thewalkingfanfictions

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Softly, Barely a Whisper -- Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (part two)

Softly, Barely a Whisper — Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (pre apocalypse) (part one)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Description: (Name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue.

⚠Warning⚠: great amounts of bad language, past mentions of abuse, past mentions of rape, there's probably more, this'n's kinda a mess. Don't read if you get triggered easily.

Genre: angsty fluff?? Hurt/comfort?? I've no idea. Is awkward Daryl a genre?

Pairing: teen!Daryl Dixon x teen!fem!abused!reader

A/N: so..I didn't mean to post this.. I still had more editing to do and I didn't want to post it until I had the third part finished, but then I have no idea what happened and this works I guess. Its been like,,,, a year and twenty three(?) Days since I've been active on here and then I just randomly dump this and probably disappear again...lol

Words without A/N: 2126

Masterlist 

<———————>

After a few minutes of awkward silence and an intense refusal to look at one another, the girl finally spoke, breaking whatever awkward spell had come over them.

"I, uh--sorry for, you know, trying to bash your head in–" she gazed down uncomfortably at the bat that still rested in the palm of her hand "–uhm, I'm making a meatloaf, and uncle Bill won't be back until tomorrow morning, somethin' bout paperwork, he said—and it always makes too much for either of us to eat, anyway, and it just usually ends up going to the chickens, and-and I don't like wastin' like that, and it looks like you might be hungry—not that I'm meanin' to assume, or anythin'—" the girl rambled, never once looking directly at him again, her hands moving through the air wildly throughout. He'd have found it rather endearing, had he been capable of understanding any of the emotions going through him at that moment.

After a moment of constant verbal vomit, it suddenly seemed like someone had hit the pause button on her. She froze in the middle of her little rant and flinched. Closing her eyes tightly, she shook her head like she was trying to get her thoughts together, and paused.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry," why was she constantly apologizing? "Uhm, what I'm trying to say is, uh, would you like to stay for dinner? I mean, you don't have to, of course, but, like, I dunno, like an 'I'm sorry for thinking you were a crazy murderer here to kill me and tried to bash your head in with a baseball bat' meatloaf?" Some odd, high-pitched, sighing "heh" sound escaped her throat as she finally glanced up at the teen, looking bashful and shy.

The boy's confusion only grew. He genuinely didn't think he'd been this continuously confused since he was little.

Words refused to come to mind, and all he could manage to do was stand there and gape awkwardly at the uncomfortable girl in front of him.

Another awkward silence started to grow as his brain still refused to function correctly. Thankfully, however, his body seemed to remember how to human, and he managed to nod dumbly at her, jaw still hanging slightly open, which drew a cute, quiet little giggle from the girl. Immediately brightening up at his approval, she stood a bit taller and smiled shortly at him, before nodding slightly, almost to herself.

"Alright, good, then, uh...you, uhm, make yourself comfortable or what have you, and I'll get started on it." She got shy again suddenly and looked away, gazing down at her boot-clad feet.

Daryl still could not manage to find his voice.

Again nodding dumbly, he watched as she uncomfortably glanced off into the distance, then about-faced and padded silently away, back towards the kitchen.

Way to make her even more uncomfortable. Good job, Dixon. You've already scared the shit out of her, it'll be a miracle if her uncle doesn't kick you out for good, now. Pathetic.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Daryl followed her into the kitchen. Standing beside the refrigerator and gawking at her again for a moment, he came to a sudden realization.

He'd been fixing the sink pipes before she'd shown up, and though he'd finished, he had left all of the tools he'd used just sitting there around the under-sink doors, and now she was squatting towards the ground to pick up his mess.

An odd flush of embarrassment moved through him suddenly, and he let out a rather loud "Oh!" before launching forward to pick the items up himself, "here, let me--'m sorry, lemme get those--" in his rush, he overshot a bit, and as he bent, he managed to knock his forehead into the girls, knocking the both of them onto their asses.

It was deathly silent for exactly two seconds (which lasted about an eternity for Daryl, who was having a mini mental breakdown over having smashed his head into a girl he'd already embarrassed himself in front of several times now (in the span of only a few minutes)) before young (name) broke into a sudden—and rather intense—bout of laughter. Wrapping her arms tightly around her midsection, she fell backwards against the counter, laughing hysterically with a lilt that *should not* have been so attractive to Daryl.

And, just as yawns are so dangerously contagious, her giggle seemed to be a quick-spreading plague, and now he was laughing heartily right along beside her.

It felt unreasonably good to laugh, he found. It had been quite a minute since he had actually found enough joy in something to do anything more than give off a small smirk. Laughing-till-your-belly-aches was a very welcome pain.

It was several minutes later until either finally calmed down enough to take a decent breath. However, the two met eyes, and suddenly they were off laughing again, curled up on the floor of her dusty old kitchen. Another few minutes later, and both were holding their gut and wiping tears from their eyes, wheezing with the exertion. They locked eyes once again, both still giggling slightly, and Daryl finally caught on to just how bright her eyes were, only just before the girl stood from her spot on the floor. Holding her hand out to the Dixon, she smiled cheerily down at him, looking thoroughly happy. He couldn't help but smile back, even if he hesitated slightly to reach for her hand.

The second their hands met, both characters knew they were going to enjoy the others company.

Standing to his full height, he looked down at the girl; her eyes seemed so alight with happiness, and he couldn't help but want to see that expression on her all the time, especially if he was the one putting that expression there.

-------------------------------------

"It's elk meat. We can't afford beef, and Uncle Bill likes to hunt. I hope that's okay," the bright eyed girl looked awkward again as she loaded a plate with fresh-out-of-the-oven meatloaf.

He smiled up at her, if it tasted as good as it smelled, then she'd have absolutely nothing to be concerned about.

"Smells amazin'," he whispered, trying not to break the atmosphere. In all honesty, he was starving. His snares hadn't caught anything the day before, and his father and Merle had eaten the rest of the squirrel stew he'd made the day before that, leaving nothing for him to eat but the grizzled bits at the bottom of the pan. And it had been a hot minute since the last time he'd eaten a hot, home cooked meal prepared so well. Probably since before his mom had fallen into the bottle, he mused.

She blushed lightly at his compliment, and moved to sit the plate in front of him and dish her own, mumbling a soft "thanks" while she worked. While she had been cooking the meat and mixing the batter, he had been leaned up against the counter and listening to her talk, only interjecting here and there when he felt he had something she might appreciate to add. He wasn't quite sure why, just yet, but he felt comfortable around the girl. More comfortable than he felt around the Sheriff, and he trusted him more than nearly anyone in the town. He couldn't explain the feeling in his chest, but he sure did notice it. Along with it, an uneasy, almost nauseous feeling that made him question himself was slowly building in his chest.

All throughout dinner they chatted aimlessly. Daryl went on a small tangent about the truck he'd been fixing up (something he thought was useless information that the girl probably didn't want to hear about -- she, however, found his ranting to be very cute, and the fact that he was so passionate about it to be highly aweing) and she about going to her new school. When she questioned whether she'd see him there, an embarrassed silence took over, and he had to fight to find words that wouldn't make him sound like a moron.

"I, uh...I don' make it in a whole lot...busy with...stuff, ya know?" He winced at his own words, finding himself to be incredibly stupid. But like hell was he going to tell her that his old man beat him so bad so regularly that he couldn't make it into school some days.

Surprisingly enough (to him, at least) she didn't get that hard, disgusted look on her face that told him that she was judging his choice. Instead, she simply smiled, her eyes still oh-so-bright.

"Well that's alright, school just isn't for everyone. If I had the choice, I'd drop out. I've never done well with the school curriculum, and people give me anxiety. Not a lot of people like me there, anyway. I'm too quiet, I guess. They think I'm weird."

Even though she smiled through the last bit, he could tell that it hurt her. He decided right there and then that he'd make it to as many school days as he could. Maybe then that sad little ghost in her eyes wouldn't be so clear.

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

Several hours had passed, and the two were still chatting amiably. Daryl stood beside (Name) at the sink while she washed dishes, handing them over to him to dry and put away.

"No no no, that cupboard over *there*, with the crack in the paint. Yes, that one, thank you," she smiled at him over her shoulder.

"So," (Name) started, drying off her hands on a towel as she stepped closer to him, having finished the last of the dishes "Do you wanna stay for a movie or anything? We've got a couple new VHS's from the new blockbuster down the street from the pizza place that I've been kinda wanting to see."

And that's how the two ended up curled up on the couch watching "The Aristocats" like it was a slumber party.

(Name) and Daryl were sitting rather close, sharing a green blanket that was softer than Daryl knew was possible, that (Name) said she'd gotten from her Uncle as a "welcome to bumbfuck, america" (his words) gift when she'd first moved in. Her little giggles at whatever was happening on the screen was far more entertaining to the redneck boy than the actual movie. The heat she was giving off just from sitting that close to him was almost intoxicating, and he found himself constantly forcing his body back over to his side after he'd caught himself starting to lean into her subconsciously.

As the night carried on, both of them found it harder and harder to keep their eyes open, and eventually, (name) began to doze off, leaning into Daryl exactly how he had previously wanted to lean into her. Her head rested softly against his chest (which he immediately felt guilty for, his shirt was covered in grime and dirt) and, having nowhere else to really put it, he ended up gently wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Though he would never admit it, it felt really good to the touch-starved boy to feel her body heat. Something about it was addicting, and he found himself dozing in and out, aswell. He could stay...it's not like his father knew where he was, and he definitely didn't care. But would it be worth his anger tomorrow? Would the old drunk even notice his absence? She probably didn't even want him there, anyway, she was just being polite. It's not like he's good company. He smells like grease and he talks weird and he's probably got bad breath, and his hair is messy and greasy with sweat. Eventually, against that cruel voice in his heads wishes, he lost the battle against his own brain, and fell asleep with a crick in his neck, and everything inside of him happy and warm.

He slept amazingly well that night, curled up with this girl he barely knew. And when he woke the next morning (without a hint of lasting-over fear from some nightmare he'd had in the night, as he usually did) and gazed down at the sleeping bundle of messy hair in his arms, he was surprisingly less awkward than anyone could expect.

Slipping out from under her head as gently as he possibly could, he laid her so her head was supported by the arm of the couch, and gazed at her for a moment. She really was pretty, he decided. Turning, he grabbed his shoes and headed for the door, glancing back at her one last time as he eased the door open and slid through, locking it behind him.

He would definitely be going to school a bit more often.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x reader fluff #daryl dixon x reader angst #young!daryl dixon x reader #pre apocalypse daryl x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #kinda cute #softly barely a whisper

[thewalkingfanfictions]

A Second Masterlist Cause the First One Was Rushed and I Don’t Like the Way It Looks

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

x Male!reader = Reader uses he/him pronouns ~ x Fem!reader = Reader uses she/her pronouns ~ x Reader = Reader uses they/them pronouns

anything with ** after the title is a potential trigger warning, which will be described more thoroughly in the A/N of the fic itself.

You can find the original masterlist here, though I won’t be updating it like I will be with this one: Masterlist

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

Supernatural:

Sam Winchester~

Teddy Bears and Memories -- (Sam Winchester x Male!reader)**

---(Name) and his little sister are partnering with the Winchester brothers on a case. Everything's fine and dandy, they've already killed the creature and are hanging out at the motel for the night, when Maddie ((names) little sister) decides to pull a prank on her brother, resulting in aggressive flashbacks, intense PTSD, and a moose ready to comfort a crying friend. {4382 ish words}

I’m Not Gay -- (Sam Winchester x Male!reader) // Part One // Part Two ** //

---Forced out of his motel room by his sister when she and a stranger burst through the door playing tonsil hockey, (Name) decides to go for walk, where he runs into Sam; tall, handsome, smart, and no, (Name) definitely doesn’t like guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about. {5994 ish words}

Dean Winchester~

Revolving Doors -- (Dean Winchester x Child!reader)

---At sixteen, (name) has finally found the father she had heard so much about, but never met. Finding him in a bar somewhere, (name) decides to confront him. The big question is, though: Will Dean even want her? {2369 ish words}

The Walking Dead:

Daryl Dixon~   

Softly, Barely a Whisper -- (Pre Apocalypse Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader) // Part One // Part Two // Part Three // **

---(name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar to hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue. {3242 ish words}  

Home -- (Pre Apocalypse Daryl Dixon x Reader) **

---Daryl shows up on the readers doorstep, bloody, hurt, and a wee bit drunk. The reader takes care of him and some cute shit happens {3019 ish words}

Crossbow-Wielding Men and Fireside Feasts -- (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

---Wandering alone through the Blue Ridge Mountains, Daryl Finds the reader fighting a tree to try and keep their fire alive, and has to decide if it's safe to help them, or if they could pose a threat. {1085 ish words}

Criminal Minds:

Dr. Spencer Reid~

Decimal 70.4: The Fawn -- (Dr. Spencer Reid x genderqueer!OC)

---Spencer just wanted to grab a few books from his local library on the way home, instead he found a fawn sitting in his favorite spot, reading his favorite books. {2013 ish words}

Impromptu Cuddles -- (Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader) // Part One // Part Two // Part Three // **

---During a case, Spencer and the reader are forced to share a room with only one bed. Cute fluffy shit happens. {6590 ish words}

Marvel:

Steve Rogers (Captain America)~

Relax -- (Steve Rogers x Reader)

---Steve comes back from a bad mission, and the reader (with powers similar to Jasper from Twilight) has to help him relax. {1942 ish words}

TMNT:

Raphael Hamato~

Anger-Fueled Sympathy -- (Raph x Fem!reader) **

---Raph is out blowing off steam on a usual big-city night, when he comes across something very not-so-nice between a father and a daughter. {2185 ish words}

Harry Potter:

Drarry~

Scarrs and Kisses and Lemon-Scented Skin -- (Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter) **

--- Draco finds Harry hiding in the quidditch locker room and finally decides to act on the feelings he’s been hiding since the two first met. Light lime ensues. {2492 ish words.}

#Supernatural #Sam Winchester #The Walking Dead #Daryl Dixon #Criminal Minds #Dr. Spencer Reid #Marve #steve rogers #Captain America #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #Raphael Hamato #Harry Potter #Drarry #Masterlist

[thewalkingfanfictions]

About Softly, Barely a Whisper

I’ll be posting the next parts of it as soon as I can. My dumb ass somehow managed to delete the rest of it, and now I had to rewrite it, but its not as good as it was before, and I just can’t settle for it, and just ugh. So, anyway, I’ll hopefully have those up by the end of the week, but I suck, so absolutely no promises. x

#softly barely a whisper #not a oneshot

[thewalkingfanfictions]

I’m Not Gay -- Sam Winchester x Male!reader (part two)

I'm Not Gay — Sam Winchester x male!hunter!reader

Part One / Part Two

Description: Forced out of his motel room by his sister when she and a stranger burst through the door playing tongue wars, (Name) decides to go for walk, where he runs into Sam, tall, handsome, smart, and no, (Name) definitely doesn’t like guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Warning: Some internalized homophobia, references to sex, and some cussing. Supernatural-themed gore and violence (they fight vampires)

Genre: Fluff, I guess? A bit of angst in there somewhere probably, too, since I have no self control. Can “dat gay shit” be a genre?

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

A/N: I hate this. So fucking much. I am, however, willing to write a part three with somma dat gay smut, if y’all want. I won't do it if no one says anything, though, so someone better comment. This is a threat.

Words without A/N: 2342

Masterlist

<—————————————>

The two of us crept through the old, neglected house. It was big, two stories with several rooms on each floor, and crawling with vamps.

Looking at Lidia over my shoulder, she motioned that she was going to go north, and waved me the other direction. Taking off as silently as I could, it wasn't long until I ran into the first group. How they hadn't noticed me yet, I guess we'll never know.

Creeping closer, I got within a few feet before the group of three tensed up and turned towards where I stood. Baring their teeth, two of them launched while the third took off through a doorway. Coward.

Dispatching them was easy enough, and I was quickly on to another room, leaving a stack of bodiless heads behind me. The next rooms were much of the same: alternating between empty bedrooms, to ones with two or three vamps chilling together, the job was simple enough. It wasn't until the very last room on my side of the building that I ran into trouble.

Seven, all together, and they already knew I was there. The one from the first room who had run when I showed up was standing beside them.

Fourteen bloodthirsty eyes glaring down at me, they slowly began surrounding where I stood. My heart beat in my ears, and I strengthened my hold on my machete, trying to form a plan. I should work on the big ones first, as they could pose a larger threat--but I should really save the bigger ones for after, so I can focus more of my energy on them--but at the same time, the smaller four could be more trouble than the big ones, they are more, and they are probably faster--or I could just focus on whoever came at me first--but what if they all launch at the same time? Am I really overthinking this right now?

Fuck it.

One of the smaller ones came forward to glare at me, sharp, disgusting teeth on display as she inched ever closer. As she got within reaching distance, she opened her mouth to say something--only to be cut off by my blade disconnecting her head from the rest of her. Her body fell to the floor like a...well, like a body, and all was silent for a moment, before the rest of them launched. Slicing and dodging and trying not to die was becoming increasingly more difficult as all six of the rest fought for a piece of me. I felt the side of my face light with a sting as one of them struck out and hit me, just before my blade cut through their flesh, hands grabbed me from behind, and I swung back as hard as I could, listening to the "shlingt" of the blade cutting through its neck. Before I could move to swing again, another body was grabbing me from behind and pulling me back, turing in their grip to swing again, my wrist was caught in their fist, making me look up at my opponents face.

Familiar, smokey-honey eyes surrounded by locks of fluffy brown hair graced my vision, and my breath caught in my throat at being so close to that perfect face.

"Sam?"

He pushed me behind him and went to work on a vamp that was right behind me, hacking its head off before turning to me with a bashful smile.

"Heh, uh, hey? Fancy seeing you here," a cheeky smile lit up his face as he turned back to the fight. My heart did an odd little "per-thump" as I gazed at his muscled body (now clad in a red and white flannel that did wonders for his shoulders (not that I would, uh, notice that.)) Shaking those very-not-me thoughts out of my head, I launched back into the fight beside him.

I knew there was something familiar about his room.

It wasn't long till we had dispatched all but one. The thing launched at Sam, who had at some point in the battle lost his own machete. He dodged gracefully around the vampires outstretched claws, and managed to get ahold of him from behind, holding the beasts arms behind its back and looking up at me. Well would you look at that. It was the same asshole who'd run away before and warned the others.

"(Name)!"

Wasting absolutely no time, I stepped forward and beheaded the thing, splattering blood onto Sam's face in the process. Good riddance.

