You may call me Crisis, crisislady, CrisisReturns, or any variation on that. she/her pronouns.
about me
30-something woman with a job (and freelance editing gigs).
my favorite colors are green, brown, and burgundy.
xanga & livejournal veteran / gaiaonline roleplay forum champion / fanfiction dot net veteran / 2010s tumblr veteran / basically qualified for a fandom AARP card at this point.
I started writing fanfiction again last year after taking a 12-13 year hiatus. I used to be v involved in fanfic spaces a million years ago and tbh I hope that time is lost to the dust in the wind
I am a published author. shocking I know. but I am here to have fun and learn to love writing for myself again after years of burnout, the publishing churn, and failure, lol.
my writing styles / things I like to write
my ao3 is CrisisReturns
I love love looveeee love writing goofy romcom fluff
and also unhinged smut. I contain multitudes
emphasis on goofy silly stuff. I love writing comedic interactions and think humor is sorely underrated in current fanfic writing
I love dialogue! and introspection! and observing things!
I do enjoy angst but I don't dwell in it for too long. not really a "whumper" or w/e the youth are calling it
I do have a tendency to hyperfixate and abandon projects. I try not to but it happens lol. usually it's because of life getting in the way or i got too excited on a project and lost steam.
I am fairly new to 'x reader' fanfics - I spent years writing AUs, one-shots, and even OC fics, but I am enjoying it! I find writing in second person POV a lot of fun and challenging in the best way.
fandoms/properties I am currently into/enjoy
Peacemaker / Superman, the new DCU, and lots of old JLU/DC cartoons. BTAS is my favorite cartoon of all time.
some Marvel (mostly X-Men bc I grew up w/ those comics and cartoons - I haven't rly kept up with the MCU post Endgame but I did like the new F4 movie...say that again....)
Date Everything (though my interest has waned due to the game crashing multiple times on my Switch, so technically I haven't finished the game lol)
LOTR/The Hobbit, Dune (I've read the first 3 books in original series, watched the Lynch/Villeneuve films), The Hunger Games/TBOSAS/SOTR, and then a buncha other books
Video games: Stardew Valley, Persona, Pokemon, Fire Emblem
uhhhhhh I like lots of stuff but I limit my fandom participation these days bc of my emotional and mental bandwidth
Somewhere, Someone Special [John Economos x Reader]
Summary: John Economos has a crush on the metahuman prisoner forced to work on the Project Butterfly task force. Too bad you hate everybody, including him.
Pairing: Economos X female metahuman!reader (no powers directly mentioned)
Word Count: 6.3k words
Content Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, sexual references. No smut, but a sweet ending!
Notes: Based off this ask request. I kinda…went off the rails and this may not be 100% what you asked for regarding reader characterization or plot (or lack thereof, or really any sort of story structure) so I hope you still like this ;_; At some point I had to just post for the sake of my sanity. It's taken almost a year LOL rip bozo (it's me, i'm bozo)
Link to the AO3 fic here - if you feel inclined, do read it there too <3
fic title from "Somebody Made for Me" by Emitt Rhodes.
“Wait, was nobody gonna tell me we got an actual metahuman? Damn,” Adebayo asked, drawing an annoyed glance from Harcourt. “How hardcore is this mission?”
“Shocker. The new girl didn’t read the paperwork,” Harcourt grumbled as she made her way into the abandoned building. “John, stop moping and get in here.”
“Wasn’t moping,” John denied. He shuffled forward, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his puffer jacket. He told himself it was just his usual set of nerves, that his body was tired from the nonstop travel and lack of sleep, and maybe those old ass olives from Peacemaker’s shitty fridge were finally hitting his lower gut after all. It definitely wasn’t because his only-in-absolute-fantasy-and-embarrassing-wet-dreams crush was less than fifteen feet away. Maybe it was good you hadn’t been in the van as expected, otherwise he would have short circuited.
John had read your file several times (“in preparation for the assignment”, he had told Harcourt, who only responded with a roll of her eyes). ARGUS had maintained surveillance and compiled a dossier ever since you emerged in the public eye a few years back. Not only were you a powerful metahuman, you weren’t above rescuing cats and puppies in trees, or managing crowd control during a Kaiju-gone-wrong incident. Hell, you had even volunteered at the local homeless shelter. There were rumors of you possibly joining the Justice Gang. The optics were all there. That gave John a convenient excuse to tell himself his interest in you was purely professional. Metahumans like you were interesting. Definitely not ridiculously attractive. It wasn’t like he would ever meet you, so it was fine for you to exist in the nether-space of his niche interests.
That is, until you’d been arrested last year in connection to a string of high profile murders. Despite no physical evidence placing you directly at the crime scenes, you were named the top suspect, taken to Belle Reve Penitentiary, and thrown into solitary confinement to await your trial. Even if you were innocent, it didn’t matter. The press needed a scapegoat. Anti-metahuman sentiment was on the rise thanks to idiots like Cleavis Thornwaite basically calling you everything but an outright slut on live television.
John told himself he was just a cog in the system. He just formatted the reports and filed them away. That was his job. But deep down, he knew the truth: John Economos didn’t challenge orders. He (and most of his ARGUS colleagues) didn’t save the innocent. Destroying Starro down in Corto Maltese happened only because Flo Crawley did something first and she got goddamn arrested for it, while he and Harcourt were punished for their insubordination by being forced to work with a fucked up mercenary on a wild alien butterfly chase. No amount of vicariously doing the right thing would fix this.
John Economos could never disturb the status quo. And despite his massive crush on you, he knew he was part of the system that had crushed you.
Adebayo frowned in confusion at John’s distant hesitation, but the lightbulb went off when she saw you inside the building. “Oooh, she’s cute,” she playfully winked at John, who only groaned and pulled away from her. He didn’t want the newbie getting all up in his business.
You had been picked up by Clemson Murn via private transport and were supposed to be waiting in the van, but you had “opted for fresh air” while the team was at Peacemaker’s trailer. You were leaning back in an old metal chair, one foot flat against the side of the piano for leverage, rocking slightly. You nonchalantly glanced over to the doors where John, Harcourt, and Adebayo entered from. You tilted your head just enough for the flickering ceiling lights to catch on your dark sunglasses.
“About time,” you said. “Some black ops team you are if I’m able to find the headquarters first. I didn’t even have the directions.”
“You weren’t in the van,” Harcourt said as she stepped towards you. Her eyes darted to the sunglasses perched on your face, fully distracted by the dark lenses. Who else but you could get away with wearing sunglasses inside?
“Last I checked, Clemson Murn is my handler. So I don’t have to report to you,” you said.
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t be out. At all,” Harcourt replied.
“She can’t be out?” Adebayo asked, with John nodding to answer her. “Oh right, the whole murderous prisoner thing.”
You whipped your head at Adebayo, one nostril flared and upper lip twitching. “Anyway, my ear device keeps ringing, and it’s really annoying. Do any of you have the remote to turn it off?” you asked.
“It wouldn’t have gone off if you had stayed in the van,” Harcourt replied. “You have to follow orders, same as the rest of us.”
You stopped rocking forward, allowing gravity to answer Harcourt with the metallic clang! of the chair legs hitting the floor. Your smirk faded into a challenging frown. In the years of working with his no-nonsense blonde colleague, John knew of very few people (outside of Waller and their superiors, maybe even Rick Flag Jr.) who ever took Emilia Harcourt to task. You straightened your posture and folded your arms tightly across your chest. John noted you were slightly shorter than Harcourt, but the sheer bad bitch energy added a few metaphysical inches to your height.
Your jaw tightened. “I’m not like the rest of you, now am I?”
Harcourt’s brow raised in response, but she didn’t take your bait. She was too smart for that, and you knew it. You leaned in just enough to break her personal space. Two attractive women with equally hateful looks in their eyes? John secretly thought that was super hot. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud (unless he was being tortured. Then yes, he’d admit to it and oh so much, much more).
Any further biting exchanges about to occur between you and Harcourt evaporated with the sharp clomp of Clemson Murn’s heavy walk into the safehouse. Murn’s eyes were directly locked onto you, ignoring the rest of the room entirely.
“You were supposed to wait in the van,” Murn scolded. “And how the fuck did three grown ass adults not follow my directions?”
“Well, we didn’t get lost in case you were thinking that,” John tried to correct his new supervisor, but he did not succeed in that skill check. Murn and Harcourt wordlessly glared at his interruption. “What? We didn’t!”
“Seems like we’re the only competent people here, Murn,” you shook your head. “Been there.”
“You have no room to talk. You know damn well you’re not supposed to be outside without a handler,” Murn said.
“Peacemaker’s killed people and you’re inviting him out to fucking dinner. Why get me out of solitary confinement if you’re just going to shove me in the back of a van?” you angrily asked.
