#mtl x reader

⟢ youll be introduced to the rest of dethklok (if you dont already know each other!) early on, about a month in - yes its intense but the man loves you and knows youre the one for him! he wants his family to love you too!

⟢ you two are definitely cheesy and theres no escaping the allegations. nathan thinks its cute and deep down just wants the little guy to be happy, murderface has to hold in his throw up and skwisgaar as already thrown up from cringe like three times. get away from skwisgaar yous twos

⟢ lets face it you two have lockets with each others pictures inside

⟢ toki is absolutely a hopeless romantic and it may have negative consequences but he definitely over romanticises relationships in a very naive way

⟢ but that doesn't mean he isn't extremely loving and caring! toki is so much so it could be considered overwhelming;

⟢ he feels safe with you so expect to see him vulnerable; you may be the person he confides in the most out of anyone he knows- this can be both good and bad! let me explain:

whenever he experiences night terrors youre the first to know, whatever is on his mind he'll bring straight to you! hes not afraid to cry on your shoulder or ask you to pet and brush his hair when he feels anxious. But because youre his no.1 confidant this also means there might be times where he unloads a lot of intense feelings onto you because he doesn't know what to do when he's experiencing side effects of trauma and stress. he doesn't do it maliciously but he doesn't see how this potentially could be overwhelming and exhausting

⟢ on the plus side, he's an amazing listener because of this. i think out of everyone in the band (besides nathan, who i'd say he's on par with), toki is least likely to get defensive or argue whenever you two disagree or need to communicate- he takes everything on board seriously because he wants to please you and make things work (hes not in this for a short time, hes in it for life)

⟢ at his core he is insanely dedicated; youll never worry about being outshined by groupies or fangirls, matter of fact once youre in the picture toki can barely tolerate touchy fans because all other people pale in comparison to his beautiful wonderful amazing partner!!

⟢ as busy and troubled as he is, hell always make time for you! if you also struggle with your health (physical or mental) hell help as much as he can. therapy? paid for. comfort items? he got them for you. your favourite/safe foods? ALWAYS stocked up in the kitchen!! need a hug? you dont even need to ask

⟢ and last but not least, he loves playing with your hair and LOOOVES when you do the same! play with his mustache, he gets so giggly. he adores how cute you are together. if you ever do his hair or corpse paint he'll never want to take it off

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He’d probably ace the “would you love me if I were a worm” questions. Albeit, maybe he'd be a little confused. How he’d answer would depend on how he feels. If he’s feeling spiteful he might say “no”, and tell you he’d feed you to the birds. Most of the time he’d say “yes”, though.

Going back to biting. Sometimes his muscles look so juicy, you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you bit them. Would they be hard? Soft? Tender, or rough? Perhaps a mixture of sensations?

You wouldn’t bite hard, hopefully.. Just a nibble. A love bite, if you will. You wouldn't leave a mark. Probably..

If you do bite him, he’d be confused, but kinda into it. It’d take a couple seconds for him to get over the surprise. He’d stare at you wide-eyed as his brain processed it.

He’ll bite you back, of course. It'd become a thing. You’d be cuddling, warm, happy, content, then you’d feel the wet pinch of teeth followed by the shaking of barely concealed giggles. Whether you bite him back or not is your choice. Either way, you might have created a monster.

You both probably play fight a lot. It's the natural follow-up to biting. He usually wins, but you put up a good fight! Maybe.. Sometimes he’ll let you win. Usually not. When you play fight, it’s war. Every person for themselves. After you’re both tuckered out, you’ll begrudgingly call a truce, and then cuddle. He'd tease you as the two of you drift off.

If you come up to him asking for cuddles, and he’s not doing anything, he’ll almost always agree. He loves cuddling with you. If you bury your face in his chest, or on his shoulder, he’ll wrap you in a hug. He gives the best hugs. His grip is firm, but not too firm. He’s secretly ecstatic if you initiate hugs. To him, your hugs are the best.