Dropping the blood suckers body to the ground, Sam stepped over it, and walked towards me without so much as a second glance at the thing. A worried look came over his face as he moved closer, and his hand reached out to trace a thumb over the side of my face. Hissing, I couldn't help but flinch back at the sudden pain that erupted under his fingertips. My own hand flew to my face on reflex, coming away sticky with blood.

Apparently the thing that punched me earlier got me a bit more than I'd realized.

"You're hurt. We should get back and clean you up before you get infected, you might've gotten vamp blood in it."

His hand carefully traced over it again, this time taking care not to hurt me, and his eyes shone with his concern for me. It was kind of sweet, actually. We only met, like, less than twenty four hours ago.

"I knew there was something familiar about you," I mumbled, gazing up into his eyes, which silently questioned me in return. "Your room. The pre-packed bags, and the half-drank coffee next to the pile of papers and the laptop. It looked a painful lot like what my room usually looks like before a hunt," I smiled.

He grinned back at me, gaze dropping a bit lower than my eyes for a half a moment before darting back up. Licking his bottom lip, (an action I definitely didn't gawk at) he opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by someone loudly clearing their throat.

We both flinched away from each other, and it was only then that I realized just how close we had been standing, and that his hand had still been rested gently against the side of my bleeding face. Turning quickly towards the interruption, I locked eyes with my sister, who stood beside the larger figure of her bedmate from the night before, both smirking and gazing at us knowingly. I felt an ugly blush crawling its way towards my ears.

"Uh-uh-I-uhm-hey--hi-ah-uhm--" Sam stumbled from a few paces away from me, looking far more like a human-lobster hybrid than he had a moment before.

An ugly snort came out of my sister at that, and her smirk only grew as she looked between the two of us, looking like she was trying to refrain from saying something that I would most definitely punch her for. I wonder how hard it would be to dig a grave her height by myself.

"Shut up."

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

The ride back to the hotel was literal hell.

Lidia waited exactly six seconds (I counted) after we were both safely in the car and following the brothers' Impala down the road before she started interrogating me, that stupid smile still clinging to her face.

I've never wanted to punch her more.

I didn't know my face was capable of turning that red.

I was out of the car practically before it had even stopped rolling, and back in the hotel room before anybody else had even gotten out of their rigs. I could feel eyes on me the entire time, and hear my sisters uncontrolled laughter even through the closed car doors. I made sure I was already in the shower before she could get up to the room to bother me any more.

The water was nice, one of the best I'd had in a hotel, actually, and that is definitely the only reason I was in there for as long as I was. Yup. The only reason. It had nothing to do with avoiding my womb mate, and absolutely nothing to do with the thoughts going through my head about a certain 6-foot-something brunette.

After a good solid hour of wasting hot water, I finally decided it was probably time to get out. I'm sure Lidia wants to wash off too. Good luck with the few drops of hot water that I left you, punk. Drying off my hair and pulling on the baggy sweats and a tee-shirt that was way too big on me that I had thankfully remembered to grab from my bag before I rushed in here, I opened the door enough to peek out.

Of course, because it's only my luck, I got a nice side view of Dean with his tongue down my sisters throat.

Apparently they heard my exaggerated gagging sounds, because they split off and looked towards the bathroom door, eyes lust-drunk and lips red and swollen. Gross.

"Oh, don't act like you're not jealous, (nickname)," Lidia chided sassily, before rolling her eyes dramatically. "If you were in there any longer, we woulda started fucking, instead of being the polite person that I am and waiting for you to leave first."

I cringed at the thought of having to see that again, and flipped her off, before grabbing up a book and heading for the door as quickly as I could, listening to the two of them chuckling at me as I went.

“Loser.”

“Punk.”

"Your boyfriends waiting for you over in our room again, (name)!" I heard Dean say just before the two of them erupted into aggressive kissy noises, "(Name) and Sa'am, sitting in a tre--" the door slammed closed behind me.

Children. They are both complete children.

I found myself standing in front of the brothers door without even realizing I'd started walking yet, and I was knocking before I had the chance to try and compose myself. Fuck you, muscle memory.

The door opened before I'd even finished knocking, like Sam had just been sitting on the other side and waiting for someone to get there. His face flushed as we locked eyes, and I think he realized how it came across, too. I smiled at his cute ass dimples before my eyes dropped to take in the rest of him. Grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips (I'm not drooling, you are) and a plain white tee that had to be a good two sizes too small (holy mother of pecs). I probably stood there for a solid minute before realizing that it was really kinda weird for a totally heterosexual man to be staring like I was, and promptly looked away, clearing my throat and blushing stupidly once again.

His earthy chuckle was enough to break me out of my stupidity.

"Uh, so, uhm, uh--" I cleared my throat again, trying to reel my mind back into my body and refusing to look at him "Our siblings were dangerously close to fucking again and I really didn't wanna have to see that again, and I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you like last night but I totally get if you say no and I'lljustgofindsomewhereelsetogoI'msorryI'llleave--" I was half way through turning away when I felt him grab ahold of my arm, and pull me back towards him, his laugh cutting through the aggressive amount of self-loathing that was rushing through my system at the moment.

"Its okay, please don't go, Dean said to expect you over while he was there."

I paused for a second and stared at him, dumbfounded. He's a fucking angel.

Blushing stupidly, I nodded and followed behind him as he turned and swept his arm as an invitation to follow him inside. I stepped through the doorway, very aware that his hand still rested on my arm, and moved to sit on the bed when he pointed to it.

"Your face is still kinda busted up, I've got a first aid kit in here somewhere, let me help you," I was opening my mouth to protest when he turned and gave me a playful glare, like he already knew what I was going to say.

Soon enough, he was kneeling in front of me, one large hand resting on my shoulder while the other tilted my head to look at the cuts and the forming bruise. I couldn't look away from his kaleidoscope eyes.

Smearing some cold cream on my face (which I assumed was Neosporin, that's what it smelled like, anyway) I flinched slightly, which made him move both hands up to my head to hold me in place. Letting go for a split second, he reached for a bandage and moved back to cupping my face, and gently laid it over the split in my cheek. Being this close to him, smelling his freshly washed leather-and-old-book scent, I was practically drooling. It took far more restraint than it should have to not lean into the weirdly-soft hand that was cradling my cheek so gently.

Soon enough, he was done patching up my cheek, and looked up from his work. When our eyes connected, it was very much like the first time they had last night. I never wanted to look away. I don't exactly know when we started leaning in, but at some point we had. My eyes closed of their own accord, just a fraction of a second before his peachy lips were on mine. It was really just a peck, and far too soon he was pulling away from me, looking nervous. Before he had the chance to ruin the moment, or I had the chance to chicken out, I reached up and grabbed a handful of his shirt, and pulled him right back to me.

One of my hands found its way into his hair, the other still clinging to his shirt, terrified of him disappearing from my grasp. His hips found their way between my knees, where I still sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my body closer by the small of my back. By the time the both of us were too out of breath to continue, and he had to pull away, I was already far too lost to his hands.

Okay, so...Maybe I am a little bit gay.

                                                          fin

#Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x male reader #Sam Winchester crack fic #Supernatural #Dean Winchester #Male reader #this is literal trash #I'm Not Gay

[thewalkingfanfictions]

I’m Not Gay -- Sam Winchester x Male!reader

I'm Not Gay — Sam Winchester x male!hunter!reader

Part One / Part Two

Description: Forced out of his motel room by his sister when she and a stranger burst through the door playing tongue wars, (Name) decides to go for walk, where he runs into Sam, tall, handsome, smart, and no, (Name) definitely doesn’t like guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Warning: Some internalized homophobia, references to sex, and some cussing. Supernatural-themed gore and violence (they fight vampires)

Genre: Fluff, I guess? A bit of angst in there somewhere probably, too, since I have no self control.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

A/N: I have no idea what the fuck this is. This is such a crack fic. Reader has a sister named Lidia, for reasons that I do not know.

Words without A/N: 2483

Masterlist

<———————>

"You sure you don't wanna come with, (name)?"

"No, Lidia, I'm just gonna stay here and research. 'Sides, socializing is for psychopaths."

Lidia (Last name); ninety-three pounds of redheaded sarcasm, anger issues, and badassery. Also my sister, senior to me by four years ("and three months, (name)!") Also, also, a total extrovert with a thing for trying to force her introverted little brother to socialize. Disgusting.

"C'mon, (nickname), you need to get laid! I could totally find you a pretty, butch boy and—"

"Lidia, for the last time, I'm not gay!"

For the last several years, my darling, amazing, delightful (taste the sarcasm?) big sis has been living under the (totally unfounded) belief that I am a homosexual. I don't know where she seems to have gotten that notion, as I am not. (Summer camp doesn't count, dammit!)

"Mhm, keep tellin' yourself that, lil' bro. But, fine, if you won't come with me–" she dramatically picked herself up from the seat where she'd been fancying up her makeup–"I guess I'll just have to go without you. How terrible, little old me, scared and alone, walking down the road after dark without someone to protect me," she pouted.

"Oh, ha ha, very funny. We both know you could kick anyone who tried to bother you's ass without even looking."

Giggling, she picked up her bag (and a few blades) and turned towards the door. Looking back at me one more time, she gave me a middle-fingered salute before about-facing and heading through to the outside.

"See ya later, loser," she called back before the door closed all the way.

Even though she was already gone, I still mumbled a quiet "punk" under my breath after her, before setting off to start my research.

————

Three hours, several coffee refills, a few dead ends, and one (minor) mental break down later, I was really no closer to finding the thing we were hunting, and there was a crash outside the hotel door.

Lidia had been out for a while, there was a chance it was just her returning from whatever bar she had gone to, shit faced and unable to walk correctly, therefore knocking something into the door or the like, or, my least favorite option, it was something supernatural or other here to kill me.

Moving to grab a gun, I silently stalk towards the window beside the door. There's a few more dull thuds on the door, and some odd, wounded-animal type noise comes through the wood. Cautiously, I move the curtain a few centimeters, just enough to peer through without being spotted.

There, pushed up against the door, is my sister, some idiot attached to her at the lips, with hands going places I'd rather not think about when it comes to my sibling.

Grimacing, I turn around, shove my gun into the waistline of my jeans, and move to quickly grab my laptop and a few books. Maybe if I hurry I can get out of here before they actually start fucking, this time.

Hurrying towards it, the door suddenly opens, and in spills a very shirtless (and totally not attractive, what?) man, and my sister, who was now working on pulling her bra off. They shuffle towards one of the beds, and somewhere in the back if my head I register that its my bed that they're going towards as I awkwardly move around them, trying not to alert them of my presence. I didn't wanna deal with that conversation again.

Finally getting all the way to the door, I carefully pulled it open as not to bother the two, and backed out of the doorway. Glancing up, I got a full view of Lidia's tit before I managed to actually get out of the door.

I quietly closed the door, making sure that the click of the hinges was quiet enough that it wouldn't disturb the couple inside.

Pausing for a second, I couldn't help the dramatic shiver that rattled my body.

"That is-- that is far more of her than I ever needed to see," I winced.

Turning to go find a place to settle down while my sister and the stranger... did their thing, I came face-to-face with a brick wall. Well, more face-to-chest, actually, and brick wall wasn't quite right, I guess. He was closer to a tank. Even at the few paces away from me that he stood, he still seemed incredibly tall. Long-ish brown hair curled around his ears, and his face was undoubtedly attractive. A small smile (that I definitely did not find adorable, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm totally, definitely, one hundred percent straight) tugged at full lips and his eyes stared down at me questioningly. I could feel an ugly blush climbing up my neck.

"Uh– heh, uhm, my, my– uh my–" my awkward stuttering was cut off when the man huffed a small laugh, and spoke.

"You must be the brother."

...

"Heh?" His smile only broadened at my perplexed stare and he took a few steps closer to me. I couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated by the guy's humongous stature, though his face seemed innocent and kind enough. Still, in my line of work, you can never be too careful. I instinctively felt my hand reach for the gun still hidden in my waistband.

"In, uh, in there," he pointed lightly at the door I'd just come out of, "my brother, he's the one with your sister. She was talking about a brother at her motel, I, uh, I guess that'd be you," he finished off, trailing out slightly as he realized he had nothing more to say. It was his turn to blush.

I let myself relax slightly, I didn't think he was so much of a threat anymore.

Smiling slightly, I couldn't not let my eyes glance over him.

Uh, in as purely heterosexual way, obviously.

His shoulders were stupidly broad, and under his denim coat I was sure there had to lay muscle. Before, when I said he was tall, I don't think you really got the full picture. The awning thing that came off the front of the hotel to protect anyone on the sidewalk was probably your standard seven foot high roof; this guys head was only a few inches under it. He was huge. His face was young, but had a whisper behind it that said that he'd seen some things someone his age generally didn't. The dimples on either side of that blindingly bright smile made him just so much more attractive, and I couldn't not find him cute. (Once again, in a totally hetero way, I'm really, definitely, completely Not Gay.)

Figuring that I couldn't stand there and gawk any longer without coming off as creepy, I finally spoke up.

"Uh, yeah, Lidia. And your brother. That was–" I shuddered slightly, "–that was a sight I never needed to see."

He chuckled slightly and took a few steps closer to me. I was still a bit wary, but I let him come closer without pulling a gun on him, anyway.

"Yeah, no, it's not pleasant. He's done the same thing to me before."

I blanched up at him (damn, he really is tall) and thought to the scene that was unraveling right inside the door. Didn't he say he was his brother? I mean, to each your own, but damn—

"No! No, not—" he cut off my train of thought, growing redder by the second. He took a few more steps forward until he was right in front of me, holding his hands up in surrender. "I mean— I meant barging into the room with a partner while I was still there like that, not-not that he's—not that he's done, done that—" I cut him off, wanting to end the poor babbling disasters misery.

Cracking a smile, I laugh gently at him and reach out to touch his arm and make him pause.

"Oh-oh, its okay, calm down man, I getcha, I getch—"

MOAN

My sisters pleasured voice cut me off and made me freeze up, my face burning red.

"Nope, nope, nopety nope nope nope, can we please go anywhere else and continue this conversation? Literally anywhere, oh my fuck, oh my—" I started walking before he could say anything, not wanting to have to suffer through another sound like that.

He chuckled again as I passed him and quickly caught up to me, reaching out to gently grab my arm before I got to far.

"My, uh– we could hang out in my room for a while. 'Till they're, ya know, done," he grimaced and nodded his head towards the room to the direct right of ours. He hadn't seemed dangerous so far, so I mean, why not?

I nodded hesitantly and let the man lead me into the room, noting the fact that his hand didn't leave my arm until the very last second.

He let me in first and closed the door softly behind us. I have never been so thankful that these walls were thicker than any other motel's walls in existence. If I focused hard enough, I could almost imagine that the faint moaning was just sound coming from the little box TV.

The room was set up pretty much the same as ours. The same, mildewy wallpaper, two twin sized mattresses on either side of the room with the same pale comforter tucked around a paper pillow. A few littler things did stick out to me, though. The pre packed buggout bags sitting right at the end of both beds, the laptop that sat on the bedside table with a bunch of papers laying haphazardly around it, a half-drank coffee cup sitting beside it. The scene seemed oddly familiar.

"My, uh," the man's voice cut off my searching eyes, "my name's Sam, by the way. I don't think I said that before." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and I definitely didn't find it cute. At all. Nope.

Sam. It fit him. I like it.

Smiling up at him, (and totally not noticing how his frame would almost take up the entire door frame that he stood beside) I opened my mouth to respond, only to be cut off again by a crash from the room next door and an even louder moan. I grimaced, the awkwardly smiled up at him once again.

"I'm (name), it's, uh, it's nice to meet ya?" How do people socialize again?

"Uh, yeah, nice to meet you, too." Well that's reassuring, at least he seems just about as nervous as I am.

He stepped forward a bit and awkwardly held his hand out to me, which I accepted with a small, close-lipped smile. The moment our skin made contact, I genuinely didn't want to let go. The warmth of his overly-large hand was intoxicating, and his touch made me oddly giddy.

Looking up into his eyes, I found, was a total mistake. A stunning mixture of smokey hazel and green, small flecks of honey dotted his iris'. His eyes seemed so deep. Seemed so much older than they really were, once again, like he'd seen far more in his life than an average man his age could ever claim. Not to be dramatic or anything, but he was absolutely captivating.

I don't really know how long we sat there and stared at each other, but by the time I finally realized how weird it probably was, and forced myself to look away, I was starting to feel a bit light headed. Let's blame that on lack of sleep and an excess of coffee, and not on whatever was causing my stomach to flutter so dangerously as it was.

"Heh," I looked down towards our feet, my face flushing dramatically. I'm sure by now I'm about as red as a baboons ass, and only flushing redder as I realized that he was still holding my hand.

"Uh-uhm, so, uh, Sam--" I stuttered pathetically, focussing on the hand that still held mine until he awkwardly let go. "--what, uh, what do you do for a living?"

And so the night kicked off just like that. Soon enough, we were both sat cross legged on the bed, sharing stories (all the ones that I could think of that didn't involve murder or monsters) and trading memories. I learned that he had planned to be a lawyer, and was almost done with his course when some unmentioned family drama popped up, and he had to take a sudden leave. I found out that he traveled for work with his brother (a sentence that seemed suspiciously familiar) and that he loved to read. He told me how his girlfriend had died in some terrible house fire only a few months before (my heart definitely didn't freeze up at the fact that he had a girlfriend, shut up) and that he still had nightmares about her. We talked for hours, and, unlike with most people, I never once got bored of it.

I really don't know how long we sat there and chatted, but, by the time the doorframe to the room was vomiting up a sweaty and slightly-drunk older brother, my eyes had started to sag with exhaustion.

"Wa-Sam-Who's this?" Dean (Sam had spoken of him frequently over the evening) slurred slightly, gazing at me with an almost accusatory look. Before I had the chance to respond, Sam was already up and talking, standing between us almost protectively.

"(Name). He's, uh, he's the little brother of the girl you...were with, tonight." He seemed uncertain at exactly what he was saying, but he got the point across.

Being as he was still standing guard in front of me like he was (why on earth was he doing that?), Dean had to lean around him to look at me, which made Sam fidget nervously, for some reason.

"Dean--"

"(Name), you should probably be headed back, it's getting kinda late and I'm sure your sisters wondering where you're at," Dean cut his brother off, leaning further around Sam to look at me. Not gonna lie, he kinda scared me. Standing, I moved to grab the things I'd escaped the room with earlier, and headed for the door, turning back to beckon Sam a good night, I caught sight of them staring at eachother like they were having a silent argument, and just darted out the door, instead of saying anything. Maybe we'd meet again one day.

