#and the best advice I ever heard on that is it should be the person who changes the most | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zara-renata · 1 month ago

Text

Sylus makes a deal | ao3 | part 10 of the Sylus series

Summary: Sylus answers some questions, receives dating advice from a dubious source, makes a deal you can't refuse, receives a birthday invitation, and plans to take you home for the night.

Notes:

Sylux x gn!reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV, 'wingman' is used as a gender neutral term in this story This story contains: increasing absurdity, an ongoing attempt by the author to fit every single trope into one fanfic series, an agreement to date where only one of the parties knows that it's not fake, an mc with self-esteem issues, mc in deep denial, a socially oblivious mc, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn, angst, banter, fluff, yet another oc (i'm sorry but i need plot vehicles, people), hyper protective!mc, soft!sylus, and a tank

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

It takes a moment for you to realize that Sylus is staring down at the scarlet-gold wrist linkage tying his wrist to yours. His body, tense just a moment before as you were flipping the coin, seems to relax as you ask your question—he almost melts back into the couch, and as a result, into your side, his arm still slung over your shoulder, his thigh pressed against yours. You soak up his body warmth like a sponge.

You steel yourself for his answer. You can handle anything he says, because the coin and fate have decided that you will not ghost him forever but have dictated that you will be his friend, and you’re going to be the best friend anyone could ever ask for this morally grey hurricane of a human being.

“My legal counsel,” Sylus finally responds.

“Mister Toothpaste Commercial is your… legal counsel?” you ask, as if you hadn’t heard him perfectly fine the first time.

“Mister… Toothpaste Commercial?” Sylus repeats. He turns his head to look at you, and once again, your faces are so close you can feel his warm breath along your skin. It smells pleasantly of wine, and you would like to think your palate is sophisticated enough to recognize it as one of the wines you tried the other night with him. But maybe you’re mistaken.

You nod, a little embarrassed about blurting that just now.

“Care to share why you gave him that particular nickname?”

“You know… he’s generically beautiful. And his teeth…” You bare your teeth at him, as if he needs a reminder of what teeth are. “So unsettlingly white.”

“I see.” Sylus eyes your bared teeth, face impassive. “You think he’s beautiful?”

“Don’t you?”

Sylus tilts his head. “I think his face is useful for what I need him for.”

“Ah yes, Cryptic Crime Sylus only thinks in terms of cost-benefit and utility when evaluating other humans. Forgive me for asking.” You lean your head back, settling onto his pillowy bicep. If being friends with Sylus means you can still use him as a human pillow, you tell yourself that’s a pretty good deal.

“Yeah. Okay. So Aidan is your legal counsel… is that… all he is?” you ask, hoping Sylus will get the hint without you having to ask this embarrassing question out loud. You’re just curious, that’s all. Learning about your newest friend, and his friends—or lovers.

Sylus considers you for a moment, and then flexes his bicep so that your head is gently jostled toward his shoulder, and you slide even deeper into his side. “Well, he does wet work on occasion, but it’s not his primary function. Just don’t tell anybody I told you that. He would be… displeased.”

Your brain stalls out for a second. “You mean that guy kills for you?”

Sylus nods serenely. “When necessary. He doesn’t like getting his shoes dirty, though, so I rarely ask him. He thinks that because I can remove blood stains with a snap of my fingers, I should be the one to personally handle situations that require elimination, which is a fair point. He’s far better at drafting ironclad non-disclosure agreements and litigation than the other aspects of his position with me.”

You don’t even know why you’re surprised. Why would Sylus have anyone not homicidal in his inner circle?

“Okay… but is he.. anything else to you?” you look up at him expectantly. “Like, is he… your partner?”

Sylus tilts his head again. “Partner? No, he’s not a partner. I have him on exclusive retainer, so he might as well have shares in the business with how much he charges me, but it’s not technically a partnership.”

You grimace. Exclusive retainer? Is that some sort of euphemism? Like a professional, monogamous fuck buddy? Are you being insane by reading way too much into his answers? You can’t bring yourself to ask him outright yet. This line of questioning is getting you nowhere.

“And… the… woman… who was with Kieran and Luke? Who is she? For you?” You cringe internally, but do your very best to appear completely indifferent. You’re just chatting with a friend. Like at a sleepover. But you’re at your friend’s sexy exclusive nightclub and you’re so close to him that you can inhale the scent wafting from his neck and he smells like the safety and security of holding a loaded gun.

Sylus stares at you, and then a light bulb seems to go on in his head. “That’s Noah. She’s my newest hire,” he says slowly.

“Okay, and what does Noah… do for you?”

He narrows his eyes. “She’s a driver.”

“And is she… also on exclusive retainer for you?” You’re a bit squicked out. You don’t want to yuck anyone else’s yum but this is obviously a human resources disaster waiting to happen. And Noah looked so young .

“Kitten, if you have a question, ask.” You feel your leg bouncing up and down. Sometimes that happens when you’re wound up. Sylus lifts your linked wrists and puts his hand on your thigh. You stop jittering. “You can ask me anything.”

Fine. You take a breath. “That other guy kept asking about who your partner was… so I was just wondering. If your partner was in the room with us earlier,” you ask, the portrait of casual. Because that’s all this is. Casual interest in a friend’s romantic life. Tara bugs you enough about your own non-existent love life to the point of harassment, so you’re doing Sylus a favor by asking so discretely.

“So, the motivation behind this interrogation is your assumption that either Aidan or Noah is… my romantic partner.” Sylus finishes your thought. The relief of him guessing what you were thinking courses through you. He’s such a good friend. You don’t even have to say everything out loud, and he just gets you.

“Yeah, since you said you were dreaming about someone the other morning, and then with the guy asking about your partner tonight, I just thought—”

Sylus interrupts you. “I actually didn’t say I was dreaming about—” but then, another thought occurs to you and you interrupt him in turn. “Or is this a polyamory thing? Sorry, I’ll try to be better about not making assumptions. Are you guys in a crime-lord, wet-work, getaway driver polycule?”

Sylus tries to rub his forehead, but his movement pulls your linked wrist up with his. He lets both of your hands drop, which come to rest on his big thigh, alarmingly close to his lap. His lap that contains certain appendages that you will immediately cleanse your memory of out of respect for your friendship . “Kitten?”

“Yes, Sylus?” You look up at him and smile reassuringly. You’re his friend, and he can tell you anything . His secrets are safe with you.

“Let me clear up this unfortunate misunderstanding once and for all. I do not have a romantic partner right now,” he says with a gravity that’s endearing. “Do you understand?”

Your pleasure at hearing what he’s saying has nothing to do with the content of his words. You’re pleased simply because he’s fulfilling his end of the bargain and fully answering your questions and he doesn’t have a romantic partner in his life and he’s not taken and that makes you happy only because now you don’t have to feel guilty at all for the friendly position you find yourself in plastered against his big warm body and the nights he has spent with you away from, you now know, a non-existence partner whose feelings can’t be hurt by his strange fascination with interfering in your life.

That’s all. You breathe deeply in relief. Friendly relief.

But you don’t understand. Not yet. “Then why was that guy tonight asking about your partner?”

“I believe that Luke and Kieran may have given him the misinformation that he was to meet my romantic partner tonight to discuss an exclusive wine supplier deal he’s hoping to secure with us for the clubs. I then mentioned to him that you liked the bottle from his winery, and that you would be present during our discussion of the contract. He must have assumed that you were the romantic partner to whom my subordinates had alluded when you made your… dramatic entrance.”

You wince, but honestly? It felt so good to chuck the duffel bag full of feathers at Sylu. Like squeezing a cute little stress relief ball, or knocking some asshole out with just one punch.

“Maybe now you’ve learned your lesson about leaving me with feather messes to clean up,” you grumble.

Sylus plucks one such feather from his lap and lifts it with your linked hands, running it softly along your cheek. “There you go again—you assume I didn’t enjoy your little performance.” You shiver, turning your head to bite the feather. “Unfortunately for you, I’ll keep leaving them because it evokes reactions like the one from tonight.”

He smiles at you, and you jerk your head to pull the feather from his grasp with your teeth, and then puff an exhale through your lips, sending the feather into his face.

“Fine. Fill my place with feathers. See if I care.” You turn your head away from him, but don’t bother sitting up. He can talk to your hair.

“I intend to,” his voice, low and amused, sounds close to your ear.

You are so relaxed now, compared to earlier. You could almost fall asleep, right here and now. It’s late, and you’ve gone through so many emotions, just in the span of what? An hour? Hopefully with your newfound resolve, you can maintain this level of peace, even with Sylus in your life. The coin decided for you. You have nothing to worry about now, because fate has spoken. It’s out of your hands. You can do this job, the job of Sylus’s friend, as you do all the other jobs in your life so well.

Your thoughts drift over what happened earlier, and you suddenly recall why you’re here in the first place, and wonder who he was talking about, when he was describing his type. Maybe it was just… a theoretical description of a person he’d be interested in? Maybe they don’t actually exist?

“I can tell from your body that your mind has begun to race again, sweetheart. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

You realize that your muscles have become tense again after his comment, and force your body to relax. It works, sort of. You only feel a faint pinch in your shoulders.

You still refuse to look at him. You try really hard to think of a subtle way of asking what you want to know. You frown. Subtlety is not one of your talents. You’re more of a sledgehammer than a scalpel. Zayne can attest to that.

You know what? It’s fine. You don’t need to know this. You don’t have to know every single detail about the inner lives of your friends. Even best friends are entitled to privacy.

“Or are you too scared to ask?” Sylus sniffs derisively.

You whip your head back around.

“What?”

He slides his hand into yours, your linked wrists pressing together.

“I asked…” he enunciates. “If you are too much of a coward to ask your questions. Are you too afraid of the price for the ones you’ve already purchased?”

You scoff. “Do I strike you as someone who’s afraid of anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not afraid of wanderers, or a fight, or getting injured. And you’re not afraid of me,” he offers you a pleased smile. “But I think that there are things that exist that scare you.”

You let a mask of indifference settle on your face. “Bullshit,” you say, lightly. You don’t have a care in the world.

“All right, then ask your questions, if you’re not afraid of the answers.” He runs his thumb down your linked wrist, and back up again.

“Were you talking about anyone in particular tonight, when the wine guy asked if Noah was your partner?”

Sylus brings your linked hands up, and rests his cheek along the back of yours. It’s so soft along your skin, with the faint burr of his stubble causing goosebumps to rise along your arms.

“Ah, is my kitten curious about who may be my type?”

You scowl at him. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking.” Your heart doesn’t ache. You’re just hoping that he can have a happy ending with whoever he has feelings for. That’s what friends do.

“Then I’ll answer. In fact, I’m glad you brought it up. It has to do with why I asked you to come tonight.” He lowers your linked hands again, but tightens his arm around your shoulder.

You look at him steadily in silence. You are prepared for whatever he has to say. You will listen, and keep his secrets, and help him in any way you can, because the coin decided that you will be his friend, and you will be the best friend he has ever had. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“I do have feelings for someone. I was describing that person when I was describing my type,” he says.

You remain very still. Your muscles remain relaxed, your breath steady. You will be his vault, for all the things he wants to tell you. Immovable, and safe. You nod, once.

His pretty, strange eyes drift from yours to your mouth and up again. “Ah,” you breathe. “I thought as much.”

“Of course. Because you’re clever, and observant, and highly attuned to the needs of other people, in most respects.” You can’t help it—you smile. That’s probably one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you. See? You can be of value to him as a friend. And in return, you get to enjoy his chaotic and weirdly comforting presence in your life.

“So what does that have to do with why you asked me here tonight?”

“I think this person may be able to reciprocate my feelings, but I’m worried that they won’t trust my sincerity if I simply tell them how I feel right now.”

You wince. You definitely know, from firsthand experience, that Sylus doesn’t always make the best first impressions. “Ah, I can see how that could be the case,” you say, diplomatically. Because you’re polite .

“I’ve spent most of my adult life singularly focused on my business goals. I haven’t had much time or interest in building personal relationships with anyone.”

“Mmm, yes, of course. Very busy with very serious murdery matters. Too busy for such weak nonsense as human connection,” you nod sagely. “As is normal.”

He lifts your linked hands and gently pokes you in the forehead. “You know, after just one week of rest, you’re a lot less nice to me than the last few times I visited you.”

“I think you mean the last few times you committed breaking and entering, and also less compliant, not less nice.” You poke his forehead in turn. “Don’t mistake being too exhausted to engage with you as me being nice. I was too tired to really spear you with my wit, but just wait. The longer we’re friends, the more you’ll learn that you need to be on your toes to handle me.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetie.” He catches your finger in his palm, bringing your linked hands back to his thigh. “I guess I’ll just have to ensure that you continue to get enough sleep, then.” He slips his fingers through yours again.

“Okay. So you’ve been far too busy being his highness lord of all shady shit. What does that have to do with what you want from me?”

He sighs. “As a result, I don’t have much experience… pursuing someone. Romantically.” He looks at you expectantly.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, waiting for the request.

“I have to admit, I’ve found myself distracted recently trying to puzzle out how to move forward with this person.”

“Okay, so you’re nervous.” You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. Is he ever going to get on with his request for you? He looks at you, frowning slightly.

You sigh. “How about you take your own advice and just ask me directly what you need from me? It’s not like you to beat around the bush.”

“I find that my preferred directness may not be the best strategy with this person--they consistently suspect that I have ulterior motives when I show them how much I care for them.”

“Okay," you draw out the word, but he just sits there, watching you carefully. For what, you have no idea. "Sylus, what do you want from me?” You finally lose your patience. “Out with it.”

“I think we can help each other out. I want you to teach me how to date someone properly, in a way that can convince them that I don't have any ulterior motives. That I mean what I say when I tell them directly that I care deeply for them, and don't intend to let them go.”

You stare at him. He stares back at you. You glance out of the corner of your eye to both sides, but the room is still empty. You’re the only one in it besides Sylus. The only one he could possibly be asking to teach him how to properly date someone.

You can’t help it. You howl. This is the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. How is it that this big bad crime boss is asking you, you, who has spent most of your adult life either studying, training, or working so hard that every romantic partner that you ever went beyond a one night stand with fizzled out in either you being ghosted, you being cheated on, or you just being straight up dumped for not being around enough to conduct a proper relationship and meet their emotional needs. Especially because, you can admit, you have about the same emotional capacity for caring for a romantic partner as you do for caring for yourself: which is to say, hardly any at all. To steal Sylus’s comparison, you probably have the emotional capacity to satisfy someone in a relationship as a fucking cactus.

You wheeze, your linked hand clutching Sylus’s. You’re laughing so hard you’re going to throw up. This is the funniest shit Sylus has ever said to you. Sylus, who is asking you for help in wooing some god or goddess, someone amazing enough to attract the attention of such a ‘life is too short to settle for anything less than perfection’ snob as Sylus.