If it weren’t up to both of your obligations, you’d be strung around each other for most of the day. You'd probably live in each other's skin if you could.

He’d get a bit pissy if you’re affectionate to his bandmates (especially Skwisgaar). He has a bit of a jealous streak. You don’t even have to be physically affectionate—you could compliment them, and he’d feel the embers of jealousy crackling inside him.

He really likes small forms of affection like holding hands when you’re around people. It kinda plays a bit into his slightly possessive side. It shows the world your his, and his only. You’d likely know, or have an inkling of suspicion.

He likes getting compliments from you. If you tell him his playing’s great, and that he’s doing a good job, he’ll be putty in your hands. He doesn’t hear those words often, so when he does, especially from someone as important to him as you, it’s always comforting. If you compliment him while he's playing, he might fuck up a bit because of how flustered he is, even if he doesn't show it.

If you compliment his physique, like his biceps, he might get flustered. He'll pretend not to, which will make him even more flustered. If you do it while he's working out, he'll probably make a mistake. He'd try to keep his cool, he might even act like nothing happened, or pretend you didn't say anything, but his confidence would get boosted. So would his ego. He might start showing off a bit more. He may or may not start finding excuses to flex in front of you. He'd be picking something up, or grabbing something, and then, boom, he's flexing.

He may or may not develop a bit of an ego from your compliments. He’ll just rub it in his bandmates’ faces, no biggie. 

In general, he likes to rub your relationship in his bandmates’ faces. He’ll play up his affectionate side when the others are around. He gets a bit more showy. Like he’ll hug/kiss you while smirking and making eye contact with one of them. He’ll get really into it. When you’re not around he’ll call them “bitchless”, and make fun of them for being single. Murderface especially. He’ll brag about you a lot as well, making sure to tell them how great you are, and how blessed he is to have you. He usually yaps the most when he's drunk.

He doesn’t really get told “I love you” often. He knows the people in his life care about him in their own, strange, way, but it’s not common for them to straight up say it. It’d feel weird to say it. Dethklok aren't the kind of guys who'd openly express those kinds of feelings towards one another. It'd be weird just thinking about it!

He'd probably be a little surprised when you first said that phrase. It felt a bit strange. It was very unexpected, and slightly unnerving. Verbal expression was not really his strong suit. It takes a bit to get used to it.

Later on in your relationship, he still doesn’t really expect you to say it. When you do he’s happy, but there's also an underlying feeling he can't name. He could hear you say it over and over again, and never get sick of it. Your words—they're like drugs to him. He can't get enough, but there's a strange twist on his spine. Like a dull wound, never fully healed, opening wider.

If you’re both about to fall asleep, and you whisper it to him, he’ll feel a complicated mix of emotions. On one hand, he's glad you can say it so easily, but on another he's hesitant. Some nights it's hard to return such words. Be patient, and give him room to acclimate.

He gets to a point where he almost always says it back. He might be a bit hesitant at first. It's a huge step. He takes a while to get to that point, but with your support he's able to.

It’s hard to hold yourself back once you start kissing him. He has a very kissable face. He looks like he’s built for love. One kiss quickly turns into a dozen. He usually waits until you're finished. Sometimes he’s quiet, other times he’ll giggle at each peppered kiss you press onto him. When he’s had enough, he’ll tell you so. Usually he rides it out until you’re done, though.

If you gift him something, like a new model set, he'd be very grateful. He’d wrap you in a strong hug, and thanking you repeatedly. He’ll eagerly get to building it, deathly quiet while you watch. If you offer commentary or talk, he might give half-assed responses. He’s listening, but he’s also concentrating. 

I could see him being a fan of quality time. Hanging out in the silence of his room, both of you distracted by other things, yet basking in each other's presence nonetheless. Occasionally one of you would offer your words on something, sometimes it'd lead to conversation, other times you'd fall back into comfortable silence.

