Summary: After Economos admits he’s never had a girlfriend, you decide to help him fix that by going on fake dates. Because you’re a good friend. Not because you like him or anything. That’d be like, totally weird or whatever.
Pairing: Economos X fem!reader
Word Count: 6.9k words (lol. lmao even)
Content Warnings: LOTS of swearing, maybe mild sexual content but it's mostly just very indulgent romcom trope fluff. Rated M on Ao3
Notes: hi I am still very new to posting fanfic on tumblr after a 12 year break and john deserves so much more love for x reader fics.
You can ALSO read this on AO3, and leave a kudos/comment if you want - it ain't much but it's honest work for all 3 of us Economos enjoyers
Your first impression of John Economos was that he looked like a guy who complained about Star Wars being too woke or called women “females” on incel forum boards. Never had you been so thankful to be so wrong about someone. It took time, but John eventually warmed up to you as a fellow member of Clemson Murn’s taskforce for Project Butterfly. You were often paired with him for backup and logistical support, such as managing evidence and taking care of inventory and equipment, which meant long nights in the shitty safehouse and 7-11 runs to fuel up on energy drinks and snacks. You liked his dry sense of humor and that he was (mostly) normal compared to the unhinged attitudes of Peacemaker and Vigilante.
But John wasn’t very confident in himself. It about broke your heart listening to his vulnerable monologue that night at Coverdale Ranch. When he crawled with a bloody broken leg to deliver one of Peacemaker’s helmets to Leota, you thought that had been the coolest thing anyone had ever done on the planet. You, with your simmering crush on the older man, decided that if you all survived the night and stopped the Butterfly invasion, you’d tell him that you liked him. A lot.
Things got a little complicated after that. You managed to avoid all those bullets whizzing past your head, only to get completely knocked out by a shovel-wielding, Butterfly-possessed prisoner. You spent a month in the hospital after doctors raised concern that you’d develop some sort of long-term brain injury (you didn’t). After your little stunt with Leota, you got demoted to archives in Belle Reve, forcing you to work long hours in the manila folder graveyard. You and John eventually returned back to work, him as warden and you in your shithole archives job in the basement.
Needing to take your government mandated lunch break, you locked the door behind you and made your way down the hall to visit John Economos. He was sitting there, at his desk, eating a bag of corn chips as always. Certainly luck was on your side.
“Oh good, you’re actually here today,” you chirped, half-leaning on the corner of John’s desk. “Look at us, huh?”
“Yeah,” John mumbled, popping a chip in his mouth. “Some saviors of the fucking world we are, man.”
It felt like the old days of shooting the shit in that janky van on reconnaissance missions, sucking down junk food and ungodly sugary drink concoctions. The rush of knowing you were on a thin edge and a countdown to save the world. You missed this. You missed him. There was a lull, just long enough to give you room to breathe and say what had been on your mind ever since the ranch.
“So…” you lowered your voice. “If it’s cool and all, I've been meaning to ask you something.”
“It depends on the question?” he asked suspiciously.
You laughed at first but it died as your jaw tightened. You weren’t sure how else to say it, so your words tumbled out as chunky clusters: “So, um, are you seeing anyone? Like, do you have a girlfriend? Remember when you said that you hadn’t had a girlfriend and-,”
“Fucking really?” John made a face that nearly made you regret asking that question. “You’re bringing that up again? I’d say go to hell but you’re already working in the goddamn Archives now, which is bottom-gutter shit.”
He dramatically spun in his chair away from you, but your hand gripped the back of his seat to stop him from fully turning away. The sudden strength surprised the two of you as you scrambled the next few words out of your mouth. “Wait, John. I wasn’t making fun of you. I just asked because I-I want to take you out. On a date.”
You very rarely used his first name - granted, most people just called him Economos or nothing at all. John blankly stared at you. You were pretty sure no woman had ever spoken those words to him before. “What, why? If this is for some fucking bet you have going with Chris-,”
He didn’t believe you. He didn’t believe you, and it was gut-wrenching. Fuck. Everything you built up in your head was crumbling fast. You needed to spin this, and despite your better judgement (and maybe the shovel-to-head injury did fuck you up a bit), you conjured up a ghost of an idea.
“Not a bet,” you said quickly, raising your hands up. “I was just thinking that maybe, I could, um,” and you paused here, “maybe go on some practice dates with you? Like a dry run. And I’m still your friend so it’s okay, right?”
You were lying, of course. You had more than platonic feelings for him, but clearly by his reaction you had come on too strong.
“For real?” he asked. You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face, but you answered again.
“Yes.”
“Out of the supposed goodness of your heart?”
No, it’s because I think you’re cute and I like you a lot. “Christ on a cracker, John, yeah. You saved the fucking world. I’m here to make sure you remember that you’re a stud.”