“Are you done?” he asks, sounding slightly indignant, after you manage not to throw up all over him—from the laughing, dammit, and not from the idea of helping this man have a happily-ever-after with someone who is not you. You’re his friend. You can be his wingman if that’s what he needs. You can.

Once you can breathe again, you lean back into the soft leather of the booth. “I am now,” you laugh softly, clearly lying. He glares at you. “I promise.”

“So, what will it be? If you help me with this matter, you can have that favor. No restrictions. No conditions. It might be very useful someday for you, as a Deepspace Hunter, to have the leader of Onychinus owing you an unconditional favor.”

You laugh. “Sylus, that’s very tempting, but I don’t think you understand that you’re asking the absolute worst person on earth for help in this department,” you begin, but Sylus squeezes your hand before you can go on to describe why your romantic history doesn’t inspire much confidence in the odds of success of his little proposal.

“Hmm, I guess you’re not up for the challenge.” He looks down at your clasped hands and fiddles with his thumb. “How boring. Guess I’ll just have to find someone else who can help.”

Okay, you’ve had enough sleep in the last week to realize that he’s baiting you. But you realize that you do want something from him. It's just that that what he is offering in exchange isn't what you actually want. You had already resolved to help him, as his friend. But you can leverage this situation to your advantage too. And if your ‘help’ turns out to be useless because you have no idea how to catch someone’s interest and actually keep it, well, that’s his fault for not thoroughly vetting his chosen consultant. You’ll still get the favor. And absolutely none of these considerations have anything to do with the fact that the thought of him seeking someone else to help him in this, of him replacing you for this job, makes your heart feel weird.

“All right. How do you think I can help you with this little… problem?” You snort. “And just remember, lots of men have problems just like yours, there’s no reason to feel ashamed.” You blink at him with wide eyes, the dictionary definition of sincere reassurance.

“Oh, I can assure you, like the rest of me, this problem is rather extraordinary. I doubt most men find themselves grappling with this level of… difficulty, in acquiring the confidence of their beloved.”

You don’t flinch at the word ‘beloved.’ So what if his crush is not actually a crush, but a soul-deep yearning? It doesn’t affect your role in this. Best, wingman, ever. You smile. You smile, because what else can you do?

"Ha, fine, fine. But I don't want an unconditional favor from the leader of Onychinus," you say. Surprise flickers across his face, but fades quickly into his usual mask of amused indifference.

"Speak."

"I want the slate to be clean between us, when this is over. I took your life. And then I did my best to help you win over your... your beloved. I can't guarantee results. But I promise to try. And afterwards, we'll be even, yeah?"

He watches you closely, as if trying to detect some trap in your condition, without resorting to his aether core. So you poke him in the cheek, but can’t help yourself—you then draw your fingertip down, along his stubbled jawline. It’s late enough now that you can see the slightly darker sheen of silver in his version of a five o’clock shadow, much like his eyebrows are darker than his hair. What a beautiful creature. You’re lucky that you even get to look at him, let alone call him a friend.

He turns his head and catches your finger between his teeth, but doesn’t bite down. You think you feel his tongue ghost longer your fingertip, but it’s probably just your wild imagination. He releases your finger and you drop your hand back to your side.

He slips the pinky finger of his linked hand around yours. Even his pinky is big, for fuck's sake. "I promise, we'll be even. You won't owe me anymore for my generosity in letting you exact your revenge, if you do you best to help me convince my beloved that I care for them."

“Okay then." You take a deep breath. After this is all over, the scales will finally be balanced, and you'll be free. "How can I help you?”

“Be my dating coach,” he finally says.

You have to think very hard to remember what you were just talking about. Oh. What?

“Wut?”

“Allow me to practice dating with you. You can give me constructive feedback regarding whether you think my strategy will be effective in persuading the object of my affection that I mean what I say.”

Your heart squeezes. Damn, is your protocore syndrome acting up again? Maybe you need to visit Akso Hospital before your next scheduled checkup.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the pain, and then force yourself to open them. “Whether or not your crush will like how you date them is dependent on that particular person’s wants and desires. Just because you manage to make me like dating you, doesn’t mean your beloved can be won over with the same strategy. Or vice versa.” You shake your head at him. He can’t be serious. This is why he demanded you meet him tonight? You dismantled, cleaned, reassembled and packed your favorite bazooka for nothing. And you don't even like using the bazooka these days. Still too loud. Still too much like an exploding bomb. But you were willing to bring it, if it meant protecting Sylus.

“I’m pretty sure that your tastes and interests are similar enough to this person that your feedback will be reliable," Sylus interrupts your drifting thoughts.

Huh? He’s interested in someone like you? Impossible. But then a thought occurs to you. Maybe another hunter? Maybe this whole time he’s been getting close to you in order to get close to his crush, who you know?

Fuck. You really do need to make an appointment with Zayne. No healthy heart should feel like this, even one as damaged as yours.

You can’t think about this. You will not consider the possibility that all of his harassment has just been an elaborate ruse to get access to someone close to you. You will not.

Your brain clearly doesn’t get the memo, because your next thought hits you like a train.

What if it’s Xavier!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You blink.

What if the hunter he wants to get close to is Xavier? What if he actually has had a crush on your partner this whole time? What the fuck will you do if they fall in love and you never see either of them again except Xavier at work and Sylus at their wedding? That twisting feeling in your guts and the sensation of your stomach dropping into your shoes is simply the result of imagining losing two of your friends at once to each other, and nothing else .

Wait, wait. It might not be Xavier. Maybe it’s Tara? Has he seen Tara? Maybe he saw Tara through Mephisto’s eyes while you went to lunch with her? She’s so cute, you often have to suppress the urge to squeeze her little chipper cheeks, because that’s an HR no-no.

Or Nero? Nero and Sylus probably share similar interests—Nero’s obsession with dangerous creatures would likely result in him being thrilled that a dangerous creature like Sylus would be interested in him. You can almost hear the wedding bells. You heard bells the first time you met Sylus, and now you’re going to lose him to Nero. You are fine .

Wait, wait, wait, what if it’s Jenna? What if this is a star-crossed lovers thing, and Jenna won’t believe him because they’re supposed to be mortal enemies? Jenna is hot as fuck. You can totally see—

Sylus’s voice interrupts the high speed crash in your head. “Oh no. I’ve learned what that look on your face means.”

You cover your mouth, because you’re clearly having a hard time controlling your face.

“What are you even talking about?” you mumble through your hand.

Sylus’s eyes bore into yours. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. Something is happening in your head, and instead of just asking me directly, you’re making wild assumptions and coming to ridiculous conclusions. If you’re curious, just ask. I thought we’ve been over this. Twice. Tonight, in fact.”

You let your hand drop with a wince. His beautiful eyes map your face. He’s right. You should just rip off the bandage. No use torturing yourself wondering which one of your friends he’s been using you to get to.

“Is your crush someone I know?”

Sylus’s face goes blank. He stares at you for a moment, and then casually reaches up to brush hair from your forehead, and your wrist is pulled up awkwardly with his.

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks.

You just look at him. He fiddles with your lock of hair.

And here he had told you that you could ask him anything. But he never promised to quit his habit of answering your questions with more questions. Suddenly you realize that he’s buying time. He’s trying to think of how to answer you. That means you do know the person. Maybe it’s asking too much of him, to demand that he tell you who it is. You can survive not knowing. You can survive anything .

You plaster a smile on your face and lean away from his touch. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me.”

You gaze out the one-way mirror, sifting through possibilities. You can help him. You know your friends enough to know what they’d like, and can suggest dates that each one might like in turn. Going for a hotpot dinner, if Sylus likes Xavier. Going for cocktails, if it’s Tara. Taking Nero to the no-hunt zone for wanderer watching instead of bird watching. You wrack your brain for what Jenna might like. You have no fucking clue. You and your boss have a mutual respect for each other and maintain strict professionalism. You would probably be in danger of falling in love with her, if not. Maybe you’ll wing it: Jenna’s a warrior, and likely has similar interests as you. The shooting range? Oh, you totally want to go to the shooting range with Sylus. To be honest, all the dates you’ve just thought of are dates you’d also like, so you’re feeling even more confident that you can help him with this job. Who cares if you’ve been cheated on more than once? You’ll be judging his performance, not the other way around.

Sylus interrupts your thoughts. “Look at me,” he says softly. You obey. He covers your hand with his. “I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.”

How could he possibly know who you think his crush might be? But he’s looking at you so earnestly, and Sylus doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. He has told you that before, and for some strange reason, you believe him. Okay. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe. Maybe he likes someone you don't know.

“Okay,” you breathe. He looks pleased. You try not to think too hard about how happy it makes you when he looks at you like you’ve pleased him. It’s only natural to want your friends to be happy with you, right?

But the thought occurs to you that Sylus might be approaching this whole dating thing the wrong way. What the other person wants is not the only thing that’s important in this equation.

“You know, it’s also not just all about what your crush likes.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“It also matters what you like, and what you like to do. You don’t have to just please them—the point of dating isn’t just to make the other person happy.” You turn your hand so his is no longer covering yours, but your palms are aligned. You entwine your fingers with his and squeeze softly. “Don’t you want your crush to know what you like, and what makes you happy? And then if they like that, you can be assured that you guys will be compatible in the long run. Your happiness is just as important as theirs. And it will be more convincing, if you invite them into your world, instead of just trying to accommodate theirs.”

He squeezes your hand in return, and then runs the back of his knuckles along your cheek, your hand still clasped in his. “Is that so?” he murmurs.

You will not turn your head and kiss his knuckles, rub your cheek along the back of it, unfold his fingers and kiss his palm. Friends don’t do that. You can’t make this weird for him. He’s asking you for help, and you’ll give it without any ulterior motives.

“So you’re suggesting that I take you on dates that I’d like, as well.”

You nod. “Just be yourself, and leave your scary Onychinus leader mask at home, because they probably already know that part of you. Just be the Sylus who brings his friends wine and fruit and carries around stomach medicine for them. I would be willing to bet you that just being able to spend enough time with you like that will be enough to convince them that you’re really great to be with, and since you’re clearly putting in the time and effort to show them who you are, that you’re sincere.”

He pulls his arm from around your shoulder, but turns his body toward you, crossing one leg over the other, resting his head on his hand, elbow on the booth behind you. He sets your linked hands on your leg, and rubs soft circles with his thumb on your thigh. “So, it’s a safe bet for you to assume that another person’s feelings are sincere if that person doggedly invests a lot of time and energy in you despite constant discouragement?”

“Well, yeah. I feel like even the most stubborn people give up after a while if they aren’t actually serious in the face of disbelief or a repeated rejection.”

He leans forward, so close that your noses are almost touching. “I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over."

Your heart does that painful limping thing again, imagining this being over, before it’s even begun.

A thought occurs to you. Because he's right. This will be over, someday. With how clever he is, how handsome and persistent, probably sooner rather than later. You don't want to find out that he no longer has a use for you once you realize that you haven't heard from him for weeks. You don't want to find out if you're in the N109 zone on a mission, and see him arm in arm with someone else. "Can you just promise me one more thing?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "It depends on what you're asking for," he asks, ever the shrewd negotiator.

Good, he's taking you seriously. "Once you shoot your shot, and no longer need my help. Can you just send me a text or something? Let me know that it's over? That you don't need me anymore, and we're even?" It's just the protocore syndrome, you tell yourself. You've lived with it for as long as you can remember. You can endure the pain that it's causing you right now, as you always have, as you wait for him to answer, trying to remember to breathe. His face is blank, as blank as the slate you're hoping for when this is all over. He looks away, and you realize that you've gotten so used to his wine bright eyes on you that it feels weird to look as his profile. You follow the line of his long nose with your eyes. Finally, he turns to look at you again.

"I promise that I will tell you clearly when this deal is over," he says quietly. You exhale slowly.

"Thank you." You mean it. You're grateful, knowing that you don't have to be anxious about figuring out the end. You won't have to guess, like you've had to guess so many times before, when someone you care about has walked out of your life without bothering to let you know.

Another thought occurs to you. “But let’s talk about this constant discouragement you mentioned. Has this person clearly and firmly rejected you?”

Sylus laughs, and there’s something in it that sounds just a little self-deprecating. “Like I said before, I haven’t even found a good opportunity to tell them my feelings yet. All of my efforts to show them how I feel through my actions have so far been… unproductive.” He leans back. “So, sensei. Speak. Where would you want me to take you on a date if I were your type, and you deigned to go out with me?”

“Where would you want to take me ?” you counter. You’re starting to look forward to helping him. Allowing him to practice with you will likely be the closest you’ll ever get to experiencing what it’s like to be cared for by Sylus beyond simply being useful to him.

“How about a trade—you tell me what you’d want, and then I’ll spend some time planning what I want. And then you can walk me through each scenario and preference, one by one.”

“Uh, okay. That sounds like a plan.” You finally give into your fatigue and yawn, widely, not bothering to cover your mouth because it’s just Sylus, your friend. “I’m starting to get kind of tired though. And since you clearly are in no danger tonight, maybe we can do the walkthrough another time.”

“All right, kitten. I’ll give you a ride.”

“And just how are you going to give me a ride home with this little problem?” you shake your wrist a little, and the golden-red shackles shimmers in the dim room.

“Did I say I was giving you a ride home?” he asks, gracefully rising to his feet and somehow pulling you gently along with him. He clasps your hand in his, and leads you to the door.

The feathers tumble from his lap and from the back of your pants, wafting up into the air and drifting down again. You wince. “I feel bad now. Some poor employee of yours is going to have to clean this mess up,” you murmur regretfully.

Sylus looks down at you, one sardonic eyebrow lifted, and snaps the fingers on his other hand. The feathers dissolve into scarlet-black cinders and disappear.

You stop, digging in the heels of your boots. “You could have done that. This entire time.”

“I told you sweetheart, I liked your gift. Why would I make it disappear, especially when there were so many people in the room to admire your handiwork?”

You hang your head, the embarrassment of acting like a nutcase slamming into you full force again. What is it about this asshole that makes you lose your mind?

Sylus just laughs softly, runs his thumb along the back of your held hand, and pulls you out into the club again.

As the two of you make your way down the packed, jet-black granite stairs, your gaze sweeps over the people along the way, cataloging facial expressions and body language, confirming locations of exits and potential obstacles to escape. You’re tired, but you’re still alert enough to be aware of your surroundings. Just because Sylus has a lot of security in this place doesn’t mean that all potential threats to the leader of Onychinus are one hundred percent under control. But you don’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Sylus leads you into the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, and even though you had been up in the VIP room with him for over an hour, dancers are still sensually spinning from hoops above the crowd. You pause, searching for the red-haired one who had smiled so kindly at you, but they seem to have disappeared. You can’t help but let your gaze drift amongst the others though, reminding yourself once again to research how one attains that level of strength and agility.