I could also see him liking massages. If you offer after a long day—when he’s noticeably tense, and a somnolent air lingers around him—he won’t say no. His muscles will visibly relax at your touch. He may find himself falling asleep.

He’ll do the same for you. If you’ve had a long day, and/or are exhausted, he’ll massage you. He might not be very good at it—he might be a bit too rough—but the offer still stands.

On nights when you’re both alone, curled up together, his back to you, you may place a kiss on his shoulder. Depending on how you both feel, you may trail them up to his neck, and to his jawline, planting each kiss with emphasis. 

You can kiss every square inch of his body if you want. He wouldn’t mind. He might be a bit hesitant to kisses in certain places, like his scars, though.

If you do kiss, or trace his scars, his body might stiffen. Even if he doesn’t want to, it's a habit. He knows logically you won’t hurt him, but muscle memory says otherwise. Out of habit, he might find himself watching you out of the corner of his eye, weary, and cautious. It takes a lot of time to get to a point where you can touch his scars without his muscles going rigid.

When you’re laying together, if you wrap your limbs around him, caging him in your hold, he’ll melt. All the tension he didn’t know he had erased at such a simple movement. 

“Seriously?!” you exclaim, nearly jumping up from your seat.

“That’s correct,” your stoic-expressioned band manager responds. “You’ll open for Dethklok on a tour spanning 6 months and travelling across the globe. I’m sure I don’t have to explain how important this will be for the band, and your individual careers.”

You’re nearly giddy at the prospects. With the fame and fortune amassed by Dethklok, such an opportunity is nearly a godsend for your prospects. Your band had a decent following, but had recently hit a plateau in gaining traction in the music industry. You could finally see a light: the opportunity for a big break had fallen neatly into your lap, the label on the package reading ‘Dethklok’.

As your band’s manager further explains the details, you fall into your own flurry of thoughts and further away from the discussion being had by the rest of the band. You’d heard plenty of stories about the members of the infamous band. While you admired their musicianship, you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose at their more… distasteful behaviours. Public stunts, drunken or drug-fueled bender antics, unrest, violence and chaos. All of which was neatly squared away behind their wall of fame and a mass hoard of wealth. Not to mention the sexual deviance, groupies entering and exiting Mordhaus in droves and typically at the behest of one man. The idea disgusted you: the famed guitarist using his power to compel the hearts and bodies of thousands, who are quickly discarded afterwards. You feel a disdain for Skwisgaar Skwigelf as a guitarist yourself. Can a person be so skilled at the instrument to have people collapsing at his feet at all hours? Is he even so great at all?

In what feels like a blink of time, you’re boarding a tour bus with Dethklok, having spoken with them only in pleasantries thus far. Skwisgaar had taken your hand, bowing and kissing your ring finger with a smirk. You withdrew quickly with a scowl, but he didn’t even look at you: instead opting to gloat in the direction of his bandmates.

You settle your things in an open bed space, silently cursing your manager’s ‘draw straws’ method of deciding who will bunk with whom. The Swedish guitarist you had the misfortune of being paired with lies languidly on the couch, fingers flying over the strings of his custom Explorer. He stops playing, setting the guitar down beside him and propping himself up on his elbow.

“Why ares you alls the ways over theres?” he asks teasingly, and you tense. “Comes heres,” he inquires again, his voice deep and breathy.

“No,” you respond defiantly after a moment, crossing your arms and turning to face him fully.

“No?” he repeats, dumbfounded.

“No. I’m not some plaything for you to mess around with. I’m a musician too, a guitarist at that. Also, we’ll be working together. I suggest you treat me with a little more dignity than one of your damn groupies,” you growl, shoving your headphones on and climbing into bed, slamming the curtain rod shut in one clean motion. You don’t see the Swede clench his fist, gritting his teeth in seething anger and humiliation at being rejected.