The air was cold, and it had gotten very dark in the time that I was hidden away in the room with Sam. I walked briskly back to my own room, opened the door with my key, and hesitantly poked my head in, not wanting to wake my sister if she'd fallen asleep.

"So there  you are, (nickname), out getting some dick, were you?"

Ugh.

#Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x male reader #Sam Winchester: a bi icon #Sam Winchester fanfic #Supernatural #fluff #I'm Not Gay

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Revolving Doors -- Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Revolving Doors — Dean Winchester x daughter!reader

Description: At sixteen, (name) has finally found the father she had heard so much about, but never met. Finding him in a bar somewhere, (name) decides to confront him. The big question is, though: Will Dean even want her?

⚠Warning⚠: nothing really, some swearing and mentions of a dead family member

Genre: some angst, some fluff, some hurt/comfort

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Daughter!reader

A/N: I was maladaptive daydreaming and this popped up on the recommended page in my brain, so, here, have this trash. Also, your moms name is Melinda for some reason, I'm too lazy to go change it now. I might end up making this a series if y’all want me too. If you do, feel free to drop some suggestions for some sort of plot for this.

Words without A/N: 2369

Masterlist

<———————>

I could see him now from across the bar. Tannish hair ruffled in that intentionally messy look, a charming smile perpetually on his face as he spoke to the pretty bartender. He was the exact picture of what my mother had described.

I always thought I would be able to know who he was if I ever got to lay eyes on him, and now that I was, I knew I was right. 

My hands trembled and my legs felt like jello as I approached where he sat, a two-seated table towards the back of the dimly lit bar, his back always to the wall, nursing a beer and watching the crowd with intense interest. I wonder if he'll recognise me as I have him? Not that there's really any way he should be able to; he doesn't even know I exist.

Before I can even take a breath to calm myself down, I'm standing in front of him, and gazing at him nervously, his eyes—a perfect mirror of my own—gazing up at me with a startled and curious expression. Words piled up in my throat, and suddenly the thought of talking to this man was much more terrifying of a thought than it had any right to be.

You're not backing out now, (name) you've waited your entire life for this moment.

Swallowing thickly, I clenched my eyes closed for a second before musturing up all the courage that I could, and forcing my voice to come through.

"You, uhm–" great first impression (name), good job "–are you Dean? D-Dean Winchester?"

His eyes widened slightly, and he took on a far more guarded expression. 

"I might be, that depends on who you are."

My entire body flooded with TV static as a wave of anxiety came over me. I needed this to go right, I needed to make a good impression. If I failed...

"Can, u-uhm, can I take a seat?" I gestured lamely at the empty seat on the other side of the table from him. If I stood much longer, I feared I'd faint.

At his hesitant nod, I smiled uncomfortably and moved to sit down. Taking another second to compose myself, I opened my mouth to speak, only to be cut off by his demanding voice.

"Who are you?" It sounded less like a question, and far more like a threat.

Shaking the anxiety out of my head, I opened my mouth and forced my voice to function yet again.

"Sixteen, uh, sixteen years ago, you met a woman named Melinda (last name) in a bar a lot like this one, in (home town, state), do you-uhm-do you remember her?"

This is such a stupid idea, why am I doing this? He probably wants nothing to do with me, this is a terrible idea.

His confused expression answered the question easily enough. 

"I- uh–" pulling the crumpled piece of photo paper from my pocket, I tried my best to flatten it out, and locked eyes with my mother for a fraction of a moment before pulling my eyes away and reaching across the table to hand it to him. "Her, d'you–do you recognise her?"

He looked at me questioningly beneath his brow before looking down to study the photo, his face scrunching up in concentration. After a second, he glanced back up at me, mouth quirked in a slight smirk, eyes glistening.

"Yeah, yeah I recognise her. Melinda, heh, yeah," he smiled fondly down at the photo cradled in his hands before locking eyes with me, "we spent a few wild nights together on my twenty-first, she was hot. That still doesn't answer my question, though. Who're you?" 

Ew. 

"My name is (Name) (Last name), and Melinda was my mother."

...

...

Complete silence. His eyes were wide as he stared at me with an unreadable expression.

"I-I'm, um, I turned sixteen years old a few days ago, and uh, I figured I'd try and find you." He still wasn't saying a word, and the more uncomfortable I got, the more I talked. "She talked about you a lot the last few months of her life, and, uh, I dunno, I just thought maybe I could f-find you, y'know... She, uh, she got a bad brain tumor, and uhm, she, uh, she—" I could feel myself starting to tear up slightly, so I looked away from him, and somehow managed to make eye contact with an extremely tall stranger with criminally pretty hair, who was looking worriedly over at us, and slowly walking in our direction.

"So...uhm...yeah..." he still hadn't responded, just continued to look at me with that unidentifiable expression, which actually started to concern me. "Are you okay?" I waved my hand in front of his face, and when he still had no response, I started to think maybe I'd given him a heart attack or something. Suddenly, the big man from earlier was there by Deans shoulder.

"Whats going on here?"

"I—" well, at least he was starting to say something.

"Dean?"

Growing more and more uncomfortable with the second, I finally came to my senses and realized what I had feared would be the truth all along. 

He didn't want me.

Obviously he wouldn't. Why would he? I was just too childish to see it originally.

Bowing my head for a second to try and push back the tears, I smiled up at the two of them and stood from my chair. 

"Al-alright, uhm... I-I'll leave you be, the-n," my voice cracked sharply.

Turning on my heel, I hurried towards the exit, the entire time feeling my father's eyes boring into the back of my skull.

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

"—and Melinda was my mother—" my head rang with the words. There's no way.

A kid. I had a kid. There's just no way.

I don't know how long I sat there and stared, but I could see the kid, my kid, growing uncomfortable in my silence. How was I supposed to handle this information? I thought I'd been over this with Ben and Lisa, I wasn't cut out to be a father! I'm not good enough for that, I'd just end up getting her killed.

My kid was talking again, but I couldn't focus enough to hear exactly what she was saying. Sixteen a few days ago? The last few months of her life—bad brain tumor—talked about you—and then her hand was in front of my face, trying to snap me out of it, and then there was a hand on my shoulder, and Sam's voice above my head.

I have a kid? I have a fucking kid, I—

And then she was leaving, looking at me with teary eyes, standing up, and leaving, and I wasn't stopping her. Why wasn't I stopping her? 

"Dean!" Sam was right in front of my face now, shaking at my shoulder and looking at me with worried eyes.

I have a kid. I have a fucking kid.

"I have a kid. The–that– she's my–that...I have a kid!" I watched Sam's eyes widen and he quickly whipped his head towards where she had gone, and was no longer in sight.

The more I thought about it, the more believable it became. Her face was covered in minute freckles, and her eyes were the same shade as mine, bright enough that I could see them even in the darkened bar. Her hair was the same color as Melinda's, I realized, as I gazed down at the photo that still sat in my hands. Brain tumor, something about a brain tumor, and a few months before dying, and... and that means that the kids alone. I-I have a child, and her mom is dead, and she's alone. My-my kid's alone. (Name). 

With energy I didn't realize I had, I bolted up from my seat, knocking it back against the wooden floor, clenched the picture in my hand, and took off towards the exit. 

I refuse to be the same kind of dad as mine was, I don't want to leave her to take care of herself. I can't. But I don't know the first thing about taking care of kids—though she's obviously plenty capable of taking care of herself, if she traveled all the way from (Hometown) to here by herself just to find me. Oh, god, she had to travel all the way from (Hometown) to here by herself just to find me! And–what did she say? Just turned sixteen? God, you're already a shit parent and you haven't even gotten the chance to parent her, you're just gonna fuck her up more than she must already be, having a deadbeat dad like you.

"Wait!" I shouted into the cold air of the night as I burst my way through the bars front doors, though the green-eyed girl was nowhere to be seen. I could feel Sam right behind me as I took off at a jog, looking up and down the street in search of her. She couldn't have gotten that far, right? 

Back to our left, down an alleyway beside the bar, we heard a commotion. Just some mumbled shouting and scuffling about in the trash, but it was loud enough to make an odd sort of anxiety sink its yellowing claws into my chest. Rushing closer, I came to realize that that anxiety had good reason.

A man, no larger than me, but definitely bigger than her, with his arm against her chest and a blade in his hand.

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

I threw myself through the doors as quickly as I could, I didn't want to be near him a second longer. 

I knew from mom's description that he was a traveler, that he never stayed in one place for long, and that I shouldn't be surprised if he wanted nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help but hurt from it. Fifteen years of wondering, fifteen years of begging mom to just give me one more detail, fifteen years of missing something I never had. I finally get to meet him, and what? I get my god damn heart broken. I get turned away like a stray dog.

Wiping the tears from my eyes in fury, I barely registered when I walked down the wrong alley. I do, however, take notice of the blade being shoved in my face and the cold concrete wall slamming into my back as I'm pushed against it.

"Gimme yer moneh," the man holding the knife slurred, his breath reeking of beef and alcohol.

It took me a good few seconds to understand what was going on.

"Gimme yer goddamn money, I said!" His arm shoved me harder into the wall, knife coming dangerously close to my throat.

"I-I-I-I don't have any, I swear! I'm sorry, I-I don't have any money," I tried to stall as I reached for the mace hidden in my jacket pocket.

"Yer lyin'! Jus' gimme yer—" before I can get ahold of the mace, he's cut off by someone's hand pulling him away from me. A hand that just so happened to be connected to the Dean Winchester. Ripping the drunk guy away from me, he moved to stand in between us, and immediately gave the guy a solid right hook to the jaw, knocking him out immediately (and rather anticlimactically). Kicking the discarded weapon away from the unconscious man, he turned to look at me, his eyes wide with what looked like concern.

His features softened as he looked at me, and he took a quick few steps forward, hand stretched out in front of him, before I jerked back away from him. Taking notice of my hesitance, he stopped moving all together, and a weather-worn look of pain flashed across his face.

"You're bleeding," he said simply, hand once again reaching out towards me, begging me to let him help.

Raising one hand, I drug it across my chin, collecting a palmful of blood and eliciting a hiss from my throat. The bastard cut me! This bitch!

"Listen, I..." he started, "We've got a place not too far from here, I can patch you up and we can try and talk things out, okay?" He spoke, looking almost...afraid? Ashamed?

"Why do you want to help me?" My voice was supposed to sound fiery and demanding, but instead it came out almost too quiet, and shaking with nerves, and sounded absolutely nothing like me.

His eyes widened, and he glanced over at the tall guy guy again, I assume his lover or friend.

"If you really...If you really are my ki-id, then I'm not about to let you walk around hurt like that."

I stared at him for a second, entire body still shaking with adrenaline and fear. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe I'd read him wrong?

I could at least give him a chance, I thought to myself.

Hesitantly, I reached my hand out and grabbed a hold of his outstretched arm, causing a small smile to appear at the edges of his mouth.

He pulled me forward gently, and leaned back to get a good look at me, probably to see if the drunken bastard had hurt me anywhere else, before glancing back up to the cut along the side of my jaw. He reached out towards it again, this time much slower, and when I didn't pull away, he traced his thumb along the gash and winced slightly, the crows feet around his eyes deepening with concern.

"Sammy, go get Baby." His voice was quiet, matching the tone of the moment.

I turned to look at this "Sammy" just as he was beginning to turn sway, and we locked eyes for the second time that evening. Giving me a soft smile and a nod, his long body took off bad towards the bar.

"Here," Dean's voice pulled me back. In his hand, he held a handkerchief and put it up to the cut, which I winced away from on instinct. Taking the rag from his grip, I held it to my face myself, and gave him a shy smile before glancing away. I never had been exceptionally good at meeting new people, even if said new person happens to be my long lost father.

"So... I have a kid..."

#dean winchester #sam winchester #dean has a kid he doesn't know about #dad!dean #unkle!sam #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x nonbinary reader #dean winchester x child reader #sam winchester x child reader #dean x reader #supernatural #Revolving Doors

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Crossbow Wielding Men and Fireside Feasts -- Daryl Dixon x Reader

Crossbow Wielding Men and Fireside Feasts — Daryl Dixon x non gender specific!reader

Description: Daryl and the reader meet in the woods, the reader offers him food and shelter for the night.

⚠Warning⚠: some cursing

Genre: no I fucking dea

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x non gender specific!reader

A/N: I have no idea what the fuck this is. I wrote it at two am while standing next to a fire after just tearing apart a tree limb for fuel, and my want for Daryl to just pop up and offer to do it for me made me want to write. So, here. Have this trash. (Also, the thing about the dog is just cause I love my pupper doggo and she's getting old and I wanted to incorporate her into a story somehow.)

Words without A/N: 1085

Masterlist

<————————>

The bark of the tree limbs cut into my palms harshly as I broke smaller fingers from the branch. I had no doubt that, had it been a few months ago, my hands would've been bleeding by now; but the however-long since the end of the world has strengthened them into tough callouses.

Loud cracks threatened the dense silence of the night air as I broke limbs off of the fallen branches for my fire, and I held a slight fear that one of the monsters that now ran our world might hear the sound and come a' running. Not that I couldn't fend for myself, but I really didn't need—nor want—to deal with that right now. Though there probably isn't many up here, I'd wager. There was a reason I traveled this high up into the mountains. There wasn't enough food up here for them to stay occupied; I found they tended to herd towards where the biggest populous was. Hence the reason I hid here, in the middle of the Blue Ridge mountains.

The fire crackled dully behind me, and I knew if I didn't get some wood on there soon, I'd I've to fight to get it started up again. I didn't want to deal with that, either. So, fighting a bit harder, I pulled a few more small branches off of the big one that I'd drug to my temporary camp a while earlier.

Other than my old dog, McKay, I haven't been around another living soul in months. I think, I don't know, time has moved different since the shit hit the fan. I'd gotten used to the emptiness of the air with just two minds inhabiting it. That's probably why it was so clearly evident that we weren't alone anymore when he entered the atmosphere.

I never would have known there was another body near had it not been for the feeling of his eyes, had I not felt the sudden charge in the air. He didn't make a sound as he approached, his footsteps didn't make so much as a crackle as he stepped over fallen branches and dried pine needles. I probably wouldn't have even been able to hear him breath.

I felt the tickle of eyes on the back of my neck only a second before I dropped the branch and reached for my gun.

Spinning towards him, (though I didn't know it was a him at the time) I pulled the silencer-protected pistol from my thigh holster and immediately aimed it at the intruders skull.

Only to be met by the tip of a bolt loaded in a large crossbow.

This new guy and I make eye contact from the couple dozen or so yards away that he stood from me, and neither of us break the contact for several silent moments.

His eyes are a brilliant blue, honestly pretty as fuck, and, though his face is hard and emotionless, his eyes spoke a thousand words. The pain behind those brilliant blue orbs is almost agonizing just to look at.

Though neither of us said a word, it felt like we were holding our own little conversation.

You won't shoot me if I won't shoot you?

Agreed.

The both of us slowly lowered our weapons at the same time, continuing to hold eye contact. We both expected the other to suddenly pull a 180 and pull our weapon back up.

After another moment of silent staring, we both nodded in unison and I turned my back to him to go back to tearing at my branch victim. It was no easier than it was before mystery-man showed up. I was only struggling with it for a moment, however, before I hear crossbow dude clear his throat from behind me. Whipping around, he's standing only a few feet behind me (how did he move that fast?) with a small hatchet in hand.

My immediate instinct is "fuck, he's gonna make me into kindling" but somehow I knew that wasn't his plan. Backing away from the branch, he quickly moved forward to start hacking at it.

Muscled armed worked under a use-thinned shirt, and he was tearing the branch into fireplace-sized pieces as if it were nothing. I couldn't help but stand there and oggle for a moment or two, at least until it came to mind how fucking creepy that is, and I forced myself to move away from him.

He'd probably be hungry, right? There wasn't much to kill around here 'cept the squirrels, and they weren't much to feast on, and I had a spare bit of hare and venison I was more than willing to share.

Popping open the passenger door of my pickup truck, I pushed the seat forward and pulled an old, beat up ice chest from behind. It wasn't much, and it wouldn't keep things cold for long, but I always packed it full of river-water filled water bottles to keep it chilled at the very least.

I pulled out what was left of the jerky from the last deer I'd been able to find, and the hind quarters of a jackrabbit I had skinned the night before, popped the lid back closed, and moved around to the bed of the truck. I had a nice bed made up under the canopy, alongside my toolbox and some other supplies, and what I had found on my trip into the town that was now sixty or so miles behind me.

McKay lifted her houry head up from her pillow to look at me as I rummaged around for a couple of pokers to cook the rabbit with, and I patted her tired hip as I moved to go back to the camp. She was an old gal, and she had been my best friend since I was just a little kid.

Back next to the fire, the new guy was busy forcing a couple of thinner branches into the now-roaring fire, and turned to look at me as I approached. I appreciate your caution, human-that-I-don't-know-the-name-of.

Nodding to him, I toss a packet of the jerky over to him, which he catches easily from the air, looks at, and then nods in thanks back to me. Handing him a rabbit thigh that I had skewered with the stick, I moved to sit on a stump beside the crackling fire. Watching as he did the same, I turned my eyes to the heavens to gaze at the stars.

I'd always been told to help a person in need if I had the means to give. I'd like to hope that that mindset could be used in this between-life, too.

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #Daryl Dixon x non gender specific!reader #x Reader #This is an actual piece of garbage #just ignore it #blah #i am human trash #Crossbow Wielding Men and Fireside Feasts #what the fuck is that title

[thewalkingfanfictions]

I just wanted to let you know that I am OBSESSED with your Daryl imagines, and just your writing all together. Like an unhealthy obsession lol. I just love how you write him, and even how you write the reader. It is easy to get lost in your writing, and you make such good reads I honestly could sit here all day and read your stuff and rant about it. Just wanted to let you know that your writing is amazing and something I much appreciate! I hope you get more recognition, you deserve it!!!!!!

First of all, I'm sorry it took me so long to respond, I literally could not think of words to respond with when I first read this.

Secondly, thank you so much! It makes me so happy to think that someone might be enjoying my middle-of-the-night-rant writing; reading what you said actually brought me to tears. This made me so happy, you've no idea.

Thank you so much for this, and I hope you have an absolutely fabulous day, wherever you are, lovely.