John’s mouth crinkled at you calling him a ‘stud’. “Alright,” he agreed. “I’m game.”
“I’ll text you the details later. Gotta head back to paper hell. Adios, Economos,” and you sent him off with a little salute. You all but bolted back to your basement office and wheezed out the pangs of your anxiety. You could do this. Sure, it was kinda dumb and stupid and wasn’t how you had it planned in your head, but you were going to take him out! On a date!
The ExcitaBowl Lanes Bowling Center wasn’t romantic in the slightest. The swampy Louisiana air only heightened the stale weed smell forever embedded in the peeling walls and burgundy carpet lining. It was the Glow In The Dark Party Tuesday Special and the sound system was blasting safe for work Top 40 hits. You paid for two rounds before John even showed up.
“I thought I was gonna pay for it,” John complained as you slipped into your red-and-white bowling shoes. “I mean, if this were a real date and everything, I should’ve paid.”
You rolled your eyes. “Technically I asked you out, so I am the one paying. Here’s the part where you go, ‘Oh cool, how about I cover the food and beer’. We’re trying to move away from the suffocating chains of patriarchy, John.”
“Okay, sheesh. I didn’t need the crash course in second wave feminism,” he shrugged you off as you went to the assigned bowling lane. It was the one closest to the back of the center, which made it a little more cozy and private. Perfect.
You tapped in your initials on the tiny keypad, then John’s. You weren’t sure what his middle name was and the bowling keypad looked like it was from 1983, so you had some fun with it. Minutes later, John walked up with the pitcher of soapy, piss-colored beer, accompanying plastic cups, and an assorted sampler tray of chicken wings, mac and cheese bites, crusty mozzarella sticks, and a large boat of loaded nachos. He saw his initials on the screen above and gave you a confused look.
“Seriously?” he asked, pointing to the JEB) flashing below your initials.
“No. It’s your initials, and a smiley face with sunglasses. See?” and you pointed out the B, which represented sunglasses and the parenthesis made the smile. “Don’t tell me you never used emoticons when you were surfing the ‘net in the good old days, Jeb.”
He squinted his eyes. “Yeah. Back when I used to organize LAN parties.”
“That’s prehistoric, dude.”
“Shit, yeah, I guess,” he grinned awkwardly.
It hadn’t occurred to you that he was significantly older than you initially thought. He looked a tough forty with his glasses, casual clothing, and boyish face. You remembered him mentioning that he saw Hanoi Rocks in concert when he was a teen. So he was like fifty-ish? You had always liked older guys but you didn’t realize John towered over you in both size and age. Your face grew hot at the suggestions forming in your mind, shaking your head to force those thoughts back into the recesses of your brain.
You chose a rainbow-colored bowling ball of perfect weight while John chose a heavy black bowling ball. The pins were set. The lights dimmed and the glow in the dark lights bloomed on the walls, ceiling, and floor. The game started and you smoothly earned your first strike. This earned you a high-five from John, but his joy for your lucky strike wouldn’t last.
John actually sucked at bowling. Bad aim, bad throw, the whole shebang. Sure, he had hand-eye coordination in a pinch (such as chainsawing through a gorilla) and could multi-task like the IT god he was, but his concentration was shit. He kept pushing his glasses up every time he got a spare or missed a pin, which was most of the time. You (maybe purposefully) neglected to share that you were an absolute demon on the bowling lanes. You felt bad, so you had asked the underpaid bowling attendant to set up guard rails after he hit gutterball four times.
“What the actual fuck!” he threw his hands up in the air. “Are you a metahuman or something?”
“Nope, just good at bowling,” you winked as you bowled another strike without trying, turning on your heel to face him as you did a little peace sign. This made John smile, and it was genuinely the cutest thing you’d seen all night.
After the tenth frame and absolutely crushing John in the process in the first round, you sat down to enjoy the spoils of your victory: warm beer and congealed cheese mozzarella sticks.
“Okay, now you ask me questions about me and my life,” you nudged his hand to get his attention. He flinched at the sudden physical contact but relaxed his shoulders when he saw you put both your hands under your chin. “Basic first date stuff.”
He asked about your favorite color (“that’s unique,” John had replied), then you asked him the most overrated rock song of all time (“Stairway, easily,” John answered, and you nodded in agreement) and a variety of simple but fun questions. When it was his turn to ask something again, he took another swig of his cheap beer and looked right at you.
“So, why Belle Reve? With your credentials, you could have gone anywhere. Done anything. Certainly get paid more than the bullshit wages we’re getting,” he tilted his head.