“As fascinating as the performance is tonight, you did say you were tired. Perhaps you’d be interested in returning on another night–I’ll buy you a drink and you can watch the dancers to your heart’s content,” Sylus’s voice in your ear, close to be heard over the deep bass, interrupts your trance. You realize that of course he had to stop when you did, and has been waiting for you patiently, holding your hand, while you were caught up watching the performances above you.

You turn your head slightly, and his nose brushes against your ear. You lean past him, so that your mouth is against his own ear. “That’s a kind offer, but this place isn’t really my vibe.”

He pulls away a little and seems to contemplate your face under the intermittent lights. Then he leans in again. “Kindred spirits, sweetheart. It’s not mine either. I’ll take you somewhere else instead.”

You’re about to ask him what he means, but you’re jostled from behind, and find yourself face to face with the leader of the club girls from your time waiting in line. Her face lights up.

“Hi again!” She bellows over the music, and sways a little on her feet.

You laugh. “Hi! Having fun?” You shout back.

“Totally! Your tips have already come in handy! It’s much easier to convince guys you’re just on a girls’ night out if they’re afraid of you!” She grins, and then she seems to notice Sylus, because her eyes widen briefly, and then she gives you a sly grin. “But you didn’t need those tips yourself tonight, did you? Nice.” She winks at you.

Sylus leans forward, a big hand sliding over your hip and pulling you close. He leans down and rests his chin on top of your head. “I see you made a friend.”

“That’s right,” the girl beams. She gives Sylus a once over. “We had a really enlightening conversation waiting in line for your club, Mr. Sylus Qin.” She says this like she knows him, and suddenly you stiffen.

Why would she know who he is? What if she’s his... beloved? Blegh, you're going to have to get used to thinking that word. Out of respect for Sylus's sincere feelings. You shake your head. Again, she seems a bit young. Like. As young as Noah. You try not to grimace. But something about the way she’s looking at him assessingly strikes you as an interest that isn’t necessarily romantic. What if she’s a threat? It would be the perfect cover–who would suspect a silly club girl of being a deadly assassin?

Are you being paranoid? Maybe. You decide to see how Sylus reacts before drawing your knives from your sleeve straps. If she is his beloved, it wouldn’t be nice if you put her on the ground when he’s trying to woo her.

“Enlightening?” he rumbles, somewhere above your head. He’s still draped over you like you’re a human coat rack. “Do tell, kitten.”

You shake him off. She will totally get the wrong idea if he keeps standing like that, but you try to subtly put your body slightly in front of him. If she goes for a weapon, you can take the hit.

“I was just showing her and her friends some basic self-defense moves. They were really fast learners.” You smile, genuinely. Because they were, and it was fun. Even if you do have to take her out now.

“I should have known that you’d use the time you spent in line improving the lives of the good people of the N109 zone,” Sylus sighs, pressing his chest against your back so he’s pretty much leaning on you again.

“Everyone should know basic self-defense,” you point out, because it’s true.

“Of course,” he says.

“I have to say, you’re not at all like how I pictured you,” the club girl says, giving Sylus a once over again. Oh, maybe she’s about to insult him? You perk up. You’ll throw your body in front of his if he’s in danger, but you’re more than happy to break out the popcorn if someone wants to throw verbal grenades at him.

“And how did you picture me, Miss Victoria Herrera?”

The girl’s eyes widen again, very briefly, before she smirks. “You’ve done your research. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected less, considering how doggedly you’ve been courting Mama. But to answer your question. To be blunt, I pictured you in far worse company.”

“Is that why I’m having such a hard time securing a spot in your mother’s agenda?”

Oh? You’re mentally furiously shoving popcorn in your mouth. Her mother? Maybe Sylus is into MILFs? Does he want to be Victoria’s new daddy? You wrinkle your nose. You will not think of Sylus and the word daddy in the same sentence ever again.

“Your reputation does precede you, after all,” she flicks her hair over her shoulder and scans the club with an alertness that belies how drunk you thought she was earlier.

“And something about meeting my date has you reassessing whether that reputation is reliable as an indicator of my character?” he asks, leaning further into you. He slips his shackled hand back into yours.

“I can’t imagine that your date would put up with you if all the rumors are true,” she returns her big, brown-eyed gaze to his. “I like your date. In fact, I like your date so much that I’d like to invite the both of you to the birthday party that Mama is throwing me this month. Perhaps you can find a quiet moment to discuss what you want with her before I blow out my candles.” She smiles, eyes narrowing, and you get the sense that this beautiful young woman is lethal in a way that has nothing to do with stomping feet with her stilettos or shiving someone in the carotid.

“We look forward to attending,” Sylus responds, and you jolt a little. He squeezes your hand again, as if to tell you to be still. You try to keep your face blank, but inwardly scowl. He has some explaining to do. You really, really want to know who mommy dearest is now.

“Excellent,” she grins. “Now, my friends are waiting for me on the dance floor. You guys have fun tonight! And I’ll be seeing you soon, badass.” She winks at you, wiggles her fingers, and melts into the crowd. Sylus straightens and looks down at you for a brief moment with a neutral look that you have no idea how to decipher. He then turns and leads you through the crowd to the back of the club and into a series of winding hallways. Finally, he opens a back exit that leads into the basement parking garage that is apparently underneath the club. As you approach the rows of vehicles, he reaches into his pocket. Flashing lights and chirruping sound draw your attention to... a tank. Taking up the equivalent of three parking spots at the front of the row of vehicles closest to you.

You stop. "What's with the tank?"

He pauses. Looks at the black monstrosity squatting before you. Looks back at you. "Do you need to get your eyes checked, sweetie?"

You scowl at him. "What else is it, if not a tank?" you demand.

"It's an armored vehicle."

"Planning on waging a single-man assault on the N109 zone tonight? That's a fucking tank. All you're missing is a roof-mounted anti-aerial assault cannon."

"Interesting, how you're assuming it doesn't have a retractable cannon. But how can it be a tank? It doesn't even have tracks. It has wheels and tires. Just because it's a well-fortified SUV, does not make it a tank."

You squint at him. "You realize that tanks can also have tires, right? Like, the difference between a tank and an armored vehicle is not if it has caterpillar tracks or wheels. You sell this shit, right? How do you not know the details of your own inventory?" Sylus just looks bored with this correction.

"It's an armored SUV, kitten. And it's your war chariot for this evening. Get in, General Nit-Picker." You roll your eyes at him. Amazing, you've just learned that he really doesn't like admitting when he's wrong.

Once you’re strapped into his tank—because that is the only term for this oversized monstrosity of a vehicle, no matter what he says—your wrists linked over the center console, Sylus starts the engine and soft classical music fills the space between you. Something soothing, with cellos. Or double bass? You have no idea. The sound is deep and beautiful. The car smells like him. You resist the urge to burrow your ass deeper into the plush black leather seat and to demand that he turn on the seat heating that you're sure this beast has.

He emerges from the subterranean parking garage underneath Amnesia and merges into the late night traffic of the N109 zone. The road is busy, in the middle of what you consider night. You are so curious about what the exchange between Sylus and Victoria was just about, and you’re curious about where he’s taking you with your wrists still cuffed together—you assume some hotel, to wait out the remaining time of the linkage, but you’re so tired, the music is so calming, and you’ve always had the tendency to fall asleep in the car. You’re out like a light in just a few minutes.

Sylus drives through the night, under the red N109 zone moon. His beloved sleeps in the seat next to him, head at an uncomfortable-looking angle against the glass. He reaches over, deeply grateful for the linkage chaining you to him, and gently moves your head from the window, settling it onto the headrest. You snuffle a little in your sleep and make a sleepy noise.

He hasn’t felt the level of fear he felt tonight in a long, long time, as you asked him for the coin, and the energy began to swirl around both of your wrists. He is infinitely relieved that his gamble paid off: you had asked which side of the coin comes up most often, and he knew you wouldn’t trust him, regardless of what answer he gave. So he told you the truth: tails. He had placed all his bets on the hunch that you’d hinge the choice you truly wanted to make, the fear-driven option of whatever you were debating in your head, on heads as a result of your lack of trust in him. And because he said tails, you were convinced that heads had better odds. And because you chose heads, the odds in his favor were slightly improved. He may not have any control over fate, but he will damn sure exploit every sliver of opportunity that appears in fate's facade to wrest a chance at happiness from it.

And the coin came up tails. You stayed, and you asked your questions. You agreed to ‘help’ him with his problem. It’s enough, for now. He feels satisfied, for now. He’s greedy, but he’s not stupid. He will have to maneuver his pieces carefully, much more carefully than he has up to this point. He has already made so many mistakes when it comes to you, and he can’t afford to make many more. During the three days he spent holding you captive, trying to deal with both his despair at your failure to recognize him and failed resonance, and playing the villain that he thought you so desperately needed, he was also inadvertently driving deeper cracks into what little armor you had left in this world. Every other version of you who he has known would have taken being called a disappointment as a challenge, an ignition to light your spite—such an insult would have ruffled your pride and incited you to fight twice as hard to prove him wrong. Every other version of you would have spit in his face for even daring to imply that there was something wrong with you, when it was his failure that resulted in the terror and disgust rendering you incapable of resonating with him. As he watched your face through the screen while you lifelessly told him that you were surprised that he hadn't gotten used to being disappointed by you—as he listened to your sorrowful, resigned laugh, a pale mockery of the joy he wants to fill your laughter, he wanted to fucking murder someone. But the only person to blame can only look back at him in the review mirror, as it is Sylus himself who had told you that you were a disappointment as he held you captive, and you had absorbed such a lie like a desert absorbing rain. He tightens his knuckles on the steering will until they go white. He had known that he would have to suture the carnage of your first meeting almost from the very beginning. But he hadn't realized that his initial treatment of you would have such awful side effects for you, your ability to trust him, and the end, for his aching heart. Sylus loves you, but he is self aware enough to admit that he is a selfish man. He knew, when he saw you again, that his whole world would change. That his luck would depend on your happiness. Tonight just proved that, again. Just your presence at his side tonight would secure him a business deal that would expand his empire beyond the shadows, and maybe, just maybe, allow him to step into the light with you at the end of everything. Because in the end, he's selfish enough to want to keep you, despite the pain he has inflicted on you. And his empire is the only avenue to secure a future with you at his side: his deepest wish, a wish plain to see if he were to turn his aether core inward and examine his own rotten heart. He will do whatever it takes, even to the point of absurdity, to ensure that future becomes a reality, until he either succeeds or you tell him to walk away and mean it.

Until then, he will deal with the fallout of his mistakes. He knows now, that you are not the same as the versions of you he has known before. Your strength in this life is threaded through with fissures like the gold used to repair broken porcelain. You, his lethal, lovely glass cannon. He will continue to stride forward, knowing this about you now. He will re-calibrate and keep you secured in his life by any means necessary, while he puts in the work until the day you're ready to hear the truth in his words when he calls you his beloved. For now, though, he forces himself to be sated simply by having you in the seat next to him, like a starving man convinces himself that filling his belly with grass is the same as filling it with steak. He will be satisfied, for now, as he drives through the night, on the way to his home with you for the first time since he held you captive for those heartbreaking three days at the beginning of this, your newest life together.

It will have to be enough, for now.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lnds #lds #l&ds #love and deepspace fanfiction #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #i'm sorry in advance #the slow burn is slow burning #communication ... so much talking... but is it effective?#we have many tropes to get through before this is over #i hope it continues to be enjoyable for some people

174 notes · View notes

cheeseceli · 2 months ago

Text

Their s/o is infertile

Pairing: Ot8 ateez x afab!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, headcanons

Request: ateez finding out their fem s/o can’t have kids/is infertile and how they’d cope/help reader through it?

Warnings: discussion about infertility, mentions of overthinking and feeling down, mentions of medical treatment, mentions of food (seonghwa).

A/n: I truly hope this can be of some comfort to anyone who might need it <3 | daily click

Seonghwa - looks after you

‌He would never make you feel useless or patronise you

‌All his focus is on trying to soothe life for you

‌Life is already hard as it is, he just wants to make it a little bit easier for you

‌So he cooks for you and cleans the apartment. He makes sure you don't forget any of your medicines. He guarantees you aren't overthinking.

‌And as much as he feels down sometimes and knows this is a complicated moment for both of you, he always keep on being optimistic

"It's late, we should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a better day, hm?"

Hongjoong - takes one step at a time

‌He's fully aware that this is a rather delicate time

‌And he knows that by rushing decisions and assumptions, the situation will only get worse

‌So he does his best to keep the calm for you both

‌He will take time with researches and appointments

‌He will make some space to just breathe with you

‌Prioritising both the infertility matter, your well being and your relationship

‌Overall, he's what is grounding you

"It's okay to feel a little lost. Don't worry, I'm here. I can be your anchor."

Yunho - keeps your mind out of things

‌Honestly, he'd probably be the reason you didn't jump into the rabbit hole of overthinking

‌He knows precisely how to avoid overload of information

‌He knows how to filter every "advice" you see around

‌So when it comes to that, he would always ground you both so well

‌And he tries to focus on other things as well

‌Not in a sense that he avoids the matter, just because he knows that obsessing into it is not healthy

‌Genuinely tries his best all the time

"Let's go on a date tonight. We could use some time to relax, don't you think?

Yeosang - looks for alternatives

‌He'd be optimistic for you both, even when you can't really see the light on the situation

‌He knows every matter has a way out

‌So he'd do his research, would ask for help, would do everything he could to find a solution

‌He'd talk with you about treatment. Maybe he'd suggest getting a pet for now. He would want to discuss adoption

‌And if you ever refuse one, two or even all of his ideas, he'd understand

‌And he has total faith that one day, you'll both find the perfect solution

"I heard that adopting a pet is very helpful to manage stress. And it could also make us company. What do you think?"