Murn bunched his lips up in annoyance, but he couldn’t argue with the facts presented. “Peacemaker…has extenuating circumstances. He’s also from the area. You’re only here because all the other metahumans that could have helped me with this job are either dead, too good, or too expensive.”
You scoffed. “Wow. I feel so special. Now, can you please turn this damn thing off?” You tapped the small black device outside your ear, the red light blinking faintly. “It’s been ringing nonstop and it hurts. I can’t help you out if my brain gets too scrambled.”
Murn pulled out a small remote from his jacket pocket and pressed a button, allowing you to finally relax your shoulders. John immediately recognized your hearing aid-like device as a power dampener, similar to the collar Polka Dot Man used to wear. Whenever you weren’t in range of the remote (or disobeyed an order) your ears would ring depending on the severity. Prolonged use would render you either permanently deaf, cursed with lifelong vertigo, or possibly lobotomized.
“Wish you could just take the damn thing out,” you grumbled. “What if you’re in the bathroom and I have to use my powers? Or you die? Do you even have a backup remote, because I’m fucked if you don’t.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want,” Murn said. “No fucking around. No more scenic walks. I’m not asking you again.” Then, to John’s surprise: “Economos, starting now, you’re managing her.” He tossed the remote toward him.
It didn’t register right away about his new assignment, because he’d been maybe distracted by the way you had been looking at him, and had you? Been looking at him directly? He hated being looked at, equally hated directly looking at people in the eyes, hated being perceived, but you? The sunglasses made it hard to decipher the direction of your gaze, and he—
fumbled the catch.
Of course he fumbled it.
Your entire wellbeing was now in his hands, and hell, he just had to be Jittery John from middle school gym class again, didn’t he? Dumbfuck.
The remote clattered to the ground, and the ringing restarted, this time even louder and more painful in your ear. Adebayo attempted to pick it up for him, but John almost knocked her over with how clumsily he bent to pick up the remote. You crumpled to the floor with the grace of a brick wrapped in wet tissue paper.
“FUCK! Makeitstopmakeitstop!” you screamed at John through chattering teeth.
“Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” John scrambled, pressing the big green button frantically. Murn was definitely regretting his decision to entrust John with this one small responsibility. Harcourt’s lips pulled into an amused smile, probably enjoying the sight of you being knocked down a peg after your little confrontation with her.
You struggled upright, bracing one palm on the floor before getting your knees under you. Your sunglasses had fallen off the bridge of your nose, revealing glassy eyes and a flushed face. Your months-long time in prison had already carved significant hollows in your cheeks. At this moment you weren’t an alleged murderer or a fallen hero; just someone John had accidentally hurt by his lack of hand-eye coordination.
John became acutely aware of how briefly time had passed between both of you and blurted out, “I didn’t mean to.”
He held out his hand to try and help you up while fighting off his usual cowardice. For a second, it looked like you were going to take his hand and say something back. John's anxiety was desperate for some form of acknowledgement, but you just stared at him. Your lips parted and he could see the shine of your teeth. Without warning, you narrowed your eyes and tightly shut your mouth. Your hand unclenched at your side before you forced yourself upright on your own, fully turning away from him without a word.
You quickly adjusted your sunglasses and wiped your hands on your pants, gave one last parting scowl to Harcourt and stomped off to Murn’s makeshift office, probably to bother him again about dinner tonight.
Adebayo grimaced, though she tried to awkwardly smile it off as to not make John feel bad (it didn't work). “I'm sure she hates all of us, not just you.”
“Fuck me,” John loudly said under his breath, running his once-outstretched hand through his hair as to rid the excess nervousness from his body. He’d been rejected in various situations before, but you, staring at him without saying a word? John already knew he was a supreme asshole and sometimes even enjoyed being off-putting to people he disliked or hated, but knowing he accidentally hurt you? Big asshole behavior.
“She definitely won’t now,” Harcourt snorted, earning a whine of “ugh, not like that” from John.
John Economos was not a very good handler. He knew it. You knew it. Harcourt knew the decision was ass. Murn likely knew it too, had known the moment he tossed the remote to John, but he didn’t have time to delegate assignments when trying to stop an alien invasion with several unhinged weirdos.
This meant that you were almost always near John. The proximity of the power dampener meant you couldn’t wander off without the alarm burning through your ear drums and brain.
You’d only used your powers once so far: extracting Peacemaker, Vigilante, and Harcourt from a near-death situation involving a swarm of possessed hospital workers. Murn had gotten some intel about a posse of hospital staff acting strangely a few hours outside of Evergreen. You’d been ordered by Murn to hang back, maintain distance, and stay in the van with John until absolutely needed. Then Vigilante screamed something about his spleen and Harcourt’s voice was crackling in John’s earpiece as she yelled for somebody to do something, fuck, fuck, we’re fucking DYING—John finally deactivated the power dampener as you barreled out the rust bucket of a work van and beelined towards Peacemaker and Harcourt. Just like the superhero you were.
You stumbled out of the hospital with mushy streaks and innards from the butterfly-possessed, leaning against Harcourt as she assisted you back to the van. You said nothing, only thumbed a thick spot of blood from your sunglasses as you sunk into the van’s passenger seat.
John thought you were so fucking cool, even knee deep in viscera. He reluctantly switched the power dampener back on, the slight hum crackling in your ear before turning silent again. It was exhausting to be like this, constantly being on and off this power dampener, and you were beyond tired.
“Hey, those guts belonged to my guy,” Vigilante pouted, absently twirling one of his comically large knives in your direction. “You should’ve at least asked me before you folded him inside out.”
You flicked the smattering at Vigilante’s arm. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Before descending into a dark unconsciousness, you thought you heard a deep voice mutter something like, “You okay?”
You were sleeping on a blow up mattress in the upstairs apartment of the video store-turned-headquarters. This place was condemned beyond hell and there were definitely rats in the walls and asbestos in the ceiling, but it beat the 23 hour solitary prison confinement you were used to. Murn had surprisingly allowed you to stay in the shithole building by yourself, figuring that you wouldn’t get far without John disabling the device, and frankly he already had enough adults to babysit. You didn’t know it, but John had found an extra blanket in his motel room and left it for you on the mattress. He figured you needed it more than he did.
“Someone’s gotta wake Short Stack up,” Peacemaker joked from the common area, shoveling cereal straight from the box into his obscenely large mouth. He said it loud enough for the entire group to hear, angling for a laugh from Harcourt. She didn’t even look up from her coffee. “It’s not fair she gets to sleep in while Murn drags our sorry asses this fucking early. I thought we earned the day off.”
Upon your first meeting, Christopher Smith had bestowed upon you the nickname “Short Stack” for obvious physical reasons. His creativity with words was boundless, truly. You didn’t care for the nickname, but ignoring him had proven to be the most effective survival strategy.
“C’mon, man,” John muttered from behind his laptop, not even looking up. “Let her sleep in. You’d be dead if she hadn’t saved your sorry ass.”
Harcourt rudely snorted into her mug. “Oh shut up, John. I had to scream at you to get that thing deactivated.”
“Yeah, well,” John grumbled, cheeks reddening. “Better late than never.”
“I bet Dye Beard enjoys having such a hot babe on a tight leash,” Peacemaker snorted. “In no other universe would a woman like her ever be willingly near him.”
“Yeah, you’d have to literally put one of those cute little dog collars on her,” Vigilante said, gesturing around his own neck. “Like a miniature dachshund! Or those tiny mean purebred dogs. I killed a puppy mill owner once. F-uu-uck those guys. ”
John’s jaw locked. Jesus Christ. Do not imagine her wearing a collar. Do not imagine her wearing a fucking leather collar, on all fours, fuckity, fuckity, fuck, fuck.
“As a proud dog mom, I appreciate your commitment to the cause, Vij,” Adebayo’s sweet voice distracted John from the humiliating scenario his brain had just conjured up.
“I heard about her when I was in prison,” Peacemaker grinned. “She’s gotta be into some kinky shit if she hooked up with Green Lantern.”
John’s head snapped up. There was no way in hell you’d willingly hooked up with that bowl cut douchebag. He had read all your personal files and despite the deep searches on celebrity and superhero relationship Reddits and forums, you most definitely had not.
At least, he hoped not.
“What? No way,” Adebayo immediately questioned. “Like, Justice Gang Green Lantern? Isn’t he-,”
“A puke freak? Yeah, he is. Ever heard of a human toilet?” Peacemaker asked Adebayo.
“Ooh, I have! I have!” Vigilante waved his hand gleefully. “That’s when-,”
“Not now, Vigilante. And you? You’re disgusting,” Harcourt groaned at Peacemaker. “Also, Green Lantern could kick your ass. No competition there.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Peacemaker bragged. “I’ll take on all those Justice Gang cocksuckers, except for Hawkgirl. She and Adebayo definitely belong to the Washington Lickalottapussies.”
