#you have some explaining to do Jerry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedrosyouknowwhat · 15 days ago

Text

Catching fireflies

Trilogy masterlist

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x Fem! Reader

Chapter warnings: Dead dove do not eat, dubcon borders noncon, coercion, manipulation, age gap (reader is 19-20 and Joel is 56), unprotected p in v, alcohol consumption, pussy slapping, mention of blood, virginity loss, creampie, inexperienced reader

You slouched over the bar, giggled resonating with the loud, thumping music.

"Aw come on Jerry, you know me since I was a kid!" You pushed, fingers brushing against the worn wood, sticky with years of spilled whiskey; the old bartender chuckle hoarsely. The banter was playful, a brief respite the people of Jackson allowed themselves in the ruckus of the Apocalypse, some glee.

"The world may be fucked up, but you are still underage." He answered, cheeks tinted both from the laughing and the unforgiving summer heat.

Another drunken citizen chirped in, telling the man to give you a drink. Although you knew his intentions were far from kind, you allowed him to fuel the laughter. You hid your uneasiness deep down as you tugged your flowy skirt down your thighs.

The door bell clinked open, but before you could turn around and see, a cup of lemonade was placed in front of you. You inspected the drink with feigned offense.

"Come on Jerry, just one beer." You pleaded, doing your best puppy dog eyes.

"You want Maria to kill me?" He excused, and you rolled your eyes at the excuse you have heard a thousand times.

Like when you asked a boy to be your boyfriend, or when you ask for Tommy to bring you a pretty dress. It all resorted to your mother, well adopted mother; she had taken care of you after your mother died in the outbreak, but it also meant the community held you as some kind of baby Jesus. Always no, always strict.

"Well, Maria can't kill me." You heard a deep seated, growly chuckle behind you, and you peeked over your shoulder.

A man with dark pepper and salt hair, broad shoulder and big, brown eyes. He held a smirk, adorned by a thick, well trimmed, beard that matched his hair. It clicked a tad too late, the resemblance.

"Joel Miller, what are you doing here?" Jerry greeted with a laugh, making the man's gaze lift from you.

"Decided to stick to one place at a time." He explained, nearing the counter. He nudged towards you with his head. "Give her something, on my tab, come on."

Jerry's smile turn into a scowl as he added cheap vodka to your lemonade, and you squealed in excitement, muttering a chant of thank you's to him. You almost forgot about Joel beside you as you sipped the straw.

"So you are, Maria's girl?" He asked, and your eyes shot to him, as a child caught stealing candy.

"Well yes," you sputtered. "Adopted." You added, but it felt weird to clarify.

"Well I'm lucky you are not my niece."

You giggled slightly, was that a compliment?

"Or else you wouldn't be buying me drinks?" you said, and it came out flirtier than you thought. He hummed in response, and the way his shoulders rose sent a tingle through your body.

He's like twice my age. You thought, and that was enough to slip you right out of your giddy trance. You started thinking of excuses to ditch him and head back to your friends, fumbling with the fear of coming off as rude. But the way his eyes lingered on your white lacey dress beneath the thick denim jacket made you unease.

He asked Jerry for a beer, turning to you with a sip. "Wanna go outside?"

Your lips fell apart but words didn't spill, and you head just nodded. Okay, I'll go outside and then tell him I need to go back to my friends. But as you felt lingering stares into the summer night, Joel maimed you with conversation.

He was intriguing to say the least, speaking in short, concise sentences that kept stringing questions into your mind. He spread against a bench as you sat on the edge of the seat, interrogating him in his many adventures.

"There are some things a young thing like you can't hear." He excused, lighting a cigarette between his thick chapped lips. You whined, catching his attention.

Soon enough you were laying your head on your hand against the bench, eyes fluttering as you mustered to keep asking him, keep him talking. His accent was thick, similar to Tommy's.

"Someone's getting tired?" You heard once your eyes were shut, you hummed in response. "Let me take you home."

You questioned if Maria or Tommy would get mad as you walked up the cobblestone, then you laughed at yourself. It was Tommy's brother, the one you have heard stories almost all your life, although having met him randomly, you doubted they'll get mad if they saw him walking you up to your door.

Still, you peeked to the house beside you, checking that the lights were off before turning to face him.

"Well thank you, Joel?" You smiled curtly, waiting for him to leave before opening the door.

"Nice thing you got here, gonna let me in?"

The question felt weird, suggestive.

"You need something?" You asked, a bit more abruptly than you wanted it to come off, but tiredness seeped into you.

Joel blinked, his brows drawing together. "I must be doin’ somethin’ wrong. Pretty girls usually don’t leave me out in the cold." He explained, perhaps way to bitterly. You feel your cheeks warm up as you look around, seeing no one. "but I guess you are too young for that, right?"

You felt yourself cringe at how dumb you felt, young felt almost like an insult. Your gaze fell to your feet, seeing his rugged leather boots.

"it's okay baby," He sighed, and the word slipped out of his tongue effortlessly. "everyone got a first time."

The slight relief that had washed over you dissipated, as if burnt by the heat of his gaze, and everything that had been told of men poured into your mind.

"I-I am not that type of girl." You spluttered, and instantly cursed to yourself.

Joel sniggered, and you felt small in front of his thick, broad body. damn, you had to crane your neck to look at his face.

"Oh I know baby," He drawled, and his hand slowly came up to your face, tucking a strand behind your ear. The word rolled out, sending shivers down your spine. "Just wanted to know you got onto bed safely, and you don't, you know, sleep in the couch- you look so tired."

You nodded, biting your lip. Hastily, you opened the door and turn on the lights. It was pretty small, but it worked; Tommy and Maria wanted you to have your own house, being perhaps to crowded in theirs, but they still wanted to keep you close.

"There's juice on the fridge," You offered timidly, looking how his big figure looked almost comical in your house. "I'm going to change, um, I think I'm good now."