San - reassures you

‌This is the moment where a lot of doubts start to surface

‌And he doesn't want you to ever doubt yourself

‌So whenever you forget your self worth, he is there to remind you of that

‌You are an amazing person, a perfect partner and would be an even better parent

‌And he can't see you forgetting those things

‌There's also this thing I saw that Adam Sandler makes for Jennifer Aniston, and I think San would do that for you as well

‌He would gift you flowers every mother's day, every year, even if there's no signs of a baby coming

‌Simply because he knows that you would be an amazing mother

"I know this is rough, but know that I'm with you through it all"

Mingi - makes your bond stronger

‌At first, it feels heartbreaking

‌But Mingi knows that this is the moment you both need to rely on each other

‌Need to be there for each other more than ever

‌So that's what you do

‌There were nights where none of you would sleep, just talk to each other about everything that came to mind. In those nights, you'd both cry a lot

‌There were also nights where you would just sleep, comforting each other through gentle touches. In those nights, your tears would be softly dried

‌Small acts of love and kindness would take place in the relationship, and soon you would build a comfortable home around you both

‌So throughout this journey, you know you are never alone. No matter what

"Although the world is being rough on us right now, I won't be anything but kind to you"

Wooyoung - he makes time for you both

‌He knows this is a delicate time

‌He also knows that people's comments and interruptions wouldn't be of any help

‌So he decides to be alone with you for a while

‌You, him, and a very nice trip to somewhere far away

‌With this, he hopes to clear your mind a bit

‌Maybe then you'll both talk freely and find a solution, or at least get any closer to that

‌Then you can also strengthen your relationship, so you can go through this together

"No one needs to make assumptions about us and try to trouble us. We'll be fine, we just need to be together."

Jongho - supports you through it all

‌This man would be by your side supporting you in literally any occasion

‌He'd go in every medical appointment with you

‌Not even work would stop him from making you company

‌He's there when things get tiring or depressing

‌He's there when you need him the most

‌He's there even when it feels like there's no hope left

‌Similar to Mingi, I think this is the moment where your relationship would get stronger than ever

‌Simply because it's when you realise that you'll be there for each other through thick and thin

"It's going to be okay. I don't know when, but it will. Until then, I'm here."

Masterlist | you'll probably like: no matter what

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | images 1, 2 and 3

Thank you for beta reading @duhgurl @mareuxkala @silver-hwaberry @day138 @newdawnphoenix <3

193 notes · View notes

microcosmicheart · 9 months ago

Text

A Message from Your Secret Admirer

*rubs hands together evilly because I'm nosy*

1 2 3 4

Pile 1

- It’s taking Forever to get your cards! - This person could be methodical in their thought or way of speaking - They want this shit to stay a secret 😭 - I feel like once I get the message some of you may know exactly who it is.

Hey. I feel like some rest would do you good. Get enough and a lot of it. Need to see your pretty face again soon, happy and healthy. How’s that thing going? The one you didn't tell me about, but I heard second hand? I know you'll do great. Also, a bit of personal info: I’ve been a bit stunted when it comes to relationships, something I’m workin’ on. But I’m making a comeback, all thanks to you. I'll be asking you out sometime soon, I’ve just gotta talk to you first 😭. See ya later,

- This person thinks you are SO attractive literally all of you. The way you think, how you dress, your smile! They got it for you BAD

Pile 2

- Just turned on Candy Pop by TWICE 😭 Read the lyrics! - Keep hearing bubblegum? Like the word. Like they’re “gummy” or “chewy” - This is my LGBTQ+ pile - They are not shy at ALL

Hey! So you remember how you came to our group asking for advice on something? I say go against the grain! You’ve played it safe your whole life and quite frankly so have the people in our group. There’s nothing a little looking and leaping won't fix! I'm getting the sense that one of the things you admire about me is my courage to be me? Guess what, I see the same thing in you! I understand that this'll be a big step for you, and I’d like to tell you to take your sweet time! Also, if you ask me, I'll say yes ☺️. Love you,

- TWICE and ITZY (kpop groups) may be very important to this person - They also may love bunnies/rabbits - You also could actually be interested in this person

Pile 3

- Lowkey by NIKI - This person drinks - This person WILL be asking you out soon 😭 - They aren’t even gonna ask for much but they’re willing to give you their all (be kind!)

You want it? I got it. You need me? I’m THERE. Honest to god I’m tryna love you the way you deserve. You know I can make it happen, whatever it is. I’m bein so forreal. You ma ONE. Like dis is it. I gotchu forreal just let me show you.

- They are ON IT. - Honestly I’m not even seeing this as a secret, but I don't think you're understanding the extent of this person's love, hence the message. - Y'all's cards are amazing 😭 Like they are real life in love with you I hear them going “I’m sayin corny shit like I feel COMPLETE 😭” - Your heart is safe with them fr, have fun 💕

Pile 4

Literally getting not a damn thing outta this person they probably don’t speak often let alone to you 😭

Hey Love. I see you're still doing your best recovering from that *curseword in another language*. I still find you quite beautiful. This isn't what I’ve come to say though. I ask simply that each day you grow more and more selfish. I’d love to see you obsessed with yourself. A compact in your hand and gloss on your lips, ignoring those you don't wish to speak to. I wish to see you shine authentically, should you choose to, of course. I know you’ve got it in you. Love,

- Awwww - Their energy is so gentle and calm - You guys could work in healthcare - They’ve got a fatass crush on you and are 100% certain you aren't going to ever find out.

#pick an image #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #oracle reading #pac reading #pac #general reading #tarot reading

396 notes · View notes

chrlvctius · 1 year ago

Text

clandestine meetings

Alexia putellas x williamson reader!!

It was late afternoon, probably around 5 p.m., and the sun was setting. It was October, the fall season. The air smelled like leaves, almost like pumpkin. I was so focused on people walking down from the rooftop that I didn't notice someone joining me.

I didn't have to turn to see who it was since I knew who it was right away. Just by her hair, her height, and the vibes she radiates. I couldn't be wrong, I knew it was her. Memorising those small details about her makes me hate her because I can't seem to get over her.

She moved closer to me, leaving a small distance between us. She took out a cigarette, lit it, and went on about her business while I was at a loss for what to do beside her. I don't think starting a conversation with her would help either, so I just stood quietly, admiring the view and watching the sun set as the wind blew through my hair.

There's something about that comfortable silence. We didn't have to say anything to one other or anything like that. Or, if we did talk. We didn't have to worry about running out of topics or being awkward since simply being with her in silence is plenty; her presence is enough. Being together felt like home; it made us feel complete.

Leaning over the rail, I turned my head to check on her, and she was as lovely as ever. She was always beautiful. She was the first person who caught my attention when I moved to Barcelona. I've kept an eye on her ever since.

She continued smoking and admiring the view, while I got lost staring at her. She sighed and smiled, "You know I can see you staring, right?" she asked, turning to face me.

I couldn't think of anything to say so I just chuckled and shrugged it off.

She turned to face me, tossed her cigarette in the trash can, and moved closer to me.

"Why did you stop smoking?" I asked as she approached me.

"I don't want you to smell like smoke, plus i don't think you like it when people smoke near you" she went on to say

"That's very thoughtful of you, ale," I comment, laughing at her.

She was taken aback for a moment because she had never heard me call her by her nickname. It was my first time addressing her as such. I usually refer to her as "alexia" or "cap"

She paused for a bit before clearing her throat, "Is your sister okay?"

she said, seeming nervous

She seems to have gathered up enough courage to ask that question. Leah and Alexia weren't on the best of terms, so hearing her ask this makes my heart melt.

"She'll be fine; I'll be back home once the breaks come," I reassured her.

"I know she was against you going to Barcelona," she said as she drew closer to me than she had ever been.

"Um, yeah. She was," I answered nervously, hoping to keep it hidden because she was closer than ever right now.

"I'm pretty sure you know why she didn't want you to come here, right?" she asked, with a slight smirk on her face. She was clearly having a good time.

"Of course," I answer, trying to cover up my nervousness. Having her so near to me makes my knees shaky, like jello. Her stares make my knees wobble.

"She didn't want me coming here because she'll be alone, and we've never been separated this long, it'll be new to her, to me as well," I reply, looking wherever I can to avoid facing her because I know it'll be a dead end for me if I do.

"Come on, that's not all of it, isn't it?" she nudged me

"I'm not blind, I know the main reason why williamson doesn't want you to come here is because of me" she said with that annoying smirk on her face that I desperately wanted to erase

I just nodded and tucked my lips because she got it right

"What does she say about me? I bet she told you I was bad influence" she said and laughed

“You should surely take your older sister's advice, don't you think?"

"Like the good girl you are," she said, smirking.

We fell silent and let the breeze wash over us.

She drew nearer as I walked toward the doorway, placing both of her arms on either side of the rail to enclose me.

"Do you think I'm a bad influence? Do you agree with your sister?"

I look at her and see her eyes piercing at me, green with a tint of brown, she looked breathtaking. I felt like I could drown in her eyes.

"I don't think you are," I responded, swallowing hard.

"I'm your sister's rival, and yet you still stick with me?"

"I don't think you'd like it if I ignored you, though," I muttered, glancing down because just looking at her makes me want to pass out.

She tilted her head in such a way that it gave me butterflies. Lord, when will this end?

"Why so?" she inquired, completely teasing me.

"Would you like me to ignore you for the entire season, ale?" I said back.

She pouted at me, seeming to think about what she was about to say.

"Hmm, no. It would make me sad," she teased, smiling.

"Sad, why?" I inquired, still smiling.

"Because if I were to ignore you, that would make your sister feel relieved that I'm not circling you. I want her to be mad at me and for her to feel annoyed because it makes me happy." She grinned and moved closer to me.

"You're really messed up in the head, ale," I joke, pushing more against the rail because if I don't, you know what would happen.

"I want her to be annoyed, I want her to be angry at me, I want her to feel all the emotions," she said as she locked her gaze on mine. Her eyes seemed to want to express more, as if there was more to what she said.

"Which is why i won't be leaving you"

She whispered and stared at me for what seemed like hours. She was just staring at me, as if she was trying to memorise my face. I felt very vulnerable.

"Is that the only reason you don't want me to ignore you?" I asked, leaning closer to accept her challenge.

"Do you think there's something more?" she replied, edging closer to me until our faces were almost touching.

"I know there is"

I'm so sorry for leaving u w a cliffhanger 😭😭 i promise you there is a part 2! THERE WILL BE A PART 2 👹👹

Dm me if u wanna know some bits of the next part 😎

453 notes · View notes

tiredfox64 · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! Can you write a Smoke x reader scenario where Smoke is in love with the reader but he doesn't realize it because he's never been in love before (not even have a crush) but he knows he strongly feels something and asks for advice on his feelings and for that person to be like "dude you're in love." And tries to help Smoke confess his feelings to the reader?

Sorry if this is very long lol 😅

Spit it out!

Prior notes: Hi hi! Not long at all. Let’s see what we could do with this sweet man of ours.

Pairing: Tomas x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: None you silly goose

There is a feeling that Tomas gets whenever he looks at you. It feels like a whirlwind is starting up in his stomach. His heart rate skyrockets to the heavens above. His mind gets clouded with thoughts about you. What is this feeling?

Tomas doesn’t know. But he yaps about it like crazy. He talks about it like a patient would to a doctor. Filled with curiosity and even some concern as if he hopes it’s nothing too bad.

“I mean, I don’t get it. There’s no reason that my heart should be beating that fast and tingling. I don’t feel like it’s a heart attack. Do you think they have some sort of power or ability to do that to people?” Tomas asked Kuai Liang.

He didn’t even realize that Kuai Liang stopped drinking his tea. He had this blank expression yet his eyes show that he was lost in thought.

By the gods, he doesn’t know does he?

“But why would they try to do that to me? Or even cause me to get distracted during training? It’s so weird. And when I get images of them in my head I feel-“

“Tomas.”

“Huh?”

Kuai Liang took a deep breath before calmly trying to explain to Tomas what he was feeling.

“You’re in love. It is simply that.”

“…oh. But what does that have to do with that feeling in my heart?” He’s like a clueless puppy.

Kuai Liang couldn’t blame his brother for not understanding his feelings. His father nor his mother had the time to teach him how to deal with his feelings. It was all just training to become a Lin Kuei assassin. Looks like he has to be a good brother and help him out.

“That’s how love works. It makes you feel things. That feeling won’t go away unless you confess your feelings.” He calmly told Tomas.

Immediately Tomas was against the idea. He didn’t even know he was in love before. Now he’s being told to confess his feelings for you? That sounds hard, impossible even!

“I will help, Tomas. There is no reason to be afraid of confessing your love. I confessed mine and now Harumi is my wife. The worst they could say is no.”

Tomas contemplated for a bit. This is all too much. But if Kuai Liang is right, maybe it is for the best to just spit it out. You never made him doubt that he couldn’t trust you or that you would ever hurt his feelings. At least if you’re gonna say no, you will do it gently. You better do it gently.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You were a little nervous when your grandmaster said he wanted to see you in his office. You didn’t do anything wrong, trust me.

You knocked on the door of his office where you heard him call you in. You opened the door and were surprised to see Tomas there as well. He looked a bit paler for some reason. It looked like he was hiding something behind his back. Yet Kuai Liang looked as if nothing was strange.

“Ah good, you’re here. I must apologize however as I need to step out for just a minute. I will get back to you soon. I’m sure Tomas can keep you entertained.” And just like that Kuai Liang was out of the room as if he just set it on fire. It was only you and Tomas now.

“Tomas, are you okay? You looked like you just saw a ghost.” You asked with concern as you went up to him.

He was already a nervous mess, confused on what he was supposed to do. It didn’t help that your hand went up to feel his forehead as if you were checking for a fever.

Just give them the flower. That’s what Kuai Liang said, right? Oh god they’re touching me. Why do I feel so hot? Damn they look fantastic today.

“I-I, Kuai Liang said-uh, I’m s-supposed to…” Not a great start.

In a moment of panic Tomas dug into one of his pockets and threw down a smoke bomb. Just like that he was gone and you were left coughing from the smoke. Well that was strange.

Once your coughing died down you could hear what sounded to be arguing from the other side of the door. You couldn’t make out the words but you figured out it was Kuai Liang and Tomas having a scuffle.

And you would be right. The moment Kuai Liang saw Tomas teleport out of the room with his smoke magic he told him to get right back in the room. Tomas just felt worse now and he was begging his brother for another way to do this. But there is no other way. How else will you find out that he loves you if he doesn’t say it.

“I can’t, Kuai Liang. It’s so hard. They looked too perfect today and I froze up which isn’t really new. I told you they distract me. Their hands felt so nice, is it normal to want to hold their hand? Does love make you want to do those things?” He would have said more until he heard you speak.

“What?!”

Kuai Liang and Tomas didn’t realize you opened the door when he was going on his little tangent. You finally saw the flower in Tomas’ hand which you assumed was for you. That’s just an assumption after what you heard. Kuai Liang quickly turned his brother around to face you so he can properly confess. And also to apologize for almost causing you to have an asthma attack.

“I-I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any issues. I didn’t even realize I was in love with you until Kuai Liang told me. That sounds dumb I know. How was I supposed to know thinking about you a lot and feeling warm inside meant I liked you?” He said that with a bit of embarrassment.

You didn’t find it dumb however. You actually found it cute. You took his hand into yours with a warm smile on your face.