Vigilante burst out laughing at Peacemaker’s cunnilingus joke. In John’s brief observance of the accomplished serial murderer, he would have found it funny that Vigilante constantly sought Peacemaker’s acknowledgment and validation. In no universe would John ever want that type of attention from him. “No way! I’d love to meet Hawkgirl right now! I have so many questions about her wings. Does she fly like a hawk or like a girl?”
He continued to ramble other inane questions about Hawkgirl’s powerset long after it stopped being relevant to the subject. Harcourt cut him off with a sharp scuff of her boot against the table, the sound instantly setting off Vigilante’s misophonia. He gripped his hair with both hands in acquiescence to Harcourt’s power move.
Adebayo propped her chin up on her palm as she glanced between Peacemaker and John. “I mean, is it true though?”
John had tuned out while working on his Powerpoint, and missed the conversation’s beat. He only retained the human toilet comment. “What, human toilets? Yeah, some people are into that. I, uh, did some deep dives a few years ago. N-not because I’m into it or anything, I was working in cyber crimes and-,”
“Ew, no, John, we’re not talking about that,” Adebayo said. “I was talking about her. The murders. I read up on the file the other night, and something’s not right about the whole thing.”
“It’s always the hotties,” Peacemaker cocked his trademark stupid grin on his annoyingly chiseled face. “Scientific studies show there’s some chemical imbalance when it comes to being that fucking hot. Same with redheads.”
“What studies?” John cut in. “God, you really don’t know shit, do you?”
“Oh, are you a scientist now, Dye Beard? An actual woman expert? Really? I’m not even wearing my dad’s virginity detector helmet to see what you are,” Peacemaker barked.
“Your dad made a virginity detector helmet?” Vigilante asked. The guy was a borderline serial killer, John thought, and yet so gullible.
Harcourt coughed out a sharp breath. “No fucking way.”
“It was a joke! My dad wouldn’t bother because unlike some people around here, I actually fuck. But Dye Beard is seriously pissing me off right now! He probably just framed my dad because he gets his kicks from doing stupid shit as a lame keyboard warrior!”
“I said I was sorry!” John yelled. “But you’re making me not regret it because your dad is actually a fucking vile human being!”
Harcourt rubbed her temples out of annoyance. Maybe a world-destroying meteor or another alien invasion would end her suffering; anything to stop the man-boys from squabbling. Adebayo sidestepped the brewing John-Peacemaker vitriol and continued on with her theorizing.
“For real, I don’t know, y’all. That shit was too brutal for one person. Brains all over the walls, torn limbs everywhere-,” Adebayo listed off the crime details on her fingers. “People who volunteer at homeless shelters don’t do that sort of shit. Ever.”
Vigilante perked up at the mention of killing, as he always did, but his empty smile cracked into a frown as Adebayo’s face revealed her distaste at the graphic murder scenes. “What kind of feminist are you if you’re tearing down another woman’s accomplishments?” he asked. “Seriously? That’s not very lesbian of you.”
“That has nothing to do with being a lesbian or a feminist. It means I don’t think she’s a murderer,” Adebayo said but stopped short of continuing her theory. Her eyes widened behind Peacemaker, and her sudden silence made him and Vigilante turn their heads.
It was you, shoulders rigid against the peeling walls and splintered doorway. Your black sunglasses reflected the stunned looks of Peacemaker, Adebayo, and Vigilante back at them.
“Hey, Short Stack. We were just-,” but Peacemaker didn’t finish.
“Talking about me? I heard you all the way upstairs. It’s too fucking early to talk about my sex life. Or play True Detective,” you pointed at Adebayo. “I’m not a party game.”
“I was just saying I don’t think you murdered those guys.” Adebayo said. “That’s good, right? It means-,”
“Nothing. It means nothing at all,” you sharply replied. Maybe John was imaging things, reading too much into it, but you sounded resigned. Like you had already thought over countless scenarios to gain your freedom. “It doesn’t change a damn thing about my situation. What you think doesn’t matter.”
Harcourt listened with renewed interest, her eyes watching you over her coffee mug. She too had heard your tone shift and was intrigued by the change in voice. More likely she wanted more ammo in her quiet war against you.
“You’re taking this way too personally, Short Stack. Oh no, you’ve been accused of murder,” he waved his hands around dramatically, nearly whacking Vigilante in the face. “So what? You’re not the only person on the planet who’s ever gone to fucking prison,” Peacemaker said.
“Yeah, I’m in such great company with, let’s see, you and your Neo-Nazi dad,” you coughed. “At least he deserves prison time, even if the means weren’t exactly kosher.”
John couldn’t believe it. Had you just defended his mistake, however indirectly? No way. That couldn’t be right. You had hardly spoken to him after the remote fumbling incident. The thought barely had time to land before the air in the room shifted.
“That’s enough.”
Clemson Murn didn’t raise his voice but his general aura snapped everyone back to the present reality. “This isn’t fucking therapy. We need to get to today’s mission. I’ve received information…” and you listened to Murn’s plan while John and Peacemaker loudly whispered near you.
“Better luck next time, Dye Beard,” Peacemaker just had to slide that one in.
“Shut the fuck up, Temu John Cena,” John scowled under his breath.
“Please, that guy wishes he looked like me,” Peacemaker said, earning eye rolls from Harcourt and Murn.
Despite his better judgment, Murn had given permission for you to join the others in this mission, but again, only as a backup. Using your powers drained you, and Murn didn’t want your reserves emptied in case of another real emergency. You’d agreed, though the moment everyone else piled in, you had slouched into the farthest corner, the bridge of your sunglasses tightly pressed against the base of your nose and head turned.
You hadn’t been prepared for the cold Washington weather after months of living indoors, and the van, while closed and running some level of heat, wasn’t super warm since John needed the van’s computer terminals and towers to stay relatively cool to operate at full power. You rubbed your hands together, mittenless. Your prison-issued hooded sweater wasn’t cutting it. A normal guy would offer his unworn heavy jacket or even his flannel shirt, but John’s anxious over-thinking prevented him from making a move. He glanced up from his multi-screens and saw you had moved closer and oh shit, the McDonald’s Big Mac combo he ate for lunch was threatening a nasty return. He almost didn’t hear you over the roar of acid reflux gurgling in his throat and ears.
“Why are you even doing this?”
“What?” he asked, unsure what you were getting at. He hated cryptic messaging and indirect questions. It messed with his understanding of people, which he barely understood in the first place. Hence why he liked jobs where he didn’t have to “people”.
You repeated your question. The absence of your on-brand bite was noticeable. As if you were simply commenting on the weather outside. “Just seems like you hate this line of work.”
John sucked in a breath almost too quickly, a harsh wheeze exiting his nostrils. A dozen “well, actually”s lined up and collapsed in his throat. You’d fucking clocked him in a handful of days working together, and the embarrassment burned hot.
“I get paid to stay behind and hack into things,” he stated. His words didn’t sound right, like they belonged to someone else and he was just borrowing them. “That’s always been my job.”
You rolled your eyes. “Your boss is being Ratatouille’d by the alien bug species we’re supposed to destroy. Harcourt’s internalized misogyny takes the piss out of everything. So that makes your boss and colleague assholes. Vigilante’s too much of a sociopath to qualify as an asshole. Peacemaker is a meat grenade with daddy problems. Adebayo is…” you paused, “she’s mostly normal, but lesbian dog moms are weird by default, so she’s definitely got some unhinged backstory she’s not telling us.”
John snorted before he could stop himself. Your cynical powers of observation were something else entirely.
“And now you’re here in the Pacific Northwest, in a shitty van, babysitting a dangerous prisoner while other people risk life and death for this stupid fucking world that quite frankly, can go rot,” you continued, tugging your sleeves over your freezing hands. “I’d quit.”
Shit. He had no clever comeback. He would think of one several hours later in one of his self-spiraling lukewarm motel showers. “I mean…you’re not a job,” John backtracked, grateful his heavy beard hid the creeping heat on his face. “Prisoner or not, you’re still a person.”
“Guess that answers my other question about whether or not you’re being paid enough to bullshit me.”
“...Not enough.” The admission rolled easily from John’s mouth. Despite the popular media, hackers like him were not “absolutely rolling in it” when it came to money and public affection. He wasn’t Rami Malek or some hooded figure where the mystery was the allure. John Economos was just some guy, in his mind.
You tilted your head, eyes lifted above your sunglasses. The light of his computer screens flickered in your pupils. Your half-smile was imperceptible. But John saw it nonetheless. He could stop reliving the remote fumble incident over and over and replace it with this tiny sweetness. He turned back to the monitors before he said anything else stupid, only muttering some last-minute excuse like, “Gotta check Harcourt’s position”, but he could still feel your gaze linger on his wide back.