I freaking adore you ❤

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Masterlist

Teddy Bears and Memories (Sam Winchester x Male!reader)

---(Name) and his little sister are partnering with the Winchester brothers on a case. Everything's fine and dandy, they've already killed the creature and are hanging out at the motel for the night, when Maddie ((names) little sister) decides to pull a prank on her brother, resulting in aggressive flashbacks, intense PTSD, and a moose ready to comfort a crying friend. {4382 ish words}

Drarry Lime Thing (Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter)

--- Draco finds Harry hiding in the quidditch locker room and finally decides to act on the feelings he’s been hiding since the two first met. Light lime ensues. {2492 ish words.}

Softly, Barely a Whisper (Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader) // part one // part two // part three//

---(name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar to hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue. {3242 ish words}

Home (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

---Daryl shows up on the readers doorstep, bloody, hurt, and a wee bit drunk. The reader takes care of him and some cute shit happens {3019 ish words}

Anger-Fueled Sympathy (TMNT Raph x Fem!Reader)

---Raph is out blowing off steam on a usual big-city night, when he comes across something very not-so-nice between a father and a daughter. {2185 ish words}

Decimal 70.4 The Fawn (Dr. Spencer Reid x Genderqueer!OC)

---Spencer just wanted to grab a few books from his local library on the way home, instead he found a fawn sitting in his favorite spot, reading his favorite books. {2013 ish words}

Impromptu Cuddles (Dr. Spencer Reid x non gender specific!Reader) // Part One // Part Two // Part Three//

---During a case, Spencer and the reader are forced to share a room with only one bed. Cute fluffy shit happens. {6590 ish words}

Relax (Steve Rogers x Non gender specific!Reader)

---Steve comes back from a bad mission, and the reader (with powers similar to Jasper from Twilight) has to help him relax. {1942 ish words}

@oneweirdbean here ya go, I finally made it.

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Teddy Bears and Memories -- Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

Teddy Bears and Memories — Sam Winchester x Male!reader

Description: (name) and his little sister are partnering with the Winchester brothers on a case. Everything's fine and dandy, they've already killed the creature and are hanging out at the motel for the night, when Maddie ((names) sister) decides to pull a prank on her brother, resulting in aggressive flashbacks, intense PTSD and a moose ready to comfort a crying friend.

⚠Warning⚠: IF YOU GET TRIGGERED EASILY, DO NOT READ THIS. This deals with descriptions of rape, (though I tried to keep it vague) PTSD, flashbacks, and a kinda sorta mental breakdown. Cursing, grammar errors, and also quite a lot of negative and toxic thoughts.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Sam Winchester x sexually abused!male!reader

A/N: this is... kinda awful. Like, it made me cold reading this. Seriously don't read it if you get triggered easily. Also, the first, like, quarter, I wrote in a huge hurry, so ignore how trash it is. And its kinda writen shitily, but whatever.

Words without A/N: 4382

Masterlist

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"You gotta watch this," it was my sister. I would recognize her voice anywhere, even though she was whispering and clearly trying to keep me from hearing her. "He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

I wonder who she's dragging with her this time.

Deciding to let her continue to think she was sneaking up on me, I kept quiet and never moved my eyes from the lore book that I'd been studying for the past half hour. Though the case was over now, I still figured it would be a good idea to learn as much as I could about the Leeds' Devil, that way I'd know how to deal with it if we ever ran into another.

I could hear her creeping up on me, thinking I still didn't know she was there. There was another pair of footsteps with her. One of the brothers, no doubt.

It was quiet for just half a second, and I figured she'd be popping up in just a moment to try and jump scare me or something. You know, typical younger sibling style.

"He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

Wait.

Wait.

There was a quiet, girlish giggle, and I'm sure my eyes grew double their size as I figured out exactly what she was doing.

I flung my head to the side to see if she was going to do the thing I thought she was going to do (and desperately hoped she wasn't going to do), and immediately choked on air.

Tiny, beady eyes set high on soft brown fur. Little, round ears on top of a fluffy head.

No.

Rancid, green breath, so-brown-they're-almost-black eyes, sticky fingers touching places they should never be allowed to touch. Bookshelves full of teddy bears looking down on me with empty eyes and sown-on smiles.

I felt my entire body seize up, and before I could make myself come back down to earth, I was hurling the book in my hands at the furry little demon-bear in my little sisters hands and rolling off of the bed and to the floor. Flight-or-fight reflexes kicking in, I shoved myself back to my feet and fled towards the doorway. Away from the sound of heavy breathing and old-people BO that suddenly overwhelmed me.

And then it was in front of me, too.

Maddie, with that little ball of fluff and nightmare fuel in her hands, had darted ahead of me, between me and the only exit from the hotel room.

No.

Callased, rough hands, man-handeling me and shoving me onto my knees. Cold cuffs digging into my small wrists. Boiling breath ghosting over my too-cold skin. Hundreds of eyes staring at me from the shelves around us, none willing to help.

Fucking no.

Fighting past the urge to break into tears, I swatted the thing away from me, and (maybe a little too harshly) shoved my sister out of the way of the door.

"(Name)?" She called, like she didn't know what she was doing to me.

I locked eyes with someone for half a second, Sam, I think before I was out the door and down the sidewalk, towards my (favorite color) Chevrolet.

I heard Maddie call out for me one more time before the car door slammed closed, and I was taking off parallel to the sunset.

Before I even left the parking lot, I clicked on the radio and turned it up to its max volume. If I couldn't hear myself think, then I couldn't see the little black, beetly-like eyes boring into me as my youth died.

I don't exactly know how long I was driving, but somehow I found myself parked at a view point above the town, and the sky was now completely black, not even a hint of the sunset that had shined what felt like just a moment ago.

There were no lights to pollute the darkness of the sky, and the stars shown more brightly than I'd seen in a very long time. Shutting off the Chevrolet's engine, I pulled myself out of the door, and drug my body atop it's hood to look up at the sky. It's amazing how little I'd payed attention to how gorgeous the stars could be before now.

I settled back into the windshield and exhaled, forcing myself not to think for once. It only felt like moments, but it had to have been at least an hour I had sat there, and my arms were beginning to grow goosebumps from the cold. Wrapping them around me, I continued to study the sky; I didn't want to have to go back to the real world just yet.

Emotions were hard. They're difficult to understand, and even more difficult to explain. But something I had realized, I'm not entirely sure when, was that you can suffer from more than one emotion at a time, and that made life so, so much worse. Because, right now, I felt incredibly heavy. I was mourning the death of an innocence I never had the chance to get to know, and I felt completely devastated. Wrecked to my very core. But, underneath all of that, some stupid, small bubble of something resembling happiness, a feeling that had absolutely no right to be present now, grew just under my ribcage, and weaseled its way passed the smog of memories as the gravel behind me shifted with the wheels of a car, and the purring of the Impala's engine broke the relative quiet of the night.

I doubted it was Dean, he's never been very good at emotions, and it was definitely not my sibling, she knew to leave me alone when I needed quiet. That left Sam, and the thought of seeing the ridiculously tall man made my insides flutter cliché-ly.

I closed my eyes and followed the sound of the drivers side door opening, his feet planting on the pine needle-layden gravel. The soft close of the door, his steps growing, ever, nearer. Soon enough he was right by the drivers side of my car, and I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face. I knew he had questions, but I just wasn't ready to tell.

"(Name)?" His voice was quiet, gentle. Barely a whisper. Like if he spoke to loudly he might shatter me like glass.

"Hey, you okay?" His steps were now right beside me, I could almost feel the warmth fluttering off of him.

'Not even a little.'

I nodded in response, not really trusting my voice to work without breaking. Finally opening my eyes, I refused to look over at him, instead opting to stare up at Ursa and her cub.

"Your sister," he started. Here we go. "She's worried about you. When you didn't pick up your cell, she was afraid something'd happened to you."

"Something did," I wanted to say. I wanted to scream, rant, and sob. But, of course, "I'm fine" was what passed my lips instead. The words sounded fake, even to my own ears.

I heard him sigh as he leaned closer, settling his hip against the hood of the car and staring down at me. I clenched my eyes closed; this is usually right around the time that someone would start asking questions with answers I didn't want to think about, or comment something snide about my stupid, irrational fear.

That bubble of happiness at his being there shrank.

"What do you want?" I asked, barely loud enough to be heard. I didn't care if I sounded rude.

It was silent for a second, like he was debating his answer, or just didn't have one.

"I," he paused, "I guess I just want to help you," his tone matched mine. "I saw the look in your eyes, (name), I know whatever it is, it's more than just a fear. I want to help you."

I was actually, truly speechless for once. He sounded so sincere, it was more than even my sister had expressed. Not that she'd ever actually shown any concern, she just thought it was funny that her big bro was terrified of teddy bears.

I couldn't tell him, of course, he'd just think me even weaker than he probably already assumed after seeing me have a meltdown over a fucking stuffed carnival toy. I shook my head.

"I'm fine."

"(Name)," he trailed off, his voice somehow even softer than it was before.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs just to get it off of my chest. It's a secret I've held since I was barely fourteen. Nobody knew, and I needed it to stay that way, but desperately wanted the pressure to come off of my chest. I don't know how much longer I can keep my silence.

I trusted him, that was never a problem. I trusted him with my life, and I knew he'd never hurt me with the knowledge, but it was still a huge risk. What if Maddie ever found out? I'd be devastated. She didn't need to know how pathetic her big brother was.

I felt words bubble up in my throat without my consent, spilling from my lips like molten rock.

"If," I started, clearing my throat to hide the break in my voice, "if I, uh, if I were to tell you somethin', would you promise me that you'll never tell another soul?" I sounded nothing like myself, even to me. "You can't...my sister can't ever know. She's-she's-she... she wouldn't understand." My voice was barely above a whisper, and cracked on every other note.

"Of-of course!" Sam said earnestly, moving to sit atop the hood beside me. I could see his hand move to grasp my shoulder, but pulled back at the last minute, afraid to touch me lest I break. I didn't blame him.

"Promise?"

I turned my head to look at him and wrapped my arms tighter around my body; whether it was to ward off the cold, or the oncoming pain, I didn't even know.

"Of course, (name), I wouldn't tell anybody, I promise."

Only after searching his eyes for his honesty did I let myself relax some. I trusted that he'd keep his word.

He looked slightly uncomfortable with the way his lanky frame was leant over the edge of the cars hood, like he was stuck on the fence between moving to comfort me and giving me my space. I sarcastically rolled my eyes, scooting over enough for him to climb on more comfortably. He warily pushed himself further up, then lay on his back to look up at the stars like I was. I finally turned my gaze away from him and focused back on the night sky.

They really were pretty out here.

"When I was," I gulped and paused. Not even the person I trusted the most in this world knew; I still can't grasp why I'm about to do what I'm about to do. Maybe it was the bubbling in my gut that told me that he'd understand, maybe I was just weak, maybe I just didn't want to be the only one with this secret anymore.

I made myself start again.

"When I was about fourteen, I was on a hunt with my father. There had been multiple disappearances of children around this one little area in Minnesota, and we had gone to check it out. It was terrible. The youngest kid was nine, and the oldest was fifteen and they'd all disappeared without a trace. No signs of struggle, no witnesses, nothing. Just, poof," I moved my hands to mimic an explosion, for some reason, "and they were gone.

"The local authorities believed it was a person kidnapping them, dad thought it was something else, understandably. Most of the evidence pointed towards something less-than normal. For once, the popo's were right." I laughed ruefully at myself, biting my tongue to keep the whimper that threatened to fight its way up my throat from escaping.

"I don't know how it happened," I cleared my throat and continued. "I don't remember getting split up from dad, I don't remember hi-him grabbing me, I don't even remember the drive there, but when I woke up, I," I choked, pulling my arms closer around me and trying in vain to hold back the burning in my eyes.

"I, uhm, I was," I tried again, with no more luck than before. Strong arms hesitantly wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm side and gently petting my hair. I cleared my throat again.

"I was completely naked, tie-tied to a bench in a room with shelves from floor to ceiling completely," I choked on my words again, turning to bury myself into Sam's chest. I could still see the room if I closed my eyes. "entirely covered in, in, in, those things. Teddy bears. Their beady little black eyes looking down at me as I struggled against the ropes. I was so-so helpless, I couldn't move, or scream, or-or-or–" he pulled me tighter into him, his hand playing in the strands of my hair. I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out, trying to calm myself.

Why couldn't I just stop talking? He didn't want to hear any of this. I'm just annoying him, he'd rather be back at the warm motel with a book and slightly more mentally stable people. And yet I keep going.

"He... he raped me, Sammy, he fucking raped me and all of those teddy bears sat there with their beady little black eyes staring at me." I felt him tense against me, somehow pulling me even closer still. A small, ragged gasp came from the man. "Nobody found me for three days. He had raped and beaten and-and-and hurt me for three fucking days before he tried to take me out to kill me and dump my body, and dad found us. Three fu-fucking days," I was all but sobbing at this point, clinging on to him as I saw the walls covered in children's toys closing in on me. If I let my mind wander, I could still feel his hands groping me. I felt so small.

"(Name)," Sam shuddered against me, gently petting my shoulder as he held my quaking body. "(Name), I had no idea, I'm so–"

"Don't say you're sorry. Please don't say you're sorry. It's not like its somehow your fault. It sounds like pity, and I don't want your pity," I ground out into his warm chest, not letting go of him.

I didn't need anyone's pity, and I sure as hell didn't want anyone's pity. I felt him nod his head above me, before his long body turned on the hood of the car, and he pulled me tightly into his chest as the rest of him curled around my shaking frame.

I couldn't quite tell if the pressure in my chest was good or not.

I'm not sure how long we sat like that, cuddled on the hood of my car, but eventually, once my sobs subsided and I was brought back into the real world for a minute, I came to realize quite how cold it had gotten. It was still only March, and the nights were still cold, and the goosebumps told me I needed to get inside and get warm, but my mind wanted to stay there for just a bit longer. I didn't want to have to let go of the warmth and comfort that billowed off of Sam like hot air, and I don't think I could have forced myself to let go even if I wanted to. So, in all reality, it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise when I felt my sleep-heavy body being picked up off of the cold metal of my Chevy.

"Sam?" My voice was low and hoarse from spending so long choked full of emotion, and I felt a little jolt of embarrassment run over my body.

Looking up, I could see it was him, but he didn't say a word, simply shooting a soft smile at me before looking back up to watch where he was walking. Not having the energy to try and determine what was going on, I buried my face in his chest and let my body relax farther in his grip. It was only when I felt him open a door that I looked up. Gently setting me in the passenger seat of his brothers Impala, he threw his coat over me before smiling again. Reaching out hesitantly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the side of my face, an action which I immediately found myself leaning into. His brows squinted tightly like he was thinking hard about something. Without even thinking about it, I reached out and smoothed the wrinkles between his brows with the pad of my thumb.

Locking eyes, I finally took notice to just how gorgeous his iris' were. Green and brown and hazel and gold swirling together like liquid fire. Said eyes darted away suddenly, and I somehow knew he was looking at my lips. Mine darted down to his for a moment as well.

I wanted that. Gol, I wanted that.

He leaned forward slightly, and I actually thought he would go for it. He drug his bottom lip between his teeth in debate before moving his eyes to focus somewhere behind my head and stood back up.

Fucking really?

Smiling down at me again, this time making it look almost sad, he tucked the jacket he had previously thrown over my body around me tighter. As he stood and moved himself around to the other side of the car to get in, my gaze tracked him all the way.

He didn't look at me as he started the car and shifted into gear, and the profile of his face held worry. Had I done something wrong somehow? He probably thinks you're weak for what you told him.

As he pulled away from the view point, I watched the back end of my car get farther and farther away.

"My car..." I whispered pitifully, I didn't want to leave it. I didn't actually think Sam had heard me, but evidently, he did.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow. It'll be safe 'till then."

And then he went quiet again. How did I manage to fuck this up, too?

Biting my lip, I curled in on myself, cuddled Sam's jacket to my chest, and let the purr of the engine lul me to sleep.

This time when I woke up in his arms, I made a point of keeping my eyes closed and my breathing steady. We were through the doors before I realized where we were.

The hotel smelled just the same as it had before. Beer nuts, sex, and mothballs. It certainly didn't help the painful rolling in my stomach.

I'd managed to ruin this relationship, too. How was I so good at that? I shouldn't have told him, he didn't need to hear, didn't want to hear. Now he thinks I'm some pathetic little wimp who couldn't so much as protect himself from a human. You fuck everything up, (name).

Somewhere in the back of my self-piteous mind, I was vaguely aware of someone speaking.

The more I tuned in, the more I wished I hadn't.

"—uck happened!? Is he okay?! What'd you do!" Came the accusational voice of my little sister.

Of course she'd have to see you like this. Pathetic. Now she'll surely think as badly of you as Sam does. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you at least try not to break something for more than ten seconds?

"He's fine," rumbled Sam's voice from beneath my ear, "just tired. He fell asleep on the way here. Just– just leave him to himself for a bit, okay? He's had a rough night."

His tone was somber. His tone conveyed sadness and sadness meant pity and pity meant uncomfortable glances and tense silence and hesitant avoidance of touching. Of course you had to fuck up one of the only good things going for you. Good fucking job. Pathetic.

He was moving again (or maybe he'd never stopped in the first place) and I immediately felt the drop in temperature as he walked with me through the joint door to him and his brothers room. Dean must have been out somewhere, as I didn't hear his voice or feel his stare.

There was a bit more shuffling as he carried me to the bed, and I just don't understand how his arms aren't tired out yet. Soon, he's gently setting me down on the bed, and I'm so grateful that I'd managed to keep myself passing as asleep, because I don't know if I could handle the awkward not-conversation that was sure to follow.

I follow the sound of his feet leaving the room, and wait for the soft closing of the door before I let myself fall apart again. I put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs and curl into myself, wrapping one arm around my chest to try and hold off the pressure that's filling my ribcage.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Are you really crying right now?

You're such a pussy.

Why did you have to tell him that shit? 

Now he thinks you're even more of a quivering quim than he thought before.

You can't go a day without destroying at least one relationship, can you?

How sad.

I don't really know how long I sat there and cried pathetically into my fist, but at some point my sobs turned to cries, which morphed into sniffles, and eventually evened into silent, hot, tears.

I was almost fading off again when I heard the door open again.

The hunter side of me wanted to immediately reach for a gun, but the realistic side of me told me that it was just one of the Winchester's coming to grab something from the room, or maybe Sam coming to check on me. Hah. Funny. However, when I felt the bed dip beside me, I couldn't help but tense up and open my eyes.

They were on the other side of my body, my back was to them. I was just on the verge of flipping around and sucker punching whoever it was, when a sudden, soft heat draped over me. A blanket.

Somehow, I knew it was Sammy.