“Love isn’t the easiest thing, ya know. It takes time. We all learn to love eventually. And I do have the time to teach you how to love in many ways.” There was a look in your eyes that was screaming at Tomas that you liked him back. He didn’t catch that though.

“Teach me? But I just want to be able to love you.” Whoosh

You heard Kuai Liang slap his forehead. This poor man.

“Brother, please, I love you but you’re killing me. That’s what they mean. Say yes already.” Kuai Liang sounded exhausted.

“Sorry, still very new to this. So does this mean now that we are…?” Spell it out for him, please.

“It means we are a couple. We will take it slow don’t worry. Just know that I accept your love.” You said warmly.

Tomas felt like his heart just exploded. He hasn’t been this happy in so long. He feels all warm and tingly inside. Everything he thought was weird and strange before now feels right since you are his partner now. This feels great to him!

He was over the moon. He picked you up in his strong arms and hugged you tight. All with a cute smile on his face. He never wants to let you go now. And neither do you. Cause why wouldn’t you love such a strong, brave, skilled, expressive, and sometimes sassy hunk of a man like him.

What a successful and productive day for Tomas. What an extremely long day for Kuai Liang. You have to thank him though for pushing Tomas to confess to you. Cause you sure as hell couldn’t do it. You probably would have messed it up more than he did. Though you knew that you loved him, you also knew that you weren’t the smoothest person in the universe. You still got your happy ending.

After notes: Those cookies in the corner of my room are calling for me and I told myself I can have a bite if I finished this. Hopefully I have succeeded in my duties in pleasing you. If i haven’t you can force me to drink cranberry juice by itself. I love this man to death he is literally my main. Gotta give me a kiss goodnight later. Adiós!

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat1 #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mk x reader #mk x you #smoke mk #mk smoke #tomas vrbada smoke #tomas vrbada #tomas x you #tomas vrbada x you #tomas vrbada x reader #tomas x reader #smoke x reader #mk fanfic #fluff

204 notes · View notes

toomuchracket · 8 months ago

Text

if you're too shy, part 2 (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

remember those gigs you and matty got scheduled to cover in part 1? yeah. this is them. enjoy <3

“hey.”

matty's curls bounce as he looks up at you quickly. a mild sense of guilt gnaws at your ribs when you realise you've spooked him, but it dissipates when he smiles, visibly relaxing when he realises it's you breaking him from his concentration. “oh, hi. you alright?”

you nod, gesturing to the vacant desk next to his. “am i ok to sit here?”

“yeah, of course. no need to ask. here, let me,” matty slides his notebook out of your way; as you lay your laptop down and sit, you can see him biting back a beam from the corner of your eye, and your heart flutters. “was there anything you needed, or…? not that there has to be, you know,” he sits up straight, apology settling itself on that gorgeous face of his. “i didn't mean it like that, i just meant-”

“no, i know, matty,” you smile softly. “there is, incidentally, but also i just wanted to sit next to you.”

there he goes with the blushing again - honestly, you reckon you could make a fortune if you bottled and sold the colour of matty's cheeks when you fluster him. although, you suppose, maybe the colour is only appealing because of whose face it's on.

said face is grinning at you again. “well, feel free, anytime.”

“likewise.”

“i'll take you up on that,” matty's smile gets impossibly wider, before he catches himself and controls it a little. “so, what is it that you need from me?”

the sloppiest kiss known to man. “advice, actually,” you put your glasses on, preening internally at the way matty's breath catches in his throat as you do, and open spotify on your laptop. “where should i start with this band we're going to see twice this weekend?”

matty's face brightens even more - impossible, you'd have thought. “oh. well, do you know any of their stuff already?”

you shake your head. “very bad of me as a music journo, but no,” you smile cheekily. “this is my first time. need you to talk me through it.”

the way matty coughs and tries to pass it off as him clearing his throat at your words is delicious. to be fair to him, he recovers quickly, the only sign of him being flustered the way his cheeks periodically twitch into a smile and back down again. “alright, so… i think i’d probably start with their second album - can i?” at your approval, he slides your laptop closer to him and scrolls down the band’s spotify profile to find the album in question. “their first is good, yeah, but the second one is where they really start to define their musical identity…” he trails off, covering his mouth.

you blink in concern, leaning into him. “you okay, matty?”

“yeah, i just,” he sighs, then giggles into his hand. it’s maybe the best thing you’ve ever heard. “i realised i was starting to sound a bit like patrick bateman.”

“oh my god,” you snort, covering your own mouth as you laugh. “christ, you were. was this band’s early work too new-wave for your tastes and all?”

“little bit. i think their undisputed masterpiece is album two - literally a personal statement about the band itself,” matty smiles, then winces. “that was embarrassing.”

you shrug. “nah, i like that film. and not just because i think christian bale’s fit in it.”

“i was gonna go as him for halloween this year, actually,” matty says, nonchalantly scrolling through spotify again. “would that be weird?”

fuck. matty in a suit? potentially covered in blood? you have to readjust the way you’re sitting at the mere thought. so, naturally - “i think you should do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you smile, matching matty’s. “i’d enjoy it, at least.”

“that’s all the convincing i need,” he smiles sweetly at you, then gestures to the laptop. “so, d’you wanna know a bit about their influences before you listen?”

“go on, then.”

“alright,” matty shuffles his chair closer to you; you sit up slightly straighter as goosebumps pass over your body, increasing tenfold when he looks directly into your eyes. from this close, his are warmer than you initially realised, and you have to work extremely hard to focus on what he's saying instead of drowning in them. “to be fair, you weren't totally far-off with the new-wave joke - their music is rooted in post-punk subculture, but more along the melodic, jangly-guitar, early eighties type. you know aztec camera, yeah? convinced i saw you wear a high land, hard rain shirt to work once.”

the butterflies nesting in your stomach flutter at his recollection. “yeah, that's right. same vibe as them?”

“kinda. similar to a lot of scottish and northern bands of that era. which is weird, considering they're all about thirty and from fucking newark.”

“i see,” you nod, smiling at the way matty's twirling one of his curls. “any springsteen influence, then? not to stereotype, but… eighties-inspired music by people from new jersey? seems like there could be connection.”

matty nods enthusiastically. “yeah, great question. i mean,” he puffs air through his lips quite adorably. “lyrically, yeah, and they have quite prominent sax parts in some of the songs that are quite e street band. but the inspiration seems to be mostly melodic post-punk. does that all make sense?”

you smile, leaning on your elbow. “yeah. you're very good at explaining things. i like that about you.”

“really?” matty blushes again. “sometimes i worry that i'm just talking shite, to be honest. i know i've got a tendency to ramble a bit, always have. it annoys people, i think.”

“not me. you're always talking about something interesting. makes me feel good to talk to you.”

he clutches his hands into sweater paws again, smiling. “same. you're a sweet one, i think. m'excited that we're working a bit closer now.”

“nobody else i'd do this with, matty,” you hold out your hand, and squeeze his when he lays it atop yours; a perfect fit, you note. “you're my favourite.”

he genuinely looks like he could cry, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand and speaking even softer than that. “likewise, darling.”

for a second, you do nothing but beam at each other, still tentatively holding hands; it's only when your laptop pings with an incoming email that you break out of your reverie and apart. matty clears his throat. “would you like to know which order i recommend listening to the albums in?”

“please.”

he nods. “the second, then the most recent - which is the fifth, by the way. after that, i think i'd probably say… first, third, and fourth last. that one got a bit experimental, i doubt they'll play anything from it at either of the shows. d'you want me to just make a playlist of that order for you, while we're here?”

“oh, yes please,” you watch him do just that, a slight sense of longing settling itself in your bones when you think of a playlist so sorely him settled amidst all your favourite songs; actually, it gives you an idea. “i've got a final question for you, if that's okay, matty. well, technically two.”

“yeah?” he turns to look at you again, eyes disarmingly caring and focused on you.

“what's your absolute favourite song by the band? doesn't have to be the objectively best one, and you don't have to tell me why. m'just curious.”

matty smiles, the sun breaking through clouds. “that's easy,” he scrolls down the new playlist. “this one. that's my favourite.”

“alright,” you drag it to the top of the song list. “then that's the one i'll start with. and then i'll go onto the matty-approved listening order,” pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you turn to face him. “that sound alright?”

“mhmm,” matty nods vigorously again, wild hair bouncing all over the place; a curl falls over his eye, and he brushes it away before peering up at you through his enviously-long lashes. “meant what i said earlier, you know. i really do think you're incredibly sweet.”

“thank you,” you all but whisper, doing your best to cover your own blushing. “um - what was i saying?”

he smiles. “you had another question, i think?”

“right, yeah. um,” your throat goes dry with sudden nerves, and you try to swallow as inconspicuous as you can to make it better. twisting your fingers together, you look down at them as you speak. “i've still got a restaurant review to do this weekend, and i was wondering if you, like, wanted to go for dinner before saturday’s show? that italian, near camden road station? and you can say no, of course, no hard feelings, but,” you can feel your cheeks burning as you tentatively look up at him. “i'd just like to hang out with you a little bit longer this weekend. i like spending time with you.”

“oh,” matty breathes, blinking as if he can’t quite believe he isn’t dreaming - you hope that’s the reason, at least. he bites his lip, cheeks rosy as he looks up at you with a smile, and nods. “yeah, i’d love that. thank you.”

“thank you, for agreeing,” you exhale, nerves replaced by tingling excitement. “is half four too early? that would give us time to eat, and walk to the roundhouse before doors, yeah?”

“that works for me,” matty nods. he twirls his hair again. “d’you want to just meet at the restaurant? cos that’s the station i’d get off at, camden road. but i don’t mind meeting you off the tube, if you like.”

“no, no, it’s alright. i’ll just get you there - i’m not gonna make you brave the high street when you don’t need to,” you giggle. “especially on a saturday afternoon, christ.”

he huffs out a laugh, but his eyes are tender - so is his voice, when he replies. “alright. i’d do it for you, though, no complaints.”

you believe him. you aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen someone look so sweetly sincere, and it’s fucking your brain up. big-time.

still, you hold it together long enough to reply. “you’re cute, healy, even if i think you’re a bit mad for offering to walk through camden just to get me,” you giggle at the way his jaw drops at the compliment. “you can get me at angel on friday, though, if you fancy? makes sense, if you’re already walking down from highbury.”

“i’ll be there at six,” matty smiles. “i’m excited to hear what you think of the band, you know. i think you’ll like them.”

“well, if you do, then i’m sure i will. you’ve got good taste,” you gather up your laptop and stand, turning to matty with a flirty grin. “speaking of - i like that jumper. you look hot in red, matty. really hot. anyway,” you bite back a grin at the little gasp he lets out. “thanks for all your help, lovely.”

“anytime!” he calls after you when you turn to walk away, deliberately swinging your hips slightly more than usual - you’re convinced you hear a muffled “fuck” before he speaks properly. “and, um, thanks for, y’know, liking my jumper.”

you look over your shoulder and wink, happiness bubbling through your body when you notice matty shifting his gaze from your ass to your face so hastily it’s a wonder his neck didn’t snap. “friday at six, yeah? don’t be late.”

“i won’t!”

and he’s true to his word - when you come up the escalators at angel station at five minutes to six on friday, matty’s leaning against the wall opposite you. he grins, a big toothy eye-crinkling smile that has your heart doing backflips, and waves as you walk over to him. “hi! i like your jacket.”

“oh, thank you,” you self-consciously touch the fluffy collar. “have you been waiting long?”

“not really. ten minutes?”

“that’s not too bad. shall we?” you wander out into the chilly evening air, matty matching pace beside you. “you ever been to a show here before?”

“yeah. what a fucking weird venue,” matty steps closer to you to avoid being run over by a bike, and your heart flutters; you’re actually sad when he moves away. “i like it inside, but-”

“the fact it’s literally in the middle of a shopping centre is insane?”

“completely mental.”

“a really strange bit of urban planning,” you smile, turning to him as you wait at a set of traffic lights. “i listened to the playlist you made me, by the way. even learned some of the words.”

matty laughs. “you like them, then? that’s good. knew you would, though.”

you nod, fighting the urge to grab his hand as you cross the road. “played your favourite song about ten times on loop. i had no idea it was going to end up being a love song, by the way…”

“yeah, the title’s a bit misleading.”

“...but it really works. i can see why it’s your favourite,” you gently nudge your shoulder into his arm. “like i said the other day, you’ve got good taste.”

he looks down at the pavement, smiling, then at you. fuck, he’s so cute. “so do you, darling,” he says, voice so soft you can hardly hear it over the bustle around you. “i really like your outfit.”

the hour spent upending your entire wardrobe onto your bed to pick it out was absolutely worth it. “thank you. i figured, y’know, since i’m technically not working,” you smirk at him. “i’d make the effort for going out. tomorrow, though, when i’m on-shift? not a chance.”

“you’ll still look great, i reckon,” matty says, easy as breathing; ironically, the ease of his words practically stops your own breath. “and yeah, i s’pose you really aren’t working tonight. when was the last time you went to a gig just for fun?”

“it’s been a while,” you admit. “and i miss it, actually, getting to just experience new artists without having to analyse and critique them. that’s part of the reason i’m excited to be going tonight.”

“i get that,” matty nods as you turn into the venue entrance. “and what’s the other part?”

you grin. “the fact i’m going with you.”

once again, matty blushes. “if you keep throwing me off with compliments the whole night, i literally won’t get any work done. but thank you. m’glad you agreed to come with me tonight.”

“i’m glad you asked,” you turn to him once you join the line to get in. “and you’ll get your work done, don’t worry. i promise to be good.”

for the most part, you actually succeed at that, and it’s largely due to how bloody good the band are. for all the venue is in a weird place, it really is a decent one - it’s so intimate that even you, who only started listening to the artists onstage this week, feel like a proper part of it. and, free of note-taking responsibilities, you can allow yourself to be made giddy by the coloured lights and loud melodies, to dance as best you can on the sticky floor, to sing along to the scraps of lyrics you recognise and join in the backing vocals with the rest of the crowd. that was always your favourite part of a concert, the moments where hundreds of voices just worked as one, identities dropping and merging to prioritise the music; it’s nice to be in it, for once, rather than doing your best to observe and capture and convey it in words. you leave that to matty, and mostly leave him be aside from the odd smile and laugh, always responded to warmly by him.

that is, until they play his favourite song, and the boy beside you becomes impossible to ignore.

the singer says something about this being the last song of the night, before beginning the now-familiar melody on his guitar. matty’s head snaps up at the first few notes, and his notebook snaps shut; you turn to him at the noise, smiling at the excitement on his face, even more radiant than usual under the pink lighting. he looks at you with a matching smile, curls bouncing as he nods along to the music, before turning back rapt towards the stage. you follow suit, soaking up the lyrics about wanting and yearning and falling fast for someone - hearing those words with that person beside you sends goosebumps shooting across your skin and sparks through your nervous system, the same kind of kinetic energy crackling in the space between you and matty. it’s so strong you have to uncross your arms, stretching your fingers out by your side. mortifyingly, they brush against the back of matty’s hand, and the sparks become shockwaves; not so much born out of fear, but of the same kind of longing the singer is musing about. he doesn’t seem to mind the contact, hand staying put despite it, and something in your brain just says fuck it and snaps.

tentatively, more so than you think you’ve ever been before, you loop your fingers around matty’s, and you hold his hand. and, quite honestly, nothing has ever felt quite so right as this. the shockwaves in your nervous system fade to a gentle hum, kinda like the reverb from the speakers, with only a tiny jolt when matty gently squeezes your hand in response.that’s how you stay for the rest of the song, hand-in-hand facing the stage, both of you - unbeknownst to the other - smiling contentedly and mouthing the lyrics to the song you relate to.

it lasts a sickeningly short amount of time, though - as soon as the song ends, you and matty are all but pulled apart by a group of kids running towards the stage, shouting about setlists and drumsticks and god knows what else. matty chuckles, walking backwards towards the exit so he can talk to you. "that was good.”