Over the next few weeks, you come to realize something. Skwisgaar is petty. Extremely petty. Every communication, even when essential, is met with some trivial insult besides a vague acknowledgement. He interrupted and spoke over you at meetings, and smugly reveled in any downfall of yours, no matter how inconsequential. You aren’t proud to admit it, but you quickly began to return in kind, wanting to stand up for yourself. You don’t even bother to stick around for Dethklok’s performances after yours, instead heading straight back to the bus or to a bar to get some time to yourself. If he’s going to behave so immaturely, he doesn’t deserve your acknowledgment of his guitar skills.

When you finally do listen to their playing, it isn’t all that willingly. One of your bandmates had absolutely insisted, claiming they’d ‘never heard live music so compelling’. You figured since Skwisgaar isn’t the only member of the band, and he’d never know if you stuck around backstage or not if you were quick about it, you may as well. As you step off the stage and walk back to the dressing room, Dethklok passes you. Skwisgaar looks down his nose at you with a smirk. Instead of challenging or antagonizing him like you usually do, you simply avert your eyes and keep walking. Today’s performance was harsh on you, with technology malfunctions and on-stage miscommunication. You’d nearly tripped over the bass player’s wire, and were just about ready to pack it in for the week. By the time you stepped off stage, your exhaustion had carried you back to the closest rest area: the dressing room. Flopping onto the couch (after having swept off a slew of beer cans and bottles), you switch on the main stage monitor. You barely have the energy to groan at the camera’s immediate focus on the blonde guitarist, but bear it anyway. Your breath truly leaves you, however, when he starts playing. The intro to the song is slow at first, quickly ramping up to highlight Skwisgaar’s spirited guitar playing. You watch the screen in amazement as his fingers glide effortlessly over the neck and down the body of the guitar. Throughout their performance, you see none of the bravado you’d grown so accustomed to. His typical smirk is gone, replaced with a solemn expression of focus. You’re almost impressed by his dedication to the guitar, completely ignoring groupies taking their tops off and throwing things at the stage. None of it seems to faze the blonde, and he continues to play with ease.

You jump up as their last song ends, not wanting to be seen by the guitarist. You’re stopped short by your bandmate, who begs you to join them and Dethklok for a leisurely night of drinks and merriment.

You’d been hoping that the alcohol would give you the courage to be honest with Skwisgaar about what you thought of his performance, but you’re three drinks in and still can’t look him in the eye. The members of Dethklok have already drunk a lot: Toki and Murderface in a heated debate about something inconsequential, and Nathan and Pickles having a lively drinking contest with a few of your bandmates. You sit in awkward silence next to Skwisgaar, staring into your drink and wishing it’d magically give you the right words to say to the guitarist. From the corner of your eye, you see him sip his with a placid disinterest. Something in the scene compels you to remain quiet.

It’s been a while since everyone but you and Skwisgaar dispersed. Moving off and splitting into one group or another, musicians were set sprawling across hotel rooms and parking lots. You and Skwisgaar sit in the same spots you started out in, silently sipping respective beers. Your head is almost spinning, but you’re not quite there yet. Luckily, though, you think it just might be enough.

“You played well,” you say, not very loudly but loud enough to be audible to him.

He stays quiet for a moment, taking another sip. 

“Thank yous,” he responds in kind, before taking a breath. “Yous too.”

You’re stunned for a brief moment before the alcohol takes over your tongue. 

“You listened?”

“Everys nights,” he responds in thick Swedish timbre. 

Your brain can’t quite catch up to your mouth as you speak.

“Why?” He stalls temporarily, his expression puzzled. 

“Yous ams a good player. Whys would I not?” 

You could laugh. Instead, you take another swig.

“You think so?”

You turn to him, and the halfhearted smirk dies on your lips when you look into his wintery eyes. His features are still and solemn. Cliché as it is, you lose yourself in his eyes, examining every speck and transition of color. He stares at you just as intently. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until his breath dusts your warming cheeks. He glances down, his eyes slipping closed. You feel your eyelids get heavier, and your lips touch his. They’re soft and much gentler than you expected based on what you’d heard about the guitarist. He takes his time finishing the kiss, giving you a soft smile you’d never have expected from the Swede. He stands, taking your hand gently to guide you out of the cramped room and back to your tour bus. You can’t help but feel giddy, knowing you’ll be spending the next 5 months together with Skwisgaar.

