• Grace HATES horror. He jumps at everything. He’s fascinated by the science behind scary movies but if he watches anything even remotely scary, he has to watch cartoons or something to be able to sleep.
• Simon is ex-military and absolutely loves horror. Something happened while he was deployed which causes him to lose his arm.
• The haunt is lowkey based off the one I work. We donate the money to a local charity that helps families with a child who has a medical issue. The charity helps them pay medical bills, housing costs, etc. which is why Simon picked them to work for. It’s also one where they can grab you (this comes into play later)
• Simon’s character is lowkey based off of Fryboy and Archer (sliders at Hershey Park). His outfit/makeup is Archer’s style just without the undershirt 🤭
• Grace’s reaction to being scared is to fight 😭 Colt scares him and ends up with a broken nose and black eye once. Jody is pissed because they were in the middle of filming when it happens
• Colt doesn’t tell Grace where they’re going when he takes Grace to the haunt. He loves seeing Grace get scared.
• Simon sees Grace at the beginning of the haunt and is like “oh he’s cute… That’s my next target to scare”. Grace isn’t paying attention because he, Colt, and Jody are talking through a small section of the haunt and when Simon goes to grab him, Grace doesn’t hesitate, punches Simon and then pins Simon to the ground.
• Simon is like “oh fuck that’s hot. Why is that so hot? The cute, nerdy looking guy just hit me and pinned me” Grace is apologizing profusely. Simon does have to go to the medical tent so Grace offers to go with him.
hii queen! i saw that your requests are open, could you write something with daryl and a reader in the earlier seasons who are dating in secret? (they dont want no one to know because daryl is new to relationships and i believe he would be more reserved a little in the beggining), however the group ended up noticing how soft he is to her and how he always keep an eye on her😩 and also i just wanted to say that i read some of yours writtings and they are amazing💕💕
A/N: Fank you so much nonny 💖😭 I've been really enjoying writing for Daryl, he was one of my biggest obsessions as a teenager, and that obsession will continue to prevail.
And this is such a cute request, I love secret relationship tropes so much. I decided to do Prison era!Daryl if that's okay, I assume you probably meant for like season 1 or 2, but I felt like it would be cute in the prison.
I know that a slow burn wasn't requested BUT the thoughts just kept coming the more I wrote. Also sorry this took so long to post.
Growing up people would always say you will find the one when you least expect it. Whether it’s in a grocery store, at the park, in a museum. That one person you’re bound to spend the rest of your life with will be there. As if they were waiting for you, and you for them. It was a fairytale dream, one that you lost faith in long ago.
There were moments you had thought that maybe you finally found that person. Until disappointment would strike time and time again. Your experience with relationships had been less than ideal, never lasting longer than a year. Cheaters, liars, and worst of all abusers. Those types of men had always been the most drawn to you. Making you feel as if you were cursed somehow, unlucky.
After a while and a slew of pity attempts, you gave up on dating for your own benefit. Deciding it would be best to focus more on yourself. Not allowing yourself to succumb to the societal pressure of getting married by twenty and popping kids out by twenty one.
That was the dream of a delusional small town teenager, too young to think for themselves let alone plan a future family, and that had been your dream once upon a time. Maybe you read too many stories about young girls finding their prince charming and living happily ever after.
You started to value your alone time. Enjoying the feeling of not having to walk on eggshells in order to keep the other party happy. Things were smooth sailing for about two years. You changed your life around, got a new job, a new car, and a new apartment all within a few months.
A newfound happiness was settling inside of you, you were beginning to find yourself again. You became more confident in who you were as a person, allowing yourself to actually live your life instead of just simply being alive.
But life had a twisted sense of humor.
Things started with frantic breaking news segments on the news. Reporters talking about the horrifying developments coming out of France. In the beginning you had hoped that things wouldn’t escalate past that, hoped that this would be an isolated incident. But things just got worse the more you watched. An unknown virus wreaking havoc across the entirety of Europe, spreading like wildfire across each country.
After the first case of the virus was reported in Ohio, you started to worry. Things were getting too close for your liking, and with the details they were releasing it wasn’t going to get any better. With each new segment that aired your mother would call, urgently telling you to come back to live with them until this sickness blows over. You knew that it would be your best bet.
Once the local grocery stores started getting raided, you found yourself being thankful that your family was full of survivalist nuts. Growing up hearing them praise people like Jim Baker, and other televangelist hackjobs like him that weaponized fear mongering for profit.