Some time later
John splashed cold water over his face at the tiny utility sink. The obscene gobs of gorilla gore from the Glan Tai Bottling Plant mission dripped down his shirt, and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead did little to make him feel human again. He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to shake the tension from his neck. He needed a goddamn shower. He also needed to do some laundry. He was running out of novelty t-shirts he had packed for this work trip and this was day four of wearing the same pants. As his mind flipped through the various chores and overdue tasks he needed to get done, he heard voices through the thin dilapidated walls, unmistakably yours and Peacemaker’s. John thought he and Adebayo had already left for the night, so he was shocked. He stopped the faucet and stood unnaturally still.
“You know, if Econogoat was always that fucking cool, he really needs to stop dying his beard. He’d get so much more pussy if he just owned it,” Peacemaker loudly said.
Fuck. They were talking about him? Granted, anything was better than Dye Beard or Captain Cuck. But he wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Peacemaker getting into the lack of his sex life. John knew he liked sex, wanted to have it maybe someday. He just hadn’t had the chance. The opportunity. Being a socially awkward, anxious and definitely undiagnosed autistic man didn’t exactly help his case.
“Why are you so obsessed with other people’s sex lives?” you groaned.
Shit, that was you. You and Peacemaker. Talking about him. His sex life. The lack thereof. John was not a religious man anymore, hadn’t been in decades, but he hoped that somehow, some divine act of god could smite him because the embarrassment was roiling through his body.
“ ‘Cause we’re always around it? Adebayo showed us her wife’s pussy at work. Respect for loving all that bush, though. Harcourt clearly needs to get fucked, by me, and Vigilante isn’t really into sex other than that one threesome we had—,”
“Oh my fucking god, I didn’t need to know that,” you replied, a hint of laughter in your tone. You were joking with Peacemaker? How? Days ago you couldn’t stand his ass, and now John was hearing your voice lighten up around the meathead.
“Also. Harcourt would never fuck you. Ever. I don’t like her, but I respect that even she has standards.”
“That’s rude. As if I don’t know what you’re doing in the van with Economos during all those missions.”
John froze. His eyes carefully glanced towards the cracked bathroom mirror. The dimness of the light obscured the bright heat on his cheeks. He heard you say, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I had you all wrong, Short Stack. You like the sad types. Fifty year old virgins. Complete fucking losers with women.”
“John’s not a loser.” Was that a noticeable strain in your voice?
John could hear the soft trickle of the leaking faucet below his hands. Time wasn’t real anymore. Your words returned like a thrown boomerang, every drawn out syllable slamming against his skull in wobbling succession.
“Oh my God!” Peacemaker shouted, laughing so hard that John could hear him slapping his fist against the wall. “I was just egging you on, Short Stack, but damn! You actually like him!”
John’s face burned so hot he thought he might genuinely pass out. Every nerve ending in his body flared and his knees locked up. This couldn’t be real. This absolutely could not be fucking real. He prepared to swing open the bathroom door, make his presence known but shit, you were talking, talking quickly.
“I wasn’t born an asshole like you or most of the people in our stupid team. I used to save lives,” you said. “I was good at it. I thought people loved me for it. But when I needed help, actual fuck-ing help from any of the people I risked my life and abilities for, none of it was enough. Nobody saved me. Okay, fine, I learned my lesson. Fuck people, forever. No trial by jury. Let me die in prison for something I didn’t do, as if that’s never, ever happened in the history of modern American incarceration before.
But no, I can’t just fade away into obscurity! I get dragged out by Mr. Bodysnatcher himself and roped into his merry band of maladjusted weirdos. I don’t like or trust you all entirely and you’ll probably forget about me when I get dumped back into prison. And that’s the best case scenario where we even destroy the alien bug freaks populating our planet. Maybe it’s a low fucking bar to clear when it comes to the human race but people like him, like John…give me hope that I’m worth something again.”
No stupid laugh from Peacemaker, no snide comment from you. John’s hand hovered above the doorknob. Should he make a sound?
“Nice monologue, Short Stack. Tell me how you really feel," Peacemaker said.
“Dickhead,” you grumbled, to which he responded with a short laugh. The usual sounds of movement took place; Peacemaker must’ve exited the building. You however, were probably still there.
John stayed where he was, his hand shaking near the bathroom door handle. He had to leave at some point, unless he stayed in the bathroom of this condemned building like a creep. He was standing like that for either five minutes or an hour or an eternity-until a loud knock snapped him back to reality.
“I know you heard all of that,” your flat voice cut through the peeling wood of the bathroom door. “Don’t bother pretending otherwise. Your car was still in the lot when we got back here.”
He let out a slow breath before pushing the bathroom door open. The hinges squealed loud enough to make him wince. John avoided your gaze, especially since you weren’t wearing your sunglasses (they got lost in the chaos). Neither of you moved.
“I wasn't…I really wasn't trying to listen in. I’m not a pervert. At least not in the voyeuristic way or anything.”
“Right.”
“I needed to wash my face before going back to the motel. Post-gorilla gore jitters. My adrenaline has never been this high, ever.”
“Of course,” you nodded.
“I heard you all talking and then I heard my name, and…” John trailed off, his fingers digging into the hem of his flannel shirt.
“I’m not mad,” you rubbed your hands as if a sudden chill entered the room. “I’m embarrassed.”
John blinked. “Embarrassed?”
“I just spent ten minutes talking about my feelings,” you muttered. “That’s absolutely humiliating. No amount of torture at Belle Reve could ever accomplish compared to what Peacemaker of all people was able to do. Strike me down, lord.”
John could still walk away. He could laugh it off and make some awkward comment. He could preserve whatever fragile dignity he had left. He could tell you “Good night” and just leave for the motel and force himself to sleep off this whole surreal exchange. You were right after all, he was the lowest fucking bar to clear when it came to determining self-worth. Lump in his throat, his body vibrating like millions of bees wriggling in his bones. He was glad his stomach was empty, but that wouldn’t stop any yellow bile from coming back up. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t get any clunky words out and then you spoke again:
“Ugh, don’t make me say it out loud again.”
For a moment, he genuinely wondered if he had misheard you or missed some social cue from earlier. He was good at doing that. However, your stance and seriousness informed him otherwise.
“Me?” was all John could utter as his brain imploded with the implication. “Really?”
“Yes.”
John stared down at you. “I thought you hated me. Ever since the—,” but you interrupted him.
“Remote incident, yeah. I know. I wanted to write you off as an incompetent dumbass. But damnit, you just looked so sorry when it happened,” and your face was now a completely different shade of red unlike the blood on your clothes and skin. “It was kinda cute. No one’s been that considerate about me in, well, years.”
“Just so we’re, uh, clear. You don’t hate me at all,” John asked.
“No,” you stepped a bit closer.
“I…It’s been a long night and a lot’s happened, so uh, I’m going to. Go,” he grimaced not because he didn’t like you, fuck, he fucking liked you a lot and this was clearly too much good to process and he didn’t even notice you moving closer to him because his spatial reasoning was shit when his synapses were firing in every direction and and and—
You shrugged, your half-lidded eyes rising up to meet his nervous ones. Your head was tilted in a generous manner. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
You were covered in factory worker guts, other people’s blood, hell even your own blood, and probably smelled like forgotten Indian food in a chemical waste bin. You didn’t feel particularly sexy or pretty, hadn’t in years. But you went for it anyway.
It didn’t immediately register in John’s mind until ten seconds into your slightly chapped lips touching his that you were fucking kissing him, you were actually kissing him in this nasty bathroom in a condemned video store-turned-headquarters,. He lost his balance and barely caught the edge of the sink with the palms of his hands in an awkward grip. The leverage only convinced you to kiss him harder and deeper. He thought he heard you laugh as you leaned in again, your hands flattening against his chest. His mouth opened for a millisecond, just to breathe, but it allowed you a chance to brush your tongue against his. Every coherent thought abandoned him.
Then you pulled away. You didn’t want to short circuit him after all. You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve, probably making the mess worse but you weren’t thinking straight anyway. “That convince you enough?”
“Y-Yeah, fuck,” John gasped, gathering what little composure he had left. “Didn’t think that would happen, ever.”
That someone like John still existed in a shitty world that didn’t deserve saving, but you were going to try anyway.
Somewhere, Someone Special [John Economos x Reader]
Summary: John Economos has a crush on the metahuman prisoner forced to work on the Project Butterfly task force. Too bad you hate everybody, including him.
Pairing: Economos X female metahuman!reader (no powers directly mentioned)
Word Count: 6.3k words
Content Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, sexual references. No smut, but a sweet ending!
Notes: Based off this ask request. I kinda…went off the rails and this may not be 100% what you asked for regarding reader characterization or plot (or lack thereof, or really any sort of story structure) so I hope you still like this ;_; At some point I had to just post for the sake of my sanity. It's taken almost a year LOL rip bozo (it's me, i'm bozo)
Link to the AO3 fic here - if you feel inclined, do read it there too <3
fic title from "Somebody Made for Me" by Emitt Rhodes.
