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tetragonia · 7 months ago

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Midnight Repair Shop

John "Bucky" Egan x Female!Mechanic!Reader

Blurb: In the middle of the night, accompanied with the choruses of men from the Officer’s pub afar, Bucky saw the hangar light was on. He peeked and found Jerry to his Tom—(Y/N), one of the mechanics whose side job apparently was to annoy him. It was that one time when Bucky and (Y/N) repaired not only the plane, but somehow their whole dynamics all these months.

warning: inaccuracies especially with the mechanical terms because I'm not used to them and just looked em up from the internet. also, maybe weird phrasing or grammatical incorrect since English is not my first language. pls let me know what I could do better <3

note: pure fluff and giggles, some arguments but all is good with our Bucky. this is my first mota fic out there and why shouldn't i choose our antic Bucky as the main character? ;) also, this is based on the portrayal of the actors from Masters of the Air. all respect to the veterans and family

words: 3160 (sorry!)

It was a sunny day as the sun was casting a golden hue over Thorpe Abbotts, the distant hum of aircraft engines signaled the approach of returning fighter planes. Among them was Major John Egan–”it’s just me, Bucky’s fine”–his B-17 streaking through the sky and leading the squadron. It was not an easy mission, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. The route was clear and the enemy’s cover was minimum.

With steady hands, Bucky guided his aircraft toward the runway as his eyes scanned the horizon for any signs of trouble. The roar of the engine filled the cockpit as he made minute adjustments to his altitude and speed, preparing for the critical moment of touchdown.

As the wheels of his B-17 made contact with the tarmac, Bucky maneuvered and smoothly brought it to a stop with. The plane rolled to a halt, its engine purring contentedly as Bucky taxied toward the waiting ground crew.

You were one of the ground crews, a skilled mechanic around the base. People knew your work ethic and they damn respected you out of it. And that clearly gave some benefits around here.

“Back from another joyride, Major?”

You emphasized the rank as Bucky made his way out from the cockpit. His flight suit was slightly disheveled, his hair was a bit scruffy but his smile was as bright as the summer sun. Brady jumped out, his eyes scanned you and Bucky.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“Capt,” you tilted your chin and raised your eyebrows slightly to acknowledge his presence.

“Joyride?” Bucky pulled your attention back at him. “More like a death-defying adventure, (Y/N). You know, I like to keep things exciting.”

“That ain’t exciting, bud,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

You wasted no time inspecting the plane, your expert eye quickly picking up on any signs of damage. Still locking your eyes to the plane, you said, “I swear, Bucky, if next time you come back with another dent in your plane, I’m going to start charging you for the repairs. And trust me, it ain’t cheap.”

“Did you just threaten me?” he let out a dramatic gasp, putting his hand in front of his chest. “You know, I think I’m starting to rub off on you. After all, it truly takes a special kind of person to keep up with a pilot like me.”

Your hands ran through the plane’s body, bullet holes were scattered and some flak damages were tattooed to the metal skin. You suspected there were some engine reduction from the enemy’s fire, as well as control surface damage.

“You’re not the only one keeping me busy. I have plenty of other pilots crashing their planes too, creating these cute little bends and missing some rivets,” you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes again.

“You know, (Y/N), I’m starting to think you have a thing for me crashing. How else do you explain always being there to fix up my messes?” still in his dramatic tone, he raised an eyebrow at you.

You turned your head to him, trying to mimic his dramatic gasp earlied, “Oh my God! Weird thing is, I can’t imagine having this thing called a job! Have you ever heard of that?”

You lost count on rolling your eyes at him. He laughed faintly and started to walk away from you.

“Hey, (Y/N), if I had a penny for every time you gave me that look of disapproval, I’d have enough to buy myself a damn new plane. One that doesn’t need fixing every time I fly it.”

“Spare your voice for the interrogation, Bucky, you’re just talking shit right now,” you said dismissively. You could hear his ragged breath from your place, that man clearly needed to at least have a good hot chow.

“Ouch, that stings.”

Despite your dismissive tone, you couldn’t help but to let a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As the darkness draped itself over Thorpe Abbotts like a heavy cloak, the Officer's pub emerged as a sanctuary of warmth and light. The air was buzzing with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, faint laughters could be heard from afar. Bucky Egan was bathed in a warm, golden light from the row of lanterns that lined the walls. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling above him, their darkened surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the fire roaring in the hearth.

Around the room, Bucky found himself gathered at wooden tables with other airmen as the air was thick with the scent of pipe tobacco and the familiar aroma of alcohol, mingling with the lively strains of a piano being played in the corner.

“I don’t know, man. You seem pretty tipsy already,” Buck Cleven shook his head with a chuckle when Bucky offered to buy them another round of drinks. “I don’t want you stumbling into any trouble, you know.”

Hearing what his buddy said, Bucky laughed. “Me? Trouble? Com on, Buck, you know me better than that. I can handle myself just fine! Look at this.”

Bucky tried to jump from his seat to buy another round, but then he stumbled and let the men laugh as he landed in a weird position.

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing with them too. He was just too damn charming to be ashamed, it’s alarming.

“No more drinks,” Bucky said, God knows to Buck or to himself.

“No more drinks,” Buck hummed the same chorus. Bucky laughed, shook his head faintly.

“I’m gonna head back,” he eventually reached a decision. “And I don’t want any of you to take me, feel like flying solo tonight. ‘Kay?”

“Sure, Bucky, whatever you want,” Brady laughed as he sipped his glass. With that, Bucky stumbled out into the cool night air, leaving the sounds of laughter and conversation that faded behind him. He took a deep breath, the crisp night air helped him clearing his muddled mind as he made his unsteady steps back to his barrack.

Humming sporadic notes from Bing Crosby, he noticed a faint flickering light shined through the windows from a hangar nearby with its door ajar. Curious, and perhaps a little tipsy, he decided to investigate.

Who the hell works at this hour, he thought to himself. With a curious tilt of his head, he veered off course, his feet guiding him toward the source of lights. Peeking a bit, he was greeted by the sight of your back, working on his plane.

Bucky sauntered in, his flight jacket slung over one shoulder, a cocky grin plastered across his face. He squinted against the sudden brightness, his eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh contrast after the darkness outside. Blinking rapidly, he stumbled forward, laughing at his own stupidity. And he might or might not realize that he always felt way more stupid around you, throwing all those flirts and banters like a loony.

“Hey there, (Y/N)! Patching up the old birds, are we?” Bucky slurred slightly.

You turned your head at him, still on your workbench raising an eyebrow at Bucky’s disheveled appearance.

“Looks like someone had a bit too much to drink tonight,” you made a remark as you continued working gunning the rivets. “Too much liquid courage at the pub?”

Bucky chuckled, he leaned against a nearby box for support. “Liquid courage? More like liquid genius! But hey, I couldn’t resist the chance to see your pretty face before I hit the hay.”

Bucky grinned stupidly at your back as he heard you replied monotonously, “Oh lucky me. The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”

He laughed at your dry response, stepped in. “Nah, just needed a little pick-me-up after a long day of saving the world. You know how it is.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile at Bucky’s antics. You’ve gotten used to all that now, working side by side for a couple months.

“Yeah, yeah, the brave pilot routine. I’ve heard it all before. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

As Bucky watched you expertly finish tinkering the body, you couldn’t help but admire your skill and determination. God knows since when you had worked on his plane today!

He leaned against the nearby workbench, his grin widening. “It’s your touch that keeps her purring, (Y/N). Without you, she’d be just another hunk of metal gathering dust.”

You rolled your eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, flyboy. You’re not fooling anyone with your smooth talk.”

“Hey, I’m just stating facts!”

“Yeah, and Hitler’s a good man. Now do me a favor, hand me the rivet gun over there,” you asked, tilting your head to the tool box.

Your hand brushed with his as he handed you the rivet gun. The wind suddenly swirled around the hangar and you shuddered at the chills down your spine. You took the gun swiftly and placed it over the exposed end of the rivet shaft. You securely fastened patches of those new aluminum sheets metal onto the wing, covering the bullet holes.

You’d been fixing the engine with Ken all day, finished just before the curfew. To clear your mind, you decided to fix the panels tonight as you asked Ken to get a hot chow. After some good arguments thrown from you, Ken gave up and walked away.

And here you were, in the hangar with the famous Bucky Egan. You’d been working with him for months, yet you didn’t know if he made all those compliments and flattery to other women as well. There weren’t any female mechanics around here and you knew he had his own way with women.

Flattery didn’t get him anywhere, but it got you somewhere.

You decided to break the silence, “You know, Bucky, I’m starting to think you pilots have a secret competition to see who can wreck their plane the most. Am I right?”

To hide whatever feelings that tried to surface, you put your familiar mask–strict, to the point, and sometimes a bit offensive. That way, you could protect yourself.

“Am clearly the best,” from the corner of your eyes, you could see him nodded and smiling. Suddenly it was so infuriating, how smiley he always was, how cheerful and friendly he was to you. How easy he was to throw compliments, and how easy he was to look at her with such adoration.

“Yeah, I've always thought you were a great pilot. Shame you're not quite as good at keeping your plane in one piece.”

You were unable to keep your feelings now. It was bottled up all this time. You were tired, hungry, and thirsty. You were vulnerable.

“Hey, hey, now,” Bucky might be a bit drunk but he wasn’t stupid. Something in the air shifted, your tone was harsh. Too harsh for his liking and your own good. Your tone was aggressive and he felt like you tried to hurt him with your remarks. Usually, they were all harmless, he even found you funny. But what was with the sudden change of tone?

“Come on, now. Why do you always pick on me?” Bucky tried to remain calm.

Forgot being calm! You were raging all of sudden. “Why would I pick on you, stop being so full of yourself.”

That’s it. That was the last straw.

“Hey, that stings!” Bucky was flustered, he walked closer to you, gaze piercing your back.

You sighed. You’re tired. You’ve been working all day and haven’t eaten since 8 am. It’s somewhere over 12 am now.

Fuck, you muttered to yourself. You need to shape the replacement panels to match the contours of the wing’s surface before riveting them. You got up and walked to the sheet metal bender, but Bucky stopped you.

With the faint hangar light on top of you both, now Bucky could fully take a look at your current state. You knew you looked terrible.

“Okay, you need to stop,” Bucky sighed. “Go to your barrack. You need to sleep.”

“I need to work.”

“She can wait. I’ll ask Lemmons to patch her up early in the morning,” Bucky said, his voice was authoritative. “Now, let’s get you some sleep.”

“No,” you tried to walk to the metal bender but his grip was strong.

“Come on, or I’m gonna abduct you.”

You almost rolled your eyes at that, but he quickly swept you off the ground. “Hey! Put me down!”

Despite the serious and cold air surrounding you both earlier, you could see how Bucky giggled. You always acted all tough, but you were just a girl for him. Your strength couldn’t even match him.

She’s cute, you didn’t know Bucky thought that right now.