He didn't answer, boots thumping against the floor boards as he observed the pictures over the fireplace. You shrugged to yourself, slipping into your bedroom.

You wondered if he was still there as you changed into your pijama set, something that was sewn for you by Maria, and layered a hoodie on top to check is he was still there.

To no one's surprise, he was, leaning over the wall as is waiting for you.

"I'm going to sleep now," You laugh dryly, pointing to your bedroom as if clarifying you weren't sleeping on the couch.

He looked pretty, and you felt weird for thinking that of a man so much older. He stalled, looking at your for a bit longer.

"Come here," He commanded, and you felt yourself freeze. he saw you, your doe eyed look as you stared at him, pleadingly. "come here baby, I don't bite."

He's Tommy's brother, I know Tommy since I was ten, come on.

You walked over to him, bare feet almost tripping over each other. You stopped a feet away from him, looking expectantly. He rose from the wall, closing the distance between the two of you.

"You are a pretty girl, you know that right?" He told you, and you felt yourself blush as you nodded, weakly. "words, baby."

"Yes, Joel." You answered; a smile tugged once again at his lips, pleased.

"And I'm telling you this for you to take care of yourself, okay?"

You repeated the answer, seeing his chest slightly swell at your obedience.

"You can't let men enter your house like this." He explained, and your brows knitted together in confusion. "They can get... wrong ideas, alright baby?"

"I'm sorry." You said, although you weren't; you were confused.

"Sweet innocent thing," He drawled, and his hand rose to cradle your cheek, forcing you to look into his deep, dark eyes. They looked almost black in the dim lighting. "Have you ever had your first kiss?"

The question struck you, and you felt shame; his touch felt deceiving. As if he was mocking. You shook your head, and he tutted.

"No, Joel." You mumbled, questioning why you kept repeating his name after each answer.

His smile turn into a grin, hand now cupping your jaw.

"Gonna help you with that, just so you-wake up, a bit-darling, alright?"

Before you could even wonder what he meant, his grip became tighter as he pulled you closer, lips clashing into yours. You gasped, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, as if searching for yours. His free hand coiled around your waist, pushing you closer and your hands felt onto his chest. His finger trailed closer to your neck, keeping you in place as he ravaged your mouth.

He let go, leaving your breathless, chest heaving as you gazed up to him in shock. His mouth was twisted into a hungry snarl as he came down to whisper in your ear. "Don't tell them about this, baby."

You woke up the next day believing it was a dream, a twisted and weird dream or perhaps that one glass you had drunk, but when Maria told you to come over for dinner, to celebrate Joel's welcome into the community, and you felt his piercing stare on yours, you knew you hadn't dreamed it. You were quiet at dinner, letting them speak and catch up; Joel was more talkative than you remembered.

You wanted to isolate the incident at your house, to think it was just him genuinely teaching you something, but a fire rose through you each time you were captive to those big, puppy dog eyes. You hadn't kiss anyone since him, and the feeling lingered in your lips. You found yourself thinking about him, about his thick body.

He wasn't teasing as usual around the others, perhaps grumpier with them. He flashed you small smiles and pats in the back, and he supplied all your drinks from the bar, telling you to "go get lost kid" each time he saw you begging by the counter. His change of demeanor made you wonder, if you weren't good enough or mature enough; you had never thought that, not until Joel Miller appeared in your life.

The doubt had crept over you for too long before you gathered your bravery and decided to sneak out to see him; his house stayed on the farther side of town, the one were less people were around. You slipped through back yards and trees the way day, questioning what exactly you were planning until you came face to face with him, sitting in his porch with a guitar on his hand.

"Hi." You greeted, breathless.

"Baby, what are you doing here?" He asked, and hearing the nickname once again made you gush. He looked around, perhaps worried, as he beckoned you to come closer.

"I-I wanted to see you." You confessed, shamefully, and before you sat down he stood up, nudging to the house.

"Come in, can't have you out here."

You followed him inside, jumping when he neared you as soon as the door slam shut. His hands made their way to your hips, impatiently; you got whiff of his cologne, leather and eucalyptus. You wide-eyedly looked up at him, hands pressing into his flannel. You liked his hair that way, slicked back, fresh from the shower.

"Why did you kiss me the other night?" You muttered.

You saw him hesitate with words, struggle, bite his lip as if he was trying to keep his words in. You suddenly felt overly conscious of the way your jacket draped over your body, of the way your jean shorts clung around your thighs and the low cut of your tank top; perhaps you didn't look as good as you expected.

"Baby, don't do this to me." He pleaded, although it sounder more like a demand.

"Please." You begged, fingers latching on tighter.

"It's wrong baby, so wrong." he growled, eyes dipping to your lips. You almost whined at the tone.

Your head cocked to the side, tears brimming in your eyes; what was wrong with you? He just kissed you.

"But why?" You whined; his grip tightened around you.

"Tommy would kill me." He grunted, head turning to look around, evading your eyes, evading you; still his grip persisted, as if holding you in place. "If he found out that- that I like you this much-"

"You like me?" You implore, lips tugging into a small, goofy smile.

He looked at you like a man starved, a man punished. "Oh baby," He panted, pressing your body to his. "I really like you, but Tommy would-"

Each time he repeated his name it irked you, like a scratched record. You cut him short. "Tommy won't know."

His tortured eyes soften, a glint of... hope? ignited. You battled the guilt setting in the back of your brain, the promise you had made despite everything Tommy and Maria had given you.

"You wouldn't tell him?" He questioned, voice as soft as silk.

"No," You spoke quickly, scared he might slip from your grasp. "I-I like you too, Joel."

He let out a small chuckle, and you felt lighter. You allowed yourself to chuckle too, and he called your name softly, you hummed in response.

"No one can know baby, alright?" He told you, hand cupping your cheek. You wanted to savor the tenderness of the moment, but his lips were on yours quickly.