“Wait, was nobody gonna tell me we got an actual metahuman? Damn,” Adebayo asked, drawing an annoyed glance from Harcourt. “How hardcore is this mission?”
“Shocker. The new girl didn’t read the paperwork,” Harcourt grumbled as she made her way into the abandoned building. “John, stop moping and get in here.”
“Wasn’t moping,” John denied. He shuffled forward, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his puffer jacket. He told himself it was just his usual set of nerves, that his body was tired from the nonstop travel and lack of sleep, and maybe those old ass olives from Peacemaker’s shitty fridge were finally hitting his lower gut after all. It definitely wasn’t because his only-in-absolute-fantasy-and-embarrassing-wet-dreams crush was less than fifteen feet away. Maybe it was good you hadn’t been in the van as expected, otherwise he would have short circuited.
John had read your file several times (“in preparation for the assignment”, he had told Harcourt, who only responded with a roll of her eyes). ARGUS had maintained surveillance and compiled a dossier ever since you emerged in the public eye a few years back. Not only were you a powerful metahuman, you weren’t above rescuing cats and puppies in trees, or managing crowd control during a Kaiju-gone-wrong incident. Hell, you had even volunteered at the local homeless shelter. There were rumors of you possibly joining the Justice Gang. The optics were all there. That gave John a convenient excuse to tell himself his interest in you was purely professional. Metahumans like you were interesting. Definitely not ridiculously attractive. It wasn’t like he would ever meet you, so it was fine for you to exist in the nether-space of his niche interests.
That is, until you’d been arrested last year in connection to a string of high profile murders. Despite no physical evidence placing you directly at the crime scenes, you were named the top suspect, taken to Belle Reve Penitentiary, and thrown into solitary confinement to await your trial. Even if you were innocent, it didn’t matter. The press needed a scapegoat. Anti-metahuman sentiment was on the rise thanks to idiots like Cleavis Thornwaite basically calling you everything but an outright slut on live television.
John told himself he was just a cog in the system. He just formatted the reports and filed them away. That was his job. But deep down, he knew the truth: John Economos didn’t challenge orders. He (and most of his ARGUS colleagues) didn’t save the innocent. Destroying Starro down in Corto Maltese happened only because Flo Crawley did something first and she got goddamn arrested for it, while he and Harcourt were punished for their insubordination by being forced to work with a fucked up mercenary on a wild alien butterfly chase. No amount of vicariously doing the right thing would fix this.
John Economos could never disturb the status quo. And despite his massive crush on you, he knew he was part of the system that had crushed you.
Adebayo frowned in confusion at John’s distant hesitation, but the lightbulb went off when she saw you inside the building. “Oooh, she’s cute,” she playfully winked at John, who only groaned and pulled away from her. He didn’t want the newbie getting all up in his business.
You had been picked up by Clemson Murn via private transport and were supposed to be waiting in the van, but you had “opted for fresh air” while the team was at Peacemaker’s trailer. You were leaning back in an old metal chair, one foot flat against the side of the piano for leverage, rocking slightly. You nonchalantly glanced over to the doors where John, Harcourt, and Adebayo entered from. You tilted your head just enough for the flickering ceiling lights to catch on your dark sunglasses.
“About time,” you said. “Some black ops team you are if I’m able to find the headquarters first. I didn’t even have the directions.”
“You weren’t in the van,” Harcourt said as she stepped towards you. Her eyes darted to the sunglasses perched on your face, fully distracted by the dark lenses. Who else but you could get away with wearing sunglasses inside?
“Last I checked, Clemson Murn is my handler. So I don’t have to report to you,” you said.
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t be out. At all,” Harcourt replied.
“She can’t be out?” Adebayo asked, with John nodding to answer her. “Oh right, the whole murderous prisoner thing.”
You whipped your head at Adebayo, one nostril flared and upper lip twitching. “Anyway, my ear device keeps ringing, and it’s really annoying. Do any of you have the remote to turn it off?” you asked.
“It wouldn’t have gone off if you had stayed in the van,” Harcourt replied. “You have to follow orders, same as the rest of us.”
You stopped rocking forward, allowing gravity to answer Harcourt with the metallic clang! of the chair legs hitting the floor. Your smirk faded into a challenging frown. In the years of working with his no-nonsense blonde colleague, John knew of very few people (outside of Waller and their superiors, maybe even Rick Flag Jr.) who ever took Emilia Harcourt to task. You straightened your posture and folded your arms tightly across your chest. John noted you were slightly shorter than Harcourt, but the sheer bad bitch energy added a few metaphysical inches to your height.
Your jaw tightened. “I’m not like the rest of you, now am I?”
Harcourt’s brow raised in response, but she didn’t take your bait. She was too smart for that, and you knew it. You leaned in just enough to break her personal space. Two attractive women with equally hateful looks in their eyes? John secretly thought that was super hot. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud (unless he was being tortured. Then yes, he’d admit to it and oh so much, much more).
Any further biting exchanges about to occur between you and Harcourt evaporated with the sharp clomp of Clemson Murn’s heavy walk into the safehouse. Murn’s eyes were directly locked onto you, ignoring the rest of the room entirely.
“You were supposed to wait in the van,” Murn scolded. “And how the fuck did three grown ass adults not follow my directions?”
“Well, we didn’t get lost in case you were thinking that,” John tried to correct his new supervisor, but he did not succeed in that skill check. Murn and Harcourt wordlessly glared at his interruption. “What? We didn’t!”
“Seems like we’re the only competent people here, Murn,” you shook your head. “Been there.”
“You have no room to talk. You know damn well you’re not supposed to be outside without a handler,” Murn said.
“Peacemaker’s killed people and you’re inviting him out to fucking dinner. Why get me out of solitary confinement if you’re just going to shove me in the back of a van?” you angrily asked.
Murn bunched his lips up in annoyance, but he couldn’t argue with the facts presented. “Peacemaker…has extenuating circumstances. He’s also from the area. You’re only here because all the other metahumans that could have helped me with this job are either dead, too good, or too expensive.”
You scoffed. “Wow. I feel so special. Now, can you please turn this damn thing off?” You tapped the small black device outside your ear, the red light blinking faintly. “It’s been ringing nonstop and it hurts. I can’t help you out if my brain gets too scrambled.”
Murn pulled out a small remote from his jacket pocket and pressed a button, allowing you to finally relax your shoulders. John immediately recognized your hearing aid-like device as a power dampener, similar to the collar Polka Dot Man used to wear. Whenever you weren’t in range of the remote (or disobeyed an order) your ears would ring depending on the severity. Prolonged use would render you either permanently deaf, cursed with lifelong vertigo, or possibly lobotomized.
“Wish you could just take the damn thing out,” you grumbled. “What if you’re in the bathroom and I have to use my powers? Or you die? Do you even have a backup remote, because I’m fucked if you don’t.”
“Doesn’t matter what you want,” Murn said. “No fucking around. No more scenic walks. I’m not asking you again.” Then, to John’s surprise: “Economos, starting now, you’re managing her.” He tossed the remote toward him.
It didn’t register right away about his new assignment, because he’d been maybe distracted by the way you had been looking at him, and had you? Been looking at him directly? He hated being looked at, equally hated directly looking at people in the eyes, hated being perceived, but you? The sunglasses made it hard to decipher the direction of your gaze, and he—
fumbled the catch.
Of course he fumbled it.
Your entire wellbeing was now in his hands, and hell, he just had to be Jittery John from middle school gym class again, didn’t he? Dumbfuck.
The remote clattered to the ground, and the ringing restarted, this time even louder and more painful in your ear. Adebayo attempted to pick it up for him, but John almost knocked her over with how clumsily he bent to pick up the remote. You crumpled to the floor with the grace of a brick wrapped in wet tissue paper.
“FUCK! Makeitstopmakeitstop!” you screamed at John through chattering teeth.
“Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” John scrambled, pressing the big green button frantically. Murn was definitely regretting his decision to entrust John with this one small responsibility. Harcourt’s lips pulled into an amused smile, probably enjoying the sight of you being knocked down a peg after your little confrontation with her.
You struggled upright, bracing one palm on the floor before getting your knees under you. Your sunglasses had fallen off the bridge of your nose, revealing glassy eyes and a flushed face. Your months-long time in prison had already carved significant hollows in your cheeks. At this moment you weren’t an alleged murderer or a fallen hero; just someone John had accidentally hurt by his lack of hand-eye coordination.
John became acutely aware of how briefly time had passed between both of you and blurted out, “I didn’t mean to.”
He held out his hand to try and help you up while fighting off his usual cowardice. For a second, it looked like you were going to take his hand and say something back. John's anxiety was desperate for some form of acknowledgement, but you just stared at him. Your lips parted and he could see the shine of your teeth. Without warning, you narrowed your eyes and tightly shut your mouth. Your hand unclenched at your side before you forced yourself upright on your own, fully turning away from him without a word.