He thought this was all just a joke, your mind stated.

“Nah, I’ll put you on your bed myself.”

You huffed in frustration, your attempts to free yourself only serving to make Bucky hold on tighter. "This isn't funny, Bucky! Put me down right now!"

But before Bucky could respond, his foot caught on a stray toolbox lying on the floor, sending you both tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs. With a yelp of surprise, you landed on top of him, your bodies pressed together in an awkward and unexpected embrace.

For a moment, you lay there in stunned silence, the only sound filling the air was the pounding of your hearts.

With a stupid grin on his face, Bucky smiled surprisingly sweetly, “Hello.”

As the realization of your predicament sunk in, your cheeks flushed crimson, maybe with anger or maybe with something else.

"Are you kidding me, Bucky?" you exclaimed, pushing yourself off him with a scowl. "I told you to put me down!"

Bucky winced while grinning sheepishly, rubbing his head where it had collided with the floor. He was fully sober now, thanks for the thud. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I didn't mean for us to fall."

You crossed your arms over your chest, your expression still stormy. "Well, it's not funny. You could have seriously injured yourself. You’re one of the best pilots we’ve got, what would happen if you got hurt?!"

Bucky sighed, his earlier amusement fading as he met your angry gaze. He got up, walked a step closer to you.

"You need to be worried about yourself. What is it, (Y/N)? You’re not usually this… tensed. Is something bothering you?”

Bucky put his hand on your shoulder. You stiffened at his touch, jerking away as if scalded.

"I'm fine," you snapped, your tone once again sharp and defensive.

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion, hurt flickering in his eyes. "Hey, I was just asking. You don't have to bite my head off."

You didn’t want to meet his gaze. Your eyes wandered to the floor that suddenly became so interesting.

But you knew that Bucky wasn't about to let you off the hook that easily. "I don't buy it, (Y/N). You've been acting strange lately, and I want to know why."

You scoffed, rubbed your eyes slowly, “It’s nothing.”

“Hey, tell me,” Bucky now grabbed your arms and once again you stiffened at his gesture. You looked up as your gaze fell to his, eyes blinked rapidly. Your cheeks flushed as you once again broke eye contact and looked at the new interesting thing: the metal bender.

And a realization hit Bucky like a lightning. The way you laughed or rolled your eyes at his jokes despite being known as a serious fella, the way you looked at him before he took off, the way you always kept some distance…

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice softened. “I’ve never been this straightforward, but we don’t have much time… Do you like me?”

He could feel your muscles tensed under his touch. You still refused to look at him.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Where did the tough, no-nonsense (Y/N) go?

“Hey, (Y/N), look at me,” Bucky asked you gently. He knew for sure that you held a feeling for him and he was too damn stupid to realize. He tried so hard to suppress his smile.

You looked up, his expression was soft and his eyes fixed on you with a gleam that made the butterflies crazy inside your stomach. You thought about every possible reaction: rejections, lots of yelling, a broken respect and trust, no more jokes and friendships… But you didn’t expect when he leaned closer and brought you in, when his lips touched yours with a gentleness you could only imagine.

Bucky’s lips tasted like a good amount of mint and alcohol mixture. You were intoxicated. He put his hand on your hip, the other caressed your cheek. His touch was a gentle yet firm anchor, drawing you closer to him in a silent declaration of desire. Your fingers traced the curves of your hips with a tender reverence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you melted into his embrace.

He’d never imagine touching you, grabbing your crinkled jumpsuit as he kissed you deeper, his hands wandered. You felt a rush of warmth spreading through your body, igniting a fire within you that you couldn’t ignore. His hands, strong and sure from years of training, held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His touch was both possessive and protective all at once.

When you both pulled away, trying to catch a breath, you saw Bucky smiling. His hands were still on your hips, now the right one stroke your cheek and your lips.

"You know, (Y/N), I've always admired you. The way you always know your way around an engine, your work ethic, your remarks, your replies to my jokes… I've always thought you were pretty amazing,” he whispered. “The way you handle those machines... it's something else. That’s why I always send my plane to you."

Your cheeks flushed slightly at the unexpected compliments, and you cleared your throat awkwardly. You were anything but flushed and fluttered.

"Well, I guess someone has to keep you flyboys in the air. Can't have you crashing and burning without us, right? You better treat her right up there or I'll make sure your next landing isn't so smooth."

Bucky grinned, feeling a surge of confidence after a heavy cloud towering you both earlier.

"Hey, what do you say we had a drink tomorrow? I’d like to discuss tonight's matter, after you had a good rest of course.”

Your heart raced at the thought of spending more time with Bucky outside of work. You were exhausted, but after what happened tonight, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep.

"I suppose one drink couldn't hurt. But don't think this means I'm going easy on you, Bucky. I've got a reputation to uphold, after all."

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doctorbitchcrxft · 8 months ago

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Phantom Traveler | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, namecalling, typical Dean and reader

Word Count: 8289

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You were sound asleep, curled up into yourself when a knock on the door brought you out of your slumber.

“(Y/N)?”

‘Sam.’

“I got coffee, thought you could use some,” he called through the door.

You pushed yourself up out of the bed as you yawned, and walked over to the door of your motel room to open it for Sam.

“Dude, you realize it’s six in the morning, right?” You scratched your head as you let Sam into the room.

“You sound like my brother.”

You playfully glared at him. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Here.” He handed you a coffee and a bag of what you assumed was a pastry.

“Thanks,” you replied, sitting on your bed with your stuff in hand.

Sam sat on the chair across from you. “Still haven’t warmed up to Dean, huh?”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly warmed up to me,” you reminded him, thinking of the fight you got into yesterday over his reckless driving.

“Guess that’s true,” he conceded. “It’s weird, though, you guys are so much more alike than you let on.”

“Tell that to him. He started it.” You took a big bite of your pastry.

“Seriously?” Sam laughed, “ ‘He started it’?”

You shrugged, smirking.

He seemed to remember his original intention behind disturbing your slumber. “Hey, he found a case, though.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s up?” You licked the pastry cream off your thumb.

“We don’t know. The guy on the phone didn’t say.” Sam raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Guy on the phone?” You took a sip of your coffee as you let Sam answer.

“Yeah. Some guy my dad and Dean worked a case for a while back’s got another one for us. He called Dean.”

“Ah—” you nodded, “—gotcha. So, where’s he live?”

“Pennsylvania,” Sam responded.

“Okay, not too far,” you noted. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

***

“Thanks for making the trip so quick,” a short older man named Jerry told you and the boys. “I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.”

You were walking beside Sam as you followed behind the man who was having you do this job. You were being led through a warehouse past planes as well as their parts and people hard at work.

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asked the older man.

Someone walking in front of your group was eavesdropping on you. “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

“Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking,” Jerry stated authoritatively to the man. He turned his attention back to the conversation. “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart.” He addressed Dean. “Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” He’d turned to Sam.

“Yeah, I was. I'm— taking some time off,” Sam explained.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

“He did?” Knowing what you knew about Sam’s relationship with his dad, you found this surprising, too.

“Yeah, you bet he did,” Jerry nodded. “Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?”

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now,” Dean lied.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and— what’s your name again?” he asked you.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N). Even trade, huh?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed.

“Say, (Y/N), how’d you get wrapped up with these two?” Jerry asked.

“Oh, uh—” you began, searching for an abridged version of the truth, “—I met them on a hunt in California. They decided to drag me along with them.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. The guys are gonna need backup with this one,” Jerry said.

“Why?”

He did not give a direct answer to your question. “I got something I want you guys to hear.”

He led you to his office where you and Sam took the two chairs and Dean stood behind his brother.

”I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley,” Jerry stated, putting a CD into a drive. “Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

A frantic voice immediately rang out from the speaker as soon as the recording started. “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—” the recording cut out with a static sound, “—immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message—” and cut out again, “—May be experiencing some mechanical failure—” and then cut out one last time. The man’s voice was completely drowned out by static, whooshing, and growling sounds.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south,” Jerry continued. “Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

“You don't think it was?” Sam questioned him.

“No, I don't.”

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors,” Sam listed.

“Alright,” the man replied.

“And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean inquired.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… guys— and gal— the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry shook his head.

You frowned.

“No problem,” Dean declared.

You gave him a questioning look to which he shrugged off.

***

“How fucking long does it take to make a fake ID?” you groaned, falling back across the backseat of the Impala. You and Sam had found a way to isolate the EVP on Sam’s computer, having gotten a copy of the tape from Jerry.

“I don’t know,” Sam responded. “But I’m gonna lose it if it’s much longer.”

“Same here.” At that moment, Dean walked out of the Copy Jack the Impala was sitting in front of as a pretty woman walked into the store. They greeted each other before Dean walked over to you and his brother.

“Dude,” you started, “You’ve been in there forever.”

“Wah-wah,” he whined, mocking you. “You can’t rush perfection.” He held up three IDs.

“Homeland Security?” Sam questioned as he took one of the IDs. “That's pretty illegal, even for us.”

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times,” Dean pointed out as he got into the car.

“Alright, so, what do you got?” Dean asked his brother as he flicked your ID back at you. It hit you square in the side of the head.

“Dude, really?” you hissed, aggravation clear in your tone.

“Shh,” the older Winchester hushed you as he waited for Sam to answer.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder,” Sam explained.

“Yeah?”

“Listen.”

The isolated voice of what you were dealing with came through the recording scratchy and backed by demonic growling sounds. “No survivors!”

“ ’No survivors’?” Dean asked. “What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

You shrugged.

Dean let out a sigh. “So, what are we thinking? A haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers,” Sam began.

Dean hummed in affirmation. “Or remember flight 401?”

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.”

“I don’t know, guys,” you stated skeptically. “Ghost just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, thanks for your optimism, sunshine,” Dean quipped.

“It’s not about optimism, you asshole, it’s about being right and dealing with whatever we’re up against properly,” you pushed back.

“Know-it-all,” the older Winchester replied.

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

He let out a breath and turned his attention back to the case.“Alright, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?”

"Third on the list: Max Jaffey,” you said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, but why him?”

You glared at Dean. “Because if anybody saw something weird, he did. I talked to his mom while you were spending forever in the store. She said some pretty weird shit and told me where to find him. He was so screwed up, he checked himself into the hospital.”

***

You and the Winchesters walked beside Max Jaffey, who hobbled on a cane, through the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital’s garden.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security,” Max told your trio.

“Right. Some new information has come up,” Dean lied. “So if you could just answer a couple questions...”

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam questioned.

Max looked confused. “Like what?”

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices,” Dean offered.

“No, nothing.”

Seeing as no one was getting anywhere with this investigation, you tried your hand at it. “Mr. Jaffey, you checked yourself in here, right?”

He nodded at you.

“Why?”

“Uh, I was a little stressed,” he said sarcastically. “I survived a plane crash.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded. “And that’s what scared you? That’s what screwed you up so badly?”