NATHAN:

built like a mattress, though that can mean anything since not all mattresses are made the same... hmm.. have you ever hugged/cuddled one of those tiny headed kingdom plushies? very firm but not comfortable, i think thats what nathan feels like, but perhaps just a smidge softer. but how would nathan feel? i mean hes very protective of you, and being able to hold you gives him a moment to keep you close. not very affectionate otherwise, but this is nice. definitely the type to do hugs from behind, especially if theres someone trying to flirt with you

PICKLES:

short so theres a good chance youre around his height if not taller and he may or may not feel things about that (both negative and positive but lets save that for another post as i fully intend on keeping this sfw), i always thought pickles of being physically affectionate so him having a hand on you is a common occurrence. probably takes the opportunity to whisper something in your ear, usually something dirty or something incoherent with him being drunk or otherwise under the influence. oh yeah i can easily see him being the type to swing his limbs over his partner while he sleeps and trapping them there

SKWISGAAR:

maybe im cooking something doodoo, but i feel like skwisgaar may or may not struggle with non-sexual stuff, like being purely romantic and innocent with no intent to get your pants off is foreign to him. i whole heartedly believe the reason hes so sexual is due to being in dethklok and being huge, but also because of his mother constantly bringing new people home. so in the beginning he might actually be tense in giving you affection, definitely going to need to take some time. very cold, skinny people tend to be colder ive noticed so totally you shouldnt take this as an excuse to hold him closer (winks)... i DO think he would also have a hand on you a lot of the time like pickles, whether or not those hands have other motives is up in the air

MURDERFACE:

make him take a shower first/j

okay jokes aside, this man is so starved for attention and affection, but he would never ever EVER say it. you guys could be 100% fully alone in bum fuck no where and he still wouldnt say it. but its definitely there in his actions and body language. i think hes warm, and his skin is a little... i mean he canonically has dry skin with eczema, and while i dont have eczema i know what having that dry scaly skin feels like... perhaps we could tie in some self care with the reader helping murderface take better care of himself? i mean it would be one hell of a fight to get him to try but i think its do-able.. tight hugger, kind of lets his arms linger before sliding them down when you eventually pull away. wish i had more but i think murderface is the type to deny affection whilst also deeply craving it

TOKI:

"What are you? Schome kind of fucking schquare?" Murderface quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye as he nudged Nathan playfully. "Yeah, come on, don't be a dildo," Nathan retorted, his deep voice rumbling with frustration as he batted Will away from him.

Their banter filled the cramped bar, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a dim glow on the worn-out furniture and peeling wallpaper. As the tension between Murderface and Nathan escalated, Toki attempted to intervene, his gentle voice drowned out by Skwisgaar's disdainful remarks about both of them being a "lady dildos." The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, their argument blending with the other patrons' raucous laughter and clinking glasses.

Feeling overwhelmed, y/n glanced around the bar, a headache forming from the noise. Just as they were about to suggest leaving, Pickles came to the rescue, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"I know a quiet spot; let's dip while they're distracted," Pickles suggested, his voice low and inviting. The air was heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke and distant laughter, creating a hazy ambiance that enveloped them both.

Y/n hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing their features. "I don't know, Charles might kill me for leaving them by themselves," they replied, their voice tinged with uncertainty.

Pickles waved off their concern with a casual shrug. "He'll get over it as long as they don't drive. Then again, they wouldn't leave without me. So therefore, we can hang out in a cool alleyway while they drink themselves to the ground."

With a sigh, y/n bit their lip, their mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Despite their hesitation, the allure of escape beckoned, tempting them to leave the chaos of the bar behind.