Oh. You weren’t expecting that from him. You cleared your throat. “My mom. Came back to Louisiana to take care of her a few years ago. She died. Waller saw my skills as useful. That’s it.” Your eyes fell to the scuffed floor below your feet. Last thing you wanted to do on this fun fake date was soft launch your childhood trauma.
John’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “I’m sorry about your mom. But really, you’re good at more than that. I didn’t even know you spoke fluent Bulgarian,” he said between bites of his nachos.
You shrugged. “Got bored one summer. But more importantly, you, sir,” and you thrust a half-eaten mozzarella stick at him, “never told me what the hell happened over in Pokolistan with those weirdos.”
John rubbed the back of his neck. “Confidential, I’m afraid. Not exactly public knowledge, and I don’t want to get one of my good…friends killed.”
The two of you laughed, but part of you knew he was probably right. You were already on the shit list for helping Leota out Taskforce X to the world and punished by demotion; no need to give Waller or anyone higher up an excuse to permanently remove you from existence. Archives was bad enough.
“Hey, so…this is the best date I’ve ever had,” John smiled through his beer. “Not that I’ve had many. Or any. Even though we’re basically hanging out.”
Just tell him you dumb bitch , your inner thoughts screamed. But you were never very good at taking your own advice. You dug yourself deeper.
“Just happy to play a part,” and you raised your plastic cup of bad beer to cheers him. He knocked the glass back to you as you got up for round two of bowling.
ExcitaBowl closed at 10pm during the weekdays, and your bowling arm ached like hell. The two of you stopped by the corner 7-11 near your apartment complex. You grabbed two bags of Nerds gummy clusters and concocted a cherry Coke swirled slurpee. John got his usual Big Gulp and M&Ms. John paid for both purchases, which was a sweet gesture. You happily drank your Slurpee as the two of you walked down the cracked sidewalk. Your apartment was right around the corner from the bowling lanes, and as much as you wanted to invite him in, you didn’t want him to see the state of your apartment. Between the task force assignment, the hospital stay, and your late nights at work, you didn’t exactly have time (or money) for a housekeeper.
“Thanks for walking me home. I didn’t even have to teach you how to do that,” and you did a mock curtsy. “You never know what weirdos are hiding around in this gentrified side of town.”
“Pretty rich coming from someone who got hit with a fucking shovel,” John ribbed you. It caught you off guard and you sputtered out an offended laugh.
“Says the guy who broke his own leg from jumping a fence,” you stuck your bright cherry-red tongue out at him. Juvenile, yes. But you couldn’t help but tease him a little.
“Low blow,” he huffed.
The two of you eventually arrived at your apartment complex after a series of trading dumb barbs at each other’s expense. John awkwardly stood around, loudly sucking down his Big Gulp with one hand. You stood in front of the door, stalling for time. You weren’t sure, exactly, what you wanted but you were afraid of returning back to your solitary hole. Probably because once you were alone, you’d realize how utterly dumb this whole fake date scenario was and that it would bite you in the ass.
“Until our next date,” John held his hand out. He was so adorable it was killing you. “Coffee? I mean, unless you’re into drinking kombucha.”
You gently took his hand and shook it. He was warm, but not sweaty, and his hand completely enveloped yours. You became acutely aware of how close he was and stepped back, breaking the handshake. “Sounds great, John. I think I trust you enough that if I say the date outright sucks, you’re not gonna kill me and stuff me in a fridge.”
John harshly snorted. “Where the hell do you come up with this morbid shit? Are you getting your news from Facebook again? You know all that crap is AI generated now, right?”
“No, really! It’s true! It’s in the archives. Some asshole killed this superhero’s girlfriend and stuffed her in a fridge. The names were all redacted but I have my theories on who it was,” you said defensively.
“Ugh, I better get going. I need time to inoculate myself from all that white girl true crime shit you just subjected me to,” John waved at you as he left, his bearded smile fresh in your vision long after he turned the corner.
You turned the key in your apartment door, flipping on the light to your messy abode. It wasn’t much, but it was home. Even before signing your job contract at Belle Reve, you had been a workaholic with few friends and barely any time for romance. The almost-situationships you had in your early 20s fizzled out when they wanted an idealized version of you that centered around their existence. Being part of that taskforce, meeting people like Harcourt, John, Leota (and even Chris and Adrian) filled the cracks that had started to show in your very small, very isolated adult life.
Your phone pinged with a new message. You hoped it would be John but it was Leota.
LEOTA: You haven’t called me in days
LEOTA: Thought you died
YOU: I went out bowling
YOU: with John
LEOTA: John??? Our Economos???
LEOTA: motherfuckerrrr?