You could tell you were close to the answers you were after as he swallowed uncomfortably. “I— I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know, but I also know you saw something up there,” you continued. “We need to know what.”

“No.” Max shook his head. “No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

“He was seeing things,” Dean half-mocked him.

You shot a warning glance at Dean, hoping to get him to shut up.

“It's okay,” you coaxed. “Just tell us what you thought you saw, please.”

“There was… this—man. And, uh, he had these… eyes—these, uh, black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...” he trailed off, stopping as he recounted the events.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He opened the emergency exit,” Max explained. “But that's— that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed, clearly confused.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

Max quirked his head at the younger Winchester. “What are you, nuts? He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

***

“I think we can rule out phantom traveler,” you noted as you got out of the car in front of the Phelps’s house. You were going to visit the wife of George Phelps, the man who opened the emergency exit.

“Why?” Dean asked.

“You heard Jaffey. He said the dude had black eyes. Opened a fucking emergency exit on his own. ‘Black eyes’ points me to demon.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Demons?”

“I mean, it makes sense,” Sam shrugged. “He could be a demon. He might be some kind of a creature, too, in human form.”

“Does that look like a creature's lair to you?” Dean questioned as he gestured toward the house that was representative of the essence of suburban houses. From its beautiful garden to the cobblestone steps to the beige paint coating the outside of the two-story building.

Sam shrugged and began leading your trio up the steps of the house.

Once inside, you three sat across from Mrs. Phelps on the couch while she sat in an armchair.

Sam picked a picture of Mrs. Phelps and an older man up off of the side table. “This is your late husband?” he asked.

“Yes, that was my George.”

“And you said he was a dentist?” Dean questioned.

She hummed in affirmation. “He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that...”

Sam asked another question. “How long were you married?”

“Thirteen years.”

You could tell Sam was contemplating how to ask his next question. “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him; anything out of the ordinary?”

She paused for a moment. “Well, uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “I think that’s all we have for you, Mrs. Phelps. Thank you for your time.”

She showed all of you out, and you piped up as you walked down the stairs outside of the house.

“Demon’s sounding more and more correct all the time,” you smiled, trying to joke around.

“Jesus, you’re annoying,” Dean groaned.

“And you’re a misogynistic dick that can’t handle women with brains,” you responded.

“What, are we gonna duke this out now?” Dean stopped by the door of the car, facing you.

You stood by the backseat’s door. “You started it,” you taunted childishly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared back at him.

“Really?” he leered. “You’re gonna pull that card? Mature.”

“You act like you’re any better.”

“Guys—” Sam tried to cut in, but Dean continued to fight with you.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that one before,” you drawled.

“Guys! You can fight later. Wrong place, wrong time to sort this out,” Sam chastised you and Dean like you were children.

You got in the car and slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t hurt my baby ‘cause you’re pissed,” Dean scolded you as he started to pull the car away.

“Just drive, asshole,” you grumbled in frustration as you slumped down in your seat. The rest of the car ride to the local outlet mall was silent.

***

You had never felt more confident. Despite the fact that you could have worn the one dress you already had to pose as homeland security, you decided to treat yourself to a new outfit to distract from your aggravation with Dean.

The boys had gone to a suit shop called “Mort’s for Style,” and you went into a dress shop called “Betsy’s.” It was a cute little shop with a lot of great dress and pantsuit options.

You had picked out a navy blue pantsuit. You wore a white button-up underneath the blazer with the top two buttons undone to accentuate your breasts. The blazer was unbuttoned, and the high-waisted, straight-legged pants you wore matched the black color of your blazer. With the white button-up tucked into your pants and the small amount of makeup you threw on to draw attention to your eyes and lips, you felt good.

Once you had paid for your clothing, you walked out of the shop and back to the Impala. Surprisingly, the boys were not there waiting for you.

You leaned your back against the car, picking out the grit from under your nails.

You looked up when you heard Dean’s voice. “Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.”

Both of the boys were dressed in sharp, black suits. You almost lost your breath at the sight of Dean, but fought yourself to keep your composure. You would not give him the satisfaction of knowing you found him attractive.

“No, you don't,” Sam told him. “You look more like a seventh-grader at his first dance.”

You laughed at the younger brother’s jeer. “What took you girls so long?” you asked once you got in the Impala. “I thought you two would’ve beat me out the store by a long shot.”

“Dean wouldn’t leave the dressing room,” Sam said dryly.

“Seriously?” you droned.

You and Sam both looked to Dean, who did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he complained, “I hate this thing.”

“Hey,” Sam stared. “You want into that warehouse or not?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he continued to drive along.

You steeled your nerves as your black, pointed-toe pumps clicked across the warehouse floor. Your trio was headed to the security guard that would allow you in to see the wreckage.

You held the clipboard you had stowed in your bag close to your chest, acting as some sort of a recorder for the boys. The three of you flashed your badges at the security guard, who nodded and allowed you into the hangar where the wreckage was being kept.

There was a large map of what the plane should look like painted onto the floor, and the parts that corresponded to the different portions of the map were laid in their proper spots. There were wires hung on fences and broken interior parts of the plane laid on tables. The most heartbreaking things for you to look at were the torn passengers’ seats because most of the people who had been in them were now dead.

You looked over at Dean, who had earbuds in and was moving a small box over the tops of the wreckage.

“What’s that?” you asked him.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.”

You got closer to him, noticing what the object appeared to be. “I know what an EMF meter is; I’m not stupid. But why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?”

“ 'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you quipped.

His grin disappeared. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

You once again fought the pain in your chest when he called you a bitch. In all honesty, you thought his homemade EMF meter was cute. However, you were too far gone in your war with him to surrender now.

Dean ran the Walkman over a piece of the wreckage with black spores and yellow dust on it. You could hear the faint sound of a spike on the meter through Dean’s headphones.

“Check out the emergency door handle,” Dean called to Sam.

Sam came over to where you and Dean stood as the older brother scratched at the dust to get some on his hand.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asked.

One way to find out.” You saw the younger of the two brothers start scraping some of the dust into a small bag.

“We need to go,” you told the boys. You weren’t sure what told you that, but you just suddenly felt unsettled. The hairs on the back of your neck stood at attention, and every muscle in your body tensed. You started off toward the exit in the back of the warehouse.

“Wait, (Y/N), what if we’re missin’ something?” Dean questioned, clearly aggravated you were ready to ditch already.

“Too bad, we gotta go.” You kept walking toward the exit, making it out of the door and around the backside of the building.

At that moment, an alarm started blaring through the area surrounding the warehouse.

You turned around to look at the boys as you gloated, “I’m not gonna say, ‘I told you so’!“ Not bothering to rip your shoes off of your feet, you took off running to the gated exit.

Sam and Dean were quick to follow you and soon passed you up. The older brother took off his suit jacket and threw it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence. You did the same with your blazer. After quickly taking off your pumps to avoid hurting yourself when you jumped from the top of the gate, you threw yourself over the fence. The other two did the same.

Sam grabbed your blazer that you were too small to reach from the top of the fence as Dean found it within himself to remark, “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.”

You ran after the two boys, heels and blazer in hand as the jagged rocks in the cement cut into your feet. As soon as you shut the door to the car, Dean slammed on the gas pedal.

He tore out of the warehouse’s parking lot, speeding down the road to head toward Jerry’s workplace.

"(Y/N),” Sam started, turning in his seat to face you with a curious expression on his face, “how did you know that?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. My intuition’s just always been pretty sharp.” You were being honest; there had been a few times on hunts previously when you’d known it was time to get the hell out of dodge.

“Hm.” You could tell Dean still didn’t trust you.

“Dude, I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s the truth,” you countered. “I’ve been helping you guys with your dad for almost two months now, and you still don’t trust me. I don’t know what more to do for you.”

“Maybe because I don’t know you,” he responded, never taking his eyes off the road.

“Maybe if you tried to know me, you’d find it a little easier to trust me,” you answered.

“Not interested,” came Dean’s grumbled response.

You tried your best to ignore the pang that went through your chest once more. “Of course not.”

***

You refused to speak to or even look at Dean; your frustration with the fact that he had no desire to know you and his general existence boiling to the surface. You could feel his stare burning into the side of your head as you focused on Jerry, who sat in front of you. He was looking through a microscope on his desk at the yellow dust Sam had collected.

“Huh,” Jerry remarked. “This stuff is covered in sulfur.”

“You're sure?” Sam asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Jerry offered, getting up from behind the desk so Sam could take his place.

Banging sounds along with a string of curse words caught your ear as Jerry sighed.

“If you guys will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire,” he dryly stated, walking out of the office.

You got up from the chair you were sitting in next to Dean. “See?” you started excitedly, gesturing toward the sulfur, “Demons.”

“That would explain how one guy had the strength to open up the emergency exit,” Sam added.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean put his hands on his hips as he stood. “You ever heard of something like this before?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who responded, “Never.”

“Well, I have,” you said simply.

They both looked to you to continue.

“In NYC a couple years back. Some cabbies had gotten possessed and were takin’ girls left and right.”

“Those were demons?” Sam asked, standing up from behind Jerry’s desk. “That was a huge deal on the news while I was at Stanford. Police thought it was a serial killer. You took ‘em on all by yourself?”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” you chuckled. “I can handle a few demons. But, yeah, that was me. That was probably the toughest case I’ve ever been on. Finding where those demons had taken those girls after they drugged them in the cabs... where they were raped and murdered...” You shook your head, your cheery expression gone.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Sam told you gently.

Your eyes were glued to the floor, hands on your hips with not a bit of life in your voice as you muttered, “All in a day’s work.”

Sam had asked you to tell him and Dean everything you knew about demons once you got back to the Winchesters’ motel room. Sam sat at the table close to the window while Dean sat on the bed closest to his brother. You stood in front of the two as you spoke.

“Demons exist in every religion in every world culture. With the ones that I was dealing with up in New York, they were most similar to Incubi from early Christian religion. Incubi raped sleeping girls. These demons drugged the girls to put them to sleep, then they raped them, and then they murdered them. What I’m thinking for these demons is that they’re most similar to certain Japanese demons. I had to look into these when I was trying to figure out how to kill the NYC demons. The Japanese believe demons cause certain disasters, whether it be natural or man-made. Some cause earthquakes, others cause disease—”

“And this one causes plane crashes?” Dean deadpanned, cutting you off.

You ignored him. “Demons are having to find new ways to ratchet up the body count. Like with me in New York, Incubi can’t go about their old methods anymore. This demon probably evolved with the times like the Incubi did, and so it figured plane crashes were the best way to get its job done.”

Dean snorted, getting up from. the bed and turning away from you and his brother.

“What?” Sam asked.

He turned around, scratching the back of his neck. “I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death, and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah. Me too,” the younger Winchester admitted.

Dean’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?... Oh, hey, Jerry… Wha— Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?... Where'd this happen?... I'll try to ignore the irony in that… Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

He hung up the phone.

“Another crash?” Sam questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Nazareth.”

‘Ah, there’s the irony.’