“yeah,” you agree, although you’re not sure what he’s specifically referring to. “liked it a lot.”

“me too.”

there’s comfortable silence as you weave your way out of the venue and onto the street. you turn to say a reluctant goodbye to matty, but he beats you to it. “i’ll walk you to the station.”

“are you sure? you’ve got a bit of a walk in the other direction, matty.”

he shrugs. “it’s a nice night. i don’t mind.”

“cool,” you do your best to keep from smiling at the thought of an extra five minutes with him. “thank you.”

“s'alright,” matty smiles, leading the way down the street. “i've had a lot of fun tonight.”

“yeah, same here. they're really good!”

“aren't they? i'm excited to see their set tomorrow, see how it compares,” he hums happily. “i think this is gonna turn out to be a really good article, you know.”

“so do i,” you beam at him. “and i must say, i'm enjoying the process for this one much more than i have in a while.”

he giggles, and you have to fight the urge to hold his hand again. “well, if you think about it,” matty rubs his thumb over his bottom lip quite attractively. “it makes a lot more sense for us to do gig reviews together. music is something to be shared, after all, and live music especially, and so are our reviews - we probably get a better sense of it all if we're not by ourselves, don't you think?”

you don't even bother trying to hide how enamoured you are when you look at him. “i love the way your brain works, matty.”

“oh, shush,” he clutches the sleeves of his jacket over his hands, but beams anyway; it drops from his face when he notices the tube station sign up ahead. “well, i suppose this is where i leave you.”

the melancholia in his voice makes your heart sink. “yeah, i guess,” you sigh. “but not for long, though.”

“true,” matty's face brightens, and he reaches to take your hand and squeeze it gently. “thanks for coming, darling. i had a lot of fun.”

“thank you for having me,” you squeeze his hand in return, smiling at the way he looks down at your connected fingers in wonder. “text me when you get home?”

“of course. you too, please.”

“i will,” you let go of matty, pausing before you turn to walk away; quicker than your brain can convince you otherwise, you lean up to press a kiss to his soft cheek, before winking at his dazed expression and turning towards the station. “see you tomorrow, lovely.”

“bye,” comes the soft, delayed reply. you turn back to wave once you reach the escalator, then smile giddily to yourself the whole way home.

in fact, you don't think you stop smiling giddily for the rest of the night, or the next day; just the knowledge that you're going to see matty again keeps you in a state of sunniness, has you dancing around the flat and serenading your dog, who just looks at you like you're insane. a tiny part of your brain agrees with her, but how can you be expected to help it? you haven't been this excited to go on a date with someone in a long, long time.

well, it's not a date, officially. but walking into a dimly-lit italian restaurant with matty in tow, him taking your jacket and pulling your chair out for you like a perfect gentleman? it fucking feels like it. you wish it was.

even more so when he takes his own jacket off, revealing A) a short-sleeved shirt in the same colour of red you told him he looked hot in the other day, worn slightly open over a white tank; B) almost-unbelievably muscular arms; C) tattoos littered up said arms, and one on his chest just peeking out suggestively.

jesus fucking christ.

you can’t help but stare at matty, mouth agape, as he sits down. he giggles nervously when he notices. “what?”

the words leave your mouth before you can even think about stopping them. “matty… do you know how hot you are?”

he does the adorable blinking thing again. “you think i’m hot? me?”

“um, yeah, i have eyes,” you giggle, cheeks burning. keep it together, you stupid slut. “i didn’t know you had all those tattoos, actually. why don’t you show them off more?”

matty shrugs. “sometimes, people think if you have lots of tattoos, you’re like, i don’t know… scary, or unapproachable,” he opens the drinks menu. “that’s not the impression i wanna give off, you know? especially at work. like, you know me, i’m quite soft and quiet. i just think the tattoos look sick.”

god, you want to eat him alive.

“i understand,” you nod, leaning on your elbows. “and i also think they look sick. kinda sexy, i’d say, to be honest. anyway,” you bite back a smirk at matty’s flustered expression. “what sort of drink are you in the mood for?”

“oh, well… i don’t know, actually,” matty scans the menu, then meets your eyes. “i’m new to this sort of reviewing. what do you usually do first? talk me through it,” he must mistake your wide eyes after his last statement for horror, instead of slight arousal. “please.”

“okay. can i see the menu, please? right, fab, thanks,” you hold it open so you can both see the drinks list. “shit, this is extensive… reasonably priced, would you say?”

“for this part of london? yeah.”

“i agree. right,” you look at him, and the concentration with which he looks back almost throws you off. “because we haven’t picked out food and don’t know about flavour palettes yet, i’d avoid wine for the time being. anything too flavoured, actually - i reckon our best bets are either some sort of fairly neutral cocktail, or a spirit and clear mixer. you know, vodka soda, a g&t, that kind of thing.”

matty nods. “makes sense.”

“yeah. the exception to all of that, in my opinion, is champagne,” you smile. “but if i start drinking it, i won’t want to stop, and if i kick the arse out of this meal on the work credit card then marianne will kick mine, so…”

he laughs, and the warmth of it goes straight to your stomach. “classy girl,” he smiles, laughing even harder when you make a face. “well, i think you are. and,” he points at the menu. “i also think we should have negronis.”

“nice. alright, let’s move on to food,” you open another menu. “oh, thank god we came here so early - this decision might take me a while. sorry.”

matty smiles, the tenderness in his eyes only exacerbated by the flickering candlelight. “that’s alright, darling. we’ll take all the time you need. well,” he winces. “maybe keep it within the two and a half hours we’ve got until we need to leave for the gig. although i s’pose we could stay here another fifteen minutes if we got a taxi.”

you wave insouciantly. “we’ll be on time. and you’ll have fun, too. promise.”

“oh, i don’t doubt that.”

and you really do have fun, despite having to constantly remind yourself that you’re not on a date and are in fact at work. the two negronis you each have over the course of the meal continue to coax matty out of his shell - and thus, get you to fall even harder for him than you already have, which to be honest you didn’t think was possible after seeing his tattoos - to the point where he’s affectionately taking the piss out of you for stealing forkfuls of his dinner “for journalistic purposes”. but, all in all, he’s completely fascinated by the process of forming your review, taking interest in the subtleties of what makes somewhere good versus great, and marvelling at the breadth of your culinary knowledge (which you’re actually very proud of, being self-taught and all); he’s still raving about it as you walk - with plenty of time to spare, mind you - along chalk farm road towards the roundhouse. “i actually don’t know what i’m more impressed with, you or the food. genuinely. you’re incredible. and to think i was going to make you soup!”

you frown. “past tense? why?”

“you know too much about food. i won’t be able to impress you.”

“matty,” you turn to look at him, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “that’s not true at all!”

he scoffs, but not harshly. “come on, babe,” the nickname does something funny to your stomach. “i’m not upset about it, just thinking realistically. how is my nana’s carrot and coriander recipe gonna stack up against michelin-starred minestrone, or whatever? not at all, that’s how. and that’s alright!”

“matty. matty - alright, fine,” you clear your throat, stopping and standing with your hands on your hips. “matthew. listen to me, and listen good, yeah? right,” when he nods, blinking those pretty eyes, you continue. “soup is a whole different thing - in fact, all domestic cooking is, especially if you’re making something for someone you care about. i don’t want to be impressed by the technique, i want to be nourished. cared for. dare i say, healed. and, in that regard, i have no doubt that your nana’s recipe would fucking decimate any posh restaurant soup. alright?”

he nods, shyly peeking through his eyelashes. “alright.”

“thank you.”

the walk continues, silent for a few minutes until matty talks again. “you know,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “i didn’t think i’d find being lectured about soup sexy. and yet…”

“oh my god, stop it,” you giggle, although you’re simultaneously fighting the urge to skip along the path and secretly filing that piece of matty information away in your mind. just in case. “thanks, though.”

he shrugs, smirking. you’re into it. “just telling the truth. it’s my job, after all.”

“and here i thought you were flirting with me,” you smirk back. “shame,” you wink, speeding up slightly towards the venue; you drop into serious mode when you see several different door queues. “shit. where do we go, with the press passes?”

matty hums, looking around. suddenly, he takes your hand, gently leading you to a side door; you’re quite content with this, a sort-of fuzzy feeling overcoming you, so much so that you barely register him talking. “here we are. you ready, darling?”

you nod happily at him. “round two. let’s go.”

the night, at first, progresses a lot like the previous one - you spend the opening set dancing, singing along to the songs you know pretty well by now, leaning in to talk to matty about any discrepancies you see in performance between both nights while he diligently takes notes. when they close with his favourite song, again, you’re slightly dismayed that he continues to write, and you can’t repeat the hand-holding; pretty much as soon as you’ve thought that, though, matty leans into you to rest his head on yours and sing along to the lyrics, and the room seems to get brighter. out of both desire and necessity (you know how clumsy he is), you wrap an arm around matty’s waist, and you swear you can hear him smile. it’s warm, sweet, intimate without being weird, and you really don’t want to let go of him. ever.

eventually, once the song ends and the house lights come up in the break between sets, you do, pulling your notebook from your jacket pocket with a sigh. matty straightens up, stretches with a groan that should not be as attractive as it was to you, and smiles. “pasta tiredness hitting you too?”

“little bit,” you wince. “maybe dinner then dancing was a bad idea.”

he shakes his head. “nah. it’s been fun. i’ve really enjoyed it.”

“i’m glad to hear that,” you smile at him. “wouldn’t mind making a habit of it, actually.”

“really?” matty beams. “neither would i. maybe we can pitch it to marianne as an actual segment. like, restaurant pairings with gigs, potentially highlight local places near the venues we go to. yeah?”

it’s a fucking great idea. he goes all bashful when you tell him as much. “cool. we can maybe see her about it on monday, if she’s in.”

you nod. “of course. come and find me on monday morning, and we can come up with a proper pitch while we get this piece done, alright?”

“‘course,” matty nods, smiling when the lights drop and the audience scream. “right, i’ll leave you to your notes.”

“cheers,” you reply, reluctantly turning towards the stage. it isn’t that the gig is bad, at all - as you wrote in your notes, the band are talented, charismatic, well-rehearsed. it’s just extremely difficult to focus on them and your notebook when you have the boy of your dreams beside you, close enough to touch and kiss and dance with, singing along happily and doing a dorky little two-step that makes his hair bounce quite beautifully. every so often, the urge to turn and smile at him becomes too much to resist, and matty goes visibly - adorably - pink under the stark white lighting every single time he makes eye contact with you.

by the time the gig ends, you’re dead certain: you are down so incredibly deeply bad for matty healy, and you need to tell him as soon as possible.

as it turns out, the opportunity for that happens extremely quickly once you’re both out of the venue, talking and laughing and dissecting the show even further than you did in your respective notebooks as you leave, and it’s so romance-media smooth that you genuinely think a higher power might be involved. perhaps an apology from the universe by having a group of teenagers push you and matty apart at yesterday’s gig, this time a group of them push you closer together, bolting past you and screaming about catching the bus home - matty tugs you into him to stop you being completely bowled over, and turns so the two of you are right next to the building instead of in the firing line out in the open. his hands are warm against your waist and lower back, and so is his neck under your clasped hands; you have no recollection of putting them there, but you sure as shit aren’t going to move them anytime soon. if you did that, you’d further the distance between you, and why on earth would you want to do that, when you’re so close you can’t tell whose breath cloud is whose and the little flecks of gold in his dark eyes are visible to you for the first time?

no. you’ll stay as you are, thank you very much.

“you know that thing we were going to pitch to marianne at work on monday?” you whisper, heart pounding as you notice matty’s eyes flick to your lips. “the thing we want to make a habit of?”

“yeah,” matty breathes, the words so close to your lips you can practically taste them. “what about it?”

your lips part, and you take a shaky breath before you reply. “well, the thing is,” you bite your lip, and his pupils dilate. “i don’t think i want it to be a work thing, matty.”

a beat passes before he responds. “neither do i.”

thank fuck.

your eyes close in contentment. “matty?”

“yeah, darling?”

you reopen them, looking up at him - for the probably millionth time in two days, you don’t bother trying to hide the feeling in your gaze. “kiss me.”

that gorgeous face above yours cracks into a smile. “alright.”

and he does.

it’s exactly how you imagined he would be - a little bit sloppy, tentative with tongue, but so eager and giggly and just so caring that it doesn’t matter. on instinct, your hand roots itself in matty’s curls, and the little whine he lets out is probably enough to fuel your bedtime fantasies for a fortnight by itself. you smile into him, tracing your tongue around his lips before sucking on the bottom one and releasing it slowly. your head is spinning, from matty more than lack of oxygen, and you honestly don’t think you’ve ever been happier post-kiss in your life.

there’s a happy silence for a minute, save the two of you gasping for breath, broken by matty kissing you quickly again and grinning. “hi. and, also, wow.”

“indeed,” you beam up at him, gently twisting those pretty curls around your fingers. “you might’ve figured it out by now, but… i like you, in a more-than-platonic sense.”

“the kiss gave it away, yeah,” he giggles breathily. “i take it there’s no policy at work about making out with your colleagues? or, y’know, taking them out on actual, unrelated-to-work dates?”

“no such thing.”

matty smiles, pulling you in for another kiss. “well, thank christ for that.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #office nerd au #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

241 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Ghosting

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you.

Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie (and features spoilers for the plot).