For few quiet moments, we sat in companionable silence. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, though I couldn't quite tell if it was the judging glare that I expected or not. After a good couple of minutes, I felt the bed shift again as he stood up, and I thought I heard him mumble something under his breath as he did, but I couldn't quite make out his words.

I immediately missed his presence as he moved back towards the door.

Why had I said anything in the first place? He didn't care, he didn't need to care. He probably feels so uncomfortable now. I probably made him so uncomfortable hugging him like I did, crying into his shirt. He probably hates me.

As the door cracked open, I found myself sitting up suddenly, "I'm sorry," I blurted.

He paused in the doorway, and turned to look back at me. I immediately averted my gaze, instead choosing to stare at his boots as I wiped my face of any remaining tears.

"I'm sorry," this time it was softer, a bit more broken.

The door clicked closed, and he was walking back towards me. Seating himself at the edge of the mattress, close enough that I knew he was there, but far enough away that he wasn't making me uncomfortable, he reached out and gently held one of my hands in both of his large ones. I guess he probably expected me to look up at him at that point, but I couldn't make myself look him in the eye, knowing that I'd only see that godawful pity, or worse, he'd see the tears that still threatened my eyes.

It wasn't until his hands left mine, and traveled up to my face that I looked at him, and was met with an expression I definitely wasn't expecting. His eyes were so, so soft. His face not full of pity, as I'd expected, but instead, some gentle version of understanding. A caring, almost loving look came to him as he wiped away the tear that managed to escape, soothing the red tenderness that came from the last however-long of crying.

As if he knew what I had been thinking a few moments before, his face again morphed expressions. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips, and he shook his head softly, "you aren't that at all," I could almost hear him say, though his lips never parted for the words.

His eyes once again glanced down, and, once again, I imediately knew he was looking at my lips. He leaned forward slightly, as he had in the Impala, but this time, instead of pulling away, he chose to look further into my eyes, like he was seeking permission.

A small nod, a painfully slow movement, soft, warm lips pressed gently against mine.

I sighed contentedly and leaned farther into him. The kiss was but a close-lipped peck, really, but somehow it spoke more than I'm sure a full kiss would have.

After a moment, he pulled away, thumbs grazing slightly at my cheekbones, and I found that I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes once again, but this time, for an entirely different reason.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Dean Winchester walked into his and his brothers shared room, only to find said brother's long body curled up tightly beside (name)'s.

A quiet "finally" echoed through the air as the eldest brother turned back and left the room, deciding he could handle sleeping on the couch in the other room if it meant his brother could have at least one good night of rest.

                                                   *fin*

#Sam Winchester #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester x Male reader #Sam Winchester x Male reader angst #Sam Winchester x male reader hurt/comfort #Sam Winchester x reader angst #Sam Winchester x reader hurt/comfort #Reader needs a hug #abused reader #victim reader #Sam comforting reader #angst to fluff #this is just kinda really sad #rape trigger warning #Teddy Bears and Memories

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Scarrs and Kisses and Lemon-Scented Skin -- Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter

Drarry Lime Thing — Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter (post Battle of Hogwarts)

Description: Draco finds Harry hiding in the quidditch locker room and finally decides to act on the feelings he's been hiding since the two first met. Light lime ensues.

⚠Warning⚠: kinda-sorta suggestion to past abuse and self harm, two repressed queers making out in a locker room like a couple horny teens, there's probably a curse or two. Spelling/grammar errors.

Genre: Lime. Pure, gay, angsty lime.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter (post Battle of Hogwarts)

A/N: I wrote this forever ago with the intent of writing an actual beginning to it, but obviously I never did that cause I'm a lazy bitch, so enjoy that weird ass beginning. This is set post war, and imagine that that one scene in the last movie (that was cut for some goat-fucking reason) (this scene) actually happened. Have fun with my sin, children.

Word count without A/N: 2492

Masterlist

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— So that's why, as he loped down the walk towards who-knows-where, Draco jumped slightly at the sound of the two's voices. He would not be exposed to that conversation again.

Making a quick about-turn, Draco sprinted down a different path, one that brought him closer to the quidditch quart than he would like to have been, the place didn't exactly hold happy memories for the boy. But, the two witches were still behind him, and coming closer every moment he waited.

And so, as a last ditch effort to avoid a confrontation with the two, Draco ran straight towards the closest changing rooms he could see. He didn't realize until a moment later that it was not only not the Slytherin rooms, but, infact, the Gryffindor ones instead.

And he wasn't alone.

"Merlin..." Draco whispered, gazing heavily at the back of one shirtless Harry Potter. His shoulders, rippling with gentle muscle, seemed even thinner in the murky light of the room, smaller, and weaker, and more attractive than the Chosen One should ever be. Continuing his silent gawking (as Harry had yet to notice his rivals presence) Draco began to notice more things about the boys body that would elseways be ignored.

How the skin hugged his ribs a little too tightly for his liking, how the muscles at the base of his spine rippled deliciously with every small movement. And, on a more disturbing note, the criss-crossing of thin scars that covered his entire back. Ones ranging between thin, sharp-edged lines, to thicker ones with pinkish discoloration, that still looked as though they might hurt even now that they were only scar tissue.

The sight caused an uncomfortable twist in Draco's heart, one that hurt him to the point that he thought he would rather have spoken to the witches.

But not quite.

"Merlin," he mumbled again, this time unintentionally louder, loud enough to warn the scarred boy of someone else's presence.

Twisting quickly around, wand now in hand, Harry Potter aimed the weapon at the intruder. Quickly realizing that it was the boy he dubbed to be his enemy, Harry began to prepare a spell in his head.

He didn't want to hurt Draco as he had before, with the spell he didn't know in the bathrooms, he hadn't meant to hurt him that badly then, either. In all honesty, he didn't want to hurt the ex-death eater at all. He had shown his reluctance to be on the side he was on during the war with the things he had done to help Harry, as small as they seemed to be.

When he witnessed Harry and the others being drug into his Manor, injured, bleeding, and hexed, he hadn't told the truth of who Harry was. He could have easily gotten the boy killed then and there, but he didn't, he helped him stay alive so that he could escape later, and save the wizarding world from that genocidal maniac. He ran back to Harry when he saw that he had not died as they all thought during the Battle of Hogwarts. He spoke of how he was forced into becoming a Death Eater by his father and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and had never intended on going against Harry Potter and the rest of the wizarding world at all.

But he was here now, and Harry knew that he had seen the things that Harry had successfully kept hidden all of his school career. The scars that layered the boys back had stories, stories that he would rather not think about, let alone let anyone else learn about.

Coming back to reality now, Harry came to a realization.

Draco hadn't even moved to reach for his wand, hadn't even tried. And his face, his face didn't hold the mask of anger and a sneer as it nearly always did. Now it only held sincerity, a look that seemed so foreign on the boy, it almost seemed unreal. His sharp, pale features were dimmed down to a gentle visual caress, and his body seemed so much less tense than it usually was.

He actually seemed... gentle, for once...

Slowly, Harry began to lower his wand, though he still kept it held tightly in his hand. Making an effort to harden his features, the boy with the scar that everyone in the wizarding world knew about, and the many that nobody knew of, spoke, his voice uncharacteristically broken and vulnerable.

"What do you want Malfoy. Didn't you know that it's considered rude to walk in on someone when they're changing? I ought to hex you right now actually."

Though his voice held no real threat in it, Draco was still slightly fearful. The boy knew that he was already walking on thin ice with the ministry, and the school. One more fight –especially one with the boy he had been accused of trying to kill– would surely get him kicked from Hogwarts forever. Possibly even thrown in Azkaban with his father, a shiver ran down his spine at that thought. If he ever had to see that man again, it would be to soon.

But the look in the dark haired boys eyes, it was enough to make him want to brave the hell that the wizarding prison would be, if only it meant that he could reverse all of the pain that the smaller boy had been forced to endure through all of his short life. The vulnerability in his eyes, it made Draco wish to do nothing less than hold the boy in his arms and tell him that everything would be okay.

Of course, as much as he hated it, he was still bred and born a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't do things like that. So he did nothing but hold up his hands in surrender and show a small, and what he hopped was a reassuring, smile.

"Hey there, Potter, you know you don't want to do that. And I mean you no harm, of course. No, I was simply trying to avoid a pair of banshees, and stumbled into here for refuge. Its not my fault that you're still here, didn't practice end two hours ago?" The boy internally chuckled at his jab at one of Harry's best friends, and her girlfriend.

It had, Harry knew, ended a good two and a half hours ago. However, Dean had stayed behind for a rather long time to converse with Harry, and he hadn't wanted to change infront of him, as he hadn't wanted the scars on his back to be known about by anyone other than their creator, and their wearer. Of course, that was over with now, as now his rival had seen them. At that thought, Harry reached behind him to grab for his shirt that lay just behind him, and attempted to pull it over his head with only one arm, the other still clutching onto his wand like a lifeline.

Still struggling to find the hole that his head was supposed to fit through, he heard a small chuckle from the other side of the room, echoing around the space of the building almost menacingly. An awful blush suddenly crept up Harry's neck. Oh, how miserable.

Without warning, a pair of cold fingers were suddenly against the skin of his abdomen, following the waistline of his shirt and helping to tug it down for Harry, who, immediately at the contact, became a blushing statue. Arms still thrown akimbo over his head, Harry held perfectly still as the boy he had nearly killed only a year back helped him dress after seeing him nearly half naked.

Finally, several struggling moments later, Harry's messy hair popped from the neck hole of the shirt, shortly followed by the rest of the boys head.

His face, much to Dracos delight, was flushed heavily, but seemed almost contented.

Standing this close to Harry, close enough to see the details on the boys face that otherwise he would never be able to see, Draco couldn't bear to make himself move. His hands still sat on Harry's waist, where he had just helped pull the rest of his shirt down to cover the scars that he was obviously ashamed of.

Their bodies, now close enough to touch, both began to heat up slightly, both boys hearts began to pound at an unnaturally heavy pace, but neither one looked away from the others eyes, and neither boy pushed the other away.

A small, content smile came across Draco's face as he looked into the others, his eyes were much greener than he had thought, almost the same color as the jade stones that speckled the ground all across the campus, but, there was something else, too. As much as it fascinated him, Draco noticed more than just the color of his orbs. It was the haunted look that lurked beneath them, that hovered just under the surface. The lines around his eyes that only came from years of having them clenched closed in fear, the thickness of the eyelashes that bordered the eyes he now realized that he loved, the smile and the frown lines that tugged at the corners of the ovals of his eyes. And all of it seemed so perfect when on the boy that hid behind them.

Draco could feel his hold on the boys waist become tighter as if by its own accord, pulling Harry's abdomen closer to his own than it had been before; and Harry couldn't find the strength to push him away, however much he knew he should. He found the grey-ish light that emanated directly from Draco's eyes to be a magnet that he couldn't escape from. His grip loosened on the wand that he still held in his hand, the 'click-click' of it hitting the ground at the duos feet barely heard through their little hypnosis.

Harry knew it wasn't right, being this close to the boy that had been dubbed his enemy since the very beginning, but the feeling if being held in the taller boys arms was almost addictive, and the look in his eyes was so gentle, so inviting, so unlike anything he had seen it as before. Harry found himself wanting to trust the Ex-Death Eater, and allowed himself to be pulled closer to the boys chest, craving the warmth that Harry never knew Draco could emit.

When Harry brought his hands up to rest on the others chest, Draco had, at first, been slightly afraid that Harry was going to push him away. Make him leave when all Draco wanted to do was get closer. Unable to help himself as an almost possessive feeling took over him, Draco found himself winding his arms entirely around Harry, instead of just letting his hands stay on the smaller boys waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were held flush up against each other, Harry's hands still settled on the muscle that flexed just under Draco's button-down dress shirt.

Draco also couldn't help himself as he moved his gaze down to Harry's slightly-parted lips, and inclined his head slightly, as if asking for permission to come closer, Harry happily obliged, tilting his head up at the same time. Their lips, close enough to brush, still didn't quite touch, both boys waiting for the other to make the first move.

Of course it was Draco to be the one that finally did make it, pushing his head down even farther to accommodate for Harry's shorter stature, Draco finally pressed his lips to Harry's.

The feeling was incredibly soft, softer than Harry thought Dracos lips might be (not that Harry had ever thought about it... not at all), and more comforting than he thought any feeling invoked by the once-enemy could be. The kiss was sweet, gentle, just oh so nice, Harry found himself pushing his hands up the others chest, and wrapping them around the back of his neck, tugging gently on the hair on the base of Draco's head, earning himself a low groan, and a tighter grip around the formers body. Liking the reaction he received, Harry tried it again, pulling harder on the blond boys hair. This time, Draco practically growled.

Backing Harry up until his back was pressed against the lockers, their kiss got harder, more demanding. Keeping Harry pinned to the locker with his own body, Draco began exploring Harry's body with his fingertips. Licking softly at the crease between Harry's lips, Draco asked for entrance, which was quickly given. Draco didn't even have to fight for dominance as his tongue mapped Harry's mouth, the more submissive boy simply giving in to him without any struggle.

Draco, who's hands had now moved from his waist, to Harry's hip, and neck, groaned again as he felt the smaller boy give a tentative tug to his hair. Reciprocating with a hard, yet not quite painful, bite to Harry's bottom lip, he found himself wanting to continue the sweet torture. The sound Harry made, the soft, keening whimper that drew from his lips had Draco shuddering.

Draco decided right then and there, that he didn't care what happened to him, so long as he got to hear those sweet sounds come from this boys lips; and he got to be the reason they were being made.

Pulling back slightly, Draco savored the new whimper that came from Harry at the loss of contact. Still keeping themselves in the same position, pushed up against each other until it was difficult to tell where one boy ended, and the other began, Draco took in the boys appearance. Lips swollen and red from the intensity of their shared kiss, hair even more mussed than usual, glasses very slightly ascue on his nose. Draco believed that the boy had never looked more attractive.

A small smile came to the blonds lips, and he couldn't be restrained –not that anyone had planned too– as he moved back down to plant his lips on the boys once again.

If the two had died and gone to hell at that exact moment, it wouldn't have mattered. The two, so entranced with each other that they probably wouldn't have noticed if they had died, held each other so closely that there wasn't any room for doubt or regret.

And on Dracos side, anyway, there was none whatsoever. Touching Harry, even being close enough to him to be able to notice the small things as he had this evening, was the happiest moment of his life, he decided. No matter how dramatic that sounded, or how much of a wanker it made him seem like, he was happy. For the first time in more years than he'd care to count, he wasn't so filled with his own self-loathing that it foamed over the brim and left scars on his wrists.

#Harry Potter #draco malfoy #drarry #lime #drarry lime #gay #kissing #cute af #drarry lime thing

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Softly, Barely a Whisper -- Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (part one)

Softly, Barely a Whisper — Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (pre apocalypse) (part one)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three

Description: (Name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue.

⚠Warning⚠: great amounts of bad language, past mentions of abuse, past mentions of rape, there's probably more, this'n's kinda a mess. Don't read if you get triggered easily.

Genre: angsty fluff?? Hurt/comfort?? I've no idea. Is awkward Daryl a genre?

Pairing: teen!Daryl Dixon x teen!fem!abused!reader

A/N: hey, sorry I've been gone for forever, I suck at commitment. I also suck at naming things, hence the title. I wrote another long motherfucker of a "oneshot" and therefore am breaking it into chapters like I did with Impromptu Cuddles, so look out for the other chapters soon enough. Enjoy.

Words without A/N: 3242

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"Sure thing, Daryl. You can use whatever ya'd like, just make sure you put it back afterwards. The doors unlocked and yer more than welcome to go in for a drink or anythin' if ya need it." Bill Coleman, or Sheriff Coleman, as most knew him by, called out as he moved to open the door to his cruiser.

The Sheriff was an interesting character to the youngest Dixon. He had hardened features and a voice like a gravel truck that immediately implied a harsh disposition, his eyes were constantly squinted into a look that resembled judgment, and the vibe he gave off was just generally unpleasant; but, in all reality, Bill Coleman was probably the gentlest man Daryl had ever met. He understood the workings of the Dixon household without ever having to be told, and did what he could to make life any bit easier for the teenager. Whether that be arresting the senior Dixon whenever he found possible, or offering Daryl a place to stay in his home over the weekend. Bill was, all in all, a genuinely kind human being. Something, Daryl found, was rather rare in his life.

But, even though the Sheriff had his trust, and he knew the Sheriff trusted him the same, it still came as a bit of a shock to him to see the officer willingly let him, a Dixon, have open access to his house while no one else was home.

Everyone knew not to trust a Dixon. Nobody in the town was willing to make eye contact with him, let alone trust him to their house and belongings while they were away. Will, his father, had done a fine job of destroying the family name in his drunken escapades, and his brothers addictions did nothing to help. This, combined with the confusion and disbelief that coursed through his system, explained the gawk the boy's eyes held as he stared in awe at Mr. Coleman's retreating figure.

This had to be some kind of trick, right?

"Oh," the Sheriff called. There it was, the part where he'd laugh it off and say "just kidding. Like I'd let a freak like you into my home without supervision."

Once again surprising the young man, his expectation was the farthest thing from what the greying man actually said.

"I fergot ta mention my niece, my sisters kid. She'll be here soon enough, gets off work in a half hour or so. She's been stayin' with me since, ah–" he trailed off a bit, one leg up in the cruiser, the other still planted firmly on the ground as he looked at Daryl over the door's window, looking mildly uncomfortable "–well, she's jus' stayin' with me. She's real sweet, you'll prolly get along with 'er. Jus', eh, just be soft, ya hear? She's a bit skittish, and real shy, too, so don't be too offended if she avoids ya, she don't mean it rude like."

And what on earth could he mean by that? The avoiding that he'd done when describing why she was here, what had happened that he didn't want to talk about? Daryl had a few theories already.

"'Till later, Daryl. Take care, and remember what I told ya, boy." With a wave and a caring (or warning, he could never quite tell with the old man) smile, the grizzled man pulled out of the small driveway and onto the road leading out of the trailer park to go do his civic duty, leaving a still heavily confused, and now slightly concerned, Daryl Dixon standing outside of his garage.

This man, knowing his family's history with bad habits, was not only willing to let the teenager into his home without a watchful eye, but was also perfectly okay knowing he'd be there, alone, with his (skittish and shy) niece?

Maybe the old man is finally losing it, he thought.

Still in shock, the young man turned on his heel, and began the short trek back to the shedd to continue working on the pickup that he had been working on fixing up. Though it was really nothing but a shell sitting on bricks right now, he knew that someday it'd be his pride and joy.