***

After leaving the horrendous scene of Chuck’s plane crash, you and the boys went back to Jerry’s office. Once again, Jerry confirmed that the dust you had taken from the steering wheel of Chuck’s plane was, in fact, sulfur.

“Well, that's great,” Dean sassed. “Alright, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

“If that's the case, that would be the good news,” you chimed in. You looked up to the sky, addressing the pilot. “No offense, Chuck.”

“What's the bad news?” Jerry asked you.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight, just like 2485,” you informed the older man.

“Forty minutes?” Chuck inquired. “What does that mean?”

“It's biblical numerology. You know Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death,” Dean said.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in,” Sam explained.

"Any survivors?” the older Winchester questioned his brother.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.” Sam turned to you after thinking for a moment. “On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

“ ‘No survivors,’ “ you realized. “It's going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.”

Dean drove the Impala down an empty highway.

Sam was on the phone with one of the survivors from the plane crash, the conversation almost over. “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“That leaves the flight attendant, Amanda Walker,” you commented.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight P.M. It's her first night back on the job,” Sam told you and his brother.

“That sounds like just our luck,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel,” Sam said worriedly.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass,” Dean tried.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.”

“God, we're never gonna make it,” you shook your head, leaning back in the seat as you scrubbed a hand through your hair.

“We'll make it,” the older brother countered, slamming his foot on the gas.

Somehow, someway, Dean had managed to get to the airport at ten minutes to seven.

You jumped up out of the car, taking your gun out of your pants and stashing it under the backseat.

“What are you doing?”

You still did not feel like talking to Dean but answered him shortly nonetheless. “We’re going into an airport.”

Dean finally caught onto what you meant and took all of his weapons off of him, too. “I feel naked.”

You fought the smile threatening to creep up your face.

You rushed into the airport just behind the boys, squeezing your way through the crowd of people to get to the departure board.

“Right there,” Sam pointed out. “They're boarding in thirty minutes.”

“Okay. We still have some cards to play,” Dean paused, thinking for a moment. “We need to find a phone.”

He found a courtesy phonw on the wall, picking it up. “Hi. Gate thirteen… I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.”

He waited impatiently for Amanda to pick up the phone. When she finally did, he began speaking again.

“Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here… Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—” His face fell, his eyes widening a touch. “You what?... Uh, well… there must be some mistake—”

Sam went around his brother to try to get a closer listen.

After a longer pause, Dean let out a sigh of relief and smiled. “...Guilty as charged… He's really sorry… Yeah, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so—... Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic… Oh, yeah… No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” Dean slammed the phone back onto the receiver. “Damn it! So close.”

"Alright, time for plan B. We're getting on that plane,” you stated firmly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” For the first time since you met him, Dean looked scared.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash,” Sam argued.

“I know.” He looked conflicted.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and (Y/N) get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes.”

Dean looked at Sam blankly, evidently a little anxious.

“Are you okay?” the younger Winchester asked.

Dean hesitated. “No, not really.”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh...”

“Flying?” you cut in.

“It's never really been an issue until now,” he told you.

“You're joking, right?” Sam huffed.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” he spat.

For the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like mocking him about his fear of planes.

“Okay, then (Y/N) and I’ll go,” Sam proposed.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

“We’ll handle this one.”

“What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.”

“Dean, we can do it together, or I can do this one with (Y/N). I'm not seeing a third option, here.”

Dean scratched his head. “Come on! Really? Man...”

Dean walked much faster than you did toward the car to get supplies, clearly trying to leave you in his dust.

“Would you slow down a bit, please?” you asked.

“Why should I?”

“Because even if you get to the car before me, you’re not gonna have a fucking clue what to use to deal with a demon,” you reminded him, your words a bit more venomous than need-be.

He stopped, turning to face you. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” you told him. You truly weren’t.

“Definitely sounds like you are.”

You walked past him to the trunk of the Impala. “I wasn’t, I’m simply pointing out the fact that I’m the one who knows how to deal with demons, and you don’t.”

“There you go again. Acting like you know so much better than I do.” His attitude was truly exhausting.

Your voice rose as you defended yourself. “Because I do! In this case, at least!”

“But it’s not just this one time that you acted like you’re better than me,” he argued. “Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with your smart ass?”

“Do you realize how frustrating it is to deal with yours?” you threw back. You sighed, putting aside your anger for now. “Look, we don’t have time to talk about this.” You shoved holy water, a rosary, and the EMF Walkman into Dean’s hands. “Now, let’s go.”

You shoved past Dean and headed back to the airport.

***

You sat between Sam and Dean, completely at ease. Dean, however, was losing his mind.

"Just try to relax,” Sam whispered from the window seat

Dean’s voice came back harder and slightly louder. “Just try to shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you scolded playfully.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Dean clapped back using the same tone with you that he had with Sam. He took in a sharp breath when the plane began moving a second later.

You gathered your courage and grabbed his hand. He jerked away from you and looked at you in surprise. When the plane took off, though, his hand rejoined yours, squeezing tightly. You giggled to yourself.

“I’m so glad this is funny to you,” Dean hissed.

“It’s not,” you answered simply.

“Then why are you laughing?” His grip tightened once again.

“It’s just,” you considered your next words carefully. “It’s kind of cute, that’s all.”

Dean was caught off-guard by your response. He eyed you quizzically, unsure of what to say. You just shrugged, settling the back of your head against your seat with your hand still in Dean’s. It was much larger than yours, and you fought the urge to run your fingers along the calloused ridges.

Moments passed in a bit of an uncomfortable silence before Dean spoke again, not a trace of bite in his tone. “Why are you doing this?”

You rolled your head toward him. “Everybody’s scared of something,” you quietly replied. “It helps me to know I’m helping you. Even if you do hate my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts.” He spoke so softly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Pfft, could’ve fooled me,” you answered.

“You just…” he started, “...get on my nerves. ‘S all.”

You giggled.

A few minutes later when the plane had fully gotten up in the air, you heard the familiar sound of a song you had heard many times before in the Impala coming from the man next to you.

“You're humming Metallica?” Sam asked Dean monotonously.

“Calms me down,” the older brother replied.

“ ‘Some Kind of Monster’? Really?“ You raised a brow at him.

Dean did not respond to you.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused,” the younger Winchester reminded his brother.

“Yup,” you chimed in. “We only have thirty-two minutes to track the bitch down and full-on exorcise it.”

“Yeah, on a crowded plane,” Dean commented. “That's gonna be easy.”

“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” Sam said calmly. “Now, who is it possessing?”

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress,” Dean stated.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up,” Sam told Dean, who hummed in response.

Dean sat up stiffly, his body still tense as he turned to the blonde flight attendant walking past.

“Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” he asked her.

“No, I'm not,” she answered with a smile.

"Oh, my mistake.”

The flight attendant hummed in agreement.

He peered into the back of the plane, finding the other blonde flight attendant. “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.”

“What if she's already possessed, genius?” Sam asked.

“There's ways to test that,” Dean responded, pulling the holy water out of his jacket. “I brought holy water.”

“Correction, I brought holy water—” you leaned forward, gently taking the bottle, “—And that’s for when we try to exorcise the demon. She’ll flinch at the name of god if she’s possessed.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Dean replied, getting up from his chair. You could tell he had not. You already missed the feeling of his hand in yours.

He turned to go, but you stopped him.

“Dean!” you whispered.

“What?” The annoyance in Dean’s voice was back.

“Say it in Latin.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what is it?” you smirked, quirking a brow.

“ ‘Christo!’ I’m not an idiot!” he hissed back. Dean turned away from you and headed to the back of the plane.

You slumped down in your seat, closing your eyes as the copilot began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking...” you tuned out the rest of his message.

A few minutes went by before the older brother returned.

“Alright, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet,” he sighed as he flopped back into his seat.

“You said ‘Christo’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her.”

“So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere,” Sam explained.

The plane shook, causing Dean to tense up. He grabbed your hand once more. “Come on!” he whined. “That can't be normal!”

“Hey, hey, it's just turbulence,” you coaxed.

“Sweetheart, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm fucking four.” He went to drop your hand, but you tightened your grip.

“Okay,” you started, changing tactics. Your tone became harsh. “You need to calm down.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I can't,” Dean sassed.

“You didn’t want to be treated like you’re four, so stop acting like it,” you commanded. “Be a man, Winchester. If you’re a basketcase, you’re wide open to possession. Get your shit together. Right now.”

Dean took a deep breath.

You smiled. “Great. Onto the Rituale Romanum.”

“The what?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“The exorcism ritual,” you elaborated. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean questioned, his voice strained and eyes wide.

“Yup.”

“How?” He was starting to get panicky again.

“It’d just be able to wreak havoc on its own without a vessel,” you informed.

“Oh. And why is that a good thing?”

“ 'Cause the second part of that sends the bitch back to hell once and for all.”

“First things first, we got to find it.”

“There ya go,” you chuckled.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, getting up from his chair with the EMF Walkman.

You and Sam let him walk down the aisle by himself for a few minutes before the two of you got up to go talk to him.

You tapped his shoulder.

“Ah!” Dean jumped back, wheeling around to face you. “Don’t do that!”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

The older brother shook his head. “No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Sam told you and his brother. “Maybe we missed somebody.”

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane,” Dean shrugged.

“No way. Dean, it’s gonna be here,” you protested. Just as you spoke, the EMF meter spiked.

You looked up to see the copilot coming out of the bathroom.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

You stared at the copilot. “Christo.”

The man’s head slowly turned toward you and the boys, his eyes black.

You wheeled around to face Sam. “We gotta talk to Amanda.”

“She's not gonna believe this,” Sam contested.

“You’re probably right, but we only got twelve minutes,” you reminded the younger brother. You walked ahead of the boys into the concessions area where Amanda busied herself.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope,” she smiled politely, clearly caught off-guard by your presence.

“Actually—” Dean began, “—that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.”

Sam closed the curtains behind you as Amanda answered Dean. “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

“Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole ‘the truth is out there’ speech right now,” Dean rushed out.

She looked confused but kept her smile painted on her face.

“Alright, look, we know you were on flight 2485,” Sam continued for Dean.

Her grin disappeared. “Who are you guys?”

Sam ignored her question. “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now,” the older brother told her.

“I'm sorry—” she started, attempting to move past you, “I— I'm very busy. I have to go back—”

“Chuck Lambert’s dead, Amanda,” you cut in, effectively stopping her from leaving. “The pilot from 2485.”

“Wait. What?” She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “Chuck is dead?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “He died in a plane crash. That’s the second plane crash in two months. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

“Look, there was something wrong with 2485,” Sam added. “Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

Dean made a last attempt to drive the point home. “Amanda, you have to believe us.”

The blonde looked to the ground. “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

“Black eyes?” you asked.

She nodded.

“That’s exactly what we’re talking about,” Sam clarified.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?”

Dean answered before you got the chance to. “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.”