It wasn't your first kiss now, and it was frankly more expected than the other; you attempted to keep up with his demanding pace, lips barely parting to allow his tongue to slip in and taste you. His mouth "o"ed against yours, hungrily as your felt his grip on the nape of your neck.

Suddenly his body was pushing you, your feet stumbling as he guided you. Against a wall? the table? your mind buzzed, attempting to find an answer to what he was doing before your knees buckled into the couch, the stripey green fabric cushioning your fall.

His body fell onto you, settling his thick torso between your legs as he pulled away briefly; his hair had messed up a bit, his lips pink from his assault, and his eyes furrowed like some animal; everything about his gaze felt predatory.

He fixed himself in his forearms, rubbing the zipper of his dark jeans into your clothed core, sending a gaspy whine out of you.

"J-Joel?" You muttered as his face hid in the crook of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses against your blazing skin. He grunted in response, a paw sliding up your thighs; panic brewed in you. "Joel I don't-um-"

He unslotted himself from you, face mere inches away as he looked at you. Joel looked angry, but he couldn't possibly be, right?

"I'm not ready for that." You admitted, like a sinner repenting.

His gaze left you, looking at the empty table, huffing. You felt tears kiss the brim of your eyes, scared to have offended him once again.

"It's fine baby," He grunted, but it felt like it wasn't. He slightly shifted, inches away from you.

"I'm sorry," You choked, doubting to confess further. "I have never done t-that."

You caught his gaze, a small grin on his lips. "It's fine baby," He repeated, and his eyes lighted a bit. "just promise me somethin', alright?"

"Yes, yes." You nodded, fearing he was going to ask you something you won't like. Like forgetting him.

"Promise me I'll be your first."

A month had passed since you sealed your fate, like some sacrificial lamb. You felt as if you were being prepared for it too, Joel slipping into your home late at night, after a long day of practically ignoring you, and kissing your breathless against your walls, your couch and your bed. His hand had wondered over your clothed core a handful of times, hushing your worry by telling you he "Just wanted to see something".

An event that burn into your mind was one night where he was particularly agitated, grasping you roughly as usual. As his hips rutted into the mattress, he whispered something into your ear that sent shivers down your spine.

"Let me see her." He panted, seeing how your eyes narrowed as if you were wincing in doubt. "Please, baby."

His pleads were answered with a small nod that could be mistaken as anything else; you allowed him to bend you over the bed, as you allowed him to touch in places Maria had told you not to allow anyone to touch you. His calloused finger tips pulled down your pijama pants along with your white, sodden panties.

"For a girl that tells me she isn't ready, you are soaking wet baby." He commented, hand splaying in your ass. You felt your core clench at his words.

The light buzz of the zipper woke you up from your trance, and his name bubbled in your throat. "Relax baby, ain't gonna put it in."

You felt the wooden frame of the bed dig at your hips as the dim moonlight casted shadows around the room. You waited, silently, until you heard low, familiar groans behind you. You didn't want to look behind your back, his tightening grip on your ass sending cold sweet along your skin.

His grunts were vivid in your ear against the silence of the night, and you closed your eyes until it was over, despite not knowing for how long he could go. You were on the edge of falling asleep, the only thing keeping you away was the burning pinch on your skin. He became louder, you begged he would just shut up. Something ran across your mind, if it was even appropriate to ask him when was it over.

As a horrible wish you felt hot ropes lather against your backside, slipping through crevices, leaving a sticky trail. He let go of you, panting as his knees cracked, floorboards accompanying the sound.

You didn't want to move, in fear that his waste would dirty things up. You failed to hear him leave and come back, the cooling sensation of a wet rag cleaning the flaky stickiness on your skin being a strange delight.

"You are so good for me, baby." He praised, and your heart swelled. You flashed him a small smile as the waistband snapped back in place. "Gonna take you to a date tomorrow, you'd like that baby?"

You spent every waking hour thinking about that; he told Tommy he needed help running some errands, a bit of hunting here and there, something like that. You were almost sure Tommy only said yes because of how your face lit up at the mention of leaving the fortress of Jackson for a few hours.

A gentle breeze stroked your cheek, warmed by the setting sand as Joel took your delicate hands in his tanned, calloused ones. His figure was darkened by the rays that blinded you. Your cow girl boots padded on the uneasy ground, long grass stroking your legs as the cherry print sundress flowed.

"Where are you taking me, Mr Miller?" You asked with a sly chuckle, slightly unsettled by the normalcy of it all; it felt almost like before the outbreak. The nickname rolled down your tongue teasingly.

"Just a date," He answered shortly, leading you into a emptier valley. You gasped at the sight. "over here."

Sure, the blanket was the usual he kept at the back of his truck, and there wasn't a champagne bottle, or flowers or food, just a half empty bottle of whiskey. But the effort overwhelmed you.

You had expected more when he told you to wait in the car, but it was enough to make you jump into his thick arms.

"Oh thank you," You almost sobbed, chest heaving. You separated yourself to look into his eyes, but the dark browns skimmed down your neckline as he stepped back into the blanket. "You are so sweet, I-"

He landed with a slight thud into the ruddy blanket, and pulled you on top of him.

"Anything for my baby." he mumbled, propping you on top of him. A hand tangling into your hair as he pushed your lips into his, tongue slipping into your mouth as he grabbed a fistful of your ass. You yelped, pulling away.

His expression soured, eyebrows knitting together as you let out a slight giggle, attempting to dissipate the tension.

"Are we going to watch the sunset?" You asked eagerly as you slipped out of his lap, and he fisted the whiskey bottle. Haphazardly, he opened it and took a swig before nudging it into your arm. "Oh, I have never drank whiskey-"

"Come on baby, it won't kill you." He cut you short. You allowed it to burn it's way into you, perhaps scared of displeasing him.

Soon you were even more giggly as you draped yourself over the blanket. Joel's scowl had dissipated, and he was once again singing sweet things into your ear.

"You are so pretty," He mumbled against your neck, placing tender, testing kisses. "Such a pity you are so young."