Word Count: 3,700

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic contains major spoilers for the film - so if you haven't watched it yet and you're just here for Josh Hutcherson being sad and beautiful (and if you want to watch the film unspoiled) be warned; this fic does use Y/N; this fic is almost pure angst - the beginning is fluffy, but that only exists to make the angst hurt more; this fic does not have a happy ending; hurt, no comfort; this fic has mentions of Mike's past traumas and him having symptoms of PTSD; the reader is a mother figure to Abby; Mike refers to the reader as his 'wife' (in his mind, not in dialogue); Mike is in love with the reader (and it's implied that she knows this/can sense his feelings) but he doesn't get a chance to actually confess to her and they aren't in a romantic relationship at any point during this fic; (uh, kind of spoiler for the fic but this was in the prompt/request) - major character death: the reader character dies after being stabbed by Springtrap/William Afton/The Yellow Rabbit (gotta love fnaf - when a character has that many names); mentions of blood; descriptions of violence - descriptions of the fight between Afton and Mike, descriptions of the reader being stabbed by Afton; Abby is there to witness the reader's death; idk what the other warnings are aside from major angst - this will be an emotional gut punch. Anyway, please enjoy it lmao.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from the song Ghosting by Mother Mother. I was listening to different songs trying to pick a title, and I really like how this one fits. How their romantic love was like a ghost in their lives - not discussed, but felt between the both of them, and after she's gone, she becomes a ghost in his life.

...

Mike woke up to the smell of pancakes.

Typically, mornings were his least favorite time of day. Seeing as he was the kind of person who didn’t sleep well, didn’t sleep at all, or found himself consumed by nightmares when he did - most mornings, he was too tired to comprehend the world around him. Mornings were a chaotic mess for him as he tried to pull himself back from the brink of insanity while operating his sluggish body with far too little energy until he got some coffee into his system. He came to resent mornings, as for him, they existed only in a dreadful haze.

And he rarely ate a proper breakfast because of it. Most of the time, his ‘breakfast’ consisted of a large cup of coffee and a few pieces of Eggo waffle that he would snag off of Abby’s plate going out the door as he scolded her for not finishing it all.

The second that the pleasant smell of freshly cooked food reached his nose, his stomach growled.

Through the sleepy fog of his brain, hearing voices - multiple voices - coming from down the hallway, he realized that it wasn’t just Abby and some muffled cartoon characters from the TV.

“Which one?” Abby posed, her voice bright and curious as ever.

“Personally… I like the red sweater. It matches the red laces in the shoes you picked,” You replied, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sizzling of the pan.

You were helping her pick out her clothes. Abby would have never wanted Mike’s help on the subject. So often she scoffed at him if he suggested that he could help her put her hair in a ponytail or if he told her that she should put on a jacket if it was cold outside. But she asked you for your advice about clothes because she admired you. She thought you were pretty, as she had told Mike on multiple occasions (not so subtly hinting that he should date you).

Mike heard footsteps thundering down the hallway as Abby rushed to her room to get dressed, likely carting along the clothes you had helped to pick. He distantly wondered how you had gotten into the house before he was even awake.

And then, he remembered - a few weeks ago, he had given you a key to his place.

It was something that had come after he had accidentally locked his own set of keys in the car, his mind jumbled and forgetful after not having much sleep the night before. And with the evening ticking on and the takeout you had picked up for the three of you quickly getting cold in your hands (everyone eager to simply get into the house and eat) - Mike had been hit with the realization that any solutions to unlock the car - the spare key, a metal coat hanger, a phone to call a mechanic - were all locked in the house.

So he had hoisted Abby in through her bedroom window (after scolding her for not locking it) and gotten her to unlock the front door. And shortly after that, he had given you a house key, because generally, you were better with things like that.

You were much more organized - your mind a clear, calm palace compared to the chaos that Mike often found himself swamped in. You were someone who worked incredibly well under stress, and that was why Mike valued you so much in his life. Right from a childhood where the two of you had pulled pranks together and he had been copying your homework, to the time he had leaned on you during the initial stress of Garett’s disappearance - up until now. When he was a messy, disorganized adult who still needed you far more than he was ever willing to admit.

It was just one of the many reasons he admired you so much. You took care of him in ways he couldn’t even put into words.

He smiled to himself as he heard more of your chatter with Abby. Previously, he had remarked that the key was for ‘emergencies only’ - but he couldn’t bring himself to care all too much about the breach of that rule as he tumbled out of bed. Especially when the smell of bacon also reached his nose as he walked to the bathroom.

It was when he was pulling on his pants that he glanced at the clock and realized he was already running on the late side. Not too late yet, but he had to put some urgency in his step. He had somehow forgotten to set his alarm, today of all days, when he would be meeting with a career counselor after the disastrous incident that got him fired from the mall.

He rushed down the hallway struggling with his tie, bringing his usual air of chaos with him. His heart instantly warmed at the sight of you and Abby - you had her sitting at the table, somehow so much more polite and cooperative for you, with a glass of juice beside her plate while you scooped freshly made pancakes onto it.

“You know, usually when most people break and enter, they don’t make breakfast,” Mike commented, his voice cool and jovial as he grew increasingly frustrated with his tie.

He thought he was forming the knot correctly, but it kept falling loose in his hands, causing a deep crease across his brows as he frowned at the fabric.

You giggled at this - both at his words and at his obvious struggle. You put the pan on the counter as you walked toward him, leaving Abby to pick up the bottle of syrup and begin thoroughly drowning her pancakes while you weren’t looking. You knocked Mike’s hands away in that wordless kind of care and began calmly tying his tie.

“Well, I considered going the traditional route, but there’s nothing worth stealing here.” You remarked, playing off the banter that was only built between the two of you after years of friendship. “Plus, The Breakfast Burglar has such a nice ring to it.”

“That makes it sound like you steal people’s breakfast.” Abby giggled.

“I would, if certain little girls didn’t drown their pancakes in syrup.” You replied, not bothering to look over your shoulder at her to know what she was doing. “That’s enough, Abs.”

She rolled her eyes harshly at this, but put the bottle of syrup down and picked up her knife and fork.

Mike grinned widely at this. You were more like a mom to her than their own mother ever was. And the fact that you knew her so well and took care of her without question always brought him joy.

His smile only widened when you smoothed a warm hand down the front of his chest, and he looked down to see a perfectly neat knot in the front of his tie. He felt a tingling swarm of butterflies in his stomach at your touch - something that threatened to spread through him and turn him into a dizzy, lovesick fool. Urgently, he needed to distract himself with something else.

His eyes shifted over to the side table, and he realized that his keys weren’t where he usually threw them down when he got home.

“Have you seen my-?”

Once again, you were two steps ahead of him. More organized than him.

“Keys.” You said, turning around to the counter and holding the key ring up on your fingers. “Your resume, formatted and printed.” You held up a folder that contained this as well. “Your wallet, and breakfast burrito.”

You gathered up his wallet and a warm bundle wrapped in tinfoil - his breakfast. The small notion of caring, the fact that you thought ahead to make something he could eat while rushing out the door - it caused that dangerous tingle to overtake his stomach once again. As you crossed the room and placed all the items in his hands, he had the intense urge to lean over and kiss you - he knew the domesticity was crippling.

You had been his best friend for years, you had helped him take care of Abby for as long as the little girl could remember. You felt more like a wife to him than anybody else ever would.

And yet, you had absolutely no clue how he felt about you. It would have felt like the most natural thing in the world for him to lean over and kiss you goodbye before leaving - just like a husband would do with his wife. But the two of you weren’t married. You weren’t even dating. You took care of him because you were his best friend. Because you had always taken care of him the way a best friend should.

“What would I do without you?” He said, knowing that the pure fondness in his voice could have easily given him away - if he didn’t talk to you like that all the time.

“Hmm… probably run around naked and starving,” You chuckled, shrugging as you walked back over to Abby and sat down beside her at the table. “Now get going. I’ll take Abby to school.”

“Have a good day, Abs.” Mike said, wishing his sister well - only to receive a mindless nod in reply before she went back to chatting with you about something, excitedly telling you a story involving one of her imaginary friends while you watched her with absolutely rapt attention.

He moved toward the door, but he found himself caught up in the sight of you. You were a hero in their little world as you rushed to save one of Abby’s drawings from some syrup that dripped off her plate. When you complimented the picture, she glowed with a smile he hadn’t seen in days.

That was a huge part of it, too. The love he felt for you that grew more agonizing each day. You brought out all the best parts of Abby, as well as keeping Mike himself from going truly insane.

For a single moment, he wondered if he should tell you. He wondered if he should just blurt out the words before running out the door, leaving you to simmer in it. Giving you time to think about it - to yell at him about it later.

It hovered on his tongue.

I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years.

But when you looked over and saw him still standing by the door, he locked eyes with you, and suddenly it was gone again, swallowed up inside of him like a nasty ache that would live there forever.

“Go, Mike! You’re gonna be late!” You said, your voice edging with casual laughter.

You picked up one of the couch cushions and swatted him with it as you walked by to get Abby a paper towel from the kitchen.

No. He would tell you some other time.

Perhaps he wouldn’t work up the courage to tell you at all.

…

He was going to die. He was going to be killed.

And he wasn’t going to get the chance to tell you that he was in love with you.

Strangely enough, that was the one thing Mike was thinking about as he laid on the cold, dirty floor of Freddy Fazbear’s condemned pizzeria. His stomach burned with searing pain as he received another kick from the large, intimidating monster that he knew only as the Yellow Rabbit.

He was going to die. He wouldn’t get to tell you how he felt. He would never get to see you ever again.

He was going to save Abby. He was going to make sure that she got out of here, escaped somehow. And you would take care of her. That thought was a singular comfort to him as he felt one of his ribs crack from the metal (poorly disguised by the foam and fabric around the edges of the suit) colliding with his torso.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “I killed your brother, now I get to kill you. Symmetry, my friend!”

“Get away from him!”

Mike almost thought that the intense pain had caused him to hallucinate, or that he had hit his head on the floor hard when he had been thrown down - it couldn’t actually be you.

But he heard your voice, fierce and fiery as ever, defending him as you had so many times before. He struggled to get his head up to look, but he caught a glimpse of the Yellow Rabbit as the strange animal collapsed.

You had picked up one of the chairs, and brought it down over the Rabbit’s head, perfectly imitating something that would have been on Monday Night Raw. Except this was pure wood, not a collapsing chair, and all the pieces that splintered and fell in front of Mike as the Rabbit collapsed were because of the pure force of your hit. The fury of which you defended him and his life.

“Y/N!” Abby yelled your name from across the room.

She rushed into your arms as you stepped over the Rabbit’s prone body, and you swept her into a tight hug.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s going on?” You rushed to ask, brushing her hair out of her face to inspect for any injuries.

“I’m fine.” Abby told you. “Mike-” She then turned to her brother, frantic, and pulled away from you to fall to her knees by his side.

“Mike, what the hell is going on?” You asked, on your knees at his side just as quickly.

You turned him over on his back, inspecting him for injuries now - definitely not liking what you found.

Abby held his hand and he grasped it right back, his head still dizzy from the thorough ass-kicking he had just experienced.

You gasped when you saw blood leaking through his shirt. He grunted in pain when you pressed your hand into the wound, clearly trying to lessen that bleeding.

“What - what are you doing here?” He croaked out.

As much as he was thankful for you swooping in and saving him, he wished that you were safe somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

“Abby left her jacket in my car, and when I went to return it, I saw your Aunt Jane passed out on the floor, and - and, I just had a bad feeling.” You rushed to explain. “Somehow, I figured you’d be here.”

Mike hadn’t exactly told you the details of what was going on.

As close as the two of you were, he wasn’t sure if you would be entirely receptive to the concept of Abby being ‘friends’ with robots that were controlled by ghost children, and Mike somehow feeling connected to his own missing… dead brother by being in this place. He had simply told you that his new job was a night shift at a creepy old abandoned pizza place.

But of course, you were two steps ahead of him. As always.

You pulled back your hand to inspect the bleeding, and Mike groaned again.

“Should I call an ambulance?” You asked, and Mike shook his head furiously.

“No, we have to-”

We have to leave. You have to leave. You have to get Abby out of here, to safety.

All of those words dissolved on his tongue as he watched with utter shock. He wanted to scream as a big yellow hand clasped onto your shoulder from behind, and soon, a pair of large rabbit ears rose up from the floor.

He wasn’t down for the count.

Before he could speak, before he could move, Mike’s throat became choked as he saw your expression shift from the kind concern that you had worn for him many times - to pain. A brutal shock of your own.

The Rabbit had shoved his knife into your back.

A bright pool of red began to form in the middle of your shirt as the tip of the knife just barely poked through the center of your chest.

“No!” Mike shouted, rushing to sit up despite the pain screaming in his body.

He put a shaking hand to the middle of your chest as though it mattered, as though he could save you from this. He hated how warm your blood felt underneath his fingers.

Abby let out a scream beside him. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he felt a pang of guilt that she had to see this. That she would spend the rest of her life trying to get over this.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” The Rabbit mocked him. “It always hurts more when you love them!”

The Rabbit let out a brutal laugh and then yanked his knife from your back, and you released a sharp breath as the Rabbit shoved you toward Mike, causing you to collapse into his lap in a bloody heap.

Somewhere far away, in another world, Mike heard Vanessa shouting from the doorway. Maybe he felt some sense of relief, thinking she would shoot the Rabbit down and this would all be over. But as the Rabbit’s attention was drawn away from him, he turned to where you were draped across his lap, the small pool of red on your shirt now soaked into a large puddle as you sputtered and some of that harsh bright red blood came out the corner of your lips.

“Mike-” You choked out, reaching for him.

“Tell me what to do,” Mike choked out.

His mind was miserably blank. He felt your fingers clutching at his bicep, like he held the key to saving you, like he could restore your life - but his mind was screaming and his chest collapsed in on itself.

You were always the one that guided him. He didn’t have an idea if you didn’t plant it in his head first.

“Y/N,” Abby sobbed.

“It-it’s okay.” You told her, struggling, gurgling, choking on your own blood. You took your grip off Mike, extending the hand weakly to her, and she took it. “It’s g-gonna be okay.”

She let out another harsh sob, and Mike felt his lungs fill with stone.

“Tell me what to do,” He said desperately, not realizing how thick his own voice was, how close he was to breaking down. He ran a trembling hand over your face, brushing away some stray hairs - he hated how cold you felt to his touch. “Please, tell me what to do.”

He thought you might suggest some first aid. An ambulance. Tell him where your car was so he could carry you there, cart you away, get you to safety.

“You-re g-gonna take c-care of her-r.” You told him, shifting your eyes distinctly from him toward Abby, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re gon-na m-make it ok-ay.”

“Y/N.” Abby cried, thick tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Abby. You’re gonna b-be s-strong.” You grinned at her - your teeth were covered in blood, and it looked as menacing as it did fond. “You’re g-gonna be good for-r M-Mike, right? My little a-artist.”