You did not feel like launching into this whole thing with Leota. Once she was determined to find something out, it was impossible to shake her off, and she was mighty close to figuring out you had the hots for Economos. Granted, it would have been obvious to anyone you were pining for him had it not been for the whole preventing-aliens-from-taking-over-the-world thing occupying everyone’s time and attention. You sent her a frowny face emoji.
LEOTA: Fine. Keep your secrets
LEOTA: you owe me a phone call
LEOTA: or I’m demoting you as second best friend
YOU: you wouldn’t dare
LEOTA: Oh yeah? At least Eagly is honest
YOU: he’s a fucking bird Leota
LEOTA: and he gives better hugs
YOU: shut up
John squinted his eyes at the chalkboard menu on the wall, frowning like it was written in a foreign language. “This is so fucking Millennial,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear it.
He had chosen a coffee shop, which was a normal place to take a (fake) date, but upon walking into this Sweet Mama Lou’s joint, it became painfully obvious he was out of his element. The tables were mostly taken up by people not much younger than you, with their laptops and text books and half-finished lattes taking up multiple seats. There were two teenagers taking selfies in front of the artificial ivy and flower wall backdrop. The white neon lights spelled out ‘Livin La Vida Mocha’ on the window, and there were definitely Edison light bulbs in the lamp fixtures. You also thought it was trying too hard to be hip, but it wasn’t as bad as John was making it out to be.
“Hey, you chose this place. Own it,” and you nudged him gently toward the counter. You were trying so hard to be cool, but even just touching him made you all giddy inside. “At least give their basic coffee a try.”
He shot you a look like you had ordered him to jump off a bridge. Knowing John, he’d do it if the command came from up top. “Fine.”
God, he could be such a contrarian asshole sometimes. By the time you ordered, John had settled for a black coffee. You got what was listed as a snickerdoodle latte, and the two of you shuffled to a small table tucked into the corner by the window.
John sat down, the wooden chair creaking under him, and immediately began taking his first sip. The way he tipped his head back and had his eyes closed when drinking this coffee made you involuntarily skip a breath.
You hid your sigh into your latte. “You look so cultured right now.”
“Bullshit,” he rolled his eyes.
“Take a compliment for once,” you said as a joke, but actually meant it.
For a few minutes, the two of you sipped in silence. Outside the wide window, the neighborhood street bustled with cars driving by, passersby with dogs and children and strollers. The coffee shop radio played some piano covers of classic songs, and the chatter of other customers added to the comforting background noise.
“So,” John said, tracing the edge of his mug handle with his thumb. “This is what it’s supposed to be like, right?”
“What?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Dating. Sitting in some place, talking. Or not. Pretending like you give an absolute shit.”
“I do give a shit, you know.”
John shifted uncomfortably. “Ugh, you know what I mean.”
His attitude only confirmed that maybe he wouldn’t believe you if you tried telling him your feelings again. “I mean, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re doing great. I’m not an expert though,” the last confession slipped out. Fuck, there goes the cool girl exterior.
“I haven’t dated since moving here,” you admitted. “You know. Our jobs. Not many people willing to stick around. Can’t expect them to relate.”
“I get it,” he replied.
When you briefly looked back at him, you thought you imagined his ears being a shade red than normal. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Christ. I’m too fucking old for this,” he grumbled. “Thanks for helping me out, though.”
“You’re not that old.”
“I’m not young, either.”
“Good,” you spoke without thinking. Shit. His eyes darted toward yours, but you refused to meet his glance, opting for the big window again. The moment passed but the energy between the two of you had definitely shifted.
John had to head back to work - he mentioned an urgent, last-minute meeting and as a warden, he pretty much had to be on call. He accidentally brushed your hand when collecting the mugs to bring back to the counter, though the physical contact likely didn’t register in his mind. You nodded in understanding as he exited the coffee shop, leaving you to stew in everything that led up to this situation.
Days passed before you went up for air from your paper hell job. You had some incredibly late nights from clearing out a decade’s worth of prisoner intakes, sorting old documents, and shredding redacted files. Your fingers were sore from papercuts, stacking, and the nonstop filing. You swiped your entry card at the gate when that familiar ping-ping from your phone entered your ears. You quickly dug it out of your purse to see it was from John. You hadn’t heard from him in days, as you chalked it up to both being too busy and tired from the hell Belle Reve put its workers through.
JOHN: Are you free tomorrow night?
JOHN: Never taken a date to the movies
YOU: a man who likes movies?