You grunted at his words, playfully glaring at him. "What do you mean?"

Because what could he mean? You were basically dating, if you knew anything about that; he took you on dates away from Jackson, preaching about privacy, and he visited you late at night, through the backdoor.

He let out a dry laugh as he took one glance into the sky, now painted a light blue as the sun cast it's last goodbyes. You propped yourself in your elbows, getting a better look on his pepper and salt hair and thick beard.

"You are too young for me," he repeated, and you felt nervous by the way he evaded your eyes. "too innocent-"

"I'm not innocent." You almost barked, hand slapping against your lips as you realized how quickly you had said it. "I mean-I don't see how that is a problem."

He finally looked at you with a down turned smile, as if assessing you.

"Come on baby," He nagged, stroking your cheek. "a man like me has, I don't know how to say this, but needs."

You knew what he meant, and it scared you. He had tried a month ago, when you have started dating, and you panicked. He had taken you home for the bar, and perhaps you understood it; that was what people usually do, at least he had told you that. And he was respectful about it too, any time his hand would slip up your thigh, you just had to give him a tight lipped smile for him to stop.

But he was right. Men had needs. Everyone told you about it, most of the time it was a warning, to not be so naive, because men could do and would do bad things to you, just because of these needs.

But Joel wasn't like those men, he was good, he was nice, he even brought you gifts every time he went out for munitions, like what looked like really expensive underwear.

"I know," You spoke slowly, slurred by the amount of whiskey you had taken. "I-I can do it."

A smile appeared on his lips, and once again he looked so sweet when happy.

"You sure baby?" He asked, but his body was already falling on top of yours. The rough fabric of his jeans slide through your thighs, and you felt his zipper line up against your core. "You'll make me the happiest man alive."

It felt sudden, but you had literally told him you were willing to do it, you thought.

He had jumped over you like a coyote over his pray, placing open mouthed kisses over you as his hand palmed over you. He pulled your panties to the side, fingers playing with the slickness you had deprived him off for so long.

His finger prints traced over your fleshy bit, the button that stood at the top of your slit, the one that throbbed when he pressed himself to you. You whined, his ministrations a bit too rough, too intense as you felt as if you were being electrocuted.

You gasped when his thick finger broke into you, a sting following its path. "So tight baby," He mumbled by your shoulder, your eyelids shooting close in pain. "have to open you up for my cock."

The way he said it made you felt even more dirty, but he was he one staining you, and if he liked it that much, it couldn't be so bad, right?

His wet finger left your cunt to fiddle with his belt, you heard the clunk zip sounds along his grunts as he lowered his jeans.

"Take a look baby," He called, and you slowly peeked your eyes opened to look between his legs.

In his hand he held his cock. It's red hot tip weep sadly, veins decorating its side; it was longer than his fist, and thicker than any vegetable you have seen around. A weird comparison, but it was all you thought at the moment.

You head begun to shake, eyes shooting pleadingly at him. "Joel, it's not gonna- is it even gonna fit?"

He chuckled, proudly, as his hand continued to pump precum around it. "It's supposed to baby, your body is made for that."

You nodded, biting your lower lip; he knew better than you. You felt the urge to ask him if he had done this before, but it was probably stupid.

"Lay down baby," He ordered, and you slowly plopped back onto your back. "Spread this legs nice and wide for me."

He saw you doubt, so he forced his body between them, hands at your knees. He laughed about something, looking down between your bodies. You felt the hot tip heavy against you, against the opening. Your hands clenched the blanket beneath you, knuckles turning white, and he pushed in.

Pressure, pressure, pain.

You yelped painfully as you felt the intrusion, body jolting away on instinct. He tutted at you, hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Baby, now we gotta put it in again." He scolded, your head swag from side to side, scared of muttering the words. You fought against his grip. "Stay still."

He growled the last part, and your heart hammered against your chest. You felt searing pain once again, as he pushed in. Your lips parted and a hoarse scream came out, surprising you.

A hand that could break your neck slapped against it, keeping your head still. He met your terrified eyes, tears rolling down your temples form the pain.

"God baby you wanna get us killed?" He barked lowly. "It's going to hurt more if you keep squirming; gonna do this quickly, rip the bandage, alright baby? promise you'll like it afterwards."

He kept talking, but your mind went blank with white hot pain as you felt his hips flush against yours as the agony stilled for a second. It all came back, crushing you as you heard his deep seated moan, your thighs fought against it, shutting close against his torso.

"Take it," He groaned, unlike his usual sweet demeanor. "Take it like a good girl, my good girl."

His hand still clasped over your mouth, and through your blurry eyes you could see his face, hear him; he was happy, he liked it. The praise went straight to your cunt, allowing some ache to dull.

He was going at it for hours, the sun now long gone as all you could do was feel him; the drag of your cock in and out in quick hard motions, his wandering hands pulling down your dress to lick and suck at your neck. And you heard him too, his groans and grunts and the dirty words he shot at you, becoming dirtier and rougher with each thrust.

"Taking my cock so good, bad girl."

"Such a whore, fucking an old man like me, huh?"

"Stop fucking whining, you love it, little perfect slut."

It became too much, any pleasure his strokes could cause disappearing as he lifted your ass off the ground to fuck into you. You whined, feeling the pressure on your clit, a throbbing. A hand came down upon your sensitive skin, slapping there.

You chanted his name, feeling sweat bead against your skin as he gave you blow after blow, sending you clenching around his cock.

"Gonna cum around my cock, huh baby? as I'm slapping your little pussy?" He questioned, and you blabbered a yes.

His thumb begun revolving around your soft point, the rest of his hand pressing down on your abdomen. You allowed the foreign feeling to take over you as his cock thrust up into you, hitting a spongy spot that sent your back curling against the ground.

"J-joel!" You whined, shrieking as you came undone under him.

Any muscle that tensed came undone too, cramping against you as Joel picked up your thighs, pressing them against your chest as he gave precise fucks into you.