You quickly adjusted your sunglasses and wiped your hands on your pants, gave one last parting scowl to Harcourt and stomped off to Murn’s makeshift office, probably to bother him again about dinner tonight.
Adebayo grimaced, though she tried to awkwardly smile it off as to not make John feel bad (it didn't work). “I'm sure she hates all of us, not just you.”
“Fuck me,” John loudly said under his breath, running his once-outstretched hand through his hair as to rid the excess nervousness from his body. He’d been rejected in various situations before, but you, staring at him without saying a word? John already knew he was a supreme asshole and sometimes even enjoyed being off-putting to people he disliked or hated, but knowing he accidentally hurt you? Big asshole behavior.
“She definitely won’t now,” Harcourt snorted, earning a whine of “ugh, not like that” from John.
John Economos was not a very good handler. He knew it. You knew it. Harcourt knew the decision was ass. Murn likely knew it too, had known the moment he tossed the remote to John, but he didn’t have time to delegate assignments when trying to stop an alien invasion with several unhinged weirdos.
This meant that you were almost always near John. The proximity of the power dampener meant you couldn’t wander off without the alarm burning through your ear drums and brain.
You’d only used your powers once so far: extracting Peacemaker, Vigilante, and Harcourt from a near-death situation involving a swarm of possessed hospital workers. Murn had gotten some intel about a posse of hospital staff acting strangely a few hours outside of Evergreen. You’d been ordered by Murn to hang back, maintain distance, and stay in the van with John until absolutely needed. Then Vigilante screamed something about his spleen and Harcourt’s voice was crackling in John’s earpiece as she yelled for somebody to do something, fuck, fuck, we’re fucking DYING—John finally deactivated the power dampener as you barreled out the rust bucket of a work van and beelined towards Peacemaker and Harcourt. Just like the superhero you were.
You stumbled out of the hospital with mushy streaks and innards from the butterfly-possessed, leaning against Harcourt as she assisted you back to the van. You said nothing, only thumbed a thick spot of blood from your sunglasses as you sunk into the van’s passenger seat.
John thought you were so fucking cool, even knee deep in viscera. He reluctantly switched the power dampener back on, the slight hum crackling in your ear before turning silent again. It was exhausting to be like this, constantly being on and off this power dampener, and you were beyond tired.
“Hey, those guts belonged to my guy,” Vigilante pouted, absently twirling one of his comically large knives in your direction. “You should’ve at least asked me before you folded him inside out.”
You flicked the smattering at Vigilante’s arm. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Before descending into a dark unconsciousness, you thought you heard a deep voice mutter something like, “You okay?”
You were sleeping on a blow up mattress in the upstairs apartment of the video store-turned-headquarters. This place was condemned beyond hell and there were definitely rats in the walls and asbestos in the ceiling, but it beat the 23 hour solitary prison confinement you were used to. Murn had surprisingly allowed you to stay in the shithole building by yourself, figuring that you wouldn’t get far without John disabling the device, and frankly he already had enough adults to babysit. You didn’t know it, but John had found an extra blanket in his motel room and left it for you on the mattress. He figured you needed it more than he did.
“Someone’s gotta wake Short Stack up,” Peacemaker joked from the common area, shoveling cereal straight from the box into his obscenely large mouth. He said it loud enough for the entire group to hear, angling for a laugh from Harcourt. She didn’t even look up from her coffee. “It’s not fair she gets to sleep in while Murn drags our sorry asses this fucking early. I thought we earned the day off.”
Upon your first meeting, Christopher Smith had bestowed upon you the nickname “Short Stack” for obvious physical reasons. His creativity with words was boundless, truly. You didn’t care for the nickname, but ignoring him had proven to be the most effective survival strategy.
“C’mon, man,” John muttered from behind his laptop, not even looking up. “Let her sleep in. You’d be dead if she hadn’t saved your sorry ass.”
Harcourt rudely snorted into her mug. “Oh shut up, John. I had to scream at you to get that thing deactivated.”
“Yeah, well,” John grumbled, cheeks reddening. “Better late than never.”
“I bet Dye Beard enjoys having such a hot babe on a tight leash,” Peacemaker snorted. “In no other universe would a woman like her ever be willingly near him.”
“Yeah, you’d have to literally put one of those cute little dog collars on her,” Vigilante said, gesturing around his own neck. “Like a miniature dachshund! Or those tiny mean purebred dogs. I killed a puppy mill owner once. F-uu-uck those guys. ”
John’s jaw locked. Jesus Christ. Do not imagine her wearing a collar. Do not imagine her wearing a fucking leather collar, on all fours, fuckity, fuckity, fuck, fuck.
“As a proud dog mom, I appreciate your commitment to the cause, Vij,” Adebayo’s sweet voice distracted John from the humiliating scenario his brain had just conjured up.
“I heard about her when I was in prison,” Peacemaker grinned. “She’s gotta be into some kinky shit if she hooked up with Green Lantern.”
John’s head snapped up. There was no way in hell you’d willingly hooked up with that bowl cut douchebag. He had read all your personal files and despite the deep searches on celebrity and superhero relationship Reddits and forums, you most definitely had not.
At least, he hoped not.
“What? No way,” Adebayo immediately questioned. “Like, Justice Gang Green Lantern? Isn’t he-,”
“A puke freak? Yeah, he is. Ever heard of a human toilet?” Peacemaker asked Adebayo.
“Ooh, I have! I have!” Vigilante waved his hand gleefully. “That’s when-,”
“Not now, Vigilante. And you? You’re disgusting,” Harcourt groaned at Peacemaker. “Also, Green Lantern could kick your ass. No competition there.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Peacemaker bragged. “I’ll take on all those Justice Gang cocksuckers, except for Hawkgirl. She and Adebayo definitely belong to the Washington Lickalottapussies.”
Vigilante burst out laughing at Peacemaker’s cunnilingus joke. In John’s brief observance of the accomplished serial murderer, he would have found it funny that Vigilante constantly sought Peacemaker’s acknowledgment and validation. In no universe would John ever want that type of attention from him. “No way! I’d love to meet Hawkgirl right now! I have so many questions about her wings. Does she fly like a hawk or like a girl?”
He continued to ramble other inane questions about Hawkgirl’s powerset long after it stopped being relevant to the subject. Harcourt cut him off with a sharp scuff of her boot against the table, the sound instantly setting off Vigilante’s misophonia. He gripped his hair with both hands in acquiescence to Harcourt’s power move.
Adebayo propped her chin up on her palm as she glanced between Peacemaker and John. “I mean, is it true though?”
John had tuned out while working on his Powerpoint, and missed the conversation’s beat. He only retained the human toilet comment. “What, human toilets? Yeah, some people are into that. I, uh, did some deep dives a few years ago. N-not because I’m into it or anything, I was working in cyber crimes and-,”
“Ew, no, John, we’re not talking about that,” Adebayo said. “I was talking about her. The murders. I read up on the file the other night, and something’s not right about the whole thing.”
“It’s always the hotties,” Peacemaker cocked his trademark stupid grin on his annoyingly chiseled face. “Scientific studies show there’s some chemical imbalance when it comes to being that fucking hot. Same with redheads.”
“What studies?” John cut in. “God, you really don’t know shit, do you?”
“Oh, are you a scientist now, Dye Beard? An actual woman expert? Really? I’m not even wearing my dad’s virginity detector helmet to see what you are,” Peacemaker barked.
“Your dad made a virginity detector helmet?” Vigilante asked. The guy was a borderline serial killer, John thought, and yet so gullible.
Harcourt coughed out a sharp breath. “No fucking way.”
“It was a joke! My dad wouldn’t bother because unlike some people around here, I actually fuck. But Dye Beard is seriously pissing me off right now! He probably just framed my dad because he gets his kicks from doing stupid shit as a lame keyboard warrior!”
“I said I was sorry!” John yelled. “But you’re making me not regret it because your dad is actually a fucking vile human being!”
Harcourt rubbed her temples out of annoyance. Maybe a world-destroying meteor or another alien invasion would end her suffering; anything to stop the man-boys from squabbling. Adebayo sidestepped the brewing John-Peacemaker vitriol and continued on with her theorizing.
“For real, I don’t know, y’all. That shit was too brutal for one person. Brains all over the walls, torn limbs everywhere-,” Adebayo listed off the crime details on her fingers. “People who volunteer at homeless shelters don’t do that sort of shit. Ever.”
Vigilante perked up at the mention of killing, as he always did, but his empty smile cracked into a frown as Adebayo’s face revealed her distaste at the graphic murder scenes. “What kind of feminist are you if you’re tearing down another woman’s accomplishments?” he asked. “Seriously? That’s not very lesbian of you.”
“That has nothing to do with being a lesbian or a feminist. It means I don’t think she’s a murderer,” Adebayo said but stopped short of continuing her theory. Her eyes widened behind Peacemaker, and her sudden silence made him and Vigilante turn their heads.