Your parents home was stocked full of all the essentials thanks to your aunt Jess. First aid kits, canned food, water to last just a little over a month. It was everything you needed and more.
“Y’always gotta be prepared, honey.” Your wine-drunk aunt had told you after a week, the both of you lounging on the sofa as you watched the news. “You don’t know how long this crap’s gonna last.”
It all went by so quickly. The news stations eventually stopped airing not long after the first report hit Georgia, they were urging everyone to evacuate to Atlanta, leaving the streets a mess of honking and dead-stop traffic right outside of your parent’s home.
And for a short while you had settled into this false hope that you were safe there with them.
That was until you came back from a short trip to a ransacked Dollar General just down the street.
The house was oddly quiet when you walked inside. The TV was muted on a flickering static screen, your dad’s recliner was empty, a blanket on the floor. The backdoor that led to the porch was ajar, the sun shining through the crack onto the wood flooring. You remembered that feeling in your stomach as you walked closer, fingers slowly curling around the doorknob.
When you walked outside it felt as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head. The horrifying sight of your mother’s body being gutted by your own father and uncle, fresh blood dripped down the side of the RV next to your aunt’s already mangled corpse. Your hands were trembling fiercely, a nauseating coppery smell filling your nose.
All you could remember was running. Packing whatever you could get your hands on before taking your mother’s minivan.
Not long after the death of your family, you were taken in by a small group of five. They were unstable, barely hanging on by a thread, with almost nightly arguments tilting them further over the edge.
It made things harder for you. The tension starting to make you too nervous to sleep without a knife tucked securely under your pillow.
The self appointed leader demanded too much, wanting more than half of the rations to himself. He was a cruel hearted individual, mind diluted by the atrocities you were all forced to witness. A dangerous man who was quick tempered, and ruthless to anything or anybody you came across.
After a month of running with them you made a mistake. You hid a portion of your findings from him. Food that he would have taken the majority of. But you were starving, at the point of hardly caring about your survival if it meant you could eat just a little bit more.
Other members had found out though, outing you quickly. As a punishment he tied you up, stole everything from you. Photo albums, your weapons, your food, bandages, it didn’t matter what it was. After beating you he left you in the supply closet of a convenient store you were temporarily camping out in.
Part of you half expected them to come back, but you knew better than to think positively now, that could get you killed nowadays.
The minutes blended into hours into what felt like days. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles dug harshly into your skin, biting into the raw bleeding flesh as you struggled to free yourself. Eventually it got to the point where you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your body exhausted and dehydrated. You were sure you would die there.
But, much to your surprise, your luck hadn’t run dry just yet.
In your haze you could hear the sound of once shuffling corpses hit against the door with a heavy thud. Hushed voices barely graced your ears through the door, two men talking to each other.
Your voice was hoarse as you pathetically attempted to call out. Your throat was dry from the lack of water, forcing your words to come out as a croaking squeak.
The door had been opened cautiously, the beam of a flashlight assaulting your eyes. You attempted to focus on the man crouching down above you, his blurred features obscured by the baseball hat he wore.
“Rick!” The man called over his shoulder, another figure coming into view. He was wearing what seemed to be a police officer’s uniform. Whether it was stolen or actually his, you didn’t care, you just wanted out of this damn closet.
Both men were quick to cut your binds and hauled you to your feet. The quick motion was all it took for you to finally pass out. A thick blanket of exhaustion pressed into you, forcing your eyes to flutter closed and your body to go completely limp. Unable to cling onto consciousness any longer
In those last moments you almost thought that they would just leave you there. Not wanting to bother helping a now passed out stranger, and you wouldn’t have blamed them if they did abandon you.
Instead when you woke up you were laying on a couch, an older man with short white hair standing over you.
At first you had almost believed you dreamed it all, the outbreak, the group. That you were in some sort of comatose state and the world was not overrun by flesh eating monsters. But the stinging pain deep within your wrists proved otherwise, the gashes covered by white gauze and medical tape.
The white haired man, Hershel, ran you through your current state. Malnourishment, dehydration, feverish temperatures. It was evidently clear that you had been through the wringer, and if Glenn and Rick had not found you when they did, you would have died within the day. In fact he had said it was a miracle that Hershel himself could have saved you.
You figured you had always been stubborn, though, you never gave up easily.
Hershel had been kind enough to allow you to stay in his house until you got better. Providing you with enough water and food to get you back on your feet.