"Gonna cum inside of you," He growled. "Fill you nice and deep, baby."

His body weight fell on top of you, stretching your legs even further as you felt his cock twitch inside you. The wetness spilled further inside you, and you quietly listened to his staggered breaths as you came down from your high.

The blood hadn't dried off the blanket as he said it was getting late and walked you to the truck. You waddled, slight pain in your lower belly as you followed him.

"Wasn't that bad, right baby?" He asked you, the light of the truck illuminating his face in a warm glow. His hair was messy, damp with sweat, and he lit a cigarette between his lips.

"It was good." You smiled absentmindedly. "Thank you, Joel."

#dark! joel miller #dark! joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dark fic #tlou #a glimpse of us #joel miller #dark joel miller #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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blueteller · 2 months ago

Note

I found this on reddit it's not my opinion but it's kind of funny and disconcerting.

What do you think?

( https://www.reddit.com/r/CharacterRant/s/uwKw63Cgoc )

"A rant on Trash of the Count’s Family

Alright before I begin I would like to preface by saying that I am a long time reader of the novel and love this novel to death. It kept me company during my darkest and lowest points of my life and I am forever grateful for it !

The rant also in no way affects the brilliance of the story. With that out of the way here it goes:

This is an amazing fantasy novel filled with great visuals, writing, story and top-notch characters. However it has TWO big problems that broke the story smooth sailing for me and I need to rant about it because where I am from I am pretty sure no one reads TCF in a 6000 mile radius.

One big problem was the romance. THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NONE OF IT. This is not a problem if the main character doesn’t want romance (he doesn’t nope) but NONE of the main/side characters that has been introduced so far also want nothing to do with romance. It was a little awkward to read the story based in medieval setting where characters are as pure as angels as they come.

Now, you can of course raise the point that romance was never the main focus of this novel (it’s not even a background focus or some D plot) but let’s analyse this novel here for a second okay? This novel is very gore and never ever shy away from very dark themes or stories.

- The main protagonist of the story (sorry forgot his name it’s been a long time) has his entire village with whom he has spent 20 years murdered and burned to ashes, all the men women and children are totally dead.

- The Prince story is also pretty dark and deals with some adult themes about race and identity.

- The dragon raon (is that the name?) backstory is…holy shit some hardcore torture and let’s not forget the revenge torture that happened later with raon eating steak.

- The butler and his butcher son

- The absolute crazy HUMAN EXPERIMENT arc that was happening in the Empire. I mean holy shit they really went into crazy detail about body mutilation and the scientists are absolute psychopaths in how they love their job.

And I am just scratching the surface about how dark this novel is and there’s plenty of it. The point is that it is very adult oriented novel with these stories but on the flip side their romance department is so negligible that even Tom and Jerry had more romance than this.

It actively avoids it like a plague. Why is this an issue? Let me explain.

Simple answer it feels a little jarring or disorienting when you read the novel like going back and forth between watching the looney tunes movie and switching immediately back to a Black Mirror episode.

But I have to give where credit is due. I didn’t notice the romance problem until after some 500+ chapters later (that’s how good the novel story is ) and how did I notice it?

After some battle trying to reclaim the south (north?) tower and this is the part where the Empire’s royalty is on the brink of collapse the redhead girl (I also forgot her name but she is part of the main gang) is extremely tired after a long battle and Cale tries to help her by giving her some healing potions (remember at this point she is the only female character that understands Cale the most and their relationship is the most developed of all) but she says she is so tired she can’t even lift her arms, so Cale (as logic would have it) offers to feed her the potion himself (see completely logical under the circumstances) but Raon the dragon out of nowhere says, “You are too weak Cale! Let me do it”. And I am like…say what? We know the main gang always comments that Cale is weak and all but come on guys we know he isn’t and in fact he’s been through crazy shit. During that battle he never had to fight and was in top condition so that remark from raon made even more less sense.

And then the redhead laughed it off and said “it’s okay I will do it myself” and she does…after a bit of struggle to lift the said bottle.

It’s a small thing but it did break my immersion (it was already broken before, I will explain later). It forced me as a reader to actually “think” about the author intentions something that should never happen when reading a fantasy novel. And it made me go “hmm wait a minute” and then I reflected back on all the 500+ chapters I have read and I came to a realisation that…forget main character romance there is hardly any romance of any proportions from any and every character in this whole novel! It was so impossibly impossible that it teared through the immersion completely.

The second reason for this rant and this is connected to when my immersion showed a small crack. And this reason is purely a preference thing so feel free to ignore this as you want.

I personally believe that when you make a “reborn in a fantasy world” story you absolutely must never collide “our” world with the fantasy world.

Don’t do that.

From page 1 you are setting up this fantasy life, fantasy way of living and thinking, fantasy people, fantasy stories and most importantly a fantasy you. Don’t break this immersion by literally making the world he (Cale) came from an integral part of the story.

When the main protagonist found out who Cale really is and confronted him about it by listing some Korean food items I was a little disappointed because it felt like a parent telling a child that role playing as a prince and over now put the castle made of pillows back in place and do your homework for school tomorrow.

Maybe it’s just a me thing but after that confrontation, every time Cale interacted with anyone be it the redhead, his dragon, butler or anyone it all felt so plastic and fake, like I was overly conscious of the fact that this is a fantasy land filled with fantasy people and well…it made me feel a little lonely."

Wow, this is quite interesting! Thanks for sending me this. Not because I agree – anyone who knows anything about my opinions on TCF would know that the very 2 points that the author of this post has "problems with" are the things that I embrace with great enthusiasm.

So, prepare for a long ride!

First of all, let me make this absolutely clear, the same way this person did at the beginning of their own post; they are allowed to have their own opinion on what they like or dislike. The same way I am allowed to like or dislike certain elements of stories. I don't claim that TCF is a flawless work either – it's just that all the flaws it does have, at least to me, are so minor I don't care about them in the slightest.

