You couldn’t deal with the guilt, so you made it my problem.”

For the first time in years, he’s not holding back anything. He is not trying to soothe her. To cuddle or comfort her. It is exactly what she wanted weeks back, for him to give up on her..before she realized that all she actually wanted from life was to be with him.

“Wanna run? Run. I know where I’m supposed to be. I won’t stop yah this time.”

And Carol does exactly that. She runs to the easiest and closest place she can find: the living room of the cabin where he lived a false romance with another woman while she was married to a false king. She leaves him alone, heartbroken, on the dirty porch and sets about fixing the front door so they can take refuge safely that night.

 ____________________________

“Daryl?” Carol calls, in the dead of the night, after staying quiet for a couple of hours, studying the cabin’s roof as it has no ceiling. It’s full of spider webs. A couple of tiles are missing in one of the corners.

“Yeah?” He replies, without any discernible emotion in his voice, somewhere below hers. They had decided to lie down in the living room, near the fireplace, to spend the night, and Daryl silently urged her to take on the dusty sofa. (Leah’s bedroom and bed were obviously out of the question).

Carol takes a deep breath. “What did you mean when you said earlier that..that friends don’t have the same conversation over and over again?”

Daryl doesn’t answer her for a long time. She kids herself that she can hear him thinking even though there’s no noise in the cabin besides their breaths and crackling fire. Fidgets with her bracelet while waiting.

“Yah know what I meant.” He finally whispers, more than says.

Carol fixes her eyes in a particular big spider web near what it used to be the cabin’s kitchen. “Are we not friends anymore?”

She counts twenty fibres of silk before Daryl speaks again. “Don’t think we ever were just friends.”

 ____________________________

They go their separate ways the next morning. As Carol and Dog walk under the treetops, a vast ceiling made of green and brown, She plays with the pocketknife Daryl lent her, repeatedly replaying his words.

 ____________________________

“Sorry about the mess. Dog went crazy trying to catch a mouse and so did I. I forgot that it was like this.” Carol says, watching Daryl tidying his room up from his threshold. She has two bowls of stone soup in a tray, knowing he was probably hungry after spending the night outside the walls. And that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he cleaned up the mess she left behind.

“That’s okay.” He shrugs and signals for her to put the tray on his desk.

“No, no, it isn’t.” Carol softly tells him. Daryl chews on his mouth before going back to cleaning.

Silently, she helps him. While Daryl puts his books and comics back where they belong, Carol reorganizes the scattered furniture. He puts up a drawing from RJ that had fallen and she gathers up the arrows scattered on the floor. Daryl is folding his colorful blanket when Carol notices that some of his arrows have flown behind his makeshift bed and bends down to pick them up. Surprised, she retrieves with them the double capper she gave him weeks before.

“You kept it.” She says, on her knees, unable to contain the warmth that shines through in her voice.

“Sure I did.” Daryl simply retorts and, instead of sitting on the bed, kneels beside her. He takes it from her hands and toys with it for a second. “Dunno if it has any more luck left tho.”

Hearing her own words coming back at her hurts. 

“I don’t think they work like that. I don’t think they ever run out of luck if we do our part to believe in it.” Carol tells him, placing one of her hands on top of his. “Have faith, you know?”

“And not run when shit gets bad?” Daryl asks, intertwining his fingers with hers, the double capper safe between their palms.

“Yeah. That too.” She agrees. 

They look at each other. There’s a strategic ray of sunlight coming through one of his bedroom windows and illuminating Daryl’s face. He is beautiful. 

“I’m sorry.” Carol whispers. “For everything.”

“I know. ’m sorry too.” Daryl caresses her in the cheek with his free hand, brushing away a tear. “You’re not going anywhere.” He confirms, needing to be reassured.

“I’m not going anywhere. Unless… unless it is with you. I know too where I’m supposed to be.” 

“Huh.” Daryl just grumbles. He lets her hand and the double capper go, and adjusts himself. Takes her face with his both hands and stares intently at her. Grounding her, him, them both in the moment. “Yah kept the bracelet.”

Carol sniffs and smiles. “My best friend made it for me.”