Some uncounted amount of time later, Daryl was finally pulling himself out from under the hood. His throat itched with dryness, and he was covered in sweat from the never-ending harshness of the Georgian sun, but, nonetheless, he couldn't help the little spike of pride that ran through him as he looked down at the beginnings of the new-made guts of his pickup. Allowing himself the luxury of a small smile, he decided he'd finally take the old Sheriff up on his offer, and moved to head into the house to grab something to wet his throat, and maybe even a rag to wipe off his face, if he was feeling risky.

He found, upon entry, that the house was relatively clean. Cleaner than it had been the last time he'd been in there, at least, and only as clean as an old trailer house could really get.

Still, where before there had been newspapers scattered, now there were none, and in place of the cluttered kitchen was a clean countertop and a basket of fresh apples. He didn't dwell on it a whole lot as he moved to the sink to fill up a plastic solo cup, though he did wonder if Bill would mind if he stole an apple. The young Dixon couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten.

Filling his cup, he was quick to chug it down, the cold a dramatic (but welcome) shock against the harsh dryness of his throat. He let the water run into the sinks basin as he filled the cup up again, again, and then one more time, and only on his fifth return to the water did he realize the difference in sound. A few inches of water was backed up in the bottom of the sink, refusing to go down the drain like it should, and completely changing the sound the water pouring from the faucet made as it headed downwards.

Quickly setting the cup aside and turning off the faucet, he watched the water make its incredibly slow decent into the drain, and decided he needed to pay back Sheriff Coleman's hospitality. It was the least he could do, after all.

Opening the doors that lead to the plumbing beneath the sink, Daryl set himself to work.

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"Good night, (name)!" Mr. Sennet's overly cheery voice called to the young woman as she moved her way through the front doors of the diner.

Calling out a quick goodbye to him as well, she hurriedly climbed into her rig. A shitty little Honda though she was, she still got the young (name) from a to b, and (name) would be forever grateful to her uncle for gifting it to her.

Dusk was just beginning to settle as she took off towards her new residence, and she worried slightly if her uncle would be angry that she was out later than usual. The diner had been busier tonight than normal, and instead of getting off at seven, as per usual, it was now closer to nine.

Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself aloud:

"He's not like they were, he won't be mad at you. He's not like them, he won't be mad."

Though she really did believe it, she still repeated it aloud to herself the entire way back to the house, as if she thought she could will it into existence if she hoped hard enough.

It was silly, she knew, but she didn't really care. After all she'd been through, she thought she deserved a little self reassurance.

The drive to her new home was short lived, though she didn't much mind. She hated to be alone now, it gave her too much time to think, and far too much time to overthink. A regular pastime of hers, it seemed.

It was odd, really. Before, when it was just her and the chromed glass house and the bruising voices, before she was taken away by her uncle, she loved to be alone. She cherished the times of peace she had between the hurt. Now, if she was alone for more than thirty minutes, it was likely she'd be found having a mental breakdown in a bathtub.

But, enough of the depressing stuff.

As the scarred girl pulled into the driveway, she didn't notice the second pair of tracks that accompanied her uncles, as she was far too wrapped up in her head. Something she'd be sure to kick herself for at a later date. She didn't notice the single light that was on in the kitchen, either, nor did she pay mind to the tools that lay neatly around their box as she passed the shedd that functioned as a garage, and she simply put the shell of a pickup truck that sat just outside off as another of her uncles pastimes. Opening and stepping through the front door, she didn't even notice the smudge of mud off the sole of someone's shoe that was left on the carpet.

She did, however, definitely notice the way the hair on the back if her neck stood to attention at the sound of a voice that most definitely wasn't the Sheriffs cursing angrily from the kitchen. Metal clinking to the ground and a tapping on something that echoed like tubing followed behind the exclamation, and (name) felt herself seize up in fear.

"It can't be them," she reminded herself silently, "it isn't them, it can't be."

Swallowing her fear, trying desperately not to let the tears that branded the backs of her eyes build enough to fall, (name) forced herself to move farther into the room, grabbing the aluminum baseball bat that resided behind the door and dropping her bag by a table near the door as she did.

Thinking back to the little bit of self defence that Bill had taught her upon her moving in, she pulled the bat to her side to keep it close enough that no one could easily pull it from her grasp, but could still cause some damage if shoved forwards hard enough.

Sneaking around the corner of the refrigerator that hid the person from view, she took a deep, calming breath before poking her head around to take a peek.

He was young, she could tell, likely not much older than herself. Shaggy, brown-blond hair nearly reached broad shoulders, and even though he was hunched over beneath the kitchen sink, she could still tell he was much larger than her. Muscles flexed under a sleeveless button-down shirt as he twisted a wrench against the plumbing under the basin, grunting lightly as he did.

He didn't seem like he was there to cause trouble, she figured. Who in their right minds broke into a house just to fix their backed up sink? Oh dear, maybe he's not in his right mind? What if they sent him and he's here to kill the girl? What if he was there to bring her back to them somehow? But they were away, they couldn't hurt her, could they? Even from the depths of prison, or the entrapment of the psych ward, the girl didn't really doubt that one of the two could get a word out to have her hurt (killed?) for getting them put away. She was going to die now and she wouldn't even be able to fix the meatloaf that she had planned for tonight's dinner. She felt her body begin to tremble (or perhaps it was already, and she only just then noticed) and her eyes glazed themselves with tears, to her dismay.

Could she swing and knock him unconscious? Could she at least discombobulate the man long enough to escape? Could she really even hurt somebody like that?

Before she could come to a decision, however, the decision came to her.

Away in the living room, a phone rang. The shrill tlrrring! making both bodies jump slightly, and causing the boy bent beneath the kitchen sink to take notice of young (name).

Blue eyes widened as he caught sight of her, baseball bat clutched in hand, and he threw himself backwards and away, slamming his body into the ovens door. Instinctively, his arms moved to guard his face and torso.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!" The loud exclamation startled the girl, and she jumped again, shoving against the refrigerator hard enough to make it rattle dangerously.

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Fixing the plumbing turned out to be far more difficult than Daryl had originally assumed. The bits holding the stuff to the things was rusted on, making it difficult to loosen the thingy mabob and clear anything clogging the that thing.

Putting all of his focus into wrenching the bits away from the stuff, Daryl completely failed to notice the other presence in the room with him, and when the phone in the other room shocked him out if his thoughts, he found his mind immediately assuming it was his father standing there with a weapon in hand.

As his back hit the oven and his arms moved to guard his head, he caught full sight of the person, and quickly came to realize his mistake. His heart beat harshly against his ribs, and he couldn't help but exclaim his dislike for the situation.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!"

At his shout, the girl flinched away from him so harshly that he thought the refrigerator was going to come crashing down on top of him, and he immediately felt guilty, for some odd reason.

She looked absolutely terrified. (Eye color) eyes big as saucers, glazed with fear and glossy with tears, shaking hands gripped the metal of the baseball bat so hard her skin turned white, and her entire body was shaking like a leaf. Her eyes never left his form as he slowly stood up from the ground, one hand still held out in front of him, whether to ward off an attack, or to show he meant no harm, neither really knew. The girl was down right terrified of him, and he hadn't so much as said a word to deserve it yet.

This had to be the niece the Sheriff was talking about, he decided. The scared look she was giving him as she slowly backed away from him made him feel downright awful, and he knew he needed to do something to show her he meant no harm. So, remembering her uncles words, Daryl worked to make his voice a bit less gruff than usual, and tried to keep the edge out of his tone.

"Uh-uh, I ain't here ta hurtcha, girlie–" she took another quick step back "–I'm a friend of Bill's. I was jus' comin' in ta get a drink, I ain't here ta hurtcha."

There was far more that could be said, he knew, but words never really were his forté, and he wasn't sure how much he could talk before he made her more uncomfortable. However, the little bit that he had said, mostly naming her uncle, he thought, had made her shoulders un-hunch a bit, though she kept her distrusting posture. Smart girl.

Slowly lowering the bat until it pointed at his chest she grabbed it with both hands and hesitantly backed out of the kitchen, beckoning him to follow her. Keeping him safely at the end of the bat, and moved to pick up the still-ringing phone and gingerly press it to her ear, her eyes never leaving him, and the bat never wavering (though it did shiver along with her tremors.)

Her eyes relaxed a bit more at the voice on the other end of the line, and though Daryl couldn't much hear the words that were being said—aside from the mumbled tone—he could still tell it was the sheriffs deep voice that spoke.

"Yeah? Uh-hm, good, I uh, I guess... I did. Of course," as she spoke to the formless voice, Daryl couldn't help the small spike of fear that ran up his spine. What if the Sheriff didn't want him there now that he'd scared the girl? He had warned him, he thought. What if Bill made him go back to his shit-hole house and wouldn't let him come back again? This place was one of the few he had to escape that hell, he didn't want to lose that. What if the officer freaked and called Daryl's dad to come pick him up? He'd have hell to pay if he let that happen. He was sure he'd end up with a few more scars at least if his dad were to find out that someone knew of what went on behind closed doors. The Sheriff, no less. What if he–

His spiraling thoughts were disrupted when he caught the sound of his name coming from the other end of the phone line and immediately tuned back in.

"Uhm, uh, yeah, I–I guess. I mean, yeah, yes, he's still here... Oh, no, he's, uh, he's been nice enough," was she even still talking about the red-necked youth? "Yes, of course it's okay, uncle Bill. Sure-sure thing, yeah, that's okay with me. I was thinking about making meatloaf tonight, anyway, that usually makes enough for more than just you an' me."

Wait, what?

The girl had lowered the weapon, though she still kept a tight grip in it, and gave him a shy, almost apologetic smile, before finally letting her eyes dart away. Daryl stayed frozen in his spot. What was even happening?

"–oh," she suddenly looked dejected at whatever had been said on the other side. Scared, almost. "Yeah, no, no, that's-that's okay, uncle Bill, sure thing. It's okay, promise," she suddenly donned a small smile, and though he knew imediately that it was fake, he still found himself startlingly light-of-breath at the sight.

"Yeah, of course, see you tomorrow, uncle, stay safe." Tomorrow? What? Why was all this so confusing to the youngest Dixon? Why was the disappearance of her smile making him feel so hollow?

The sudden change in the expression that the smaller figure wore was dramatically startling to Daryl. Going from sad and scared and sorry and a bit regretful to blushing and wincing and all together uncomfortable in the blink of an eye, the girl shriekingly exclaimed:

"Uncle Bill! No! Ew, gross! Don–Don't say things like that, ya nasty!" Daryl couldn't help but find her blush and stutter quite endearing.

Even from the few paces away that he was, he could still hear the loud laugh that erupted from the other side of the phone.

"Alrigh–alright, uncle Bill," the girls face was still flushed intensely, "I'm hanging up on you now... Yeah, yes, okay—thanks for that." She winced again at whatever he'd said, and she somehow flushed even harder. In a softer voice, now, "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Stay safe." Her last words were barely a whisper.

Slowly pulling the phone away from her ear, the girl placed it gently on the receiver before turning to glance at Daryl, though he took note that she never once fully looked at him again.

"I'm, uhm, I'm sorry," she whispered, grimacing softly.

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#young!daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #pre apocalypse daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader fluff #daryl dixon x reader angst #daryl dixon x reader hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x female reader #softly barely a whisper

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Anger-Fueled Sympathy (Raph x reader)

Anger-Fueled Sympathy — Raphael Hamato x Fem!Reader

Description: Raph is out blowing off steam on a usual big-city night, when he comes across something very not-so-nice between a father and a daughter.

⚠Warning⚠: abuse, cussing, blood, injured! reader, physical abuse and verbal abuse, I kept it mainly suggested though, and not actually played out in the scene, angst.

Genre: angst, I think? Maybe counts as hurt comfort?

Pairing: Raphael Hamato x injured!abused!fem!reader

A/N: I don't even actually remember writing this one, but I don't absolutely hate it, so I'm posting it anyway. It's not even finished, but I'm not in the same tone as I was when I wrote it, and I know if I tried I'd just make it worse, so you're getting it like this. Sorry. I might still come back and finish it later if I find that vibe again, though, if anybody actually wants that. This is super unedited too, by the way, just a warning. Toodles.

Words without A/N: 2185

Masterlist

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The large figure darted through the night, nimbly launching over alleyways and around electrical sheds that perched atop the tall New York buildings; a rather intimidating sight for any miscreants out on the street during the late night. His eyes glowed white with anger, fists clenched around his leather-bound sais.

The beast was fuming. Angry beyond belief. His brothers, oh, his brothers. They were all against him, he thought. All trying to get under his skin and only aimed to torture him. They all only saw him for the big, anger-fueled, brute he was on the outside. No one ever saw him for him.

Launching his way across a rooftop garden, the man-beast finally came to a halt. Still fuming, he glared around for something to take his anger out on, and aimed his fury on the side of a stair-well arch. His fists pounded into the metal over and over, beating it until his knuckles bled, and the thin tin material buckled under his abuse. Still angry, he turned away, pacing back and forth, plastron heaving heavily with each of his breaths.

He finally stopped, and dropped to his knees, tossing the twin sais to his sides as he did. The distressed beast held his head in his hands, rocking back and forth on his knees, and silently sobbed into his palms. This was the side of him that he never wanted to show his brothers, but at the same time desperately needed them to know about. Emotions are overrated, he thought.

Finally, as his breathing began to soften, and his tears began to dry, he began to become more aware of his surroundings. Off to his left, he could almost swear he could hear a voice shouting, angry, it seemed. And another voice was there, too, that he was sure of, this one smaller, and thinner, much more fragile than the other, and sounding almost.... desperate. straightening up, the creature looked around for the sound, desperate to find the fear-filled voice that now shrieked in terror. The voices were getting closer, now. Vibrant against the usual quietness (well, as quiet as New York can get) of the late night. It was almost too late to jump into the shadows by the time he realized that the disembodied voices were coming up through the tin-roofed building that he had been beating incessantly only a moment ago.

The door flew open with much more force than necessary, and a frightened looking girl that smelled of fresh blood and black cherry blossoms shot out, turning and slamming the door behind her, struggling with the handle for a moment before she managed to flip the piece of metal that kept the door from locking over, and finally slammed the door shut once and for all.

A body flew into the other side, trying to force its way out from the building, shouting and screaming vulgar terms with awful accusation. The girl backed away from the door, coming farther into the light of some nearby lamp posts, and the beast saw something that made his blood boil worse than anything his brothers could ever do.

The girl was wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts, panting heavily and letting out broken sobs every once in a while. Her face was a mask of fear, and was nearly completely covered in blood. Her arms were covered in bruises and cuts, and a dark spot on the white fabric across the ribs of her tank that grew with each coming second made him think she bled there, too. Her legs were battered and bruised, her knees bleeding and her tiny, bare feet nearly blue with the cold. Though there was no snow on the ground, the cold October nights were still in below freezing temperatures. Her small frame began to shiver as the wind began to pick up, blowing her (hair length), matted, (hair color) hair into her eyes.

The man's voice still bellowed from behind the doorway, still continued to shout those awful things, calling her names that should never be said, and threatening her life and her home. The beast stood silently in the shadows, fearing that he may scare the small girl farther than she already was with his presence.

There was a beat of silence from the man behind the door, before an enormous thud sounded and the door bulged suddenly with the weight of something. Again and again, the man rammed the door in an attempt to get out to her. And, naturally, the girl stumbled backwards in an attempt to get farther away. Tripping backwards over her own feet, she hit the ground and called out in pain at the same time.

Slowly, she lifted herself on one arm, the other held tight against her abdomen. Flipping so that she sat on her knees, she gently pulled the item that had skewered her from her arm, where it had pierced the skin and traveled all the way up her forearm. With a shock of horror, the man-beast realized what the thing was. In his haste to get away before being seen, he had forgotten his weapon of choice on the ground where they had dropped.

A half-choked, moaning sob broke from her then, the act of pulling the odd weapon out of her arm proving more painful than the entry of it. She let the leather-bound metal clash to the ground after being fully extracted, and gripped the injury with her left hand. She stared, horror-struck and confused, at the bloody sia.

The pounding on the door suddenly intensified, breaking her out of her little revere. Painfully slowly, she began dragging herself up off of her knees, attempting to get back to her feet without letting go of her blood-weeping forearm, which proved insanely difficult. After a minute of unsuccessful trying, she gave up, and just settled with crawling away, pulling herself closely to the short wall that barred the edge of the building, and curled into the smallest ball she could manage.

The beast watched her all the while from his perch in the shadows, feeling terribly sorry for her, and insatiably angry at whoever it was that was trying to get to her from the other side of the door. It took all of the strength he had in him to refrain from jumping out of the shadows and beating the life out of the monster that had hurt her. He could feel his patience growing thin, and his resolve beginning to chip away at the incessant pounding at the door. He knew it wouldn't be long before the hinges broke, and the monster is the other side came through.

What could he do? He thought. He couldn't exactly rush forward and beat the person back, he didn't want to frighten the girl any farther than she already was, and there was no telling what her attacker could do. But he also couldn't just leave her there; even if the person gave up before the hinges broke, she'd surely still freeze to death on that roof. 

However, the monster didn't give him much more time to contemplate, within a moment, the doors hinges finally snapped, and the creature that had caused the small girl so much harm was spilling from the entryway.

He was a beefy man, thick around the middle, but in a way that suggested that hard-worked muscles hid beneath the fat. Scraggly, brown-blond hair hung greesily from his head, and an unmaintained, graying beard curled around a snarling lip. Even from his place in the shadows, the mutant could smell the alcohol on his breath. The intoxicated mans knuckles were bloodied and split where he'd hit something, and the beasts own hands instinctively clenched into fists with the knowledge of what he'd been hitting.

The bloodied girl let out a frightened squeak as the monster stalked towards her, pushing herself towards a hiding spot that didn't exist, and within a few angry strides, that man was practically on top of her.

Before he had the time to contemplate what he was doing, the mutant was across the rooftop, and holding in a bone-crushing grip the fist that was poised to strike the girl. Obviously not expecting the contact, the man turned to see what what had ahold of him, and came face-to-face (well...face-to-plastron) with a creature that looked like something straight from the scene of a shitty horror film.

Letting out a very unmanly shriek, the man instinctively moved to punch the mutant, which, unsurprisingly, ended with his other fist being gripped in the same shattering hold, and him being completely incapacitated.

It was all the beast could do to hold himself back from throwing the man over the building. The monster was still a human, after all, and the beast knew he wouldn't survive a drop from this height. Though he immediately hated the abuser, he still couldn't bring himself to murder him

Tightening his hold until the man gave another inhuman shriek, and he heard bones pop, he began walking the man towards the edge of the building, until the pudgy man was left standing with nothing but his toes on the roof, and he held him there, staring deep into his eyes. He snarled at the abuser, resisting the urge to just shove him off of the building and be done with him, and squeezed even tighter.

