(I was gonna post this to my art blog, but these designs are distinctly lampblack-y, so this seems like a better place for it - I love them so much, I wish we knew their names, it’s killin’ me. I don’t think they actually have canon names, but I’m really looking forward to what names fanon gives them, maybe based on file names? What are their models even labeled as? Just numbers?
Anyway as you can see they’re much more put together… but not without some changes to their 2D designs… The little spider guy is my fav. I couldn’t bring myself to give him standard pie-cut eyes, as adorable as they are on him, I think these have a lot more personality.
Someone requested I draw them as they are in the game, which I totally will do, but I have some rl stuff to do first! -HG)
“So not any boys over this time?” the man asked as he worked on getting the shelf fixed.
“Hm? Oh nah, no.” you shook your head, for a moment getting distracted by his arms and how good he looked with the sleeves of the flannel rolled up “No projects to work on for this weekend.”
“Is that so huh?” he raised an eyebrow, smirking knowingly so “Come on sweetheart, it’s just me here.” he said with a small chuckle and you shrugged.
You laughed, looking away for a moment “I know real well, but I’m just being honest. Besides-” you bit your lip stealing a glimpse at him “Boys will be boys, Mr Winchester. A man is what I really need.”
“A man huh?” he sounded a lot more interested than he let it show as he tried to keep himself occupied and not fully look at you; although he did pause in thought for a moment.
“Yeah of course.” you shrugged, watching him curiously “There’s no shame in that. Like… I wouldn’t blame you if you were interested in a younger girl, Mr Winchester. If anything-” you licked your lips as he looked up at you “I think a girl my age is just what you need.”
“How so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, lips parted and eyes darker.
Summary: Reader and Dean go undercover at a strip club
Word Count: 2406
Warnings: Extreme over usage of the word ‘fuck’, smut
As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Tags are at the bottom.
Dean holds out a pink shopping bag. “I had to guess the size,” he says, “but I think it’ll fit.”
Hesitantly, you take it. Moving aside the tissue paper, you pull out the lacy g-string and bra. Can you even call it a bra? It’s two barely-there triangles of fabric held together with flimsy string. At the bottom of the bag are stiletto heels. It’s so tiny, there’s no way it’s the right size.
“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, shoving everything back into the bag. “No fucking way.”
Dean gives you an exasperated look. “We’ve been over this. It’s the best way to get information. And our guy targets strippers. You chat up the girls that work in the club while I keep an eye on the audience.”
Yeah, you bet he’ll be keeping an eye on things. On all those scantily clad women with perfect fucking bodies that look nothing like you. You’ll be wearing next to nothing with all eyes on you, including Dean’s. It’s pretty much the most mortifying thing you can think of. If only it were Sam going with you to the club, at least you’d feel a little less anxious. It’d still be embarrassing for Sam to see you nearly naked, gyrating on a stage in front of a crowd of men, but it’s Sam. He’s the safe brother. He’s not the one that makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. He’s not the one that makes your heart race every time he’s within your reach. He’s not the one that you think about when you touch yourself at night.
“Listen,” Dean says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. It’s meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it only makes you more anxious. “We’ve all had to play roles that we didn’t want to, but you got this. I’ll be there the whole time. Here.”
He hands you another bag, this one filled with scented lotion, glitter body spray and a shit-ton of makeup. “For real?” you ask.
“Trust me,” he says with a smug grin. “I’m an expert on strippers.”
“What are you doing?” Annabeth stops elbow-deep in a brown paper grocery bag, grey eyes going wide as she stares at her boyfriend across the kitchen of their small apartment.
Percy, for his part, continues unpacking. “I’m putting away the groceries, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“What’d you do with the sauce?”
“Put it in the cupboard,” he says dryly, “You know, where it belongs.”
“It belongs in the fridge.”
He stills, hands full of packets of cookies, and blinks at her. “No, sauce belongs in the cupboard.”
“What? No, it’ll go bad faster. You’ve got to keep it chilled and fresh.” Annabeth marches over to rectify the situation.
Percy drops the cookies onto the counter and moves to stop her. “It doesn’t need to be chilled, especially if it’s not even open yet.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says breezily, trying to duck around him.
He plants a hand on her stomach and holds her back. “Ah, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about,” he replies, clearly offended.
“Percy, come on,” she says patronisingly.
“Annabeth,” he says in the same tone, “I spend way more time in the kitchen than you, I think I know where the sauce goes.”
“Obviously not, or you’d put it in the fridge,” she snaps. “And you do not spend way more time in the kitchen than me! I’ve cooked every night this week!”
“We got take out two nights,” Percy points out.
Annabeth will not be stopped, however, passionately insisting, “I’ve cooked three nights this week!”
“Oh, wow, three nights worth of cooking -”
“And how many nights have you cooked, Seaweed Brain?” She jabs him hard in the chest with her index finger.
He swats her hand away and shrugs. “None, but -”
“None! I rest my case.”
“-But I’ve been working nights this week so it doesn’t count!”
“It does so count! I cook three delicious meals for you and you just ignore them -”
“Would you really call them delicious?” Percy mutters, and immediately regrets it.
Annabeth’s eyes narrow dangerously. “That pie was a masterpiece.”
Figuring that he’s already dead, Percy decides to just go for it. “It was a little dry…”
“It just needed some sauce!” she yells.
“You just need some sauce!” he yells back, reaching behind him to grab the sauce off the shelf.
A mad tug-o-war ensues, in which Annabeth just about climbs up him to try and reach the bottle he’s holding over his head. He unscrews the lid and madly scratches at the silver freshness seal over the top.
“Give that to me!” his girlfriend shouts in his ear
“Oh, you want the sauce?” he taunts, stumbling back and knocking his hip on the counter.
“Percy, I swear to the gods -” With one last violent sweep, Annabeth manages to knock the sauce bottle from his hand.
Right as he gets the seal undone.
Knocked free, the bottle turns upside down and before either of them have a chance to realise what’s happened they’re both covered in sauce.
“Oh my gods!” Annabeth shrieks, finally letting go of Percy to try and wipe the sticky red sauce out of her eyes. It’s splattered over her shoulders, her chest, the entire length of the arm she’d had outstretched.
Percy hasn’t fared any better. He can feel sauce dripping from his head down the nape of his neck, beneath his collar. It’s all over his shoulders and a bit has gotten in his ear.
The kitchen is as much of a mess as they are.
Annabeth stops shaking her arms as Percy cradles her face in his hands and leans in to kiss her, gentle and soft and completely at odds with their mad struggle a few seconds earlier.
“What are you doing?” she asks a little breathlessly when they part.