“Best friend? What are you, ten?” Daryl parrots, but it lacks humour. His voice is dead serious. His eyes keep going from her own eyes and her lips. 

She marvels at his courage for doing that – for asking her what she knows he’s asking, right there, in broad daylight, shining like the sun itself; while she could only speak freely in the silence of the night, staring at a ceiling infested with spiders. 

“No.” Carol answers, closing the distance between them. Touches her forehead with his and closes her eyes, expectantly. Their lips brush against each other. “I haven’t been ten for a while.”

 ____________________________

They stay down there, on the floor, between scattered arrows and a growing pile of dirt pieces of clothing.

Daryl slides his calloused hands under her shirt, gently caressing her skin, ribs, spine, until the edge of her pants. Drags his teeth, tongue and whiskers all over her neck, kisses softly her breasts. 

Carol touches him back; strong muscles contracting and relaxing under her fingertips. Maps all his scars, old and new, loving them with strength. Pushes his pants down and immediately pumps his erection, knowing and appreciating he’d go commando. 

Silently, reverently, they intertwined their bodies in one swift motion, knowing exactly how to fit together, as if they had done it a million times before. Certain that they would do it a million times again later.

They knew where they belonged.

 ____________________________

Daryl’s bedroom ceiling is higher than any other in the house and is crudely painted white. Rustic. As insane as it sounds, Carol thinks it feels like him. She says so, a little groggy from sleep, relaxed from more than one orgasm, and Daryl just chuckles at her absurdity.

Later that day, they lay naked in her bed, comfortable in this new, yet familiar way; and Daryl says the cracks around the light fixture looks like her hair. She corrects him and tells him no, that they looked like his wood carven arrows. Daryl rolls, getting off the embrace they are on. Sits on top of her, his strong thighs on both sides of her hips. He arranges her hair around her head, like a halo, before looking up at the ceiling and back to her.

“Nah, definitely looks like yah.” Daryl points a finger at her and then, at the ceiling, like she could see herself through his eyes. “Just like the sun.”

Carol tries to argue, calling him ridiculous, while feeling her cheeks burn with shyness and the force of his love. Daryl shuts her up by kissing her. And kissing and kissing her,

On top of Carol, his face takes all her visual view. As the world shrinks to the silent, loving space between them, there’s no ceilings or cracks in sight. Just Daryl. Like she always wanted.

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Written For: tigereyes45

Title: A Dreamy Christmas Author:  @breb23 Rating:  Mature- language, sexual situations, and lots of references to alcohol (lighthearted!) Summary: The gang is all here, cozied up for Christmas in their warm Alexandria home. But a drunken Glenn can't quite keep his mouth shut when it comes to a secret of Daryl’s. A/N:  Merry merry Christmas, Tigereyes45!!! I hope this indirect reference to Terminus is something you'll enjoy!! 😉❤️  

“Okay, okay, okay- but that was taken out of context!” Glenn argues, his hands thrown up defensively as the rest of the room cackles, wine sputtering out of Maggie's nose as she ducks her face into Michonne's lap, hiding her reddened cheeks.

“Yeah, I'm sure the noises me an' Rick heard that night were real outta context,” Daryl rolls his eyes, a little twinkle of mischief lightening them in a way Carol hasn't seen in a long time- if ever. They catch on Carol, his mouth pulling to a sheepish grin, and she can't help but notice the way his tongue glides across his lips, red stained from his drink.

“Okay but there really was a mouse in the guard tower!” Maggie laughs, wiping her face as tears of laughter collect in the corners of her eyes.

“So you're telling me that scream was a mouse? Is that what I'm hearing you say, Maggie?” Rick questions, tilting his head at Daryl like, are you listening to this, too?

“Yeah, except that mouse was definitely moanin’ on about Maggie this and Maggie that,” Daryl jabs Glenn in the side, face twisted in disgust.

The living room fills with laughter again, the warm fireplace brightening as if laughing right along with them. They are all cuddled up on the floor, propped up on plush pillows with blankets strewn around their legs. The room smells of wine and cookies and popcorn, the blustery winter air whistling loudly outside, but Carol feels nothing but coziness as she curls her legs into herself.