After much internal debate, y/n finally nodded and walked with Pickles into the alley. It was nothing spectacular, but the relative quietness offered a welcome respite from the clamor of the bar. The cool wind brushed against their skin, causing goosebumps to rise on their arms.

"So uh...this is where you run off to when they get loud," y/n remarked, their breath forming wispy clouds in the frosty air. "Shoulda known to check the alley."

"Aww, you look for me?" Pickles teased, his voice laced with amusement as he pulled a joint from his pocket.

Y/n watched in awe as Pickles took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him like a halo. The air was thick with the scent of cannabis, earthy and pungent, mingling with the sharp bite of the night air. "For as much as you brag about being rich, you think your lighter could use an upgrade?" y/n teased, their voice laced with amusement.

"Eh... this lighter and I have a history," Pickles chuckled softly, leaning against the cold brick wall. "I smoked my first ever blunt with this Zippo... would you believe I stole it from my dad?"

As Pickles continued to talk about other crazy stories, y/n found themselves drawn in by his easy charm and effortless charisma. They watched as his fingers traced over the worn metal, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the alley wall.

"Yeah...I believe it," y/n replied, their voice soft with admiration. "So you've been smoking a long time, huh?"

"For as long as I can remember, y'know, before I got into the other shit," Pickles admitted, nudging a crate beside him. "You've been standing a while; you should sit."

Their body moved instinctively, gravitating towards Pickles as they settled onto the crate beside him. With a sigh of relief, y/n felt the tension begin to melt away, replaced by a sense of calmness in Pickles' presence.

The silence between them was almost palpable, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind and the occasional clink of cans on the ground. Despite their attempts to enjoy the tranquility, y/n couldn't shake the nagging feeling of restlessness that gnawed at their mind.

"Wow..." they laughed awkwardly, their fingers fidgeting with their sleeves. "A whole five minutes without being asked to partake...must be a new record."

"No sense in pushing it; it's a waste of good pot," Pickles remarked casually, his demeanor relaxed and nonchalant. "Besides, the first high will be shit if you don't know what you're getting into."

Y/n nodded in agreement, their gaze drifting down to their hands. "You just make it look so easy..."

Pickles tilted his head, the crimson strands of his hair falling over his shoulder as he regarded y/n with a knowing smile. "Make what look easy?"

"Everything!" y/n blurted out, their words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "Just...everything you do is effortless. You make it look so easy to talk to people and operate under pressure like nothing affects you. I want to relax, and I want the rest of the band to like me...and I shouldn't be rambling right now, but it's like I can't stop myself because my brain just won't—"

"Shut up?" Pickles interrupted gently.

Y/n blushed brightly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "S-sorry..."

"No...like your brain just won't shut up? I get it. Hell, why do you think I smoke this stuff?" Pickles reassured them, nudging them with his shoulder. "It's not easy being so laid back; it takes practice."

"Practice?" y/n echoed, their curiosity piqued.

Pickles nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Gotta practice not worrying what other people think. I'm fucking famous; who cares what nobody at the bar has to say? It's vain, I know, but it works. It's easy to be friends with people when you can shut off that little nag in the back of your head. You just have to stop assuming people are out to get you."

Y/n nodded in understanding, their thoughts swirling as they absorbed Pickles' words of wisdom. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, the silence punctuated only by the soft sound of their laughter and the occasional drag of the joint. Despite the cold, y/n felt a warmth spreading through them, a sense of peace settling over their troubled mind. As they sat side by side, y/n couldn't help but admire Pickles' easygoing demeanor and the way he seemed to effortlessly navigate through life's challenges. For a moment, they forgot about their worries and insecurities, lost in the simple pleasure of his company. And as they took a hesitant puff of the joint, feeling the smoke fill their lungs and the tension melting away, y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

Their eyes wandered over Pickles, taking in every detail with an almost reverent appreciation. Each freckle, every smile line, and the faint scars that adorned his skin told a story of a life well-lived, adding to his allure in the dimly lit alleyway. Despite the chill in the air, the warmth emanating from Pickles enveloped them, comforting and reassuring like a soft embrace.