Amanda looked between the three of you, confused. “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—” You could practically see her mind running a mile a minute.

Even Sam was getting impatient. “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—”

“Babe, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't go get him right now,” you remarked.

She looked at you and nodded, turning to leave for the cockpit.

As soon as Amanda made it out of the curtains, you fished the holy water out of your hoodie’s pocket, moving to press your back against the wall next to the closed blue curtains.

A few moments later, you heard the copilot say to Amanda, “Yeah, what's the problem?” Just outside the curtains. As soon as the demon ducked into the small room, Dean punched him in the face. He then shoved the demon to the ground and slapped duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait,” Amanda protested as you got down on the ground beside Dean, “What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean replied simply as you splashed the copilot with holy water.

The demon groaned under the duct tape, his skin sizzling and burning holes through his shirt.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” Amanda cried.

“Look,” Sam started calmly, “We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.”

Amanda’s breath quickened. “Well, I don't underst— I don't know—”

“Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that? Amanda?”

She gave herself a pep talk before heading outside of the curtains.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Dean groaned. “I don't know how much longer I can hold him.”

The demon went to kick the older Winchester in the back, but you dove to grab his legs.

Sam began reciting the Latin ritual written in his father’s journal. “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—”

The demon kneed you in the forehead, causing you to fall back and got a few good swings at the boys in as well. You clambered on top of the copilot, sitting on his stomach with his arms pinned by his sides under your legs.

Sam continued with the ritual before the demon threw you off of him. He ripped the tape off of his mouth and turned to Sam. “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

You attempted to recover from getting slammed into the wall while Dean focused on attacking the demon.

Sam sat there in shock, so you grabbed the journal and tried to finish the ritual.

The demon hit Dean again, effectively getting the young man off of him and knocking Dean into you. The book fell from your hand, and the demon kicked it out into the passenger’s cabin.

A cloud of black smoke flew out from the copilot’s body and into a vent while Sam went out into the aisle to find the journal.

Suddenly, the plane shook violently and took a nosedive. The lights in the plane flickered and you and Dean were thrown to the back wall of the concession’s area.

You and Dean screamed as the plane went down. Dean held onto the emergency exit door for dear life as you pressed yourself into the corner opposite from the older Winchester.

Your yelps were cut off when the plane leveled out following a surge of electricity coursing through the aircraft. You assumed Sam was able to finish the ritual and the pilot was able to regain control of the plane.

You shakily stood up from the ground and dusted yourself off, tugging on the sleeves of your large hoodie.

You stepped out into the passenger’s cabin, heading to Sam as people began asking their neighbors if they were okay.

You wrapped Sam in a short, tight hug as you thanked him for keeping his head level enough to finish the ritual and trying to comfort him after what the demon had said. When you had made your way back to your seats, a slight rumble went through the aircraft. Dean grabbed your hand once again, and kept it there for the rest of the flight. A small smile tugged at your lips.

After landing back at your original airport, you stood beside Sam and Dean as you watched the swarms of EMTs, FBI agents, and FAA agents go from person to person. They questioned or looked over each one, and your focus bounced between them.

You found Amanda in the crowd talking to an FBI agent, and she turned to the side to mouth “thank you” to you and the Winchesters.

“Let's get out of here,” Dean said firmly.

You began to head to the exit when Dean asked Sam, “You okay?”

You turned back to Sam, who reminded you and his brother, “Dean, it knew about Jessica.”

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. Alright? That's all it was.” The older brother attempted to brush Sam’s concerns off.

“Yeah.” The brunet didn’t sound convinced.

“Come on.”

***

The next day, you and the Winchesters visited Jerry at his workplace to give him the final mission report. Jerry showed you and the boys out and escorted you to the Impala parked outside of the warehouse.

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed,” he acknowledged. He shook your hand before turning to the boys. “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

Sam gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile. “We'll see you around, Jerry.”

You turned to the car, as did Dean before he turned back to the older man.

“You know, Jerry—" he began.

“Yeah.”

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway?” the young man continued. “I've only had it for like six months.”

“Your dad gave it to me,” Jerry explained simply.

“What?” Sam exclaimed in shock.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean questioned.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He took a pause. “Thanks again, guys— and gal,” he grinned.

“Bye, Jerry!” you called after him as he headed off.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service,” Sam told his brother.

Dean dials what you assumed was his father’s number. However, instead of the out-of-service message Sam had described, a voicemail began to play.

The two boys leaned into the phone so they could hear it better.

You leaned over Sam’s shoulder, the voice hard to hear, but you were still able to make out the words. “This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

Sam fumed, shaking his head in frustration as he got in the car. He slammed the door behind him. You looked over to Dean, who did not meet your gaze. He got in the car following his brother. You took one last look at the setting sun as a plane flew over your head.

“I fuckin’ hate flying,” you muttered.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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theamazingmaddyas · 6 months ago

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Apollo Cabin Camper headcanons

Lee was an avid writer, and was planning to go for a Creative Writing before he, you know, kicked the bucket. Michael and Will ended up posthumously publishing his diary as a fiction story (because monsters and all) so that he could have his dream of being a published author. Nico brought Lee a copy in the Underworld.

Michael would only ever call his younger siblings his "little siblings" despite the fact that most of them passed him in height at like 9 or 10.

Will has Michael and Lee's names tattooed on his wrist in their handwriting, as well as a quote from one of Lee's poems on his forearm.

Kayla's known she was a demigod since she was really young, since her father had to explain why she has no mother. Darren could see through the mist, and would just shoot the monsters that came because of Kayla's stronger sent.

Kayla was brought to camp by Hedge when he was in Toronto in TLO (is this a common hc? I feel like it should be)

Austin could play any instrument, except the kazoo. For some reason, he sucked at playing the kazoo.

Jerry's accent was so strong his first summer at camp no one could understand him except for the other internationals.

Yan would hide in the armory with their book so that they didn't have to do sword-fighting or archery practice

Gracie would make rainbow loom bracelets for literally everyone. Even though she came to camp after the Battle of Manhattan and the Battle of the Labrynth, she still made bracelets for her deceased siblings based on Will, Kayla, and Austin's description of them.

Will was protective of the chariot in TLH not because he cared about it, but because Michael cared about it

Lee was born in Connecticut, but lived practically his whole life in NYC, and Michael was from Maine.

The cabin has a world map with push pins indicating where everyone is from. Every camper has also signed the wall around it on the day they were claimed, so there's well over a thousand names by the time PJO takes place.

Cabin 7 has a music room in it's basement, that has every single instrument you can imagine. (Austin is banned from playing the kazoo of course)

The only way the cabin can be cleaned is if It's A Hard Knock Life (Broadway version) (and the reprise as well) are playing. The youngest kid sings at Molly, and they play rock paper scissor to figure out who jumps in the laundry basket like Annie (one time Michael accidently fell asleep and was brought to the laundry room by the harpies. He did not let Lee hear the end of it) (The same thing almost happened to Gracie, but Will found her before the harpies could)

It's tradition that the last day of camp the younger campers write a song for their counselor and play it before bed. There's a binder of all the lyrics of every song dated back to the 1940s on the shelf, when the tradition was started

I'm not even sorry about how many there are, I'm just a tad bit obsessed with Cabin 7 (as indicative of my ao3 fics dedicated to them all)

(Octavian's a legacy and I'm only 150 pages into my reread of Son of Neptune, I can't remember if there are any canon Apollo kids barring Octavian's ancestors.)

#cabin 7 #apollo cabin #trials of apollo #michael yew #will solace #lee fletcher #jerry (percy jackson)#yan (percy jackson)#gracie (percy jackson #apollo #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #the sun and the star #austin lake #kayla knowles #octavian (percy jackson)

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angelyuji · 3 months ago

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yandere rick sanchez headcanons

(obviously very ooc… like im taking his worst characteristics and turning the dial to 100)

cw // spoilers for literally the entire show, noncon, stalking, kidnapping, torture, being kept like a pet, drugging

18+

RAUEIA:ADOBAIDHJO?S{DH*}

canonically big dick like i need him BAD

guys im so in love with this old fucker

season 1+2 rick would definitely just keep you around for sex

the only reason he hasn’t gotten rid of you is cuz you’re a “good fuck”

literally treats you like an object or a cute little pet

“e-eat.” rick places a plate on a table he brought for you. he moves away to type on some computer. all you remember is a green portal in your room and a man you had never met dragging you out of bed. the room you were in was filled with computers and equipment. he didn’t bother to tie you up.

you don’t move, hearing your silence, rick turns to look at you. he burps, “i-i-i bring you some food out of the goodness of my h-heart and you’re not going to eat it?” you don’t answer. “s-s-stupid fucking b-bitch.” he moves over to grab you by the hair and pulls you closer to the table. “eat the fucking food.” you scream, your scalp searing in pain, as he shoves your face onto the table.

s1+2 rick kinda feels like the type to peer-pressure you into a drinking or doing drugs because he can

like he’d definitely force you to some alien drugs just cuz he can or cuz you’re not as resistant when you’re high off your balls

but season 3 and onward??? oh he’s so obsessed with you

let me explain this personality change

by season 3, rick is starting to care for his family so if you meet him after the whole federation prisoner arc of his, he’s more of like a clingy wet cat vibe… like imagine wisp the cat…. guys i lowkey cooked with that comparison

he’s allowed himself to care for his family (even sometimes jerry)

so when he meets you, this sweet, kind, beautiful person. he wants to protect you. he wants to keep you safe from all the shit that happens to the people in his life

constantly checks on you, calling and texting you daily. he always tries to play it off as a butt-dial

‘sdas’ you’re at work when your phone buzzes as rick’s text comes through. you look at the gibberish, roll your eyes, and continue working. 15 minutes later, a green portal flashes open next to you. everyone jumps in surprise, looking at the portal as rick walks through. “why didn’t you text me back?” rick grabs your arm, looking pissed. you look around, embarrassed.

you lower your voice to a hush, “you texted me gibberish? what exactly was i supposed to text back?” his grip on your bicep tightens and you wince.

“i-it was an accident, but y-you didn’t text back and i was worried.” rick starts to pull you into the portal, but you stand your ground.

“rick, i’m working. you have to go.” rick’s face darkens at your words, but he lets go when your coworker comes up to you.

“is everything alright?” she looks concerned and alarmed at rick’s appearance, and he rolls his eyes.

“(y/n) here, didn’t answer my text so i got worried.” rick pulls you into a tight hug and whispers into your ear, “next time, text me back.”

builds you a bunch of stuff to keep you safe like a chip that insta-kills anyone that it detects to be bothering you

that first week of meeting you, he had broken into your house at night and planted a tracker in your skin when you were sleeping, so he knows where you are at all times

during the whole killing rick-prime arc, he was so scared that you would get hurt or prime would come after you

he didn’t want to lose you like how he lost diane and beth :(

“baby, come on, it’s for your safety.” rick pleads as you slam your hands against the force field.

“SO YOU TRAP ME IN A CAGE????” you scream as rick presses a hand against the wall.