The family allowed you to use their shower. When you looked at yourself in the mirror you understood why they were so insistent. A thick layer of grime and blood coated your skin, your hair was matted, your clothes ripped beyond repair.
You couldn’t help but cry, realizing just how quickly you lost yourself out there. Your humanity has faded so much in such a short amount of time, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. You looked like a stranger to yourself.
Over the next week Rick’s group urged you to stay. They knew you had nowhere else to go, no family to run back to.
You were hesitant, though. You didn’t want to continue to be a burden, you were a stranger infiltrating an already close knit group. The closeness they had made you feel even more lonely than you did in your previous group, because at least when it came to them, you didn’t crave that companionship.
Gone were the days of blind trust, knowing that everything always came with a price these days. So your knife stayed tucked beneath your pillow, fingers clutching onto the handle as you kept an eye on the zipped up entrance of the tent.
On many sleepless nights, which were frequent, you would sit yourself in front of the dwindling fire outside of your tent. Mind wandering to everything that’s happened to you in the past three months, the things you’ve done to stay alive, the permanent scars you would carry with you for life.
You stewed in your bitterness. Chewing ruthlessly on the skin around your fingernails.
Your tent was further away from the rest of the group’s, tucked away in your own area. You found yourself watching the rest of them at first. Thoughts of running away while everyone slept crossed your mind more times than you could count.
Until one night you heard a twig snap behind you, your knife quickly unsheathed and pointing towards what you thought to be a threat,
“Geez. You’re almost as bad as Daryl.” One of the older men from Rick’s group, Dale, chuckled as he walked closer to your secluded camp, his hands up in surrender. “But I can go if you want.” He smiled softly.
“Sorry… Bad habit.” You said quietly, setting your knife back down next to your thigh.
He shook his head, taking a seat in front of the fire, “No need to be sorry. I can’t blame you for still being a little paranoid.”
Dale quickly became a source of comfort for you, sporting an almost fatherly personality when talking to you. He was kind, and realistic which was exactly what you needed after everything you’ve been through. Over the course of a few nightly visits he was able to get you to open up a little, telling him about your former group, he was sympathetic and understanding.
“The world has truly gone to hell.” He grimaced, taking his bucket hat off of his head. “But, we have good people here. Believe it or not.” His smile was reassuring.
After a few days you started to come around more. Helping the women with laundry, listening to the stories they told about their lives before, anecdotes to keep themselves sane.
It wasn’t hard to understand why they were so close. The tragedy of their former camp just outside of Atlanta, the C.D.C, Lori’s son getting shot, the people they’ve lost along the way.
Slowly you felt more like yourself again.
Every so often they would mention that same name Dale did, Daryl. The only member of the group you had yet to meet personally.
You had seen him walking around the camp, or tucked away in his own tent, further away from the group much like yours was. He was gruff looking, intimidating to the eye, and his occasional temper didn’t help much. But with how insistent he was on finding Carol’s missing daughter, you could tell there was warmth beneath his rigid exterior.
The first time you talked to him was less than ideal. You were attempting to set up a snare trap in the woods, wanting to try and contribute a little bit more. The frustration quickly turned to embarrassment when he snuck up on you. Your feet got caught in your own trap and caused you to trip and fall.
“Looks like y’caught somethin’.” Daryl attempted to joke, walking past you and deeper into the woods with his crossbow pointed towards the trees.
You cut yourself free of the poorly made snare and ran to catch up with him. Choosing your words carefully.
“Daryl, right?” All you got was a grumble in response, “Listen I know you don’t know me or anythin’... But could you teach me how to hunt?”
“Teach yourself. I ain’t got time for babysittin’.” His response stung a little, harsher than you had hoped it would be.
You figured you should have expected that, though, the conversation him and Shane had this morning was heated. An argument almost leading to a full on fight. The tension was growing higher and higher as the days dragged on with no signs of Sophia.
Then the group found out about what was inside the barn.
One day when Rick was out helping Hershel, Shane took it upon himself to break the chains on the barn door. Walker after walker spilled out, being shot down ruthlessly by some members of Rick’s group, while the Greene family cried out for them to stop. Their worst nightmare coming true, as well as Carol’s.
A little girl limped out, skin grey and beginning to rot. Her hair was matted with leaves, eyes a milky grey color, and a rasping snarl emitting from her. There was a large gash on her shoulder, a bite. It was devastating to see a child fall victim to such a death. But even more so for Carol, coming to realize that each day they restlessly searched, she had already been dead..