It was you, shoulders rigid against the peeling walls and splintered doorway. Your black sunglasses reflected the stunned looks of Peacemaker, Adebayo, and Vigilante back at them.
“Hey, Short Stack. We were just-,” but Peacemaker didn’t finish.
“Talking about me? I heard you all the way upstairs. It’s too fucking early to talk about my sex life. Or play True Detective,” you pointed at Adebayo. “I’m not a party game.”
“I was just saying I don’t think you murdered those guys.” Adebayo said. “That’s good, right? It means-,”
“Nothing. It means nothing at all,” you sharply replied. Maybe John was imaging things, reading too much into it, but you sounded resigned. Like you had already thought over countless scenarios to gain your freedom. “It doesn’t change a damn thing about my situation. What you think doesn’t matter.”
Harcourt listened with renewed interest, her eyes watching you over her coffee mug. She too had heard your tone shift and was intrigued by the change in voice. More likely she wanted more ammo in her quiet war against you.
“You’re taking this way too personally, Short Stack. Oh no, you’ve been accused of murder,” he waved his hands around dramatically, nearly whacking Vigilante in the face. “So what? You’re not the only person on the planet who’s ever gone to fucking prison,” Peacemaker said.
“Yeah, I’m in such great company with, let’s see, you and your Neo-Nazi dad,” you coughed. “At least he deserves prison time, even if the means weren’t exactly kosher.”
John couldn’t believe it. Had you just defended his mistake, however indirectly? No way. That couldn’t be right. You had hardly spoken to him after the remote fumbling incident. The thought barely had time to land before the air in the room shifted.
“That’s enough.”
Clemson Murn didn’t raise his voice but his general aura snapped everyone back to the present reality. “This isn’t fucking therapy. We need to get to today’s mission. I’ve received information…” and you listened to Murn’s plan while John and Peacemaker loudly whispered near you.
“Better luck next time, Dye Beard,” Peacemaker just had to slide that one in.
“Shut the fuck up, Temu John Cena,” John scowled under his breath.
“Please, that guy wishes he looked like me,” Peacemaker said, earning eye rolls from Harcourt and Murn.
Despite his better judgment, Murn had given permission for you to join the others in this mission, but again, only as a backup. Using your powers drained you, and Murn didn’t want your reserves emptied in case of another real emergency. You’d agreed, though the moment everyone else piled in, you had slouched into the farthest corner, the bridge of your sunglasses tightly pressed against the base of your nose and head turned.
You hadn’t been prepared for the cold Washington weather after months of living indoors, and the van, while closed and running some level of heat, wasn’t super warm since John needed the van’s computer terminals and towers to stay relatively cool to operate at full power. You rubbed your hands together, mittenless. Your prison-issued hooded sweater wasn’t cutting it. A normal guy would offer his unworn heavy jacket or even his flannel shirt, but John’s anxious over-thinking prevented him from making a move. He glanced up from his multi-screens and saw you had moved closer and oh shit, the McDonald’s Big Mac combo he ate for lunch was threatening a nasty return. He almost didn’t hear you over the roar of acid reflux gurgling in his throat and ears.
“Why are you even doing this?”
“What?” he asked, unsure what you were getting at. He hated cryptic messaging and indirect questions. It messed with his understanding of people, which he barely understood in the first place. Hence why he liked jobs where he didn’t have to “people”.
You repeated your question. The absence of your on-brand bite was noticeable. As if you were simply commenting on the weather outside. “Just seems like you hate this line of work.”
John sucked in a breath almost too quickly, a harsh wheeze exiting his nostrils. A dozen “well, actually”s lined up and collapsed in his throat. You’d fucking clocked him in a handful of days working together, and the embarrassment burned hot.
“I get paid to stay behind and hack into things,” he stated. His words didn’t sound right, like they belonged to someone else and he was just borrowing them. “That’s always been my job.”
You rolled your eyes. “Your boss is being Ratatouille’d by the alien bug species we’re supposed to destroy. Harcourt’s internalized misogyny takes the piss out of everything. So that makes your boss and colleague assholes. Vigilante’s too much of a sociopath to qualify as an asshole. Peacemaker is a meat grenade with daddy problems. Adebayo is…” you paused, “she’s mostly normal, but lesbian dog moms are weird by default, so she’s definitely got some unhinged backstory she’s not telling us.”
John snorted before he could stop himself. Your cynical powers of observation were something else entirely.
“And now you’re here in the Pacific Northwest, in a shitty van, babysitting a dangerous prisoner while other people risk life and death for this stupid fucking world that quite frankly, can go rot,” you continued, tugging your sleeves over your freezing hands. “I’d quit.”
Shit. He had no clever comeback. He would think of one several hours later in one of his self-spiraling lukewarm motel showers. “I mean…you’re not a job,” John backtracked, grateful his heavy beard hid the creeping heat on his face. “Prisoner or not, you’re still a person.”
“Guess that answers my other question about whether or not you’re being paid enough to bullshit me.”
“...Not enough.” The admission rolled easily from John’s mouth. Despite the popular media, hackers like him were not “absolutely rolling in it” when it came to money and public affection. He wasn’t Rami Malek or some hooded figure where the mystery was the allure. John Economos was just some guy, in his mind.
You tilted your head, eyes lifted above your sunglasses. The light of his computer screens flickered in your pupils. Your half-smile was imperceptible. But John saw it nonetheless. He could stop reliving the remote fumble incident over and over and replace it with this tiny sweetness. He turned back to the monitors before he said anything else stupid, only muttering some last-minute excuse like, “Gotta check Harcourt’s position”, but he could still feel your gaze linger on his wide back.
Some time later
John splashed cold water over his face at the tiny utility sink. The obscene gobs of gorilla gore from the Glan Tai Bottling Plant mission dripped down his shirt, and the flickering fluorescent lights overhead did little to make him feel human again. He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to shake the tension from his neck. He needed a goddamn shower. He also needed to do some laundry. He was running out of novelty t-shirts he had packed for this work trip and this was day four of wearing the same pants. As his mind flipped through the various chores and overdue tasks he needed to get done, he heard voices through the thin dilapidated walls, unmistakably yours and Peacemaker’s. John thought he and Adebayo had already left for the night, so he was shocked. He stopped the faucet and stood unnaturally still.
“You know, if Econogoat was always that fucking cool, he really needs to stop dying his beard. He’d get so much more pussy if he just owned it,” Peacemaker loudly said.
Fuck. They were talking about him? Granted, anything was better than Dye Beard or Captain Cuck. But he wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Peacemaker getting into the lack of his sex life. John knew he liked sex, wanted to have it maybe someday. He just hadn’t had the chance. The opportunity. Being a socially awkward, anxious and definitely undiagnosed autistic man didn’t exactly help his case.
“Why are you so obsessed with other people’s sex lives?” you groaned.
Shit, that was you. You and Peacemaker. Talking about him. His sex life. The lack thereof. John was not a religious man anymore, hadn’t been in decades, but he hoped that somehow, some divine act of god could smite him because the embarrassment was roiling through his body.
“ ‘Cause we’re always around it? Adebayo showed us her wife’s pussy at work. Respect for loving all that bush, though. Harcourt clearly needs to get fucked, by me, and Vigilante isn’t really into sex other than that one threesome we had—,”
“Oh my fucking god, I didn’t need to know that,” you replied, a hint of laughter in your tone. You were joking with Peacemaker? How? Days ago you couldn’t stand his ass, and now John was hearing your voice lighten up around the meathead.
“Also. Harcourt would never fuck you. Ever. I don’t like her, but I respect that even she has standards.”
“That’s rude. As if I don’t know what you’re doing in the van with Economos during all those missions.”
John froze. His eyes carefully glanced towards the cracked bathroom mirror. The dimness of the light obscured the bright heat on his cheeks. He heard you say, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I had you all wrong, Short Stack. You like the sad types. Fifty year old virgins. Complete fucking losers with women.”
“John’s not a loser.” Was that a noticeable strain in your voice?
John could hear the soft trickle of the leaking faucet below his hands. Time wasn’t real anymore. Your words returned like a thrown boomerang, every drawn out syllable slamming against his skull in wobbling succession.
“Oh my God!” Peacemaker shouted, laughing so hard that John could hear him slapping his fist against the wall. “I was just egging you on, Short Stack, but damn! You actually like him!”
John’s face burned so hot he thought he might genuinely pass out. Every nerve ending in his body flared and his knees locked up. This couldn’t be real. This absolutely could not be fucking real. He prepared to swing open the bathroom door, make his presence known but shit, you were talking, talking quickly.