This winter has been particularly cold, and she can't help but dwell on how things might be different if they hadn't been led to Alexandria by Aaron, if they hadn't all found each other at Terminus.

But she has her own stocking on the mantle this Christmas, between Judith's and Daryl’s, stuffed to the brim with little goodies and trinkets that magically appeared after Daryl’s last run.

She has her own room, too, in a house she shares with the people she loves most, with blankets that smell of the eucalyptus soap she now has time to make. Her eyes suddenly fill with gratitude, her lips a bit wobbly with emotion, and again Daryl’s eyes catch her from across the room, this time in concern.

She shakes her head with a smile, then blows him a kiss, which rewards her with a deep blush along his high cheekbones. He lifts his glass to his mouth, finishing the rest of his drink in one gulp, holding her eyes as he swallows.

It's more flirtatious than Daryl’s typical response, and she halfheartedly wonders if it's the wine that gave him the courage or her butter-rich cookies that seem to have an aphrodisiac effect on him.

“Daryl, do you really want to talk when you know the dirt I have on you?” Glenn slurs, pushing him back playfully, and with that Carol's interest peaks, sitting up with excitement.

“Ooo please, do tell!” She laughs, her sock clad feet twisting against the plush white carpet in anticipation.

“Nah, m’ gonna need to be a lot drunker to talk about that,” he says, suddenly very interested in the fire, adjusting the wood with his callused hands, the muscles in his forearms shifting as he adds a fresh piece to the pile.

It's practical, she tells herself as he kneels to the floor with a grunt, shifting the crisp remains of an old log beneath the replacement wood, sparks spitting in his direction as the hot coals reignite.

Adding firewood to a fire is a means to keep warm, a way to cook food. It's the millionth time she's seen him like this, propped up on his hands and knees in front of her as he blows strong, low pulses of air along the embers, strengthening the flame.

It shouldn't affect her anymore. But the site of his bare hands, the way his back curls as h-

“Pleeeease!” Carl begs Daryl, bringing Carol's thoughts to a screeching halt.

Jesus, she thinks, folding her arms over her chest, putting herself in time out.

Carl folds his hands dramatically towards Daryl as he bows his head in mock prayer. “At least tell us what it's about!”

“Or who!” Michonne chimes in, wiggling her eyebrows.

“If it's what I think they're talking about you certainly don't get to hear it,” Rick says with a finger pointed to Carl. “Off to bed now before I have to scrub your innocent ears with soap.”

“Oh c'mon, Dad! I'm 15 years old, which means I'm basically a freshman in high school!”

“In that case, go to your room and do your homework,” Rick smirks at his son, and Carl rolls his eyes back, grumbling as he goes upstairs.

There's silence for a beat, before Michonne stands up, clapping her hands together with her lips pursed as she grabs the fifth that sits half empty on the counter, taking a sip from the bottle before offering it around. “Fireball anyone?”

“M’ gonna need some more of that to survive all of Glenn's yappin’,” Daryl grunts, getting up and snatching it from her hands before plopping back down, this time taking Carl's spot beside Carol.

The others continue chatting amongst themselves, their voices a muted hum as she focuses on Daryl, her drunken haze only allowing for one conversation at a time.

“This seat taken?” He slurs in an exaggerated country accent, tipping his imaginary cowboy hat before taking another swig of the fireball. She laughs, shaking her head.

“No, sir, it's not,” she drawls, batting her eyes playfully. He slides himself under the blanket that rests on her lap, scooting even closer until their sides are flush against each other. He smells of cinnamon and wine and firewood and snow, the tops of his cheeks pink and his hair mussed from the wind.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house. Not a creature was stirring-” Glenn projects drunkily, far louder than necessary. Daryl leans back on his hands, propping one foot over the other as his leg relaxes heavily against hers.

“Are you seriously about to make a mouse joke?” Daryl asks Glenn in disbelief, his face screwed up in horror. “If you have a kink for that shit just tell us.”

“Ooookay, Daryl, it's freaking on,” Glenn teases, his eyes darting to Carol for just a moment before landing back on Daryl.