“it-it’s just for your protection, baby, i can’t lose you too.”

“FUCK YOU, RICK. I SWEAR WHEN YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE, WE’RE DONE.” you wouldn’t stop screaming at him. morty watches, uncomfortably.

“are-are you sure this is okay, rick?” rick’s face is unreadable as he registers your words.

“it-it’s fine, morty. i just won’t ever let them out.”

rick also seems like the type to have a breeding kink, but like with the no kids yk (this mf does NOT want more kids) (especially after the whole ghia incident)

like he doesn’t use condoms and he doesn’t pull out, because he likes marking you as his from the inside.

he would definitely have a marking kink like hickeys, love bites, collars, anything that shows the world that you’re taken by him

rick’s hands caress you as you struggle in your bonds.

“i’m sorry, baby, so so-sorry.” he buries his head in your shoulder, sucking at your nape. his hands start to pull at your pants and you struggle harder. he pulls away from your neck to leave wet kisses down your chest, “i know, i know, i’m sorry, sweetie. you just looks so cute, so sw-sweet. it’s really not my fault.”

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 7 months ago

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You recognized his knock. He always knocked the same rhythm. Soon you were pulling open the door of your shitty little apartment to the sight of his broad shoulders and wavy hair.

"Hi," you greeted him.

"Hey," he said, wringing his hands a little nervously. "I noticed ya weren't out at the Halloween stuff. I left the kids with Carol. They're havin' a hell of a time. Ya should come," he suggested, shifting his weight and hoping he sounded casual.

"Oh, I—I'm not really one for crowds," you explained, brushing your fingers back through your hair.

"Well, I ain't either, but if we go together and hang back it ain't so bad," he said.

You gave him an abashed smile. "No, Daryl, I—I get—panic attacks. It feels like I'm having a heart attack and my vision goes all blurry and closes in and—I mean, I can't do crowds. Not since the outbreak..." you explained.

"Oh. Oh..." he said, nodding, your words sinking in. "Shit, 'm sorry... I didn't know."

You shrugged. "It's okay. It's not usually a problem to be honest," you laughed wryly. "What, with half the world's population being dead and gone and all that... But being here in The Commonwealth has been a little more challenging," you admitted.

Daryl's brow was furrowed over his bright blue eyes. "Well, what are ya up to then? Would ya—I dunno, want some company maybe?"

You gave him a surprised look, your mouth dropping slightly open. "Oh, you don't have to do that," you said. "Really, you should go back and enjoy the festivities with the kids. I mean how often is it their first Halloween?"

Daryl shrugged. "We've already been down there most of the day... and they've got Carol and The King and Jerry and ev'rybody. If ya want to be alone, I get it but if not then—"

You stepped back and gestured for him to come in. "I want to be alone unless it's you," you said with a smile, your cheeks flushing slightly. Him showing up unannounced on your doorstep seemed to make you brave.

Daryl gave you that charming half-smile of his and stepped in, a definite treat for Halloween.

Prompt: "I'm not really one for crowds."

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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isaadleer · 3 months ago

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misunderstanding

Sumary: Young Arthur and you are good friends until you catch feelings for him, maybe was a good idea to forget him with another man, or not. Warning!¡:, fluff¿. nothing’ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader, Jealous Arthur.

It's been some time since you've been going to the town, but this time not for camp supplies, but to meet your new interest, Jerry Clinton, who works at the town’s post office. His skin is tanned with some freckles on his face, his eyes as green as grass, and his hair is brown like yours. To your surprise, Clinton doesn’t mind your social status or your company, meaning the grim outlaws you hang out with. However, his colleagues are quite the opposite; their looks say more than repulsive words.

The only people you've ever loved were Michael, a cute boy you had a crush on as a child and your first kiss. And certainly, Arthur. How much you love him, or loved him, how much you wished for something you couldn’t have or perhaps gave up on something that made you happy.

Your friendship with Arthur has always been very important to you, and to him too; it varied from deep conversations around the campfire to silly jokes and teasing between you two. Maybe it was the age, 18 and 20, or because you made each other happy. And so it continues, the only difference being that he doesn’t know you love him. Loved.

On a sunny morning, with birds singing in tune with your thoughts, you decide to go to town to see Jerry, but you are unfortunately or fortunately interrupted by Arthur on your way.

"Hey! Where are you going?" he questioned, blocking your way to your horse.

"To town, why?" you questioned him back, looking deeply into his eyes, impatient

Arthur was wearing a blue shirt, his typical black bandana, and the hat he’s worn since you met him, the one you like a lot.

“I bet you’re hiding something from me, always having a reason to go to town,” he said, suspicious of your trips.

“Maybe because it’s none of your business!” you exclaimed, continuing to walk and ignoring his presence.

You’ve fantasized so much about what your life would be like with Arthur, loved so much, talked so much, that sometimes you easily get annoyed by his complaints.

All that dirt dirtying your boots, your hair blowing in the wind, your skirt too tight, but of course, what’s really bothering you isn’t that, it’s Arthur trying to meddle in your life. You wanted him to meddle in your life, oh how you wanted it, but not this way.

"Why did you stay out so late yesterday?" he persisted, now walking alongside you.

“I was- was at the general store, buying some stuff…” you quickly replied, trying to explain.

“I know when you’re lying, stop it, tell the truth!” he said harshly, blocking your way, preventing you from getting on the horse.

“Let me get on the horse, Arthur,” you said in a low tone, already losing patience with his questions.

“No, until you tell me why you’re going to town, I won’t let you go anywhere,” he said, looking straight into your eyes.

Arthur was sometimes hard to understand, why does he care so much about this now? Only now?

Ignoring the fact that he’s an outlaw, a murderer, and much taller than you, “You don’t have to let anything; I’ll do what I please.”

Arthur continued to look at you in silence, and after a few seconds, you realized you wouldn’t go anywhere unless you said something.

"I'm just going to talk to a friend, that’s all." You said, lowering the tone that was high before, with a bit of shame.

He noticed your cheeks, which were pale before, turning pink in the blink of an eye.

“What do you need to talk to him?” He frowned and crossed his arms defensively.

“Really, Arthur? You need to know what I’m going to talk to him about?” you teased him, mocking his questions.

“I don’t care…” he suddenly changed his mind, which was unexpected. “Person… Person needs supplies for the camp.” He changed the subject.

“And?” You asked, in a hurry to get to town, not understanding what this had to do with you.

“We should go now; you need to help the camp, you know that, right sweetheart?” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t call me that, and, I do help with the camp, Arthur.” Chills ran through your whole body when he called you that, wanting to deny it, but deep down, you wanted it to be true.

“Let’s go then,” he said, guiding you to the wagon. “Or maybe you enjoy his company more than mine,” He offered a hand to help you onto the wagon.

“Don’t make me say it,” you replied, laughing, accepting his help.

The journey was calm despite all the recent confusion; you talked normally as good friends do.

But your mind is on only one thing, how would you talk to Jerry in the presence of dear Arthur? Maybe you should lose Arthur, or maybe lose Jerry and enjoy Arthur’s company. Lost in your thoughts, you are awakened by the noise of the town, people talking, working, horses walking, wagons moving, construction, all that, even though you often come to town, you don’t really like.

“Why do you need to dress up? Are you trying to impress someone else?” Arthur suddenly said after a short silence. With eyes narrowing with a sharp, intense stare.

“What-” your cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “I’m not…” you touched your warm cheeks.

“You’re looking like tomato sauce now,” He said, giving a fake laugh, looking at you, trying to lighten the mood.

“Stop it, Arthur!” you shouted at him.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” He parked the wagon. “We’ve arrived.”

“Thank god!” you said, getting out of the wooden wagon, feeling your butt almost turn square from sitting for so long.

“Let’s go to the general store, after that, you’re free,” he said.

So you both entered the store, immediately smelling the scent of fresh fruits like apples and pears, which are your favorites.

“Smells so good…” you said softly to yourself. But Arthur looked at you smiling; he probably heard you.

Person’s list was huge, taking quite a while to box all the supplies. To carry to the wagon, you picked up one of the boxes, lifting it to shoulder height. The box was heavier than you thought, causing you to let out a small sound of surprise.

“Let me carry that for you,” Arthur said after watching your struggle, placing his hands around the box.

Your faces were so close to each other that you could feel Arthur’s breath, his eyes penetrating yours. Your heart started to beat faster than usual, and that feeling you tried so hard to hide came back for a few moments. Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes so close to you, you could clearly see his eyeball. The scar on his chin, you still remember when he returned to camp with his chin bleeding, and you remember even more when you helped clean it and bandage it. For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you, for some reason you thought. But you thought many things over the years, and none were true but daydreams.

“I can carry it alone,” You said in a tense, clipped tone.

Even trying to remove Arthur’s hands from the box, he was stronger, and continued holding the box. His mouth opened for a second, trying to say something, but he didn’t… why didn’t he?

Instead, he sighed deeply and took the box from your hands, “Don’t be stupid,”

So Arthur and the shopkeeper loaded all the boxes onto the wagon, not letting you help in any way. You weren’t weak, it was just unexpected, a box that was heavier than you expected. But with that act, Arthur didn’t let you even touch them anymore.

He closed the back of the wagon once he finished organizing everything,

“I need to go to the post office to deliver a letter Person asked for,” Arthur informed.

Your heart stopped, Arthur and Jerry together in the same place? Not even your worst nightmare was that bad.

“Oh,” You exclaimed, with a face like you had seen a ghost in front of you.

“What?” He found your sudden reaction strange.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” You said, trying to hide your nervousness, guiding him to start walking.

Entering the post office, the familiar yellow walls came into view, and the first thing you looked for was Jerry.

Without waiting for you, Arthur went to the clerk to deliver Person’s letter. But to your unfortunate luck, something, or rather someone, touched your shoulder.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you here,” A sarcastic voice echoed through the post office. You turned to see who it was, and yes, you know who it was.

“Hey!” You turned around, changing your worried expression to a light and happy one, hugging Jerry, greeting him.

“How are you? Need to post a letter?” He said jokingly.

“Yeah -“ You were interrupted.

“Yes, we already did actually,” Arthur said seriously, placing a hand on your shoulder, with a slightly heavier touch than usual.

You found the boy’s physical contact strange, which wasn’t common, but then you understood what he was trying to do.

Ruin things between you and Jerry.

Even though he’s very young, this act was the height of selfishness and idiocy. When you realized what was happening, you felt like a knife was in your heart, breaking it into pieces. So disappointing, so disappointed you were.

Jerry looked at Arthur’s hand, at your face, and then at Arthur’s face. And his expression that was happy before, was now of complete unhappiness.

"I didn’t know you had company," Jerry said, looking deep into your eyes, ignoring Arthur’s presence, feeling betrayed.

"I don’t—" you tried to say but were interrupted by Arthur once again.

"Yes, I proposed to her a week ago, isn’t it incredible?" Arthur lied, drumming his fingers impatiently on your shoulder—a lie only you knew was false.