YOU: How original
JOHN: Too funny, asshole
YOU: fine fine
YOU: movies sound great
It was Thursday night, and you had agreed to meet John at the dollar movie on the other side of town for your not-date. The marquee outside the old dollar theater in thick black stick-on letters spelled out:
S E CIAL FE A URE : THE WICKR MAN
John turned around the corner to save you from waiting too long. He was wearing an oatmeal-colored henley shirt under a navy zip-up hoodie. You were so used to his random graphic t-shirt and flannel combo that to see him wearing something slightly more…clean? streamlined? yet still classic Economos was a more than welcome surprise. The intrusive image of him wearing something even nicer, like a suit, flashed in your head and you had to physically shake your head to banish it back to your subconscious.
“Sorry, I haven’t been here before,” he said, glancing up at the aged marquee. “I just saw they were doing a classic horror movie. Figured you’d be ok with unsettling shit. Have you ever seen The Wicker Man?”
“That’s the one with Nicholas Cage, right?” you asked.
John shook his head. “No, this is the OG movie. It spawned the whole folk horror genre, so without it, you wouldn’t have Midsommar. But that also includes The Village, which is absolute ass.”
You didn’t mind his movie info-dumping. While you hadn’t watched many horror movies, you liked listening to him talk about his interests. John insisted on paying for both the tickets, the large shared popcorn and drinks, and you didn’t argue because he looked like he actually wanted to. He handed you a Cherry Coke, and you beamed when you realized that he remembered your favorite flavor of soda.
There was no assigned seating, so John opted for a row near the back of the theatre. He explained it off as because he was ungodly tall and didn’t want to block the view for anyone sitting behind him, which was valid, but you figured it was because he wanted a row all to yourselves.
The previews included local ads for personal injury lawyers, trailers for new movies already showing in the nicer theaters, and then the theatre dimmed. The folksy song “Corn Rigs Are Bonnie” started playing over a scene of a small aircraft flying in the Scottish countryside.
During the Maypole song scene, you heard it first. A tiny squeak of the old seat cushion next to you. You sensed something behind you, quickly turning your head to the left side to see the shape of his arm. It wasn’t touching you. But it hovered there, behind you, not touching the seat or you. Clearly he had decided to be more confident tonight, and you were grateful the darkness covered your reddening face.
You turned your head the other way to look at him, and his eyes were fixed directly ahead. You were pretty sure he was just pretending to not look at you because his arm jerked a bit when you pressed your shoulders on the back seat headrest.
“How’s your arm?” you quietly asked.
“I’m just stretching. Sue me,” he weakly lied.
“Bullshit. You were going to put your arm around me,” you whispered. You very much wanted that.
“Sorry, it was a stupid move,” he muttered under his breath and retracted his arm.
“N-no,” you exhaled sharply. “No worries, remember? It’s okay.”
You leaned just enough to brush your shoulder against his. He didn’t pull away. In fact, he sank a little deeper into the seat. Encouraged, his arm returned to its previous position as you allowed him to make contact with your shoulders. It wasn’t too touchy or grabby, but draped like a comfortable shawl. His left hand cupped against your sleeve, very aware. Considerate, even.
You almost said something, but you were afraid to disrupt the energy. You continued to sit there in total darkness up to the final moments of the movie, watching Sergeant Howie being burned alive in that effigy. You too felt like you were on fire in a deception of your own making.
The movie ended, and the two of you were outside once more. As people dispersed onto the sidewalk and into the night, you and John hung around the corner near a small alleyway. Your cars were parked in the small lot behind the theatre as you meandered back to your vehicle. He didn’t say anything at first, so you spoke instead.
“The last few minutes were haunting. I don’t think I’m going to Scotland anytime soon,” you shuddered.
“Right? I knew you’d like that.” He shoved both his hands into his hoodie pockets, eyes dropping to the sidewalk, as if being out of the dark movie theatre reverted him back to his unsure self.
“Though I wasn’t exactly prepared for how, uh, horny it was.” You felt your cheeks burn recalling the landlord’s daughter attempting to seduce the sergeant, the young women dancing naked to a fertility chant, the inherent raunchiness. You were by no means a prude but the more you thought about it, you didn’t want to dwell on it much longer with John around.
John let out a small laugh. “Yeah, everything was beyond horny in the 70s. Trust me. No wonder Gen X is so fucked up in the head.”
He was expecting you to make another playful jab at his age, but you remained unnaturally quiet. Your witty remarks died on your tongue, your brain empty from concentrating on all your nerves and the impending realization that once again, you weren’t being honest with him or yourself. How much longer until he actually found himself a girlfriend, or a partner that laughed at his dumb jokes, occasionally call him out on his borderline Redditor-attitude, or someone who valued him as John Economos and not just take him at face value?
Tell him. Be firm. What’s the worst that could happen? How many fake dates until you snap and make things worse, you stupid cunt?
“Hey. Are you hungry? I would kill for a cheeseburger right now. I know a place up the road. I could uh, drive us there if you want,” he offered, brows raised in an earnest expression.