"Do ya like that, huh?" The beast finally growled, getting close enough the man could feel his breath, "do you like hitting little girls, man? Does that get you off? Make ya feel tough, you disgusting pig?"

He was riling himself up more now, he knew it, and he knew that it wouldn't be much longer before he snapped and actually did drop him, so instead, the mutant turned on his heel and threw the man towards the stairwell he'd come from, growling and taking a threatening step forward when the man didn't immediately run. The scared man quickly jumped to his feet and darted down back into the building, disappearing from sight.

After a moment, the beast went over to lock the door, and carefully peered towards the girl. She was shivering intensely, still gripping her bleeding arm, though now she was slumped over on her side, cheek resting on the ground, and eyes clenched closed.

"Well, saves me an awkward conversation," the beast thought aloud, creeping towards the girl, he grabbed his weapons on the way (one still covered in the girls blood, he felt a ping of regret).

Wiping the blood off on his thigh, the red-clad beast bent down to his knees. Carefully, he rolled the girl to her back, and even though he moved as gently as he could, the girl still mewled out a pained whimper at being shifted. She was so, so small. Her shoulder was barely wide enough to fill the palm of his hand as he laid her back, and the shivering that racked her body was enough to make up his mind for him.

Leaning back so he was crouched on his heels, he carefully scooped her into his arms, holding her to his chest securely, but loosely enough that he wouldn't hurt her, and stood to his feet. Turning, he headed towards the edge of the building, and jumped, landing softly on a fire escape platform, and slid down the ladder, keeping his hold on her as steady as he could.

This is a terrible idea, he decided, though he continued to walk anyway. His brothers would surely be pissed with him for bringing a civilian to their lair, but it wasn't like he could've just left her there, she would have frozen to death before the sun rose, and he definitely wasn't about to let that-that-that monster take her back.

He growled in hatred as he thought of the pudgy man, and the girl shifted slightly, whining in her unconscious state, and subconsciously leaning away from the anger she could feel rolling off of him. Immediately, he stopped, pulled her more securely against him, and tried to calm himself. It was partially his fault for the state she was in, and he desperately wanted to make it better. He stood as still as he could manage, holding her small, broken body as carefully as he could, until she relaxed a bit. Leaning back into his relative warmth, and melting slowly into the safety of his embrace.

"If only you knew, sweetheart, you wouldn't be so calm," he whispered bitterly.

The beast struggled a second to get the manhole lid off without jostling the girl, and dropped down the dark entryway to land in a quiet splash. Replacing the lid, the man-beast and the injured girl began the long trek towards the beasts lair, him speaking softly to her all the way.

Though he wasn't quite sure why, the mutant felt an automatic softness for the girl. Maybe it was her abuse that drew him to her, or maybe it was just something in her makeup, but he found her presence entrancing nonetheless.

#raphael hamato #tmnt #raph tmnt #tmnt raph x reader #raph x abused reader #tmnt raph 2014 x reader #tmnt raph 2014 x abused reader #tmnt raph 2014 #Anger-Fueled Sympathy

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Home (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

Imagine Daryl showing up on your doorstep in the middle of the night after a fight

A/N: I'd just like to say that I wrote the bulk of this after three in the morning, so whatever this is, I can't be blamed for it. Also, sorry its been a while since I've last posted, I've been writing this short story-ish thingy about Bruce Banner and its been taking up most of my attention. Anyway, feel free to send me requests, I need more promptssss.

Edit: please send me requests!! I require validation!!

Genre: this one's kinda angsty, guys, but its also cute, so

Warnings: mentions of abuse, blood, suggestion of underage drinking (kinda) and there's quite a bit of swearing. Uhm, is crying a warning? Whatever, is now, I guess.

Pairing: young!Daryl Dixon x Non gender specific!reader

Description: Now, if course I loved the boy. He was protective and kind and sweet (to me, at least) and I knew he'd never hurt me. He was always so careful in making sure his brother never follow him to my house, and any time the asshole confronted us out in public, he always immediately went to guard me from him. How could one not love the Dixon boy?

That's why, now that he was bleeding on my front porch, I had no choice but to help him. Not saying that I wouldn't have if I didn't love him, but the heart wrenching ache that decided to pay a visit as I looked at his broken figure made it impossible for me not to.

Words without A/N: 3019 

Masterlist

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Saturday night. I didn't need to worry about homework for another day, and my mother probably off humping something in a bar bathroom stall somewhere, so I didn't need to worry about her, either. I had a movie in one hand, a beer in the other, and a blanket thrown over my shoulder as I moved to get comfy on the couch.

It had been a bit of a stressful week, and I think I deserve a rest.

We'd had a calculus, and a biology test this week back to back, (because the teachers liked to punish us like that, apparently) my best friend had been absent three days this week, and came back looking like he'd gone through a tsunami, meaning that I ended up patching him up in the gym locker room, and my mother had left me to deal with the electrician guy who came to complain about us not paying our bills. I think I deserved the moment of relaxation. Bite me.

However, of course, the world has a way of telling me to fuck off a bridge backwards when I wanted something for myself, so, naturally, right as I put the movie in and moved back to couch to crack open my beer, someone knocked on my door.

I shouldn't be surprised anymore, really, but it was eleven o'clock at night, and pitch black outside, which could really only mean one of two things. A) it was the cops coming to inform me that mother had been put in a jail cell for the night again, or B) the younger Dixon had come to pay me a visit. As you can assume, I was hoping for the latter.

Hurriedly pulling myself out of the relative comfort of my blanket, I shuffled to the door, my socked feet still hating the cold of the thin floorboards. Before pulling it open, lest it be a crazed murderer or something, I peeked my head through the window to the side of the door. So shrouded in the nights darkness, I just barely managed to make out the shape of Daryl. He was hunched over slightly, like he was holding his gut, but it was obviously him. Quicker now, I moved to unlock the door, throwing it open and catching him as he began to fall, grunting, he tried to right himself, only to fall right back into me with an odd, pained whimper that I'm certain he'd never admit to ever making.

"Drunk, or hurt, hon?" I asked quietly, as I tried to lead him into the house, it was too dark outside for me to get a good look at him.

He let out a wet chuckle, and responded:

"Lil' of both, I think," in his thick southern drawl.

Though I naturally immediately wanted to take care of him, I also couldn't help but roll my eyes at his response. Of course he'd be sarcastic while trailing blood through my hallway.

Now I was practically carrying him, he could barely support himself, let alone walk.

"How did you even get here?" I asked, even though it wasn't the question I needed to know. He's him, he'd rather not talk about that until he's able to get up and walk out like I wouldn't understand.

"Walked." Wow. Very descriptive.

"No shit, I mean how did you get here? You can barely stand, how'd you manage to walk all the way here?"

We were in the kitchen now, and I propped him up against the counter, running to get a first aid kit and a couple of rags from under the sink. When I turned around, he simply shrugged, keeping his eyes anywhere but me.

Now that he was in the light, and I could actually see the damage, I couldn't help the small shock of pain that ran through me just from looking at him. His hair was matted to his head, be it from blood or sweat I couldn't quite tell, and his skin was sickly pale. With the way he kept his head pointed at the ground, I couldn't get a good look at his face, but I knew it had to be bad if he was trying to keep it from me. Dumbass.

Walking back to him, I dropped the kit and the rags on the counter, and let him use my body as a shove off point to try and get seated up on the counter.

"Nuh uh, dumbshit," I said in the most caring way possible, "you ain't hiding in your head away from me. Let me see it."

When he still didn't lift his head to let me see the damage done to his face, I shoved my way between his knees until I was close enough I could get a grasp on his face and lift it myself, careful to not accidentally grab onto something hurt. He fought me for a second, but eventually gave in, and lifted his head, but still not making eye contact; not that I really expected him too, he's never been very comfortable with that.

His bottom lip was bloody, split, most likely. His forehead was covered in blood, but it was smeared and rubbed at, like he'd tried to wipe it away, and there was a small gash right at the base of his hairline. That explained all the blood. His nose was dripping blood, and the underside of both of his eyes were completely covered in bruising, so bad on his left that it would probably be safe to say he wouldn't be able to open it tomorrow. His right cheek was bleeding too, a split in the skin of his cheekbone making the red run down his face like tears.

I couldn't help but feel sorry. He didn't deserve the shit he went through. Not just now, not just this, but what he had to go through every day with his fucked up family. I'd always thought mine was shit (which it was) but it was really nothing to compare to his. Yeah, my mom was a bit of an alcoholic, and so she said some pretty shitty things, but at least she didn't beat me until my body was forever laced with her scars.

Maybe thirty seconds of me just holding his face and staring at him later, I finally noticed that he was looking at me for once. Watching my eyes. Whatever he saw there, apparently he didn't like, and within an instant he went from looking hurt and scared to angry and uncomfortable. Shoving me away from him, he attempted to get hop down off the counter.

"I don't need no pity from you," he snarled, trying to hold himself up as he slid off the wood disguised as marble. Lurching forward, aiming to try and get around me and back out the door, I caught him just before he fell, only for him to try and shove me off of him once again. Latching onto him like a fucking spider monkey, I pulled him back around towards the countertop (an act I definitely wouldn't have been able to do had it not been for him being as weak as he was)

"I don't *pity* you, Dixon," I hissed, trying to come off as stern, "I need to take care of your dumb ass."

Struggling a second longer, he only gave up trying to get around me when I (gently) grabbed ahold of his face and made him meet my eyes.

"Let me take care of you, Daryl. I need to clean you up. Please." A regretful nod, and a quick away darting of his eyes was my only response, so I assumed he would let me continue.

Dragging him back to the counter, I once again helped him hop onto the tabletop, grabbed one of the forgotten rags, and moved back over to the sink to dampen it. I'd need to clean his face up a bit to see the real damage.

Ringing it out over the drain, I trotted back to him, softly settled myself between his knees once more, and lifted his chin with one hand while the other moved to gently wipe away the blood. At first sight of my hand in his peripheral, he immediately flinched slightly, which really made me want to find whatever son of a bitch did this to him and gut them, but after I froze for a second, he loosened up again and I took that as the OK to continue. Starting with his forehead, (as it was still bleeding the most) I tried not to put too much pressure directly on the injury itself, and wiped delicately around the area.

It was just a small cut, probably caused from running into, or falling against something, and not actually from being hit, but since it was on the thin skin of his forehead, it bled a lot more than necessary. I folded up the rag and pressed it directly onto the injury to try and stop the bleeding, which brought a small hiss from the boy in front of me.

"Sorry," I mumbled, grabbing a bandage out of the kit and handing it to him to open.

Fumbling with his big, dumb fingers for a second, he somehow managed to peel it open before handing it to me.

"Hello Kitty? Really?" He scoffed at my choice of bandaid.

"What? They were the cheapest ones there, and besides, they're stylish," I sassily pretended to throw hair over my shoulder with my free hand.

There's suddenly a chuckle and a small, real smile on his face, and I can't help but want to be the cause of many, many more. A smile finds its way onto my face too, as I carefully put the pink bandage over the cut, humming as I move to work on the split in his cheek.

After a while more of working, I managed to get most of the blood from him, leaving behind tanned skin and an array of small freckles that usually remained hidden from view behind a sheen of dirt or sweat.

There wasn't much I could do for the bruising under his eye but go grab him a bag of frozen peas from the freezer to put on it, and I moved down to his lip, the last thing on his face that needed help.

There were actually two splits there, one long and jaggad and likely to scar, and the other just a half centimeter away from the first, smaller and not anywhere near as deep. Cleaning all around his jaw area on that side to get as much of the blood off as I could, I quietly grabbed another Hello Kitty butterfly bandage from the kit, and put it over the two of them. It wouldn't be the most comfortable, but it would keep him from accidentally splitting them more.

I glanced up from his lips to see that his eyes were focused on mine once again, though this time it was less like they were searching for scorn, and more like they were just... looking. How long had he been staring at me like that?

For a moment, we just held eye contact—probably the most I'd ever had with the boy in all of the years that I'd known him. I never really noticed quite how blue his eyes were until then, and I think it was exactly that moment that I realized what that twinge in my gut meant every time I saw him. With that thought, a gross blush moved up my neck and into my ears, and I finally broke the eye contact; the both of us coughing awkwardly as the silence turned uncomfortable.  

Shaking my head, I stood back to look at my artwork. I couldn't help but giggle. Daryl Dixon, the badass, car fixing, ass kicking redneck I'd grown up with, with his trademark scowl and generally grumpy behavior, now had a face covered in bright pink kittens with over-large heads.

"What're you laughin' at?" He grumbled, which only made me giggle harder. His grumpy expression quickly morphed into one of restrained amusement, as my laughter infected him, too.

"You should see yourself in a mirror, Daryl," I chuckled, finally starting to reel myself in.

Once the wave of laughter left me, I smiled at him, moved back to help him down off of the counter, and pulled him farther forward. I immediately started unbuttoning his ripped up button down to see how badly the rest of him was hurt, when he reached for my hands and pulled them away from him slightly, though he didn't let go.

Looking up at him, he looked almost scared. I looked into his eyes again, this time with a small smile on my face, and tried to reassure him. I knew how self conscious he was of the scars that littered his body, but I wasn't about let him go without the rest of his body being taken care of. It was obvious from the way he walked in here that there was more hurt than just his face.

"I've seen you shirtless before, hon, you know I'm not gonna judge you," I reasoned, squeezing the hands that still held mine. It wasn't like this was the first time I'd patched him up.

"'Sides, I need to fix all of you up, I ain't gonna just pretty up your face and leave the rest of the package untouched," I jokingly flirted, pulling him a bit closer.

He still looked incredibly uncomfortable, but he let go of my hands anyway. I missed the heat they provided immediately.

Shaking my head again, just to try and clear it, I moved back to unbuttoning his top, sending him what I hoped was a reassuring smile every time I felt him tense up. After a lot of fumbling, I finally managed to get it undone, and pushed it softly from his shoulders. His skin covered in goosebumps immediately, and a shiver ran up his body that I definitely didn't miss.

It wasn't that cold in here, was it?

I backed up to get a wider view of what I was working with, and it took most of my energy not to gasp at the state of him. His ribs were completely covered in bruises, there was hardly a patch of skin on him that didn't look like someone had tap danced on it. Across his collar bone was a cut that almost looked knife-made, though I wasn't sure, and his arms were covered in small cuts and hand-shaped welts, his ribs protrude through his skin in a most unnatural way.

My eyes immediately filled with tears, and I brought my hands up to cover my mouth in shock.

"Oh, Daryl," I trailed off, moving my eyes back up to his own.

For once he looked almost...vulnerable? He face was blank again, but it wasn't the same blank that he usually used as a mask. This one closer resembled the look you'd see on a person at a funeral who hadn't quite realized that they were dead yet.

Before I knew what was happening, I was directly in front of him, and I was pulling him into a hug. At first he just stood there, stiff, not really knowing what to do, but after a moment, he softened down and wrapped his own arms around me. A second later, he was pulling me as close as he could get me, and burying his head into my neck. His arms completely surrounded my frame, pulling me so tightly against him that you'd think he thought I was gonna disappear on him. When his shoulders started shaking, it took me a second to realize he was crying. In however many years it was now that I'd known Daryl Dixon, I'd only once seen him cry; only over the loss of his mother did he ever break down, and now he was practically sobbing into my hair.

Figuring we were gonna be here for a while (not that I minded, I found I quite liked being wrapped in his arms) I slowly lowered us to the ground, sitting between his bent legs with mine over his hips, I held him as close as I could. The boy obviously needed it.

We cuddled there in the middle of my kitchen floor for well over an hour, not saying anything, just holding him and letting him get all of his pent up tears out. By the time he finally found the courage to pull himself out of my shoulder, my shirt was completely soaked. When he finally did pull away, he (as expected) refused to make eye contact. He wiped the snot and tears off of his face and kept his head turned away from me like he was ashamed.

"Hey, hey," I whispered, trying not to break the atmosphere, "it’s okay, Daryl, it's gonna be okay. Maybe not now, but one day. Promise."

I took his face back in my hands, making him look at me, and stared directly into his eyes. It probably made him a bit uncomfortable, but at this point I just needed him to realize.

"You're safe here, D, they can't hurt you here. I'm here for you."

I smiled at him, moving one of my hands down to the crook of his neck. He stared at me a moment longer, just getting lost in my gaze, before—very suddenly—he pulled me back against him. This time making it seem more like he was holding me than the other way around. One arm wrapped around my lower back, holding me as closely as he could to him, the other curled around my shoulder, his hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head into his chest.

Breathing in his familiar scent, I finally felt home, as odd as it sounds. Wrapped in this broken, hurting boys arms on the floor of my kitchen at nearly two am, I was the most content I think I could ever be.

#Daryl Dixon x non gender specific!reader #Hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #angsty fluff #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x Reader #Daryl Dixon crying #Daryl Dixon cuddling #Daryl is a cute lost puppy #soft #x reader #pre apocalypse daryl x reader #young!daryl dixon x reader #home #fight me #he's cute alright?

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Decimal 70.4 The Fawn (Spencer Reid)

Imagine Spencer finding you curled up on the floor between bookshelves at his local library.

Decimal 70.4 The Fawn -- Spencer Reid x genderqueer!reader

Description: Spencer just wanted to grab a few books from his local library on the way home, instead he found a fawn sitting in his favorite spot, reading his favorite books.

Warning: absolutely nothing, its all fluff

Genre: Fluffy fluff with a cute uncomfy boi

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Genderqueer!oc/reader

A/N: not my gif, credit to the creator. This shot was made specifically for an oc, guys, so sorry if you'd rather read an x reader. All of the dewey decimal series is gonna be with an oc, unless I lose inspiration. You'll see the others soon enough.

and awaaaaay we go

Words without A/N: 2031

Masterlist

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He knew he needed sleep, that was obvious. After a week of stress, hunting down a mentally ill redneck with anger issues and one hand, and very little sleep, he knew he should be home, sprawled across his bed with a half-read book on his chest. However, on his way home from finally hitting the ground at the airport, he realized his dire need to find some new books to devour.

However impressive his bookshel(ves)f might be, you could still bet that he'd read every single book twice, thrice, and then some. So, here he was, walking through the front doors of the public library that he frequented. He visited this one so regularly that the Librarian could probably write an biography on him.