"Congrats. If you’ll excuse me, sir, miss," Jerry said briefly, and he left without even trying to understand or talk to you, visibly upset by Arthur’s words. Upset because he thought you had lied, but it wasn’t you—it was Arthur.

Watching Jerry walk away, you tore Arthur’s hand off your shoulder and rushed out of the post office. Your heart pounded in your throat, as if you were going to vomit at any moment—vomit all those feelings. The shame and anger you felt were indescribable, and the urge to kill Arthur at that exact moment was inevitable.

Arthur followed you out of the building after just a few seconds.

Standing with your back to the post office entrance, you turned and started yelling at him, "What is wrong with you? Why did you do that to me? Why did you lie?" Arthur seemed irritated with you somehow, and upset for some reason. "You ruined everything, Arthur! Why did you do that? He really liked me!" you said, almost crying in front of him.

You weren’t just talking—you were shouting, ignoring the fact that you were in the busiest street in town.

"And you liked him? I saw how you looked at him. You don’t like him!" he shouted back, causing everyone around to stare.

"Then why did you do that?" A tear escaped down your cheek.

"Because i love you! Not him!" Arthur said quickly, as if he had lifted a weight off his shoulders that he had been carrying for a long time.

All this time that you hid your feelings, all this time that you tried to replace him with someone else—he had liked you too. You felt like an idiot, stupid for not having said anything before. But even with Arthur’s confession, you were feeling anger towards him, because Jerry was a boy you cared for, even if you didn’t love him.

"You had no right to do that to me, you idiot!" you shouted, frustrated with everything that was happening.

The fact that Arthur upset Jerry, that you upset Jerry, the fact that Arthur loves you, the fact that you loved him—or still love him. You no longer knew if this was just a nightmare or a dream, or the cruel reality.

Arthur went quiet—quieter than he had ever been in his entire life.

"I loved you, goddamn bastard! But that doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want or hurt others." Your tears had already spread across your face, making you wipe them away with your trembling hands. "When you went out with that waitress, I didn’t stop you, even though it hurt me so much! I didn’t go there and pretend to be your fiancé!"

Arthur's eyes were studying your movements, trying to understand everything you were saying—so confusing for both him and you.

"I’m sorry, okay?" he said, feeling a burning sensation in his chest.

"No! You’re not sorry! I’m done with you, Arthur—done with your selfish behavior, done with you."

Without looking back, you walked over to the wagon, untied one of the horses, and mounted it.

Leaving Arthur there, perplexed, lost, completely directionless.

You could no longer bear the weight you felt in your heart. Your tears fell non-stop, your hair flying in the wind as you rode away.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you didn’t want to see Arthur’s face again.

————————————————————————

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youngbounty · 2 months ago

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I think we can all agree that Damian has always canonly been a vegetarian. However, there seems to be this misconception that it automatically means he’s vegan. Before getting into the reason why this isn’t the case, let me explain the difference between a vegetarian and vegan.

Veganism is a type of vegetarian diet where you abstain yourself from consuming any or from animals. Vegetarian is a broad kind of diet where you avoid meat in general, but can make exceptions to dairy, eggs, fish or insects. There are different types of vegetarians with the most familiar type being Lacto-ovo-Vegetarian.

I could be mean and point out the foods he’s seen eating that could be a vegan or veggie variety. However, I will use evidence that confirms that the products he’s eating or drinking are NOT the vegan variety.

When Branden offers milk to the Kent’s, notice how he says, “I have my own cow.” He’s not saying he doesn’t drink milk. He clarifies he only gets milk from his own cow, Bat Cow.

Considering Bat Cow willingly gives her milk to strangers, this makes sense. Why wouldn’t Bat Cow give Damian her milk?

The next is this. Look what Damian specifically asks for: a glutton free veggie pizza. I decided to look up the ingredients to this kind of pizza and these are the ingredients. Keep in mind these are the ingredients to the pizza Damian specifically ASKS for that cater to his vegetarian diet. So, any ingredients that would NOT apply to the vegan diet do apply.

The only vegan part of the pizza that’s called for is the crust. Most of the ingredients calls for diary such as cream cheese and sour cream. Others call for yogurt, ranch and cheddar cheese. This is why pizzas with vegan friendly ingredients are called Vegan Pizzas and not just Veggie Pizza. Why Damian asked for the pizza to be glutton free could be due to possibly being self-conscious about his weight or not wanting his siblings to eat his entire pizza since he’s more restricted than him. Either way, Damian is certainly not ordering a vegan pizza.

Why is this important to Damian’s character to be a vegetarian and not a vegan? It all comes down to Bat Cow. His mortal obligation to became a vegetarian is much more personal than others that become vegans or some form of vegetarian. To understand this, we need to go back to the story that led to Damian’s change in diet.

The illegal slaughterhouse Damian ransacked with his father was an illegal one ran by the Leviathans. The Leviathans placed a target on Damian, being a bounty was set on him at the time. This is what led to the slaughterhouse. This same man, who targeted and almost killed Damian, was about to run off with Bat Cow when Batman and Robin stop him. From then, Damian decided to keep the cow, change his diet and call her Bat Cow.

Both Damian and Bat Cow were both being targeted to be killed when they first met. This is how Damian is able to reach out to Bat Cow. Damian is making this choice with the understanding that Bat Cow will see any human that consumes meat no differently than those that slaughtered her family. By changing his diet, Damian is becoming someone Bat Cow can trust won’t hurt her like in the slaughterhouse.

Understanding this, we can then understand why consuming milk, eggs or dairy doesn’t apply here. This picture is what Damian does not want to be seen as in Bat Cow’s eyes. Nowhere do we see milk, diary or eggs being eaten here. Therefore, eating diary and eggs do not apply to Damian’s diet. So long as those things are freely given and no lives are taken, Damian will not restrict himself from consuming milk, eggs or any eatable products from the animal itself.

Now, I don’t mind Damian being any type of vegetarian that eats/drinks diary from Bat Cow only and eats eggs from Jerry (if female) or Wiggles only. I only have a pet peeve over claiming Damian’s Vegan or a type of Vegetarian that restricts himself from anything his pets willingly give him. The reason is because by restricting Damian as Vegan, it restricts his relationship with Bat Cow, who willingly gives her milk to those who need it. By providing milk for Damian, she’s helping and providing for the one who saved her and gave her a better life.

Most Vegans live in the city where they depend on food from the grocery store. Veganism started around the 20th century when factories and grocery stores began growing and monopolizing their products. However, Vegetarianism has been around for thousands of years. At the time, everyone raised their own livestock. If anyone became a Vegetarian for religious or moral obligations, there was no point in abstaining diary or eggs, being they milked their own milk and gathered their own eggs or else their neighbor’s. There was no concern over how the cows, goats, chickens, quail or turkeys were treated because the Vegetarian was caring and were responsible for their own animals.

If Damian is raising Bat Cow, he has no reason to avoid milk. Same with getting eggs. If Damian gets his eggs from Jerry or the Kent farm, those eggs are not provided through inhuman ways. He might be paranoid enough to only eat foods with dairy ingredients he provides from Bat Cow, but I can’t see Damian completely restricting himself from anything that could be provided to him more humanely. If we truly believe Damian restricts himself to Veganism, aren’t we claiming he can’t get his own milk, cheese, yogurt, etc. from his own cow or eggs from his turkey more humanely? I think Damian would be insulted by us and say…

#dcu #dc #dc comics #dc universe #batman #robin #damian wayne #bat cow #jerry the turkey #wiggles the dragon

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darylbae · 5 months ago

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Pls could you write daryl dixon x fem!reader at the kingdom? carol and ezekiel took in a worn out and struggling woman and have been helping her get back on her feet. daryl comes along and teaches her to hunt and maybe r lost some memory but got a bit back when she shot her first animal w daryl maybe she’s actually a vvv good hunter

crack shot — daryl dixon 🩰

in which you find the kingdom, and an archer who's willing to train you.

note: love this, going to make a lil drabble of this.

You'd been alone for a long time. You'd survived with your stealth and trusty knives, but it was getting harder. Your backpack of supplies were low, you hadn't found a proper place to settle down, and you'd recently injured yourself trying to hide from a horde of walkers. Until you'd been found passed out from blood loss sat on a branch in a tree. A man, who spoke as if he'd been pulled from a fantasy book, and a woman, who seemed the exact opposite of him. And yet they worked together well enough to get you back to wherever it is they call home. The Kingdom.

That was almost a month ago. You'd spent a long while recovering, getting to know the Kingdom and it's people, and helping out with your very minimal mobility. Turns out your injury had been worse than you or anyone had thought. When Carol, the woman who found you, had sat at your bedside to question you, you appeared to have lost any knowledge of what's happened. Memories muddle into one, not being clear enough to decipher. You'd forgotten a lot of your life before this, but you assumed that was because the world had changed so drastically. You remembered some long-term things, like family members you had, what was happening in the world at this point in time, and where you were born, but everything else had fallen short. It was time to start building you back up. Carol would visit you a lot, bringing you things to eat, taking you around on walks to show you how things are going, and today she had other ideas in mind. "So," Carol sighed, sitting next to your bed once again, "I think you've recovered enough to start doing something. I've asked a friend to train you in dealing with walkers. Just to make sure you can defend yourself still." You nodded, finishing lacing up your boots and getting out of bed. "Who? Jerry? Because I love Jerry." Carol laughed. "No, an old friend of mine offered to help actually. He's waiting outside."

Carol had taken you outside, and stood in front of the both of you, was God himself. Everything you'd liked in a man, he was here. But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your brain, focusing on learning. "This is Daryl," Carol introduced him, and he held the strap of his crossbow on his shoulder, giving you a quick look up and down, and a nod. "He's going to take you hunting today."

The two of you had left the Kingdom, quietly walking towards the woods. "Carol said you forgot everythin'," he mumbled, his voice gruff but it pushed a few buttons for you, "that sucks." "Yeah. It's a strange feeling. I don't really remember much except the family I had, and how the world turned out like this." You explained. "So you're a hunter?" He nodded. "I'm good at it. Been doin' it all my life." "Well I hope I catch a good deer or something for Carol and Ezekiel."

It had been a long, slow day. You'd spent a long time just walking through the woods silently, trying not to scare any wildlife away. With the occasional "come 'ere" from Daryl. But you'd finally found a deer; stood gracefully between two trees, sniffing at the ground. Daryl raised his crossbow, explaining how to use it. "Wait," you exclaimed in a whisper, "can I do it?" Daryl handed you his crossbow, and before he'd opened his mouth about how to hold it, you'd fired the arrow and it landed perfectly into the deer, killing it in the most humane way. He was in shock, analyzing your features for any signs of shock. "You done this before?" He asked, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder again before following you towards the deer. "Maybe? I don't know. It just felt natural to me." You answered, and he was still reeling from how impressed he was. "Have to take you huntin' with me all the time now, crack shot."