His voice broke through your internal spiraling. You imagined how you’d sit across from each other in worn-out booth seats of some hole in the wall diner. The veil of night against the bright white linoleum, red metal tables, and that perfect arrangement of greasy diner food. You were hungry. It would be great. It would have given you more time in pretending you’re helping him out.
But you didn’t say yes. “No, no. I’m good.”
“Dude, I can hear your stomach growl over here. Come on, what’s eating at you?” he asked, stooping down to be at eye-level with you.
“N-nothing. I’m fine,” you said too quickly, before you could lose your nerve. You forced a little smile, but it looked like he wasn’t buying it. Shit.
“You’re being weird as hell right now, and considering we both know Vigilante, that’s saying a lot,” he said.
“You did not just compare me to fucking Vigilante,” you overreacted, and you knew that’s not what he meant at all, but you were too in your fucking head to pull yourself out to think objectively.
“I didn’t say you were like Vigilante, did I? Jesus, we were having a great time and you got all asshole on me!”
Your eyes grew hot and blurry. “I don’t think I can do this right now,” you spat out. “This was a bad idea.”
John straightened back up and you could practically hear his brain try to process what you just said. His tallness was no longer attractive, but imposing. You felt embarrassed that you got all touchy and raw, but your heels were too dug into your current mood and more importantly, you didn’t want John to see you like this.
“Did I fuck up something, because-,” John started but you cut him off by walking off.
“I’m sorry. I really need to go home. Good night, John,” you swerved by him as you marched straight for your car. You did not turn around.
When the door was tightly closed, you threw yourself against the futon in your rapidly claustrophobic apartment. You rubbed your face on your jacket sleeve, your cheek raw and red from clenching and sniffling. Absently checking your phone, you knew better than to expect a text from John. However, you saw you had a few text messages from Leota.
LEOTA: are you alive??
YOU: I’m fine
LEOTA: I know something's up
LEOTA: I’m calling idc
“Hi Lele,” you glumly answered the phone.
“You sound like shit. Tell me,” she demanded. “I gave you some space but I’m not stupid. I know it’s about Economos.”
So you told her. You told her you liked John Economos, a lot. About the whole offering to take him out on dates. You were never very good at lying to Leota, probably due to her sheer subconscious Waller energy that radiated off her whenever she wanted something. It was a godsend that she had an actual heart instead of turning into an advanced, upgraded version of her mother.
“For being one of the smartest people I know, you’re stupid as hell for the whole fake dating thing,” Leota’s voice smacked you outside the head. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
“I panicked! I can’t believe I fucking friendzoned myself into a corner.”
“The friendzone isn’t real,” Leota laughed. “You should tell him how you feel. I bet he would be so into it.”
“I tried! He didn’t believe me.”
Leota sighed loudly. “Have you met John? Of course he didn’t believe you. You’re so hot. I’m pretty sure Adrian was eye-fucking you the whole time.”
If you had been in a better mood, you would have laughed and groaned at the knowledge that Adrian had been ogling you. But you didn’t. “Lele, I can’t just turn around and be like, ‘uh yeah I just liked you the whole time and just used the fake dating as an excuse to spend time with you because I wasn’t sure if I would scare you off with my stupid dumb feelings because you didn’t believe me the first time.’ It’s all my fault.”
A long pause drifted between you and Leota before she spoke. “I can’t tell you what to do, girl. But I always thought you two would make a cute couple. A couple of nerds,” and she cackled at her own stupid joke.
“I’d say don’t quit your day job to do stand up but you’re already unemployed,” you said. “Thanks for letting me vent about my stupid life.”
“I love you too. I know it doesn’t feel great now, but things’ll smooth over. I’m here for you,” Leota reassured you. “Seriously. You never know what’ll happen.”
You weren’t actually sure if things would smooth over, but at least you had Leota in your corner.
It was one of those rare Friday nights where you got to leave Belle Reve before the sky went dark. Purple and yellow clouds trailed the flat Louisiana sky above you, the sun peachy in its yellow-pink hue. You didn’t see John’s car in the secure parking area, which meant he must’ve already left for the day. Not that you wanted to bump into him.
It had been a week since your blow up at the movie theatre, and you’d managed to avoid him at work by barely leaving Archives. You were too embarrassed to text or call him, so you hadn’t. Not that you expected him to reach out to you. You had been kind of a massive bitch and even worse, now you had nothing to fall back on. You started your car and listened to local news radio turned up way high as to drown out any unwelcome thoughts on the drive home.
Home alone, as you were used to it. You had picked up a large pizza and garlic knots from the Italian carryout place up the street and once cozied up on your futon, you hit play on the Top Gun movie in your DVD player. It was more for the sake of having background noise, but it was a go-to comfort movie and kept your brain occupied. You were halfway through the movie, marinara sauce coating your lips and a heavy blanket cocooned around your shoulders, when a heavy set of knocks hit your door.