“I wasn’t born an asshole like you or most of the people in our stupid team. I used to save lives,” you said. “I was good at it. I thought people loved me for it. But when I needed help, actual fuck-ing help from any of the people I risked my life and abilities for, none of it was enough. Nobody saved me. Okay, fine, I learned my lesson. Fuck people, forever. No trial by jury. Let me die in prison for something I didn’t do, as if that’s never, ever happened in the history of modern American incarceration before.
But no, I can’t just fade away into obscurity! I get dragged out by Mr. Bodysnatcher himself and roped into his merry band of maladjusted weirdos. I don’t like or trust you all entirely and you’ll probably forget about me when I get dumped back into prison. And that’s the best case scenario where we even destroy the alien bug freaks populating our planet. Maybe it’s a low fucking bar to clear when it comes to the human race but people like him, like John…give me hope that I’m worth something again.”
No stupid laugh from Peacemaker, no snide comment from you. John’s hand hovered above the doorknob. Should he make a sound?
“Nice monologue, Short Stack. Tell me how you really feel," Peacemaker said.
“Dickhead,” you grumbled, to which he responded with a short laugh. The usual sounds of movement took place; Peacemaker must’ve exited the building. You however, were probably still there.
John stayed where he was, his hand shaking near the bathroom door handle. He had to leave at some point, unless he stayed in the bathroom of this condemned building like a creep. He was standing like that for either five minutes or an hour or an eternity-until a loud knock snapped him back to reality.
“I know you heard all of that,” your flat voice cut through the peeling wood of the bathroom door. “Don’t bother pretending otherwise. Your car was still in the lot when we got back here.”
He let out a slow breath before pushing the bathroom door open. The hinges squealed loud enough to make him wince. John avoided your gaze, especially since you weren’t wearing your sunglasses (they got lost in the chaos). Neither of you moved.
“I wasn't…I really wasn't trying to listen in. I’m not a pervert. At least not in the voyeuristic way or anything.”
“Right.”
“I needed to wash my face before going back to the motel. Post-gorilla gore jitters. My adrenaline has never been this high, ever.”
“Of course,” you nodded.
“I heard you all talking and then I heard my name, and…” John trailed off, his fingers digging into the hem of his flannel shirt.
“I’m not mad,” you rubbed your hands as if a sudden chill entered the room. “I’m embarrassed.”
John blinked. “Embarrassed?”
“I just spent ten minutes talking about my feelings,” you muttered. “That’s absolutely humiliating. No amount of torture at Belle Reve could ever accomplish compared to what Peacemaker of all people was able to do. Strike me down, lord.”
John could still walk away. He could laugh it off and make some awkward comment. He could preserve whatever fragile dignity he had left. He could tell you “Good night” and just leave for the motel and force himself to sleep off this whole surreal exchange. You were right after all, he was the lowest fucking bar to clear when it came to determining self-worth. Lump in his throat, his body vibrating like millions of bees wriggling in his bones. He was glad his stomach was empty, but that wouldn’t stop any yellow bile from coming back up. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t get any clunky words out and then you spoke again:
“Ugh, don’t make me say it out loud again.”
For a moment, he genuinely wondered if he had misheard you or missed some social cue from earlier. He was good at doing that. However, your stance and seriousness informed him otherwise.
“Me?” was all John could utter as his brain imploded with the implication. “Really?”
“Yes.”
John stared down at you. “I thought you hated me. Ever since the—,” but you interrupted him.
“Remote incident, yeah. I know. I wanted to write you off as an incompetent dumbass. But damnit, you just looked so sorry when it happened,” and your face was now a completely different shade of red unlike the blood on your clothes and skin. “It was kinda cute. No one’s been that considerate about me in, well, years.”
“Just so we’re, uh, clear. You don’t hate me at all,” John asked.
“No,” you stepped a bit closer.
“I…It’s been a long night and a lot’s happened, so uh, I’m going to. Go,” he grimaced not because he didn’t like you, fuck, he fucking liked you a lot and this was clearly too much good to process and he didn’t even notice you moving closer to him because his spatial reasoning was shit when his synapses were firing in every direction and and and—
You shrugged, your half-lidded eyes rising up to meet his nervous ones. Your head was tilted in a generous manner. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
You were covered in factory worker guts, other people’s blood, hell even your own blood, and probably smelled like forgotten Indian food in a chemical waste bin. You didn’t feel particularly sexy or pretty, hadn’t in years. But you went for it anyway.
It didn’t immediately register in John’s mind until ten seconds into your slightly chapped lips touching his that you were fucking kissing him, you were actually kissing him in this nasty bathroom in a condemned video store-turned-headquarters,. He lost his balance and barely caught the edge of the sink with the palms of his hands in an awkward grip. The leverage only convinced you to kiss him harder and deeper. He thought he heard you laugh as you leaned in again, your hands flattening against his chest. His mouth opened for a millisecond, just to breathe, but it allowed you a chance to brush your tongue against his. Every coherent thought abandoned him.
Then you pulled away. You didn’t want to short circuit him after all. You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve, probably making the mess worse but you weren’t thinking straight anyway. “That convince you enough?”
“Y-Yeah, fuck,” John gasped, gathering what little composure he had left. “Didn’t think that would happen, ever.”
That someone like John still existed in a shitty world that didn’t deserve saving, but you were going to try anyway.
ok I am back for real this time. sorry sometimes my extreme depression and lack of desire to engage in my favorite media takes over my life. but hopefully i can get my shit together and write stuff again
ok I am back for real this time. sorry sometimes my extreme depression and lack of desire to engage in my favorite media takes over my life. but hopefully i can get my shit together and write stuff again
I am alive! I am so sorry, I didn't mean to disappear for so long. I got kinda depressed about my life and writing and work, but things are on the up and up again. could never abandon tumblr again after so long. I promise to finish my Economos fics cause I have a few new hyperfixations (BG3, DA:I) that I want to write stuff for!
hi babe! just wanted to say that i hope you’re still alive 😂😂 but truly i hope everything is alright with you and looking forward for your eventual return!!
hi!
I am alive! I just kinda had a casual 'everything I do is stupid and bad and why can't my hyperfixations just stay put' for a few months. and life stuff. mostly life stuff.
I should preface this by saying that I’m soooooooooo thankful people like the little reader fanfics I write (esp my John fics ❤️) and I feel so genuinely awful that I’m taking this long to publish new stuff for my beloved peacemaker fans esp now that we don’t really know where the show or characters are heading after that finale
but in the last few days I’ve gotten a lot of anon dms demanding stuff…
I have said multiple times I haven’t forgotten I’m just Really Busy with my Day Job and literally pulling 10-12 hour days on top of weekends 😭
anyway im still here! I still have fics and ideas and blorbos for my beloved hyperfixations!
anyway I really miss peacemaker thursdays and being Online with You All
while I definitely have my Problems™️ with how peacemaker season 2 ended, I hate that it’s in some sort of bardo situation until we…find out? Eventually? Maybe in Man of Tomorrow? Or a spin off a la Checkmate?
idk how you og fans waited 3 fucking years it’s been over a week and I want to gnaw my arm off like a trapped animal
my brain 24/7: JULIAN, ITS A HUNGRY WORLD. THEYRE GONNA EAT YOU ALIVE SON, YEAH. OH, JULIAN, WHEN THEIR FANGS SINK IN. I’LL STICH YOU BUT THEN I GOTTA THROW YOU BACK IN, OHHH. YOU JUST TRY AND SLEEP, EVEN THOUGH YOURE ALONE. YOU JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES BOY, AND DREAM OF HOME. AND LIGHT IS ALWAYS ON, YOU JUST KEEP THAT IN MIND. WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING, YOU’LL BE SATISFIED. CAUSE THERE IS ALWAYS A WRONG TO YOUR RIGHT. AND THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A WAR SOMEWHERE TO FIGHT. AND GOD KNOWS IVE HAD SOME ROUGH FUCKING YEARS. OH OH LORD OH LORD KEEP ON KEEPING ON
please please take your time to work on your fics bc they're so so good but i'm going feral at the thought of another economos fic
there are 2 fics forthcoming
the metahuman reader and the hacker one. the metahuman one should be done...shortly....i swear...i am not edging y'all
thanks for your patience, lovely anon. i am getting my ass kicked by my day job since it's the busiest time of year for my line of work. and i am working every saturday (and some sundays) until late nov/early dec. and i get home and im tired and screen bad and then i get depressed about my writing for 3000 years LOL
tl;dr: fics are forthcoming!! i have not given up on our tall bearded anxious man <333333 there's plenty of fuel in the tank for peacemaker fics baybeee
honestly? missed opportunity to not include Peacemaker's mom and/or Gut Chase, Adrian's older brother, in season 2 to further highlight the theme of complicated family relationships for both Chris and Adrian. like where the fuck is his mom? we know she's dead in the earth-x dimension but it's never stated in season 1/2 if she's alive or dead in their actual world.
and with Gut, we could have really delved into WHY Adrian looks up to Chris so much. even if it's just a flashback. something.