Daryl tenses beside her, and she sways into him, giving his side a nudge before tucking her cold toes beneath his legs playfully.

He inhales sharply as soon as she makes contact, wrapping his hand around her icy, sock clad feet.

“Your toes are freezin’ cold,” he says gruffly, glancing at the raging fire before returning his gaze to her, kneading his thumb against the inside arch of her foot. “I'll find you some thicker socks on my next run.”

These socks were only a few months old, infused with aloe or lotion or something magical, making them her absolute favorite pair he's ever found for her.

“You just got these, though! And they're so cozy…”

He reaches over and grabs her other foot, too, rubbing slow deep circles. Her body sways with the movements of his hands, languid beneath his touch.

“Honestly, at this point I'm pretty sure my feet are incapable of warming until spring,” she adds, wiggling her toes. He smiles, giving her feet one final squeeze before letting go.

“You comfortable? Need another pillow?” He asks, grabbing a stray one before she can answer, wedging it behind her.

“So what's this little secret you have?” Carol pries quietly, taking the bottle from him and drinking her first and last gulp of Fireball, her throat burning sharply before the heat spreads to her chest. “Oh that's so bad. Oh my god how do you drink that without making a face?”

He takes it back from her lap, tilting his head back once more before exhaling a slow, reluctant sigh of cinnamon.

“Glenn's gonna tell ya ‘bout when I somehow got your underwear in my laundry back at the prison ‘nd I cleaned them,” grumbled Daryl, not meeting her eyes. “Wasn't bein' pervy, I swear. Just figured they got mixed in and went ahead and washed them with the rest of the clothes, that's all. Put them back in your cell right away. ”

Shame fills his features, and she finds herself softening as she reaches for his arm, fingers squeezing him gently.

“Well, I'm certainly not going to complain about someone else doing my laundry,” she laughs, and he grins back at her, relief evident in his features. “Besides,” she continues, then whispers low, settling a hand against his knee as she leans towards him, whispering in his ear, “-you can be as pervy with me as you'd like.”

Her mouth pulls into a playful purse as she leans back to see his reaction, to watch him watch her, chewing his bottom lip. His eyes flick lower.

“As absolutely precious as this moment is,” Glenn interrupts, startling them away from each other. “No, Daryl, I'm not talking about your little panty secret. That's rated G compared to what I'm thinking of.” He laughs, rubbing his hands maniacally.

Rick groans, shaking his head. “Glenn how ‘bout you cut the crap and get on with it?”

Glenn shushes him in response, bringing his attention back on Daryl.

“Do you remember that little dream you had?” Glenn taunts, and immediately Daryl is standing, his body tight with stress, Carol's legs now uncovered and chilly from the loss of his heat.

“Nah, nope. Party's over, shut the fuck up Glenn.”

“Now okay, okay, everyone settle down,” Rick says, putting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He huffs, shaking Rick's hand off, taking another swig, this time from the whiskey on the counter.

Rick continues. “How ‘bout instead of yelling at each other, we have a good old-fashioned competition, and whoever wins gets to spill the beans,” he says.

“Spill the beans?” Michonne laughs at his choice of words, and Rick gives her an exasperated look.

“Oh shut your mouth,” he teases her, pulling her against his side. Everyone in the room is cheering, clearly all drunk out of their minds.

“C'mon man!” Glenn taunts Daryl. “You know you'll beat me in whatever we play! Let's see if you can win when it counts!”

Daryl, apparently too drunk to resist Glenn's childish game, nods his head.

“Alright, but jus’ know I got a bigger list on you than you even know,” Daryl quips back, rolling his shoulders in preparation.

“Michonne, what do you think of a quick game of flip cup for these two?” Rick asks, a smile at the corner of his lips.

“Hmm,” she replies, sizing up the two men in question. “Glenn is agile, Daryl is sharp, both have had at least seven shots in the past hour…yep. I think that's a fair fight. Come help me set it up.”

What Michonne hadn't seen was the bottle of wine that he and Carol had shared before everyone else gathered in the living room, sipping away as they discussed a new hunting route, marking various stopping points on a map where the group could take breaks along the river.

It was just enough to give Glenn an upper hand, enough to win it all.