Abby nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes.

And then, with some gears turning in her head, these words seemingly having triggered some line of thought, she looked up and spotted something across the room. She muttered something about the drawings and leapt up before Mike could stop her. He didn’t have the strength to chase her - he only hoped that she was leaving, escaping while the others were distracted.

When he looked back down at you, your face was falling more limp, and your shirt was somehow even more soaked in blood. His jeans were wet, and he couldn’t even process why. He pressed a hand to the front of your shirt, trying to cover the wound as you had done with him - his muscles shook even harder when blood gushed out between his fingers and seemed to leak from you harder, as if to spite him.

“Y/N,” He sobbed, leaning down. He cradled the back of your head and touched your forehead against his own.

For a moment, he dreamed about putting his lips against your own and bringing you back to life with a kiss. Like some stupid fairytale.

“Y/N, I-”

I love you.

“I - I know.” You croaked quietly, cutting him off. “D-don’t w-waste it on me now-w.”

He felt the puff of your last breath as it expelled out against his cheek - he felt you go completely limp in his arms.

“No-” He choked the word off in his throat, swallowing down sobs.

No.

He held you tighter against him, and feeling how cold you were, he let out a shuddering howl of a sob. He clasped your lifeless body against his chest - somehow believing that he could use the power of his grief to inject more life back into you.

The rest of it was a blur. The deadly snap of springlocks, Vanessa shouting at him to abandon you - to abandon your body as the building collapsed in on itself.

Mike didn’t truly break down until he was scrubbing his blood off your face in the bathroom sink that night. Seeing the red washing down the drain and knowing that it was the last traces of your life he was washing away - that was what truly did it. He collapsed onto the floor and stayed there for hours, sobbing more than he breathed, unable to move.

When his cries finally died down, Abby slowly crept in and asked him how he was feeling. He lied, telling her that he was feeling fine. She raised up a shy hand, offering him one of your sweaters that you had accidentally left on their couch a few days prior.

He thanked her and then finally peeled himself off the floor. He tried to make pancakes and Abby remarked that they weren’t as good as yours. It felt impossible, but her words made him smile. It was a small, dull smile - but it was a smile, nonetheless.

A few days later, when he finally fell asleep for the first time after you had died in his arms, it was with that sweater wrapped around his pillow, wafting your faded smell into his nostrils. It was the first time in years that he didn’t dream about Garett. The dream he had about you was just as haunting.

...

A/N: Also, I don't know if Afton's knife would actually be long enough to go through someone's back and pierce out the front of their chest but - one, it's a cool imagery, and two, the knife looks pretty large when compared to the scale of the Springtrap suit hands. Anyway, I don't actually care all too much if it's accurate or not, I had fun writing this lmao.

#sundrop writes #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #blood tw #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie fanfiction

323 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 5 months ago

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 36 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

You are getting the feeling that Mariko Kimura doesn’t really like you.

And maybe it’s stupid, but you’re really not used to that.

Worse yet, this woman basically has a license to beat the hell out of you as The Personal Trainer–how else are you going to learn how to defend yourself in this vicious world? Strikes, blocks, throws, joint locks–she’s taking her job seriously, and after a week has gone by you’re not sure how much more you can actually handle. Maybe you’re a hiker girl, but it’s been a long time since you’ve done any athletic activity that demanded you give everything you have, take a breath, and then give fifty percent more. Your body hurts everywhere. Your torso is bruised in twenty places under your top, and you think she might have knocked one of your back teeth loose with a dirty punch.

You do not want to complain to John. You know he went through so much worse, and it would feel like tattling. So you take a moment to compose yourself on a bench before returning to your room, breathing deeply. That hurts too–jesus fuck, did she crack your ribs?

What you really want to do is have a good little cry, but that’s completely off the table.

Show no weakness.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

Your eyes fly open to find Winston Scott, looking dapper as ever in a pinstripe suit, standing nearby. You hadn’t heard him approach. That’s probably not a good thing, even in this supposedly neutral environment.

“I’m fine,” you say brightly with a smile you know looks more like a grimace. “Just…catching my breath.”

“May I?”

You scoot over on the antique wooden bench, very aware that you are sweaty as the proverbial whore in church, surprised this fastidious man would dare come within six feet of you at the moment.

“I must admit I was surprised when I saw that Jonathan enrolled you with Miss Kimura. She is close friends with Akira Shimazu.”

“I…don’t know what that means,” you admit.

“Ah. Well, Jonathan should.”

You blow out a long breath through your teeth, bracing your kidneys. Maybe a shower and a dip in the cool waters of the pool downstairs would be nice.

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” you sigh. If John suspects Mariko is playing rougher than what is demanded for some personal reason that has nothing to do with you, that could breed a whole new problem. You have enough problems.

“As you wish. I am not sure you know this about our Jonathan yet, but politics are not his strong suit. He is the best at what he does, but the more subtle machinations of our world still escape him.”

This doesn’t come as a total surprise to you, although if you let Winston in on some of the psychological games John played with you not so long ago, the old man’s hair might have stood on end.

Or, maybe not.

“Are you telling me it’s my job to keep him from killing everyone when the Camorra finally show for this sitdown?”

“Well. I’m sure you’ve heard tell of what happened with Santino d’Antonio.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps Jonathan is in a better state of mind these days thanks to you. But I also fear what our dear boy may do, to defend you.”

Hearing anyone call your fearsome assassin John dear boy brings a little smile to your lips. You are glad that someone seems to be in his corner. You’ve gotten the impression from hearing John talk that Winston is like a father figure to him. You’re relieved it goes both ways.

“I will keep what you’re telling me in mind.”

“That is all I ask,” he says with a nod, standing. “And perhaps, a little break from the Trainer would do you good.”

A small laugh escapes you–you know it sounds bitter. “You give very good advice, Mr. Scott.”

“I know I do. If only the young people around me would deign to benefit from my wealth of experience.” This is his parting shot, and you watch as he makes his exit stage left, leisurely strolling back down the hall like a king in his castle.

***

Lounging in a warm bubbly bath–with John Wick’s solid naked body behind you, maybe makes the beatings you’ve been taking worth it.

Ok, it’s totally fucking worth it. Nothing hurts anymore…except for when his soapy hands gently massaging your sore muscles find a bruise. There are a lot of them.

It also helps that a few minutes ago he ran those soapy hands all over your breasts and aching center, coaxing a soul-wrenching orgasm out of you, all while talking you through it with his low voice in your ear.

He never actually asked if you’re alright, and you take that as a compliment. Maybe it’s fucked up, but you’re kinda proud of your pain tolerance–and John’s quiet approval.

That doesn’t mean you’re capable of keeping your mouth shut about something else that’s bothering you.

“Who is Akira Shimazu?” you ask sleepily, your head lolled back on his broad shoulder. His hands pause tellingly upon you, before resuming their soothing circuit.

“She’s the daughter of one of my oldest friends, Koji,” he finally answers, his tone deliberately neutral. “He…was killed by the High Table, when I went to his Continental in Osaka for shelter.”

There is a lot to unpack in that sentence. You start with the part that alarms you the most. “Wait…the High Table are allowed to break the rules of the Continental?” If those fuckers were coming, supposedly to play mediator–what good would it do, if they were not bound to follow their own rules?

“Not usually,” he assures you. “The Marquis who was hunting me was granted…privileges.”

“Sounds like bullshit.”

“It was bullshit.”

You decide this is all the information you need to connect the dots. If you were Akira Shimazu, you would probably blame John Wick for your father’s death too. And if you were Akira’s friend, and had no recourse to hurt John Wick directly–beating up his girlfriend was pretty much the next best thing. Great.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Oh…just a conversation I had with Winston today.” You turn in the bath, reaching for the soap to return the favor to John, only in part to distract him. He weighs you with those dark eyes, only half believing you, or at least, sensing there’s more than what you’re telling him. You sit up straddling his lap, running your hands over his chest. His eyes slide closed, quiet for some time as you touch him. His wounds from the home invasion have healed now, his stitches out just the other day. Now they are simply slick pink flesh under your fingertips–as though it had all just been a bad dream.

These moments seem even more precious between you, now. You want to hoard them like a dragon with its pile of gold, keep them forever shining in your memory. You know what you’ll draw in your sketch journal tonight. You’ve been trying to keep up with a drawing a day, a way to pass the time, though the past week you’ve been too tired in the evening.

“Is Mariko…associated with Akira?”

Maybe Winston doesn’t give John enough credit.

“I think they might be friends.”

He touches a bruise on your arm with a new understanding, his dark brows drawn in a frown.

Well shit. So much for being subtle.

“Is she hurting you on purpose?”

“She’s…not pulling any punches. That’s ok, John. I’ve learned more this past week than in the five years I did in Tae Kwon Do.” You realize that is absolutely true.

John’s eyes narrow as he searches out your bruises with new eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s interesting to you, how it was par for the course before, but with the new information that it might be personal, it’s suddenly not ok.

“Don’t be.”

“I didn’t think I would be a good hand to hand combat teacher for you.”

“Why not?” you ask, not accusing, just curious.

“Because when I put my hands on you I just want to fuck you,” he admits bluntly, raising gooseflesh all across your body, your greedy cunt suddenly clenching in insistent reminder of her state of abject emptiness...drama queen.

“Even…if we were fighting?”

Considering his penchant for chasing, maybe you already know the answer to that. He blows through his nose, pulling you close with those mitts for hands on your hips so that you can feel he’s hard just with the thought of it.

He ducks to graze his teeth upon the curve of your shoulder, and your state of relaxation is starting to fly out the window again. This man.

“Especially if we were fighting,” he admits against your ear, his voice gravely with desire. “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking you down. I’d fuck you right there on the mat, and you wouldn’t learn a thing except that you drive me wild.”

Your nipples tighten with the thought, your breath caught in your throat, and he lifts you easily in the water with that controlling grip on your hips, rubbing your now slick center against his throbbing cock. Tub sex can be tricky, but the bath water stands no chance against the suddenly raging state of your arousal. Without further ado he lifts you onto his cock, impaling you on his thick tip. The glorious glide and stretch of his girthy shaft inside you still takes your breath away, like you can feel him in your lungs, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you squeak, winning a dark chuckle that scrambles your insides.

“Yeah.”

It’s the last intelligible word you manage, in the next few minutes, as he uses you just as he pleases, the water sloshing all around as he pistons inside you. It’s all you can do just to hold on, clenching tightly upon his insatiable erection the way you know makes him lose it.

“Touch yourself for me,” he invites, though you know he’s close. You’ve reached that point in your physical relationship when you know each other’s bodies so well, your rhythms and sounds, down to the very tone of a gasp or the desperation of a thrust.

“I don’t think I can cum again,” you admit, though you’re thoroughly enjoying him inside you.

You really didn’t mean it as a challenge, but when he smirks at you with that certain sparkle in his anthracite eyes you just know you’re in for it.

“Yes you can,” he insists, slowing his pace inside you, arching you back in his arms so that he can flick one of your nipples with his devilishly clever tongue. Oh. Well that’s not fair at all. You reach down to rub your clit while he fills you like this, delaying his pleasure to hit that perfect spot just past your entrance that makes you forget anything else exists in the world but you and him and the promise of a soul-snatching orgasm on the horizon.

“Give it up for me, my pretty girl,” he coaxes with his lips against your skin, and you know the snake must have sounded like that when he spoke to Eve. Tempting and forbidden and yet oh so reasonable. You’ve asked a lot from your body in the past few days. Maybe this is how you die–and what a way to go. That wonderful tingling pressure fills your hips and you moan, forgetting, again, that the other assassins down the hall probably do not want to hear more evidence that John Wick never misses.

There are stars in your eyes and a ringing in your ears as this shining, bone-shattering release takes you. You are a ragdoll in his arms as he fills you to the hilt and bathes your cervix with the hot rush of his cum. It’s all the two of you can do, not to sink into the water and drown. With a shaky sigh you kiss his lips before melting against him, re-learning how to breathe with his arms wrapped around you, your head on his shoulder.

He strokes your hair, whispering endearments so low you can’t really make them out, but the tone is so soothing you drift asleep for a few minutes. You only wake when he freshens the bath with more hot water, before drifting off again.

***

Much later, when both of your faculties have returned, and your fingers have turned to prunes, he tells you, “I think we’ll give you a break. We’ll start weapons training tomorrow. That, I will handle myself.”

This is news to you. “Here? In the hotel?”

“There’s an armory, a range, even a course.”

“In this hotel?”

He chuckles a little at your disbelief. “Yeah.”

The New York Continental: anything and everything a killer could need…

And here you are, trapped amongst them with the man you love. You know this is technically John’s world, but a part of you just can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here. That he shouldn’t have to be back here–it’s not fair.

You sit up in the water, reaching for a little yellow rubber duck on the side of the tub, not meeting John’s eyes. You’re not sure where it came from; there must be some inside joke you’re not privy to…but it’s cute.

You do feel some relief, knowing you’re not going to get beat up again tomorrow, though going through tactical firearms drills makes you more than a little nervous. You’re sure it will be different from plinking in the backyard on a Sunday with your dad and his drinking buddies. Ah, alcohol and guns–a time honored American classic.

“I feel like I’m walking out of here with my Certificate in Baddass Assassin Studies,” you say with a nervous little laugh. “What else is there? Are you going to teach me how to pinball flip someone with a muscle car? Maybe how to ride a motorcycle while swinging a katana?”

His lips twist in a smirk. “If you want, when we go home.”

You find the thought buoys you with hope. “Will we ever get to go home?”

“Unless you really want to move to Argentina,” he needles you.

“Argentina does sound pretty bitchin’...” you tease him.

He narrows his eyes at you; after all this time, it still gives you a thrill. “Are you sure your fascination with Argentina doesn’t stem from the good looking men who seem to live there?”

You make a raspberry at the thought. He still remembers Javi, it seems. You do too, of course, but all that feels like a distant dream in your memory. “Darling, I have all the Tall, Dark, and Handsome I can handle right here.” You place the rubber ducky on top of his head as though bestowing a crown, and he rolls his eyes before snatching you to him, water splashing all across the floor again.

“Who’s going–to clean–that up?” you tease between kisses and giggling, suddenly drunk on his arms around you, his strong hand running down your side to squeeze your behind before long fingers quest further towards your aching center.

“Baby, that is the least of your worries right now.”

“I can’t!” you whine in protest as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You absolutely give yourself away with your joyful laughter that turns into a moan.

“We’ll see, cheeky girl.”

This insatiable man really might prove the death of you.

----

Pretty sure the rubber ducky is all on @sweetwolfcupcake …😂😘😘😘

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick x y/n #yandere john wick #bittersweet coffee shop au

138 notes · View notes