#daryl dixon incorrect quotes #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl x you #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon blurb #daryl dixon imagines #the walking dead daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon twd

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 1 year ago

Text

You're just like an angel p1 (Yandere Miguel O'Hara X female reader)

I was not immune to the simping, different to my usual but I hope you guys enjoy

Warning: slight nsfw

"Hey I'm sorry but I'm gonna be stuck on a late shift at the scrapyard tonight. I have some noodle packets in the cupboard you can use to cook dinner tonight" you messaged your siblings as you got onto your scooter.

"Hope you have a good night (Y/n)" one of your colleagues said as they walked past you.

"You too" you replied as you put your phone away and started your scooter.

You hated lying to your siblings but you had to do this tonight, a shipment like this from Alchemex wasn't going to happen again in a long time. You had to get your hand on more of their materials to further the inventions you were working on. Perhaps you'd even try to improve that suit of yours. You'd have to at some point, the rumors of 'The Vulture' were going around now as well as a new superhero called Spiderman, he'd certainly be an issue if he got in your way now.

You drove all the way to a storage house. You got off your scooter and hopped off before heading inside.

"Good evening Maggie" he greeted you by the fake name you'd given him when you rented out the storage room.

"Afternoon Thompson" you replied as you made your way to the front desk. He handed you your key and you made your way to your designated storage room.

You unlocked the padlock and pulled the roller door up. A single duffle bag and a Jerry can were inside. You kneeled and opened the duffle bag and pulled out your gear and inspected it. You hissed at the dents in your armor plating. You knew this was inevitable with aluminum but you had no lightweight alternative you could afford.

You tried it on and all the mechanisms seemed to work well so you packed it back up except for the lucky green pilot jacket that you'd received from your grandfather before he passed away. You put that on before grabbing the bag and Jerry can before leaving.

"I don't understand why you don't just keep that stuff at home, you always seem to need it," Thompson said as you handed back the key.

"I'm just afraid one day my granddad's air force memorabilia will get damaged or stolen at the apartment I and my family live in, so I leave them here until I go out to the veterans' gatherings," you explained.

"Well that makes sense, you must love your granddad a lot" he replied.

"Yeah, he was my role model. Having these helps keep his memory alive" you explained, it was a partial lie, the jacket was a treasured piece from your grandfather and he was the person who sparked your love of engineering.

"Have a good night" you said before leaving. Your next stop was a gas station to fill the jerry and your scooter before driving out to New Jersey along Route 95. Alchemex had cut a fair chunk of the road off so they could drive safely as well as a fair amount of security from what you heard. You put on your armor, and heavy-duty gloves and filled the jetpack with petrol, and wiped it down putting it on. Then you put on the makeshift gas mask you had made with an aluminum cover in the shape of a beak before putting your earplugs in and grabbing your binoculars and keeping an eye on the road.

Eventually, you saw the headlights in the distance and you put on your goggles and grabbed your bag with some tools before pulling the wire to start the engine and pulling another to open the wings. You ran in the direction of the wind and soon took off. You flicked a lever on the back to put it to a higher power.

You used the wire for your wings to steer you forward until you were above the truck. You hovered above it, determining the best spot to land. If you were too close to the front or back the security drivers would see you so you had to be meticulous. You managed to land in the middle of the trailer, turned your jetpack off, pulled in the wings, and quickly grabbed the blowtorch from your bag to burn a hole into the metal. Once done you stood up and slammed your foot in the middle causing it to fall.

You jumped in and put your blowtorch to the side as you started going through the various boxes of equipment. You took some motherboards, some strange-looking cells that you assumed were batteries, a few miniature glass computer monitors, and a speedometer. You had just grabbed your blow torch and put it in your bag when you heard a screech and a smash just seconds before the truck violently shook before it began to roll. You were tossed around and into the walls before blacking out.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up with a pounding headache. You sat up and kept your eyes closed as you tried to ride your headache out. Once it started to fade you opened your eyes to see you were in a plain white place that seemed like a warehouse. You looked around for your bag but couldn't find it.

"Where the hell am I?" You asked yourself.

"Somewhere you don't belong" a deep voice responded that made you freeze up for a moment. You looked around for the source only to see a bright red light heading towards you. You luckily dodged and looked towards where the light had come from to see a figure dressed in a suit of blue and red. Your mind thought it was that supposed Spiderman but it wasn't the same suit. It was very similar though, a copycat maybe?

"Hey Spiderman, I don't know where I am. I'll just leave and we can just forget about this right?" You asked. Something else was thrown towards you and you sprinted behind one of the shelves. You looked back at what he threw, it seemed like some kind of forcefield cage. Something straight out of science fiction.

"Ok, so I'll take that as a no?" You muttered as you put your earplugs back in and pulled the wires hoping to God it didn't get damaged in the crash. It started and you tried to fly through the top shelves to avoid whatever he was using but another red light was launched your way, this time you weren't so lucky. That red line managed to stick to your jetpack lever and turned it off. You screamed as you fell but were stopped last second by another red line. Another removed the earplugs.

You looked up at him now noticing his suit was glowing almost as if it were a screen. What kind of tech did this man have?

"You're quite the amateur," the man said as he pulled you up. This was definitely not the same Spiderman the news had been talking about. That was for certain, they made the one on the news seem like a novice.

Once he pulled you up you were quick to throw a punch to his face. He didn't even try to avoid it, he didn't even react to it.

You threw another, this time however he caught your fist.

"Why don't you just give up?" He asked you slightly amused by your attempt to hurt him.

"No! I know you're going to take me to the police! I can't get locked up!" You screamed in desperation, there was something so pathetic in your desperation yet at the same time he found it a little admirable that you'd even try to fight back against him.

You kicked and punched as hard as you could but nothing seemed to affect him. Within a blink of an eye, he returned a punch to your stomach and you collapsed In front of him as all the air left your body. You were gasping for air as he dropped another cage thing onto you.

"I'm not taking you to the police," he told you, you should have felt relieved but you didn't, surely he wouldn't let you go so easily. You tried to get up but then you felt the worst feeling imaginable, like your entire body was being stretched and stabbed at the same time. You screamed out in pure agony before passing out from the pain.

🕷🕷🕷

You woke up again, this time you were in a dark room, and the only light was from the platform. You looked down at yourself to see you had been tied to a chair with only your undergarments on.

"Hey, where the hell are my clothes!" You screamed. The platform began to lower and you saw that Spiderman again, this time he wasn't wearing the mask. Olivey skin, dark eyes, and brunette hair all with a well-sculpted face to match. However, it was apparent that he was quite a bit older than you were.

"They're folded in the corner, had to make sure you didn't have any other devices on you" he explained in a neutral tone as he made his way towards you. His accent made his words roll pleasantly but you still could not trust him.

"So why am I here? don't you think I'm a little below your league to be wherever this is?" You asked.

"I just have a few questions to ask you" he replied as he stood just a few feet away and observed you with a scrutinizing gaze. You tried to keep calm but he could see how nervous you were. You certainly weren't like any of the anomalies he'd met before, you were far less confrontational.

"If I can go home then I'll answer them," you said.

"It all depends on how you answer them" he replied

"Name?"

"(Y/n) (L/n)"

"Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn"

"Occupation?"

"Working at a scrapyard, is that all? These questions don't seem important enough for you to know" You asked him after the first few rapid-fire questions. You could have lied but you were not in the position to do so, he could very well have all the answers and is just testing your honesty.

"Do you use The Vulture as an alias?" He continued as he disregarded your question.

"Well, I don't personally however that has become something the public has begun to use for my crimes" you explained. It was clear to him you weren't a real villain, at least not yet. You weren't without flaws but in comparison to the Vulture from his universe you were a Saint. At this point, he was genuinely intrigued by you.

"What about your past?" He asked.

"Nothing remarkable, I just lived in a low-income family for all of my life" you replied.

"Really… I don't think an average crook would go to the effort you have, what made you?" He asked.

"You want to know?" You questioned.

"I need to know as much as I can" he replied.

"Well… my family has always been rough, my father didn't want a baby but my mum insisted on keeping me so my father left her before I was born. I ended up being the eldest of three with my siblings from different fathers. From a young age, I was fascinated by machines and wanted to be an engineer. I pretty much studied my ass off, especially after my mum's late fiance died in that car accident. At that point, I knew I had to get a scholarship if I had any chance of helping my family, so I tried to ace pretty much everything I could to get a scholarship from high school. I was told by all my teachers that I'd get that scholarship…" you explained as you felt your blood boil and heart race from anger.

"but on graduation day that scholarship was awarded to none other than the principal's own son. He could have easily afforded to send his son on his own dime but no, he had to take my one chance… my one chance to help my family get out of all the poverty we'd been living in!" You Hissed as your knuckles turned white from how hard you clenched them.

"Getting a job after high school was a struggle but I managed to find one at a scrapyard. It didn't come without its obstacles but I persevered. Eventually, I realized that nothing was going to get better from just perseverance and a smile on my face like I'd been told all my life. Clearly, I had to do things the dirty way if I ever wanted to get out of my situation. That's when I turned to stealing in an attempt to make my inventions, however, I could only get so many materials from scrap so I had to figure out how to get my hands on better materials. That's when I made that" you explained as you pointed to your jetpack that had been placed on the floor. However, you noticed that a similarly designed flight harness was on display along with other pieces of tech on the wall.

"I guess my design wasn't as original as I thought…" you nervously chuckled, you were a little disheartened at the discovery. You sighed as you turned your head to the other side to look at the ground.

Miguel had tried his best to avert his gaze from your body. He really shouldn't have been thinking of what he was but the thought of those lush legs wrapped around his hips or his cock sandwiched between those subtle breasts. He was cursing himself, you were someone he had only just met, and a villain at that.

He was only brought back when he heard you scream as you glitched.

"What was that?" You asked between panting.

"You're glitching, it's because you ended up in a dimension you don't belong in" he explained.

"Dimension?!" You exclaimed. This really was some science fiction stuff you got yourself in.

"Yes and this is where the main questions begin," he told you.

"How did you discover a portal?" He asked.

"I have no idea, the last thing I remember is the truck I was in rolling" you explained.

"You didn't see anyone different at all?" He asked.

"Nope, not at all" you replied.

"Can I leave now?" You asked. Sure he could have let you go, you didn't have any information on the anomaly that entered your dimension. However, you were still a personal interest of his.

"I can't right now, I still have my suspicions about you," he told you in a stern tone.

"Please, I gotta look after my siblings and I'll lose my job if I don't get back soon" you tried to reason.

"I'll let you go in a few days," he said before your restraints were removed. You quickly hurried to your clothes to put them back on.

Once you were back in your clothes he handed you something, a wristband.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"It'll stop you from glitching for the day" he explained before another cage surrounded you. You placed the wristband on and inspected it.

Now you wait, hopefully, you'll be sent home soon.

#yandere #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hare x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #x reader #yandere miguel o'hara x reader

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