Daryl’s face burned the moment he realized he had lost, although the alcohol had seemed to loosen him up a bit more, playfully shoving Glenn as he demanded a rematch.

“Noooope, a deal's a deal! Spill the beans, Daryl! Don't even worry, she won't mind a bit, man,” Glenn teases, earning another glare.

Daryl sighs in defeat as he takes a seat beside Maggie, as far as he can possibly be from Carol. She tries not to notice the way her leg feels cold in his absence.

Maggie pats his arm.

“It's not even that bad, Daryl, don't worry,” she whispers, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If you ask me, I think it's pretty hot.” She laughs as Daryl groans in horror, burying his face in his hands.

“Does everyone know this secret but me??” Carol questions, biting into another Christmas cookie angrily. Nutmeg and orange fill her senses and she moans, distracted, just as wasted as the rest of them. “I am so good at baking cookies,” she sighs.

“I had a sex dream of you and me in the forest at Terminus.”

Daryl’s voice comes out of nowhere, his secret spilling so quickly she can hardly make out what he's said. He doesn't meet her eyes.

“AND?” Glenn pushes.

Daryl huffs, glaring at Glenn before slowly shifting his gaze to Carol.

“And it involved that AR-15 you were wearin’” he murmurs, his voice breaking roughly, and she feels a chill run through her.

“AND?” Michonne says.

“...and you were,” another sigh at his feet, and then he meets her eyes again, lips parted. “You were wearin’ my vest.”

The whole room erupts in whistles and hoots, and Carol can't help the smile that tickles her lips upward.

“Don't mean t’ objectify you or anythin’, just…” he trails off, his eyes filled with doubt, with hesitation, with…

What is that?

His eyes are almost hooded as he watches her scoot closer to him, closer and closer until their knees are touching, watches as she leans forward dizzily, just enough to leave a chaste kiss against the stubble of his cheek.

Her lips burn as she gauges him, licking her lips to calm the tingling burn, to taste where his skin had been just moments before.

He's watching her mouth, watching her tongue against her lip, his eyes darker, heavier.

Desire, she realizes.

“Daryl,” she whispers, her head swimming and she knows what she says now is pivotal. Knows he's been as vulnerable as he's ever been with her just now, and this is her one chance. This is it.

“I've dreamt about you, too.”

She hears his breath halt in his throat- as a matter of fact, it sounds like everyone in the room has stopped breathing altogether, none of them daring to move.

She can't bring herself to care about their audience, about the repercussions of what she's about to do.

She's drunk and he's drunk and he's just admitted he's dreamt about something that she would very much enjoy trying right now. She leans closer, her hand atop his, making reassuring circles against his dry knuckles.

She kisses the corner of his mouth and he exhales shakily, his breath tasting of her cookies she can't help but part their lips together, dizzy with emotion and alcohol, tipping herself into his chest. Where his breath is shaky his hands are steady, heavy at the base of her spine as he leans back with her, his eyes hungry.

His thumbs press into the soft give of her hips as her tongue grazes his lips, then his teeth, his tongue cautiously meeting her own.

It's as if the taste of her sends him into a frenzy, a sound of disbelief coming from his chest as he gasps into her. She whimpers right back as he pulls her closer, climbing to his knees as he sweeps an arm across the small of her back and she is boneless as he presses her flush against his torso.

She hears the others giggling, sounding muffled beneath the roar of her pounding heart. Someone dims the lights, and then they're gone- some to the basement, some upstairs. She doesn't even care, and shockingly, Daryl doesn't seem to, either.

His head dips just enough to break their lips apart, trailing lazily along her jaw, his stubble so familiar and yet so new, so new to feel it against her pulse, such a sensitive and private place, thrumming wildly against his lips.

She is warm, so pleasantly heavy against his body where her breasts press against his chest. Her ear is hot from where his breath slides along her skin, and behind the cinnamon on his breath and the smoke in his hair, she smells something so personal and erotic, so them, their pheromones combining into their own heady scent.

“Is this real?” She asks, sounding like a woman she's never heard in her life, breathy and needy.