I might actually be "brave enough" in the future to actually make my own post about the "flaws" of the story for me, no matter how few. But not today. Today, let's focus on the reddit post.

Now, imagine a person (the author of this post) is given an apple pie in a restaurant.

This person very much enjoys apple pies. They continue to visit the same restaurant and keep ordering this apple pie. But after a while, they discover "two big problems" with the apple pie.

First of all, it does not contain cinnamon. So this person is like – why not! That is, they did not notice before, but it is SO jarring to them now that they know! Because they believe all apple pies should contain cinnamon. Secondly, this apple pie is made out of a species of apples they do not like. In fact, they are convinced this apple species is not fit for apple pies! So, they quit ordering apple pies at this restaurant.

Meanwhile, there's a second regular customer (me) who orders the apple pie at this restaurant. This customer, in fact, is kind of sick of cinnamon. They were so happy they discovered a restaurant that doesn't use it! This person also notices this apple pie has a very interesting texture to it, one they very much enjoy, because of the specific apple species this restaurant uses. It quickly became their all-time favorite dessert.

Obviously, neither customer here is wrong. "The customer is always right in matters of taste" is a saying for a reason (although people usually say only the first half of it, forgetting the second part), and just because I love the "apple pie" in question, I am not going to shame the other person for their own taste.

With all that said, please allow me to address to the post properly, step by step.

First, when addressing the lack of romance as a problem, this is this person's argument: they list major dark moments in the story, like Choi Han's village getting massacred, dark race racism, Raon's torture et cetera. Then they say, "The point is that it is very adult oriented novel with these stories but on the flip side their romance department is so negligible that even Tom and Jerry had more romance than this".

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe… Tom and Jerry had any romance either. That cartoon did not even have dialogue. So like, huh??? What kind of argument is that? Should I say that Tom and Jerry has a critical flaw that is has no talking despite being all about comedy? That it would have been better if it was dubbed or something? Well, there was that one movie I remember from childhood but – never mind, we're getting off track here. This argument kind of, completely falls flat for me.

I get the implication. "TCF is has so many dark themes, it should be mature enough to contain romance as well". Which is, completely off the mark for me, personally. Maturity and romance have NOTHING to do with each other.

There's also the statement that "It actively avoids [romance] like a plague." And I agree, kind of. This story avoids romance on purpose. But It never felt unnatural for me. I was kind of expecting it to pop up eventually, back when I first started reading. I thought for SURE Rosalyn would be somebody's love interest – because she had to be, right?? But it gradually dawned on me that there are so many cool, pretty, strong, independent female characters… And none of them are representing a specific fetish or exist solely to be somebody's wifu. The women are PEOPLE, they are fleshed-out, complex characters who have goals and ambitions and just like for the men, there is no thought about romance here because there is so much going on – most of it world-ending, in fact – that focusing in romance would actually DECREASE the maturity of the story instead of enhancing it.

The author of the post said, "It was so impossibly impossible that it teared through the immersion completely". What, do you need characters getting laid to be truly realistic mature adults or something? I think you have the wrong idea about adulthood… Let me say it again, those people are too busy in this story to focus on dating. Even if Cale himself wasn't so obviously ace, his life has been so crazy since he transmigrated, I have no idea HOW on earth he could have found the time (or anyone else for that matter: just look at poor Alberu, swimming in paperwork 24/7!). He can't even sleep for more than 4 hours per day during the war arc. What I personally would find jarring is exactly this: characters trying to freaking date or play off romantic subplots while the world was LITERALLY GETTING DESTROYED. That would have been so petty and ridiculous.

So, the expectation that there HAS to be romance, just because… I think it is a faulty expectation to have in the first place. And it is NOT unnatural that the characters don't do romance (especially with how many species there are among the cast and the age gaps between them, it would have been awkward to say the least; unless you're the type to like Twilight style of romance). The story put a lot of focus to forge familial bonds between the characters. It doesn't lack in the relationship department, just non-platonic one. And if this is a problem for someone and they find it jarring, well… Again, no cinnamon in apple pie, I guess.

Next, we have the argument that "when you read the novel like going back and forth between watching the looney tunes movie and switching immediately back to a Black Mirror episode". I don't know Black Mirror, but I get it. The author of the post claims that the comedic character interactions – the ones that had been very well established in the first 200 chapters of the story, covering full 2 years in the timeline – are… what, unrealistic? Inaccurate? Cartoonish? I’m not 100% sure what the exact issue is here.

They quote a scene where I assume Rosalyn is too tired to lift her arms and Cale offers to help and Raon says he's too weak and let him do it instead. The author of the post then acts confused, as if it was completely unreasonable, because Cale is not weak. Um…. I don't know if they were not paying attention, but that's just false. Cale is PHYSICALLY weak, despite all his Ancient Powers. That is exactly the whole reason why he keeps coughing blood and fainting and stuff. So it was funny, and in-character, and fitting with the rest of the story – at least in my opinion. If that broke this person's immersion, then fine I guess, but I really don't see the reason. I guess they don't enjoy the "texture" of this "apple pie".

Speaking of texture, the last point pf the post I want to address: the belief that you should not mix "real world" and fantasy. They say, "I personally believe that when you make a "reborn in a fantasy world" story you absolutely must never collide "our" world with the fantasy world. Don't do that". Excuse me, but uh… why? That is not the case at all, for many stories? I mean, you could approach it that way, nothing wrong with keeping it separate. But most classic isekai examples usually stray from that idea, actually. Are you familiar with Chronicles of Narnia, by any chance? Did you know that the magical lamppost that Lucy found in the woods actually came from England? It was a very fun bit of backstory from the Magician's Nephew.