The safety that the farm provided didn’t last long after that.
Shane was quickly losing his grip, Dale was killed by a lone walker, and eventually the fields were overrun by walkers. A massive hoard stumbling onto the property, drawn in by the frequent gunfire.
You had lost quite a few on that night, good people that had helped you come out of your shell, people that didn’t deserve what they got. In all honesty you didn’t think you would have made it out either if it wasn’t for Andrea and Daryl.
After the fall of the farm, you were all lost. Hershel and his family had lost their home, and the entire group was left to search.
But you had to bury your sadness for the time being, winter was quickly approaching. The leaves were changing into a crisp orange color, and the wind had a bite to it in the mornings, leaving you shivering as you huddled closer to the fire. Daryl had been kind enough to let you borrow his poncho some nights, insisting you probably needed it more than him.
Daryl seemed to warm up to you after a while too. He would subtly make sure you ate by leaving a half eaten can of vegetables next to you, or would occasionally sharpen your knife for you after doing his own. It was a kind gesture, letting you know that he was starting to trust you.
Eventually it got to the point where your group finally ran out of canned food. There were no stores around, and everyone was too cold or tired to go anywhere. So Daryl decided to take you out to the woods, finally going out of his way to teach you how to hunt.
“Y’know what you’re trackin’?” He asked one day, slowly walking beside you, following a small winding trail in the woods.
You were quiet for a second, thinking as you analyzed the tracks next to your feet, “Could be a deer, whatever it is, it’s got hooves.”
“Obviously.” He huffed, resisting the urge to smile when you glared at him.
“Shut the hell up, man.” A small sigh came from you, “Could be a hog.” You crouched down and moved the leaves out of the way to get a better look, “The prints are close together, if it were a deer they’d be further apart, right?”
Daryl just shrugged, “You tell me.”
That’s how your hunts would usually go, Daryl providing frustrating nonanswers as you attempted to close in on your prey. He wasn’t going to babysit you, as he had originally said when you first asked, you had to figure it out yourself. You knew that was the only way you’d be able to learn, even if it was mildly annoying.
The winter finally started to melt into spring, temperatures rising and falling occasionally until settling into an in between. And soon enough your restless searching came to an end, the high chain link fences surrounding a prison with walkers meandering the expansive field calling your names. A soon to be shelter for your group and many others.
The fight against Woodbury had been a painful ordeal, with Maggie and Glenn getting taken hostage, and Daryl leaving with his brother. The group was briefly left in shambles, hanging on by a thread as Rick slowly faded away, losing his way after Lori’s untimely death and the birth of her daughter.
When Daryl left it broke your heart a little. The two of you had bonded over the course of the harsh winter, often seeking each other out as a heat source. Whispering stories of your families filling the silence as the biting wind wrapped itself around you. But you could never blame him for leaving, knowing you would do the same thing if you could.
The first attack from the Governor was when Daryl finally returned, his mouthy brother in tow. They had rescued Rick on the outskirts of the fence, luckily finding him just in time before he was overpowered.
It made you happy to see your friend again, a hand squeezing his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It had been a lot less awkward than you expected, his arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing softly, reassuring you that he was okay.
“Well, ain’t that just cute.” Merle had teased, pinching his little brother on the cheek.
But the tragedies were never ending, your group seemed to constantly be one step away from death’s doorstep.
The Governor decided to make his way back to the prison, armed gunmen following behind him.
They wanted to execute every last one of you no matter what it took. Your group had laid out traps, pretending to have left as requested, lulling them in with a false hope that you were gone. Until the shrill sound of the prison sirens started, smoke grenades being thrown down at their feet in the darkened hallways.
The armed militia of men, mothers, and teenagers the Governor recruited had run away in fear, knowing that their fates would be sealed if they stayed any longer.
As the weeks continued after the attack, things started to look up. That once forgotten positivity slowly makes its way back into your heart, along with a smile as you allow yourself to get to know the former residence of Woodbury. Your community was slowly forming, a home being made out of the prison.
It was easy to become comfortable.
And as your fondness grew for Daryl, you remembered what your mother used to tell you.
“You will find the one when you least expect it.”
Who knew that the world had to end in order for you to find him. With every soft touch, lingering whisper, and a quick stolen kiss in the shadows of your cell, it grew increasingly more obvious that your mother may have been right.