“I have no idea,” he murmurs, his voice desperate against her skin, returning to her lips for a moment before she urges him back, their weight falling on his elbows as she swings herself above him. “Jesus, Carol,” he murmurs, his eyes heavy with arousal as he appraises her, as he watches his fingers rub the tops of her thighs.

His hands continue their journey, roaming back towards her hips, the tips of his fingers tickling the sliver of skin where her shirt has ridden up, his pinkies just beneath the elastic of her pajama pants. “Shit, I'm so drunk,” he whispers, leaning up to nuzzle her cheek, catching her ear between his teeth before nibbling there.

“Me too,” she breathes, hands shifting from his chest to his arms, roaming up and down, curving until her fingers settle in the divot of his triceps. How many times has she suppressed the urge to do exactly this?

“This feels good though, right?” She asks, pulling away reluctantly, watching for his reaction. To make sure he wants this as much as she does.

“Yeah,” his voice is thick, his adam's apple bobbing as he looks up at her, curling a strand of her silver hair out of her eyes and around his finger. “I feel really fuckin’ good right now.”

He doesn't let her dwell on what those words do to her, the taut muscle of his arms rolling beneath her hands as he shifts them closer to the fire. He kisses her cheek, an open mouth kiss that draws another shiver from her.

“Is that your subtle way of telling me my feet are still too cold?” She gasps, his tongue returning to the hollow space above her jaw. Her nails dig into the tops of his shoulders.

“Always so damn cold,” he breathes, now against the curve of her collarbone. She writhes against his hips, not quite able to get that closeness her body is seeking. “Watch you shiver all damn day and can't do a thing about it,” he grumbles, threading his fingers through her hair as he aligns her against him, a ragged sigh leaving his lips.

Control slips through their fingers, their bodies responding like they've done this before, as if she's used to hitching her thighs around his hips. As if he's used to her nipples pebbling against his palms.

Her back bows in response to his touch, pushing herself closer into his hands, sitting squarely against him now. The feeling of him, even through their clothes, is indescribable.

“That's what this was, huh?” She says, her hands wrapping under his arms, looping around until they are flat against his shoulder blades. He lifts his hips to meet hers, eliciting a whimper from the friction against her center.

“-just a way for you to get me warm and cozy,” she continues in mock horror, and he chuckles a mhm, mirroring the movements of her body with his own, his legs threading between her knees before he flips them slowly, so she's nestled between a thick duvet and his body.

He peppers small kisses against her chin, her shoulders, exploring the expanse of her arms, suckling the tips of her fingers. Her hips raise into the air futility as he slides lower and lower, kissing her hips, teeth nipping her skin softly.

Her fingers twitch in anticipation, a desperate plea of his name on her lips, and he pauses, his head dropping against her stomach, his breath a teasing tickle.

And then he groans, frustrated.

“I want to do this,” he whispers, pulling himself up, his arm encircling her waist as he tugs her close, chest to chest, pulling a quilt over their tangled limbs.

“Okay,” she nods, nuzzling her nose against his neck, struggling to breathe through her arousal. “Please, yes, do,” she gasps.

But he shakes his head, fingers tickling beneath her shirt, his nails grazing along her spine, drawing out a tremble.

“-but I wanna make sure you don't regret this, wanna make sure you're thinkin’ straight, that ‘s not just the cookies talkin’.”

She laughs, throwing her head back and he chuckles with her, fingertips massaging along the ridge of her shoulder blades.

“They really were the best batch I've ever made,” she brags, grinning at him.

“It was the extra nutmeg you added,” he murmurs as he settles his head lower, closer, until his ear is pressed against her heartbeat. His mouth is hot against her breasts as he speaks, and she struggles to think straight, to focus on the cookies and not the throbbing pressure between her legs.

“Please don't regret this,” he repeats, voice so vulnerable, like another secret.

She wraps her hands around his face, tilting his gaze up at her. “Daryl,” she smiles, flirt still in her voice. “I am very happy right now, and I'll stay that way in the morning, too.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, you can check if you want to make sure I'm telling the truth,” she wiggles her eyebrows.

“Stop,” he grunts, closing his eyes momentarily before looking back at her, heat dilating his pupils. “Trust me, I wanna,” he huffs, and she kisses his mouth, just once, on her best behavior.