As they sat there, a thought lingered in their mind: why was everything about him just so perfect? His casual demeanor, his effortless charm—it all seemed to come naturally to him, effortlessly captivating those around him.

Caught off guard by Pickles' quizzical expression, y/n felt a blush creep into their cheeks as they realized they had been caught staring. But Pickles' playful demeanor quickly put them at ease, his snicker breaking the tension that hung in the air.

"You see something you like?" he cheesed lightly, dramatically waggling his brows.

"No- I mean yes- I mean- shit.... uh-"

"Relax, I'm messing with you," Pickles chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "I gotta teach you how to flirt."

"Heh...um, actually, I was maybe wondering if I could try..." y/n trailed off, their gaze flickering towards the burning joint in Pickles' hand.

"Holy shit, you actually wanna smoke with me?" Pickles exclaimed, genuine surprise coloring his tone.

"Well...kinda. Maybe it won't be so overwhelming if it's with you..." y/n admitted, their nerves beginning to dissipate in Pickles' reassuring presence.

"I'll take care of ya, don't worry," Pickles reassured them, passing the dutchie with a gentle hand. "Don't try to show off, ok? Baby hits..."

After calming their shaking hands, y/n carefully placed the joint between their lips, their senses heightened as they inhaled deeply. The taste was harsh, earthy, and unfamiliar, causing their shoulders to tense with each choppy cough.

"Deep breath. You're gonna choke no matter what, you got virgin lungs. 'S normal," Pickles reassured them, his voice gentle and reassuring.

"It tastes like dirt..." y/n grimaced, their discomfort evident in their expression.

"Well, it's weed; it's gonna taste bad," Pickles shrugged, his easygoing demeanor soothing y/n's nerves. "Take one more, then pass it back."

With a nod of determination, y/n took another deep breath, the smoke swirling around them in ethereal patterns. Despite the initial discomfort, a sense of calm washed over them, easing the tension in their shoulders and allowing them to relax fully in Pickles' company.

Pickles extinguished the joint with a flick of his wrist, the ember sputtering out as he tucked the carton back into his pocket. Leaning back against the cool brick wall, he regarded Y/n with a curious expression. "So, short stuff, how do you feel?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine interest. Y/n raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes. "You're one to talk," they scoffed, a small smile playing at their lips. "I feel…slow, but in a good way. Like, I can finally think clearly, funnily enough."

"Yeah?" Pickles raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yeah...is this how you feel constantly?" y/n returned the question, genuinely curious about Pickles' experience.

"More or less," Pickles snorted, kicking around some cans on the ground with a lazy gesture. "I could get used to this," y/n mused, a sense of contentment settling over them like a warm blanket. "It feels…easier to talk as if a barrier was temporarily moved to the storage room of my brain. This is nice. Thanks, Pickles." "Hey, any time," Pickles replied, a genuine smile gracing his features. "You remind me a lot about myself, actually."

Y/n tilted their head curiously, they scooted closer to Pickles, craving his warmth in the chilly night air. "How so?" they asked, their voice soft and curious. Pickles paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he considered his response. "I used to worry about how everyone perceived me," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I was always so…strung up, like the world was out to get me." He chuckled softly, the sound rough and raspy in the stillness of the alley. "I know I'm nothing but a pampered, rich airhead," he admitted, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet y/n's eyes. "But I know this job keeping us out of trouble isn't exactly the easiest. If no one else is on your team, you can relax knowing that the world's best drummer is." Y/n felt a flutter in their chest, their cheeks flushing as they met Pickles' gaze in the dim lighting. His words were simple, yet they held a profound depth of meaning that resonated with them. "Pickles, I—" they started, their words catching in their throat as they struggled to articulate the whirlwind of emotions. They leaned away slightly, suddenly self-conscious about intruding on his personal space. But before they could retreat too far, Pickles grinned cheesily, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Geez…you really are the coolest," they blurted out, a shy smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Pickles' grin widened, his laughter echoing off the walls of the alley. "You think?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