You nearly choked on your garlic knot from the sudden noise. It was rare that anyone ever visited you, which made you wary as hell. You didn’t carry a gun and you didn’t have a crowbar or any heavy metal object on hand. You cautiously approached your front door and peeked through the peephole.
It was John. His hair had been combed, his beard trimmed and properly dyed. He looked very presentable. You felt underdressed in your leggings, ratty college sweater, and mismatched socks. But you opened the door anyway, hoping you had gotten all the sauce and crumbs off your face.
“What’s wrong?” you quickly asked, glancing left and right down the hallway to check for any other intruders or suspicious activity. “Are you okay? You’re not being held hostage or blackmailed, are you? How’d you even know my exact apartment number?”
You pursed your lips when he didn’t answer right away. This has Leota written all over it, you thought. The same woman who manipulated Adrian into almost killing Peacemaker’s dad in prison. Note to self: don’t get on her bad side.
“What?” His voice noticeably pitched. “No. We haven’t talked in a week and your paranoid ass jumps to the conclusion that I’m a fucking hostage,” John rubbed the back of his neck. “I walked you home before, remember? Anyway, can you let me in so I’m not just standing out here in the hallway like a douchebag?”
“Alright.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, embarrassed and probably red in the face. You had imagined similar scenarios when you first started crushing on him, but it was less sexy in real life.
“Sorry about the mess.” You shrugged as you moved the pizza box off the sole accent chair, but John opted for the open spot next to you on the futon. You brought your blanket closer to your body.
“Pfft, this is nothing. My place is a real dump,” he said.
You couldn’t get a read on his aura, like he was wavering between nervousness and sarcasm. You got the feeling he hadn't been in that many women's apartments, which tracked with his lack of experience. It hit you that John fucking Economos was in your apartment. Sitting on your futon. You were also very aware of the rapidly enclosing space between your bodies. You hadn’t been this close since the movies. But you had to be the big girl here and own up to your bullshit.
“John, fuck, I’m really sorry I went off on you. And I know I should’ve like, texted you or tried to call earlier, but I suck and I’m a huge bitch baby. I…” your voice wavered here, and you knew you sounded whiny but you continued. “You deserve to be around someone who isn’t a piece of shit asshole.”
“That’s it?” John asked, but it didn’t come off as harsh. It was like he was needling you for a real answer. “We work at the worst prison in America. Everyone’s an asshole. I think it's part of the job description.”
His attempt to break the tension with a joke didn't work. You prepared to tell him the whole truth and hoped your confession wouldn't crash and burn on the way out.
“I like you a lot, John. I uh, tried telling you that before and you didn’t believe me and I was just really fucking scared of losing any sort of friend at all, so that’s why I came up with that whole practice date thing to spend more time with you, and…I’m sorry for not being honest. I’m a bad friend.”
John didn’t say anything for a minute or two. The fridge hummed and lights from the alley below your apartment window flashed intermittently in your apartment. You readied yourself for the final blow, for him to leave your apartment and thereby shredding any semblance of friendship or basic acquaintanceship.
“You absolutely suck as a friend,” John agreed. “But I’m the fucking dumbass here. Could’ve had the hottest girlfriend this whole time if I had three working brain cells.”
You nearly choked on a caught breath in your windpipe. When you made eye contact with him again, you could see an equally red-cheeked John Economos matching your shade of blush.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re smart, and funny, and—shit, do you even know how fucking beautiful you are? It’s goddamn unfair. I didn’t think someone like you would ever want to be with me,” he said, gritting his teeth from embarrassment. “That’s why I went along with it at first, because I thought you were just being nice to poor John Economos who hasn’t gotten laid in forever and dyes his shitty beard. But it turns out that I liked being with you and kinda kept hoping each time you'd just, I don't know, feel the same way? Which in hindsight, was a fucking stupid idea.”
You instinctively brought your face closer as your hands inched towards the dip where your knees met his. “I would really love to be your girlfriend, John," you admitted.
“Fuck it,” John’s voice cracked again. He then shifted toward you, his large frame blocking your view of anything beyond his presence. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
Before he could second guess himself, you decisively closed whatever space remained between your lips and his. You didn’t see his reaction on account of your eyes being closed, but judging by the pleased groan against your mouth, John was very much into this. John’s hands found both your shoulders, gently anchoring you as you deepened the kiss. His beard tickled your chin and lips, but it wasn't an uncomfortable sensation. Your hands traveled up to his chest, fingers clutching onto his shirt. You worried that maybe you were coming on too strong too quickly after that exchange, but you felt his tongue dart past your lips and into your mouth. One of his hands had traveled down to the bend of your waist, the other now cupping your neck. Your body tingled at the prospect of future makeout sessions as you returned his enthusiasm.