“We'll wait,” she says, resting her hand against the side of his face, pressing him closer to her chest. “You won't forget this, right?” She asks, kissing his messy hair, fear creeping in.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I coulda had that whole bottle of Fireball and I wouldn't forget tonight. Best night of my damn life.” His nails trail lazily beneath her shirt again, fingers dancing along the curve of her hip, the dip in her waist, the outside swell of her breast, before teasing back down. She arches against his hand.

“Daryl, if this is your way of trying to make me sleepy you're failing desperately and, in fact, just turning me on more,” she squirms.

He laughs into her neck, nodding with an apology, and she snuggles up against him, sliding her knee over his hip, his hand falling to the top of her ass.

He groans and she stifles a laugh, this time staying very still. “Okay, I'm done, too, I promise. I have to sleep like this or I get a kink in my neck!”

He hums his response into her hair. “Oh, so we're sleeping together now, huh?”

“Well how else am I going to stay warm on this chilly winter night?” She retorts, and he huffs a laugh, kissing her hand.

There's a long silence, his breath slowing just enough to know he's starting to slip into sleep, but Carol can't help herself.

“So, when can I try on your vest?”

[carylerxsecretsanta]

To: @spanishrose2002 From: @the-aviatrix A/N: Hope you have a wonderful Christmas, spanishrose2002!

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Written For: @lola-andheruniverse

Title: Baking Time Author: @theresnosafeharbor4myships Rating: T (Teen & up audiences) Summary: A quiet, loving, winter Caryl reunion  A/N: Happy Christmas and holiday season to you, Lola! I know you enjoy both the quiet moments between Caryl and their reunions, so I tried to give you both (with a little piece of spice in there. :D) I hope this puts a merry smile on your face. Wishing you all the best for 2026! 

Carol saw Dog lift and tilt his head before rising and trotting into the living room, mere seconds before Daryl’s voice sounded out.

“Carol, I’m home.”

“Oh,” she whispered to herself as her mouth formed the same letter, eyebrows rising in surprise.

He’d left ten long days ago. As he’d done the past few years, Daryl helped escort travelers from the nearby communities to the Commonwealth on his way to the biannual council meeting. He hadn’t wanted the council position, but the citizens of Alexandria had voted him its representative. As badly as she always wanted to accompany him, they both felt it was better for her to stay inside the city and help keep it protected if the need arose. She hadn’t expected him back for at least four more days—though relief flooded her at his early arrival.

Carol stopped chopping vegetables and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before hurrying towards the front door. Rounding the corner to the front hall, she caught Daryl scratching Dog’s back and muttering, “Where is she, huh?”

Her footsteps must’ve given her away because Daryl’s eyes rose to meet hers, and she smiled at him. “There she is,” he stated more to himself than the canine as he stood tall, Dog forgotten.

Carol felt the heat of his gaze—she always had, even before they’d allowed themselves to love each other—and moved towards him quickly. He took two long strides before wrapping her in his arms.

The muscled wall of his chest, his strong arms, the too-long hair at his nape, all of it felt like home, and she closed her eyes, grateful he’d made it back to her safely. The cold clinging to him seeped into her, but she clung to him tighter, trying to warm him with her presence.

Daryl turned his face into the crook of her neck and placed a cold kiss against her warm skin. “Missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you,” she countered softly, the gratitude she always felt when he returned unharmed flooding her once again. And she did: she missed everything about him. His gentle snores when he was deep in sleep, the groggy depth of his voice when he woke in the mornings, the gentle fingertip touches he grazed on her skin when he passed by her throughout the day—once such an anomaly, now a standard token of affection—random kisses when they were alone, snuggling by the fire each night now that winter and its frigidity had arrived, the quiet presence of his silence, the looks of longing he threw her way when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, even his disagreeableness when he was grumpy or too tired or someone had irritated him. She missed it all—and wanted him to know it.

Several heartbeats passed before Carol withdrew, but only far enough to gaze up at him.