The air between them crackled with anticipation as y/n struggled to find the right words, their gaze locked with Pickles' in an unspoken exchange of longing and desire. In that moment, everything else faded away—the noise of the city, the chill of the night air—leaving only the two of them, suspended in time. Pickles waited with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he silently urged y/n to speak their truth. He could see the turmoil in their eyes, the raw vulnerability laid bare, and he felt a surge of tenderness wash over him.

Finally, y/n took a deep breath, their voice trembling slightly as they found the courage to voice their feelings. "Everything about you has always been cool," they began, their words soft and hesitant. "I wish I could say I was jealous, but…I don't think that's it." A flicker of understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken attraction that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. Pickles' heart soared with a newfound sense of hope, his gaze never wavering from y/n's as he silently encouraged them to continue.

"Oh?" he prompted, his voice gentle but filled with anticipation. He knew what they were about to say, could feel it in the way their gaze lingered on him, and he silently willed them to take the leap. Y/n hesitated for a moment, their mind racing with a new uproar of butterflies. But then, with a surge of determination, they pushed aside their doubts and fears, allowing their heart to lead the way. "How do I say this…" they trailed off, their voice barely above a whisper. "Other than I just don't want tonight to end…" And in that moment, the weight of their confession hung heavy in the air, the tension between them palpable. But before either of them could say another word, Pickles closed the distance between them, his lips capturing Y/n's in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they melted into each other, the world fading away until nothing was left but the warmth of their embrace. And as they pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, y/n felt a sense of peace settle over them, knowing they had finally found the courage to speak their truth. "Me neither," Pickles whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and affection. "Let's make tonight last forever."

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ok that took a really really long time. now time to go back into my writer whole. Leave more requests for me :DD

EDIT: HI so for some fucking reason in the translation from docs to tumblr, half of the fucking fic was just OMITTED. HOW DID I NOT NOTICE UGHHHHH im so sorry yall if the pacing felt weird. thats what i get for not proof reading before i post but i was SO EXCITED to have another bomb fic doneeeeee.

Murderface

-There was so much complaining before, on the way there, and finally getting there. -Says he’ll work out with you but he’s just bullshitting -Don’t mind him pulling out some greasy food and eating it right in front of you -Gets scolded several times for eating at the gym. Says this is why the gym is bullshit. -Ends up leaving and waiting for you outside tbh 

Pickles - Hypes himself up to go to the gym with you -Wants to stick to the ‘easier’ machines -Takes a lot of breaks -Thinks it’s best to pre-game before the gym… He’s going for some protein…. Realizes he needs alcohol to wash it down. -Probably put vodka in his water container

First of all, especially if this is a first date: he's not going to take you somewhere cheap. You're going somewhere nice and probably a bit on the pricier side- this is most definitely a way for him to flex his status. This does tone down a bit as/if the relationship develops and becomes stronger and the need to impress lowers

Flirts. He flirts a lot. It's not all smooth though (cough cough that abhorrent hotdog line)-- in fact, he's awful at flirting. It almost hurts to watch but god the commitment to it is charming in its own way, he certainly knows what he wants!

He's likely to get at least a little tipsy, if there's wine he's gonna order the two of you some- if you don't want to drink? He won't pressure or order it for you but I can see him making a lighthearted comment about "letting loose", no true malice I swear

Circling back to the first date idea he does talk about his work and accomplishments. Like oooooh yeah, that really big successful band- dethklok? Yeah, he works with them. Toooooootally not trying to show off but like... heh

Don't ask him to show you what's being worked on though. Asides from (likely) having a contract forbidding it, I can see him being fairly cagey with unreleased stuff in regards to Randoms. He WILL show you concepts and snippets (not under contract) to you once you're closer though