Waving at said librarian, (her name is Grahilda, she's a sweetheart) and sharing a few hello's and how are you's, he made his trek towards his very favorite part of the library, hidden under the decimal 70.4. He had memorized the paths so well that his feet took him towards the place he loved so dearly without him even having to command them too, and took him nearly all the way around the corner before he made them stop on a dime.

Mumbling. Soft, warm mumbling. Coming from his spot.

Quietly as he could manage, he leaned around the end of the bookshelf that he hid behind, his bobbly hair bouncing with his head as he peeked. At first he was almost upset, for some of reason. He had no right to be. It wasn't really his spot, technically, but in his very core he felt an odd jealousy of someone sitting there. How dare they take his-but-not-really-his spot.

However, that feeling of unrealistic jealousy was quickly washed away as he layed eyes on the object of his problems.

Sat right in the middle of the floor, cross legged with a pencil in their mouth, was a very intriguing looking person. Though he couldn't quite figure out why they appeared so quizzical to him, he knew he unreasonably enjoyed it.

Brown hair tucked into a turquoise slouch beanie, big, purple and black rimmed glasses were pushed back up their face by a hand hidden in the sleeve of a purple sweater that had to be at least three sized too big. Legs crossed like kindergartners are told to do, with an absolutely monstrous book laid in their lap, one small hand gripping the cover like it might run away at any moment, one curled up by their mouth, pressing the fabric of their sweater against a mouth that mumbled the words that they read. Black skinny jeans leading down to mismatched high top converse (one a checkerboard of green and purple, one grey with sharpied-on red markings), he couldn't help but think that they were absolutely adorable. Around them was a ring of books, some stacked four high, a nest of literature completely encircled their small frame. They couldn't have been more interesting, he decided.

However, one small problem came to his mind as he watched the beanie-clad figure read aloud to themselves. They were sat right in front of the section of books that he needed to get too, and there was absolutely no way he would be able to ask them to move. The thought of just talking to them alone was enough to have his chest contract with anxiety.

Screw you, social anxiety.

He could deal with psychopaths and murderers and monsters all day long, but a cute little fawn sitting in his spot was too much for him? Wow.

Only then realizing how creepy it was for him to be staring at the poor soul like he was, he pulled himself back behind the edge of the shelf again, and ran a soothing hand through his hair. Genuinely debating just leaving, he almost turned around right there and escaped. But, knowing he'd hate himself if he went home without the distraction of a good book, he chose to try and deal with it.

It's just one person, right? They wouldn't bite, c'mon, Reid!

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward around the shelf — only to immediately pull himself back again the second his eyes landed on their small body once more. A dramatic face palm, and a quick breath later, he actually did start to turn away like he initially planned, only to be stopped by the softest, warmest voice he'd swear he'd ever heard.

"Ya know, it's not generally nice to creep around corners like that. Especially not while a guy's busy reading."

However much the being caught made him blush, the sound of the humor in their voice was enough to bring him finally around the corner.

Blushing stupidly, he bashfully glanced at the person, a small, timid smile coming across his face as they grinned encouragingly at him.

"I, uh, sor- sorry, I, uh, I wasn't meaning to stare or, uhm, anything– its just that you're in, well not technically my, but, uh, see I like to thin- no, um, I-I-I-I mean, I uh... I'm just making this worse, I'm sorry, I'll just—" he tripped all over himself, blushing furiously and refusing to look up, only to be cut off by a cute, lilting laugh.

Unsure whether they were laughing at him or not, he quietly glanced up, expecting to see them making fun of him somehow. Instead, what he saw only furthered his flustered-ness. Their eyes were wrinkled up at the edges with their laughter, one small, sleeve covered hand coming up to cover their mouth, the other reached out towards him, its easy to say that he had no idea what to do.

"N-no, no, don't go, you're precious," the fawn giggled wholeheartedly, trying to wrangle down their laughter enough to form proper sentenced. Their compliment only served to make him flush even brighter, he resisted the urge to turn around and leave before his head exploded. Not, uh, literally, obviously.

"S-sorry," they finally calmed down enough to speak semi-normally. "Sorry, its just, your stutter is absolutely adorable, and lookit how flushed you are!" They promptly burst into another set of giggles, which only served to make him even more red.

Once they calmed down once again, there was an odd silence that hung in the air as Spencer took to staring at the ground, whilst the little fawn sitting in his place simply stared at him with a stupidly bright smile on their face.

"Heh," he cleared his throat lightly, unsure where where go next, "uhm, so, uh..." trailing off, he realized he didn't even really know what he was going to say in the first place, and he suddenly wished he had the power to just melt into a puddle and disappear beneath the bookshelves.

The unnamed giggler giggled softly once again, before speaking.

"I'm guessing you're here 'cause you want something in this section?" they assumed, scooting over a bit to make room inside of their nest of books, "well come on over then, lanky."

Smiling encouragingly, they patted the seat beside them, staring up at Spencer. Almost wanting to say no, he finally looked up at them enough to make eye contact, only to immediately agree and have his body start moving towards them without his command. Something about the innocent way they looked at him, the soft smile on their face as their startlingly blue eyes stared into his... He was stepping over the ring of books and sitting awkwardly beside them before he could really figure out what happened.

Oddly enough, though Spencer usually despised holding eye contact with a person for more than a socially necessary amount of time, ("the eyes are the windows to the soul, you know," his mother would always say) he found himself nearly unable to break the contact with their eyes, there was something in them that just mesmerized him. Be it the amused wisdom that hid behind them, or the odd, central heterochromia that shown bright in their stunning iris's, he did not know, and at that very moment, he decided that it didn't really matter, he just liked them in general.

A godawful wheeze came out of Spencer at the thought, and he immediately flushed dramatically again, quickly turning his head away. Stewing in uncomfortable silence again for a moment, they fawn decided to speak up, trying to break the odd spell that had come over the both of them.

"So, Mr. Legs, what's your genre?"

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

Spencer really didn't know where all of the time had gone. One moment, it had been five in the afternoon, and he had been coming into the library to pick up a few (ten) books and leave, and the next it was nearly ten o' clock at night, (Grahilda, upon seeing her two favorite customers both finally looking genuinely happy for a change, had taken pity on the two and had stayed open a few hours later than usual just to let them keep talking, bless her soul) and he was still carrying on the most interesting conversation with the person he had only just met that afternoon.

They had swapped stories, and talked about the things that they enjoyed, and ranted about work (and school, it turned out the fawn was a literary major with a thing for fantasy) and everything in between. He had learned that their name was Milo, and that they were genderqueer and living on their own now, that they had a huge love for anything alien related, and had had a very not-so-nice relationship with their parents before the move. They had learned about his mothers disabilities, about his occasional struggles with work and the escape that he found in reading. For a guy who very rarely spoke all of his thoughts, he found that he had spoken more tonight than he thought he had in weeks, and all simply because of his new comrades smile. He wagered it could melt even the baddest of baddies into blubbering blobs of "awes" and "cutes".

Now, a few hours later, (eleven thirty-seven, to be precise) the two were still amiably chatting away, walking down the road with a pile of books in both of their arms.

"—and that is why I strongly believe that it is a soup, and people are just too stubborn to want to see it!"

For the last several minutes, the fawn had been going on some tangent about how they strongly believed that cereal was, in fact, a soup.

"See, I would agree with you on all of those points, except, what about the mindset? You couldn't possibly eat cereal when in a soup mood, and you would absolutely *never* eat soup whilst in a cereal mood. So, how can they possibly be the same thing if they bring such different emotional responses?" Spencer stubbornly argued.

For nearly an hour more they argued and talked and discussed and gossiped, and, to both's surprise, by the time the midnight bell had begun its ringing, neither of them really wanted to separate. Both doctor and student felt a sad ting as they neared the doors of Milo's apartment building. Standing outside a moment, the two looked for the stars in a sky filled with light, before sadly glancing down. Setting both piles of books down to rest their arms, the duo both found themselves shaking the tired muscle out lightly.

Turning towards each other once again, neither really knowing what to say now that their little adventure had come to its end, they simply stared into the inky blue vastness of each others eyes. For a good few moments they did nothing but stare, before Spencer's eyes flickered down a touch. Knowing he was staring at their lips, the fawn couldn't help but wetten them, unsure what to do next.

They had only just met that evening, though stranger things have happened to newly-met people. Nonetheless, the two took a tentative step forwards at the same time, glancing into each others eyes for a moment more, Spencer finally broke the tension.

"Can, uhm... can I kiss you?" So shy, so timid, how could they not say yes

#Spencer Reid #Spencer x Reader #Spencer Reid x Genderqueer!OC #Spencer x OC #fluff #cute #books #dewy decimal series #Kiss #Their name is Milo and they are adorable #you can physically fight me if you dissagree #thats a lie #please dont #I'm five foot one and I have no upper body strength #the best I could do is bite your ankles #Spencer being the adorable bean he is #Spencer Reid fluff #Spencer Reid cute #the title makes it sound like a radio station #here reporting at seventy point four The Fawn #70.4 the Fawn

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Relax (Steve Rogers x Nonbinary!reader)

“Imagine taking care of Steve after a particularly difficult mission.”

Relax -- (Steve Rogers x Nonbinary!reader)

Description: Steve comes back from a bad mission, and the reader (with powers similar to Jasper from Twilight) has to help him relax.

Warning: some depressing stuff from Steve and some vague mentions of a failed mission including fire and kids or something. Probably a couple cuss words, I dont remember.

Genre: general fluff, but it starts out kinda angsty, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Hurt!Steve Rogers (Captain America) x non gender specific!reader

A/N: once again, I wrote this when I was, what, ten? So, like... don't judge. Or do, I don't really care, actually. Gif isn't mine, y'all should know that. I finally managed to post it onto the right page, be proud. I'm still leaving it up over there, though, cause I'm too lazy to actually delete it fully. Anyway...

Words without A/N: 1942

Masterlist

<—————————————>

He hadn't been able to save all of them. He should have been able to save all of them. There had been children, babies even. And he hadn't been able to save them. He hadn't been able to get them all out of the building in time.

It had been a very long, and very hard mission. He had known it would be from the start, but he hadn't realized just how mentally damaging it would've been. He could still hear the screams of the victims still trapped inside of the burning building that he should've been able to save.

All he could think about was the people who had lost their lives, and the people who had lost loved ones, as he trudged into the elevator that would take him to his floor of the Avengers Tower. He didn't even bother to go to the debriefing that was held after the mission, he just headed towards his room in some desperate attempt to escape his pain and grief and stress.

 As he made his first step off of the elevator on his floor, he vaguely registered someone speaking to him.

"Mistah Rogers? Are you alright? Well, no, uh, of course you're not alright. I can feel what happened. Oh, I'm so sorry, Mistah Rogers."

The sweet, slanted voice of (name) (last name) broke through the somber fog that had seemed to wrap itself around his mind. He usually rather enjoyed the empath's ramblings, but right now their reading his emotions was not good. He had to keep up his hero facade, if he didn't, he might as well be walking away from himself. So in an attempt to get away from them, he just grunted and kept walking.

"Mistah Rogers? Hey, did you hear me?"

'Just go away, kid,' he thought to himself. He felt his emotional support beams snap just a moment before he rounded on the empath.

"You know, for somebody who has the literal ability to read peoples feelings and emotions, you sure can't tell when your presence isn't wanted, can you?!" He growled, his voice dangerously low. He didn't mean that, of course, he just couldn't deal with people right now. He saw a flash of hurt cut across their eyes at his words, but it quickly demolished and reformed into some odd form of understanding.

"Oh I'm... I'm sorry–I'll, uh, I'll just g-go now," they replied in a stuttered mumble, before scurrying towards the elevator. As he watched their heel disappear behind the metal doors, he almost reached out to tell them he didn't mean it; but the door was too fast, and before the words could escape his lips, the (your hair color) haired empath was gone from sight.

He let out an irritated sigh and ran a hand over his face, before about-facing, and continuing the trek to his room.

The second he kicked the door closed behind him, he was taking off his clothing and slipping into a pair of baggy sweat pants, and belly-flopping down onto his too-soft bed.

He just laid there a moment, feeling himself slip into that beautifully fuzzy haze of not-full-consciousness and not full sleep. Focusing on that and not the ache in his shoulders and back or the sound of screaming that still reverberating in his mind was probably why he didn't notice the soft knock that came to his door, or the click of the hinges as it was pushed open slightly to reveal the same (hair color) haired, (eye color) eyed person that he had nearly shouted at in the hallway only a few moments before. He should have been ashamed of his lack of vigilance, but in all honestly, thinking back on it later he would probably be glad he hadn't.

The empath carried a small bag that held several different items in it. Most of which Steve would deny ever using if he was ever asked outright. Everything from essential oils to lavender scented bath soaps were held in that bag.

~~~~~~~

They knew that Stevens previous explosion was not really aimed at them, he was only stressed and in desperate need of some well deserved R&R. They also knew that what they were about to do could get them yelled at by the super soldier, but they couldn't not help him. Part of being an empath was feeling someone else's pain as if it were one's own, and right now, all the pain and anger and grief that he felt was also within them. So their doing this for him was to help them almost as much.

Hesitantly, they reached out a trembling hand and placed it upon his bare shoulder. At the initial contact he stiffened and sharply inhaled, but, as they released some of their power, he immediately began to calm down.

Another part of their power was the ability to manipulate other peoples emotions. It may not have been the coolest power, but, in times like this, they found it rather useful.

They removed their hand from his shoulder just long enough to rub some essential oils and lotions onto their hands, before replacing them on his shoulder and softly beginning to massage away the tension. His muscles were still so wound up from the mission that it took them a few moments to get through to his sore flesh, but the moment they did, he let out a small breathy groan that brought a small smile to their lips.

They worked their way all the way across his broad shoulders, and then down his back, all the way to the band of his low-riding sweatpants and back up to repeat the motion again in backwards order. Switching between soft kneading and harder circles with the heel of their small hand, continuing for the better part of an hour until his muscles were back to their previous limber flexibility.

They had noted some twenty minutes before that his groans and sighs of appreciation had morphed into soft snores and the rapid flow of rabid emotions that had cut though his consciousness before were now down to a minimum.

'Good,' they thought, 'its working.'

But now that they needed him to move, it could be possibly problematic. Gently, they moved up to his face and gingerly placed a pale hand upon it, shaking him slightly to wake him and whispered quietly.

"Hey, Mistah Rogers... he, I need you to roll over for me... Do you think you can, love?"

His beautiful blue eyes opened just a slit to see their face and he let out a rather loud, guttural moan as he pushed himself to roll onto his back, his tired muscles not quite awake enough to push himself up with much grace, as he just kind of flopped over, one arm layed across his abdomen the other still trapped under his body. They gently pulled his arm from under his body, and layed the other straight beside him, before re-applying more lotions and returning to message his front side.

Again, they started at one shoulder and worked their way across to the other, then worked their way down his chest and stomach, then back up before going to his bicep and massaging down his arm, all the way to his hand, going back up, then repeating the action with his other arm.

They left him for a moment to go to his bathroom and start the bath. Taking the correct products from their bag, they began pouring in generous amounts of bath salts and bubbles as it filled.

They quickly went back into his bedroom and softly shook him back awake, careful not to be too harsh.

"Hey, there, Mistah Rogers, come on, I've got a bath running for you."

His eyes opened ever so slightly yet again to take in their face, and process what the (eye colored) eyed empath had said. With a groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position, and allowed them to pull him into the bathroom. Once there, they turned to him expectantly before blushing heavily and turning their back to him so he could slip out of his sweats. He was far too tired to be very embarrassed at the happenings as he gingerly climbed into the bath, using the bubbles as a sort of blanket to hide his, heh, "intimate area" from view.

As soon as they knew he was covered decently, they turned back with a washcloth and poured some soap onto it, scrubbing the foam into the rag to make it sudsy.

They bent and sat on their knees at the side of the tub, leaning forward and not hesitating to begin washing him with the utmost care.

~~~~~~~

The feeling of their rag covered hand scouring over his body gave him chills, he hadn't felt so well taken care of like this since before the serum, when his oldest freind would take care of him when he was sick. And, as much as he hated to admit it, it felt amazing. To be vulnerable to someone like this had an almost orgasmic quality to it. He let his head drop back onto the edge of the tub and closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully relax against their adept hands as they swept his body.

He felt the soft rag cross his shoulders, then down his arms, then across his toned stomach, stopping before their hands dipped bellow the belt line and went down his legs, all the way down to his feet.

He felt as their unclothed hand moved down his arm and gently grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand above the waters bubbly surface and setting the wash rag in his hand. Wordlessly, they gestured to his groin area, asking him to wash himself while they left to get some dry towels.

He did as they had silently asked, and they returned quickly with two large, fluffy, white towels to dry him with. The empath helped him stand and step out of the bathtub, handing him one of the towels to dry his front while they patted dry his back.

He stood as still as he could on limbs that felt like gelatin as they finished drying him and helped him back into his sweat pants. Leading him back to his bed. They pulled back the bed spread and helped him lie down in a comfortable position.

They stayed like that for a few moment, just watching each other, before (name) smiled a small smile, squeezed his hand, and turned to leave.

But their hand didn't leave his.

He held them back until they looked back down at him with curious  eyes.

"Thank you," they said simply. "and... call me Steve."

Their answer was just a kind smile and another soft squeeze to his hand. They tried yet again to move away from him, but again was stopped by him not releasing their hand. A small blush creeped onto his cheeks as he asked quietly:

"Would you, uh, would, would you mind staying with me, for tonight?" He quietly questioned.

Yet again their responding smile answered his question as they crawled down into the bed beside him. He turned towards the empath and they pulled him towards them, resting his head on their chest and reaching up to toy with his still slightly wet blonde hair.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep in their embrace, and not much longer for them to follow suit. Their hand still buried in his soft hair.

Let's just say that it was the best night of sleep either of them had had in a very long time.

#Steve Rogers x nonbinary!reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Captain America x nonbinary!reader #Captain America x reader #Fluff #Captain America fluff #Steve Rogers fluff #Captain America hurt/comfort #Steve Rogers hurt/comfort #Cute #Angsty fluff #Steve's a cute boi #Reader is from boston or something #apperantly #Is there enough tags yet? #I still cant believe I managed to post this to the wrong bloody account #Holy cheesecake am I stupid #I think this is enough tags by now #Oh #Reader has a really weird thing with crotches apperantly #Thats all #Relax

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Do you have a masterlist?

I only just started posting on here, actually, but as soon as I've posted more (the only things on here rn are the three Impromptu Cuddles posts, but I plan on posting another oneshot tonight, if I can) I'll make a master list for ya. Its a Captain America hurt/comfort oneshot, if you wanna look out for that.