"Don't break this immersion by literally making the world he (Cale) came from an integral part of the story." Why not, man??? It was so brilliantly done! In fact, it was so freaking cool, the way TCF did it! What, is "our world" so boring and terrible you must keep it separate from the fantasy at any cost? It was plot relevant, it gave Cale legit ties to the new world, it fleshed out his character, it was incredible! 10/10! If TCF lost that element, it would have been a great loss.

And even if you don't like the mixing of "fantasy and reality" as something "immersion breaking"… there is one problem with this kind of argument, in TCF at least.

Kim Rok Soo is NOT FROM OUR REALITY.

Let me repeat: the man is not from regular, modern Korea! HE IS FROM A FANTASY MONSTER APOCALYPSE DIMENSION!

The whole reveal of what kind of place KRS comes from is what make this story so good to me. It was an incredible twist. The "regular, normal man from modern world" was a red herring meant to hide the fact that he was an ability user from what is basically a superhero world full of monsters! It is not! Regular! Modern! World!!!

"When the main protagonist found out who Cale really is and confronted him about it by listing some Korean food items I was a little disappointed because it felt like a parent telling a child that role playing as a prince and over now put the castle made of pillows back in place and do your homework for school tomorrow." That… you really, REALLY missed the point here, man. That was not the vibe of the scene at all! Choi Han and Cale are both essentially war veterans, mentioning foods from their childhood! This the "Frodo and Sam talking about the flavor of strawberries from Shire at the foot of Mount Doom" from Lord of the Rings type of moment! Only, well, a bit more comedic. Still, it was so touching!! But, well… again, you don't like the taste of the pie, there is nothing I can do about it.

And lastly, there was this paragraph at the end of the post:

"Maybe it's just a me thing but after that confrontation, every time Cale interacted with anyone be it the redhead, his dragon, butler or anyone it all felt so plastic and fake, like I was overly conscious of the fact that this is a fantasy land filled with fantasy people and well… it made me feel a little lonely."

I never noticed such a thing. I do not know if more people felt that way. But I always thought that the characters were well-established and their behavior natural. I am sorry that the immersion break made the author of the post lonely. I hope they can spend time with their friends and feel a little better. Fantasy shouldn't just be a tool to "fill an empty void in your life and escape terrible reality". For me, stories are meant to create something beautiful, to inspire, and to make one consider the possibilities of reality. I mean, if Cale can stop world-ending threats by being brave and making good strategies, why can't I handle the minor problems that reality has to offer? It's all a matter of perspective.

So, that is it. That's my whole response. I hope it satisfies you! Have a great day!

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of count's family #q&a #replies #tcf meta

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thehelltingvilleclub · 1 month ago

Text

Helltingville Epilogues

Want some old men? have old men and the lonely rat bastard Captain Dickey.

From left to right:

Jerry - Mandi - Cherri (Left) - William "Buck" Titus (Right) - Bill - May - Pete - Jane - Amari (Matt's younger sister) - Josh - Matt

dude this took me too long

but man do I love all of em

Jerry and Mandi don't end up together permanently-- but they do have their kids together. I genuinely imagine Jerry ends up like Scout TF2 style as a single dad to like 4 kids but he loves them all equally and gives them all the attention he can.

And when he can't handle them all, he'll just drag Bill over and make him deal with them.

Yes, in Helltingville the gang stick together.. kind of. Like old friends that happen to live nearby-- they meet up occasionally, they keep tabs on each other online, they might even have a christmas party together, but they definitely are not hanging out regularly like they did as kids.

Jerry and May's anxiety can't take it, Josh's heart can't take it, and Bill can't take the guilt of knowing that, so its sparingly, but they'll keep in touch.

During the heavy confrontation after Comicon and after, Bill kinda.. hit rock bottom? Like if he hit rock bottom as a teenager then he hit the bottom of satan's fucking boot. Getting reemed out by Matt, disgusting looks from everyone and even his sister, seeing everyone so happy without him--

he struggles with that, and he hates it. He gets so unbelievably angry with himself for being both equally stupid and selfish. He shouldn't be upset about this! They're just stupid fake fans that don't understand him, right? then why the hell is he three bottles in and he still feels like shit?

Jerry and May keep tabs on Bill the most, checking on him and forcing him into therapy. Jerry uses him as a free babysitter, May enjoys the company when she isn't on set with Pete, and Bill isn't passed out drunk in his mom's basement.

Jane and Amari were enemies in high school, they actually hated each others GUTS. Amari was captain of the cheerleading team and Jane had her punk girl gang. And yet, in college, they managed to get together and put aside their differences. (Plus, Amari has the same infatuation problem as Matt... and her type is scrawny women that could stab a bitch, apparently).

Matt does develop a bit.. of an alcohol issue. He's so stressed from work, worried about Josh and his health, BILL being ALIVE, Bill being NEAR HIM, Bill staring at his SISTER bro his liver is crying.

Josh.. kind of knows. He can tell that Matt drinks at dinner and maybe a sip or two before bed, but He doesn't want to step out of line and make Matt upset. The last thing he wants is to upset his fiance and get yelled at again for being useless. He doesn't need to go down memory lane.

Cherri develops a vocal stim similar to Jerry, and struggles to talk otherwise and is usually hiding behind him whenever they aren't in their room. Buck, on the other hand, will not stop asking questions or shut the fuck up. this kid has enough energy to power the sun and his brain never turns off. Sorry Bill, you're gonna have to explain the entire Star Trek lore because you mentioned Star Logs and did the Vulcan Salute and now he demands to know what that is.

May works with Pete on occasion, mostly on a commission basis from Butchie. She helps make props and walks new actresses through the ropes and makes sure they're safe on set. Pete is just happy his woman's with him and you BET he brags "guys look at my girlfriend god I love her--"

And yes, they're looking to name their kiddo Sidney, but it's still a toss up. Bill says the name sounds dumb but won't help May pick any new ones to add to the list, so his opinion can get stuck in a meatgrinder.

Guys i have too much to say about them.