Daryl was the only person you felt safe enough to be vulnerable around. His gentleness towards you breaking down the walls around your heart, settling himself deep within it. And you gladly let him. You both decided to keep your relationship a secret. Enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, while also avoiding any teasing remarks that would come from your group.
You knew that this was Daryl’s first serious relationship, so you wanted to allow him the grace of warming up to the idea. You wanted him to become more comfortable with himself, taking his time with you, soothing any anxious wandering thought he may have.
But you knew that the group would notice eventually. Hell, they already were. The small teasing remarks being thrown your way would make Daryl stiffen. He would pick at the strings on his denim jacket as he huffed and grumbled something in response.
“You want me to slip her a note or somethin’?” Carol teased him, nudging her elbow into his side, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She laughed quietly when he rolled his eyes, “Come on Daryl-”
She was cut off by someone running up to him, Glenn’s frantic eyes meeting Daryl and Carol’s before quickly sputtering out your name, “I don’t know what happened but-”
The poor boy could barely get the words out before Daryl ran off towards the cell block.
You were laying in your cell, blood covering your shirt as your side bled profusely. Hershel was quick to try and stop the bleeding, urging everyone to give him room to work.
“If you want her to live, get out, now!”
The blood drained from Daryl’s face as he looked at you. Bruises were beginning to bloom on your face and arms, your nose was bleeding and there was a slash on your cheek. Your boyfriend directed his anger towards one of the new members you had taken on a run, pinning him roughly against the concrete wall with his forearm.
“The hell happened out there?! Huh?!” Daryl shouted in the scared man’s face, shrinking in on himself as Rick and Maggie tried to pull Daryl off. “Talk!”
“We-” The man gulped, “We got attacked by a small group…” There were tears in his eyes as he tried to explain, his swollen lip trembling. He didn’t look much better than you did honestly, his eye was almost swollen shut, and there was blood coating his hairline, “She said- said she knew them, some group she was with. I thought they were gonna k-kill us.” He swallowed harshly, “They shot her…”
Daryl swore he could see red. His shoulders heaving as he started to pace, fingers running through his hair as he tried to process what the man had said. His face was hot, body pulsing with anger as he glanced back into your cell to see you lying there motionless.
He stalked back up towards the man, his gaze hard and threatening as he spoke in a gruff voice, “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.” He pressed his finger hard into the man’s chest, pushing him harshly back into the concrete wall before stalking towards the exit of the prison.
It took the entire council to talk Daryl out of hunting this group down himself. Carol telling him it was a suicide mission, and he would die if he left like this. Going into a situation blinded by rage was never good for anyone, especially now, with you lying unconscious in your cell.
Luckily for you the bullet went straight through, and all they had to do was wait for you to wake up.
Daryl didn’t dare leave your side, a rag gently dabbing across your forehead as he whispered softly to you. Unspoken words that he had wished he had told you sooner, words that only you were allowed to hear him say, something he had never dared utter to another person. Not even his own family.
“I love you.”
The time seemed to drag on slowly as he waited, his watchful not leaving you for more than a few seconds. His gentle fingers traced patterns on your skin, ignoring the occasional staring that would come from someone passing by your cell. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the secrecy, not now.
“That fuckin’ tickles.” He suddenly heard you rasp, your eyes fluttering open and glancing down at his fingers on your forearm.
Relief washed over Daryl like cool rain on a hot summer's day. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help but lean his head down to rest on your arm, a long sigh being released from his lungs.
“Daryl…” You whispered, making him look at you, “It was my old group.”
The look on your face was similar to the one you sported when they first found you, terrified, lost, confused. You didn’t know what to do with yourself knowing that not only were they still alive, but a lot closer than you would have liked.
“I know.” He replied, his hand holding onto yours, “You don’t have t’worry about that right now.”
Even though you were able to find happiness in the apocalypse, tragedy never ceased to sneak up from behind every corner. And you guessed that it had become easy to forget that life had a cruel sense of humor.
Sitting in my living room pumping, I didnt think this would be such an enjoyable part of pregnancy! My nipples have been so sore and my breasts are constantly swollen with milk and leaking.
Watching my nipples get pulled up, seeing the milk drip out and into the bottles, feeling my breasts get lighter, it has got me all wet.
I wonder if there's any guys here on campus that are into lactation, wouldnt mind a guy sucking on my milky tits while fucking my mom cunt.
