Euronymous x Pink Girly Metal Headcanons
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Summary: Some headcanons for Euro x Girly Pink Reader, who is also a metalhead.
I think that if you walked into Helvete, dressed in all pink, Øystein would immediately be a huge dick to you and try to get you out of his store. He’d shake his head right away and point at the door. It might go a little like this,
“You’re lost, sweetheart.” He scoffed, eying you with clear distaste, “Candy store’s down the street.”
“I’m actually looking for an album.” You held your hands up in surrender, very much used to this kind of treatment whenever you crossed paths with other people from the scene. “I can’t find it anywhere else, and everyone I talked to told me that if anyone had it, it’d be you.”
“I don’t have anything you’d be looking for.”
“I dunno,” you shrugged, looking the slightest bit amused, “I’d think you sell anything released by your label, no?”
“You’re looking for something that came out on my label?” He looked unconvinced. “You?”
“Death like silence, right?”
He nodded, looking skeptical.
“It’s the Abruptum album.” You explained, watching as he raised his brows, “You do have it, don’t you?”
“Tell whoever it’s for to come get it themselves.”
“It’s for me.” You frowned. “Is that a problem?”
“I don’t sell label stuff to posers.” He snapped, unable to believe that someone dressed the way that you were could possibly be into metal enough to know of his obscure label.
“What do I have to do to prove I’m not a poser?”
“I can tell just by looking at you.”
“Quiz me.” You shrugged, eyes locked onto his in a challenging stare.
“You’re that confident?” He crossed his arms over his chest, sizing you up as you nodded.
“Alright. We’ll start off easy. What’s the tracklist for the album you’re looking for? Name every song.”
“Gonna call a trick question easy?” You raised a brow and smirked slightly when you saw the clearly taken aback look on his face. “It’s just the two tracks. Part one and Part two.”
“Okay, so you did your research.” Øystein brushed you off dismissively, “Black metal, who started it?”
“Venom or Sarcofago, depends who you ask.”
“Rise of the mutants, Who’s album is-”
“Impaler.”
The two of you stared at eachother for a full minute.
“So you know your stuff.” He nodded, finally conceding, although it looked like it pained him a little, “I’ve never seen a metalhead dressed like that.”
“That’s why I don’t go around calling myself one.” You tried not to look too smug.
He’d be impressed and would hand the album over. Your hands might brush against eachother while you paid, and he’d jerk back like he’d been burned, completely caught off guard by the current flowing between you.
I think he’d call out to you while you were on your way out the door, a little confused as to why he already felt like he wanted to see you again.
“You can come back if you want.”
“I will.”
You’d be stuck in his head. He’d run through your interaction over and over again, trying to figure out if he was just still completely shocked by your metal knowledge despite your clothes, or if he wanted to fuck you.
You’d come back a few days later after having listened to the album, looking for another. This time, he wouldn’t try to kick you out. He’d find himself asking if you’d liked it while he helped you look for your next vinyl. He’d be friendlier. Still standoffish, but a little less so than before, as he looked you over discreetly.
When you leave, he’d conclude that it wasn’t just shock. He would want to fuck you, but more than anything he’d found you interesting and wanted to know more about you. This would unsettle him a little.
He’d find himself looking at the door every time the bell above it chimed, slightly disappointed every time that it wasn’t you.
You’d come by every few days and give him a review of whichever album you’d bought the time before, looking for a new one. I think that the two of you would become friendly, making small talk at first, then getting to know eachother a bit. Eventually, it would blossom into full-on flirty banter and casual touches. A hand on the arm here, fingers purposely brushing against eachother when an item changed hands.
He’d invite you to a show at some point, trying to be casual about it while watching a grin stretch across your face. Your excitement would give him a little bit of reassurance, especially if you immediately said yes.
You’d be so easy to spot in the crowd. He’d look for you the second he stepped on stage and find you already staring back at him. It would be hard for him not to smile, but he’d have to bite it back, unwilling to look soft while they were on stage.
After the show, you’d be waiting for him by the bar. You’d gush over how good the show was, and he’d immediately go backstage to blow off his friends to go get a drink with you, dead set on using his post-performance confidence to make a move. And he would.
Before you’d even made it to the bar two blocks away, you’d find yourself pinned to a brick wall, kissing him. It would be a little unexpected, but immediately reciprocated. You’d melt right into him, and the two of you would spend most of the night making out like teenagers.
You’d start dating not long after that, but he wouldn’t want his friends to see him with you. Your feelings would be hurt. How could they not be? Your boyfriend didn’t want to be seen with you.
Finally, you’d walk into Helvete one afternoon, all sad because his friends are there, which means you aren’t allowed to talk to him. He’d feel so bad that it made his chest hurt, so he’d hop down from the counter, march over there, and kiss you in front of everyone while they watched, slack-jawed.
Everyone would get used to it after a short adjustment period, especially after you open your mouth in front of them for the first time and jump right into whatever conversation they’re having about obscure metal things, shocking them all with your extensive knowledge.
Anytime anyone makes a comment about your clothes, Øystein would slap them upside the head and shoot them a threatening look. He’d be fiercely protective of you and would make sure that you were always in reach, especially at gigs.
You’d always be touching in some way, an arm draped over your shoulders, a hand on the small of your back or resting on your ass posessively. I don’t see him as much of a handholder, but he’ll always be holding something.
If you’re sitting anywhere, it’s in his lap. Always.
If he ever sees anyone making eyes at you, he’d pull you in for a sloppy makeout, grabbing your ass in plain view of whoever it is, all while maintaining eye contact.
Øystein would love seeing you in his leather jacket. Anytime you’re even a little bit cold, he’d be shrugging it off and draping it over your shoulders.
This man would absolutely try and get you to dress more metal, even if you try to shut down every attempt he makes. He’d constantly be buying you leather cuffs and little black accessories, and of course, you’d wear them, only because he went out and bought them for you. He’d learn pretty quick that you never said no if he bought something for you and would take full advantage.
I don’t think he’d completely try and change your style. I think he’d slowly start to love the pink and the intensity of the contrast between the two of you when you’re out in public. It would draw people’s attention, and if anything, having a super girly, pink girlfriend would make him look a bit tougher.
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