Daryl stared down at her, her piercing eyes blue enough to drown in. He hated being apart from her, but the welcome at his returns more than made up for it. He’d never get enough of staring at her, wondering how he’d gotten lucky enough that she’d joined their ragtag group of survivors all those many years ago and how they’d come to know and grow with each other in a way that put them here, together, so deep in a love he never thought he’d have or deserve.

A ghost of a smile graced her lips, and he leaned down to kiss her, unable to wait any longer.

Carol rose up on her tiptoes to meet him, sinking further into his embrace as he showed her exactly how much he’d missed her.

Daryl pulled back to look at her, cheeks rosy from the warmth of the house—and maybe his kiss?—starry eyes gazing up at him, perfect lips forming a smile that made him want to simultaneously kiss her forever and melt into a puddle on the floor. “Hi,” he greeted belatedly.

“Hi,” she repeated warmly. “What are you doing here?”

His forehead crinkled in confusion. “Last time I checked, I lived here.”

Carol’s loving gaze morphed into a deadpan stare.

A corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. “There were less travelers this year, so we made it a day early to Commonwealth. A few days later, bunch’a people got the flu, so the council meeting was cut short. I planned to wait to make sure everyone travelin’ this way made it home, but a few of the officers offered to do it once everyone gets better. So I left before it spread through town.” His eyes followed his hand as he feathered his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “And I wanted to get home to you.”

Heat bloomed inside her chest, and Carol smiled as she stood up on tiptoe and pulled him down to kiss her again. Her passion sent heat swirling through him, the contrast between the outside cold and the warmth of her welcome a delicious aphrodisiac. She really had no idea what she did to him.

All too soon, Carol eased away from him, grabbing his hand as she turned around. “Come into the kitchen and talk to me,” she enjoined, pulling him along with her. “I was just starting dinner.”

“Wait.” Before he could think too much, he gently tugged her hand, causing her to turn back to face him. “You think we could…cook something up in the bedroom first? Maybe some dessert…?” It came out sounding more confident than he felt, and his heart thundered wildly in his chest. Even after all this time with her, he still found it difficult to voice his affection, fear of rejection and doubt of his worthiness often suffocating his ability to express his desire.

Carol’s cheeks tinged a becoming shade of pink, and a Cheshire cat smile broke across her face. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” he breathed in wonder before he could stop himself.

She nodded, sliding her arms around his neck again. “Yeah,” she whispered before kissing him again.

Carol brushed at the dust and damp on the shoulder of his jacket, a dirty mixture from his travels and the snow that’d melted on his clothes. “You wanna wash the travel off first?” she asked a bit cheekily.

He wanted her more than he cared about showering, but he’d left the Commonwealth several days ago, and he knew he needed it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone though.

“Wanna join me?” he whispered, hearing the slight quiver of fear in his own voice.

A look of raw desire flooded her face, nearly taking his knees out, and Carol nodded.

“Gimme five minutes,” he entreated, kissing her soundly. His hands slid from her hips to her shoulder blades, holding her flush against him. With many layers cocooning him, he couldn’t really feel her like he wanted, but it served his purpose of firing her up because she moaned into his mouth. He moved his hands down her back until he reached the rise of her butt and pulled her against him again.

Another moan, and though it pained him, he had to move away from her before he couldn’t. “Five minutes,” he reminded her, his voice gruff with desire, before achingly stepping away from her. He turned once to look at her before making his way down the hallway, satisfied that she’d join him momentarily.

Carol, left standing in the entryway flustered—and amused at Daryl’s romantic capabilities when he thought himself inept—swallowed hard and walked back to the kitchen to turn off the stove and throw the vegetables into the fridge.

Dinner could wait now that dessert was on the menu. They both knew she was better at baking anyway.

[christmasxmas]

[holly-days]

by szkielko.malwiny

[christmas-winter]

[carylerxsecretsanta]

7 gifts under the tree!

7/7

[xmas-present]

[redlipstickresurrected]

JTar aka Julia Tarasenko aka Art by JTar (Ukrainian, based Dnipro, Ukraine) - Black Santa Cat In Christmas Lights, Paintings: Acrylic on Cardboard

[autumn-leaves-winter-breeze]

[christmas-winter]