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directdogman · 5 months ago

Note

out of curiosity, who in the dialtown cast could you trust with fireworks

Ranked from most trustworthy to least:

Norm is the obvious first choice because he has experience with literal rockets and has experience with stuff like firearms and would be anal about procedural stuff.

Tango, Mr Dickens, Jerry, I'd trust with them 95%, since I think they'd be responsible and follow instructions even if they lack experience. Karen would also be this category but I doubt she'd willingly take the job.

Mingus could probably do the job but she'd be so eager to get it over with that she may overlook something.

Oliver, I would be hesitant to trust with fireworks because while I feel he probably has some experience with explosives I feel he might do something stupid like strap a few together.

Stabby + Shooty lacks Oliver's experience and would 100% injure themselves trying to do something cool. Pass.

Randy, I would not trust with fireworks for the same reason I wouldn't trust him to pour sulfuric acid from one vessel to another. I've read scientific manuals that say "pour decisively" because taking a half measure when pouring something lethal can cause you to end up with dangerous tiny amounts of liquid ending up outside of your beaker. Also, shaky hands.

Bigfoot + fireworks is a really bad combo.

Gingi cannot be trusted with fireworks. C'mon. Like I need to explain this one.

Billy cannot be trusted with fireworks despite having the most experience with them. He would 100% use them maliciously (as per usual. Good example of what he'd do with them is mentioned in Roger's DLC.)

(Not included in the ranking: God would not willingly handle fireworks having a fear of explosives + having seen up close what happens if they're mishandled and would let someone take the job, and stand at a distance when they're launched.)

Thank you.

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darkbluekies · 2 months ago

Note

Also out of curiosity what artists do you think your characters would have as their top five in their Spotify wrapped, i imagin hedwig would be very much like bebadobee or clairo

Im not familiar enough with the ocs music tastes to pick 5 artists, but I can pick 1 artist and 5 songs! This took A LONG TIME lol, so please give me pat on the back lol. And also, feel free to listen to the songs, especially the Swedish ones, it'd make me happy<33 IF ANYONE WANTS EXPLANATIONS FOR ANY SONG/ARTIST, DON'T HESITATE TO ASK, THERE ARE SOME THOUGHT BEHIND IT!!!

The OC's Wrapped

Silas:

Top artist: Måneskin (i can't explain it but their songs just really feel like Silas + i dont feel like he listens to many artists/music so his wrapped is just ... måneskin)

Minutes listened: 25 000

Top songs:

1. I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE — Måneskin

2. FEEL — Måneskin

3. FOR YOUR LOVE — Måneskin

4. OWN MY MIND — Måneskin

5. BABY SAID — Måneskin

Dr Kry:

Top artist: Frank Sinatra

Minutes listened: 9 000

1. Fly me to the moon — Frank Sinatra, Count Basie

2. Håll om mig hårt — Panetoz

3. I aim to please — Dion & Danielle Nicole

4. Kung för en dag — Magnus Uggla

5. Håll om mig — Nanne

MODERN King Edmund:

Top artist: The Weeknd

Minutes listened: 86 000

1. Mockingbird — Eminem

2. United in grief — Kendrick Lamar

3. Fur Elise — Faouzia

4. Raging on a Sunday — Bohnes

5. Starboy — The Weeknd, Daft Punk

Jerry:

Top artist: (G)-Idle

Minutes listened: 97 000

1. Igloo — Kiss of life

2. Oh My God — (G)-Idle

3. Super Lady — (G)-Idle

4. Hot to go — Chapell Roan

5. Habibi (My love) — Faouzia

Hedwig:

Top artist: Taylor Swift

Minutes listened: 64 000

1. Lucky girl syndrome — ILLIT

2. NEMONEMO — YENA

3. Lover — Taylor Swift

4. Strawberry rush — CHUU

5. august — Taylor Swift

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torturedfujoshidepartment · 4 months ago

Note

Hiiii can I request headcanons of the guys with a gyaru/gyaruo significant other??

👾The Eltingville Club with a gyaru/gyaruo S/O!🐉

(epilogue!)

Cw: mention of porn (nothing serious just Pete being pete （−＿−；）)

Rating: N/A

⚠️Bill:

“You look like a hooker…”

- he doesn’t get it.

- At all.

- He’ll compare you to a overly tanned soccer mom (even if you’re not tanned)

- He only likes it cuz of nails (scratch him please)

- He’ll sit on the edge of your bed and watch you use up 2 hair spray cans on your hair/or wig

🩸Pete

“Lookin’ good”

- Thinks it’s cool as hell

- He’s into it…maybe too into it

- Will start looking for JAVs of gyaru/os

- You’ll have to explain to him it’s weird (he doesn’t care :/)

- If you wear heels/gogo boots/ or any shoe that makes you taller he’ll complain (step on him lol)

- If you ask nicely he MIGHTTT let you dress him up a little (dressing up as in matching ALBA ROSA coats)

✨Jerry

“You look like dark elf from DnD!”

- probably the most normal out of all of them

- Likes to watch you pick out your outfits and do your makeup

- I like to think Jerry also likes anime so he’ll point out some dark skinned character and ask you if they are gyaru

- If you mix your gyaru look with his fantasy shit, ohhh boy

- He’d be so happy

- Will ask to watch you do para para dances…and teach him how

🏷️Josh

“Kinda like a togruta…”

- he thinks it’s interesting

- Not a hater or a lover

- He’s neutral on your style!

- If josh sees something you might like he’ll show it to you and ask if it “counts as gyaru/o”

- If you’re outfit shows a little skin this sucker is all googoo eyes on you

- If you let him borrow your scrunchie for his hair. You’ll never see it again

#the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville club #eltingville club x reader #jerry stokes #josh levy #pete dinunzio #bill dickey #⚠️#🏷️#✨#🩸

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tetragonia · 10 months ago

Text

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."

268 notes · View notes

angelyuji · 6 months ago

Text

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.”

148 notes · View notes

doctorbitchcrxft · 11 months ago

Text

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

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

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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