Before it got more intense John suddenly pulled away, a sheepish smile on his red face and glasses slightly askew.
“To answer your earlier question, yeah, Adebayo gave me your apartment number. Said I needed to talk to you, or else. I guess I owe her for the foreseeable future,” he shared.
You stifled a shocked laugh. That manipulative bitch. You would’ve dedicated more time and thought to how she pulled the strings but you were going to be rather preoccupied catching up on all the real dates with your now-boyfriend.
Fall Fluff Masterlist | Jake Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Word Count: 684 || for @blablabiblejesusmagic and @howellatme
Jake Lockley's been driving the van for the retirement home you work at for the last few months
He's so mysterious and dashing, always sporting a leather jacket, black dress shoes and trousers, a flat cap
and the most interesting sexy facial hair. He changes it up - sometimes it's a beard or a mustache or realllllly hot stubble
The little old ladies adore him. He helps them in and out of the van with a kiss on the hand.
The men love to tell him long stories. He listens to them like they are the most interesting people in the world
So there are many reasons you became slightly smitten
You accompany the senior adults on many outings like the movies or to a concert. Today is a fall festival.
Jake's only job is to drive the van there and back, but he ends up walking around with everyone, helping out, while the seniors shop for antiques and crafts, eat a snack and listen to live music.
That's when the two of you notice the corn maze. Definitely not an activity for the seniors but Jake nods toward it.
"Do you own boots?"
You lift your booted foot, turning it this way and that.
"You're not scared of a little mud, are you?"
"Jake, we cannot take them in there, you know that."
"Maybe we could come back another time. Like tomorrow night?" His dark eyebrows arch curiously.
You point to yourself, mouthing, "Me?"
"Yeah, you." He winks.
So that's how you end up on a date with Jake, at a corn maze.
"I didn't think people liked to do corn mazes at night."
"They do if it's a haunted corn maze."
At the maze entrance, there's a creepy looking clown selling a variety of glow-in-the-dark items to illuminate the maze and make it more fun.
Jake buys you a glowing headband and multicolored flashlight. You feel like a kid again.
"How do I look?" You twirl around once after fixing your headband in place.
"Glowing."
The two of you enter the maze, brandishing your neon gadgets to ward off anything too spooky.
"No one's gonna jump out and grab me, are they?" You whisper, huddling next to him.
"Not if they wanna keep their arms," he quite seriously assures you, taking the opportunity to pull you close.
After enduring more than enough jump scares, you realize you might actually be lost.
"Please tell me you know the way out of here. I haven't been paying attention," you confess, shining your light this way and that.
Jake has finally released his hold on you as the two of you try one path after another.
For some reason you get the giggles and start laughing every time you hit a dead end.
"If we get stuck in here, I'm going to blind you with this flashlight," you warn, brandishing it like a weapon.
"Good luck with that," he cockily teases, holding up his own flashlight and making a whooshing lightsaber-type sound.
This leads to a quick duel, and you're thrilled to learn that the suave, sexy Jake is actually as big of a nerd as you are, at least in some respects.
"Come on, I think we're close to the entrance," he encourages, boldly taking your hand to lead you along.
"There's no way you know where we are," you tease. "You just want to hold my hand."
"Accurate." He grins. "Well, this anyway." He brings your fingers to his lips and steals a kiss.
You turn another corner and realize you're at the exit.
"Jake, we did it!" You cheer, throwing your arms around him in celebration.
It feels good to hug him. To hold his hand. To be close. To have his undivided attention.
"I thought you were just nice to everyone," you admit as you stroll along near the food trucks. "I didn't think you liked me as much as..."
You trail off, realizing what you just blurted out.
"I knew it." He winks. "It's the mustache, right?"
You breathlessly laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "It's everything."
Fall Fluff Masterlist || Jake Masterlist || Main Masterlist
Oh, my mind
Isn't really my friend sometimes
I can hear my dreams calling me
But all these doubts are haunting me
Oh, why's it always right before I fall asleep that
I went and saw The Used and the Plain White T’s last night. I’m at work and I’m realizing I’m too old to handle a concert on a work night. 😂 I don’t know how I’m going to function dealing with 16 students; four of which are autistic, one has Down syndrome, and the others have other intellectual disabilities. Save me. But The Used were fucking amazing as always and I really enjoyed the Plain White T’s.
I was meant to be a character in a low budget horror movie in 2005 wearing a short sleeved shirt over a long sleeved shirt to signify to the audience that I am an enjoyer of music
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