ollieneedsamilkshake - Tumblr blog

ollieneedsamilkshake · 6 months ago

Text

First-Date Forecast?

synopsis: Your a disaster when it comes to your first date with this mystery guy,

pairing: Sylus x F!reader

wc: 1.9k

content tags: fluff, Reader nearly having a mental breakdown, Sylus being rich

a/n: written for @illusionaryennui for @unintentionalseductress 's valentine's day event :> I hope you like it (and that I didn't mischaracterise Sylus)

Central Linkon- 5:20 pm.

Shit.

This day could not get any worse.

First, it was raining. Not the gentle, romantic kind of rain that makes you want to dance in the streets—no, this was the relentless, soak-you-to-your-soul kind. Your glasses had fogged up five times, in the time it had taken you to hop off of the bus and walk ten, no maybe nine steps, forcing you to stop and clean them with increasingly damp sleeves.

And to top it off? You were late. To a first date.

Shit!

You weaved through the crowded streets of Linkon, speedwalking like your life depended on it. Rush hour was in full swing, and every step felt like a battle to avoid tripping over someone—or yourself. The rain-slicked pavement didn’t help. Neither did the fact that you were searching for a restaurant you’d never even seen before.

A quick glance at your phone told you everything you needed to know: two missed calls and a handful of unread messages.

Damn it.

Was this a bad idea? What if he wasn’t into shorter girls? What if he liked… skinny blondes? Or didn’t like redheads? Or—oh no—what if he thought freckles were gross? Like, bubonic plague levels of gross?

You groaned, your frantic steps faltering as you came to a stop in the middle of the bustling street. The rain continued to pour, and you stood there, soaked, lost, late, and spiralling into a full-blown existential crisis over the last fifteen years of your life.

This was just great. Amazing. Spectacular. Absolutely wonderful. Could your life get any worse?

“There you are.”

Oh.

The voice caught you off guard—deep but smooth, with an air of sophistication. It wasn’t gruff like the guy who sat next to you at work (you knew way too much about his love for protein shakes). No, this voice had an elegance to it, like the sound of an expensive wine you could never afford being poured into a crystal glass.

You turned toward the voice, your heart doing an embarrassing little backflip as your eyes locked on him. Sylus. This was the guy you’d been set up on a blind date with?

This guy?!

He stood just a few feet away, holding out an umbrella for you to take—his head tilted slightly, rain seeming to part around him like he had some kind of divine weather shield. The storm didn’t dare touch him. His white hair (Woah…) had that annoyingly perfect "effortlessly tousled" look you couldn’t pull off in a million years.

He was perfect. Unfairly perfect. From his sharp, angular features to his cool and collected expression, he looked completely unbothered, as if he hadn’t been standing in the rain for who-knows-how-long.

He tilted his head, his gaze flicking from your soaked coat to the mess of papers poking out of your bag. One corner of his mouth twitched—was that almost a smile? Maybe?

“I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” he said, his tone smooth, edged with just enough amusement to set your cheeks burning.

“I... might have,” you admitted, waving your phone in a half-hearted attempt to explain. “This whole ‘new place’ thing isn’t really my forte.”

He nodded, as if that was the most logical thing in the galaxy, then stepped closer, offering a hand. “Let me take that,” he said, motioning to your bag. His voice, calm and low, almost made you forget how soaked and frazzled you looked.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. A gentleman. Of course. Now you felt like a disaster in comparison. “Oh, uh, thanks. I’ve got it,” you mumbled, clutching the strap tighter. “Besides, I think it’s waterproof. Maybe.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “Right,” he said simply.

Was he laughing at you?

Central Linkon- 5:35 pm.

When Sylus invited you to a dinner date, this was definitely not what you had envisioned. You’d imagined something cozy—maybe cute little tables, soft music playing, cheap-but-cheerful food. A heartfelt, romantic vibe.

Not...this.

The restaurant looked like it was run by the mafia. Everything was drenched in shades of red and gold, from the ornate carpets to the grand chandeliers. It felt less like a spot for dinner and more like the backdrop for some high-stakes deal.

You clutched the straps of your backpack tighter, shrinking behind Sylus as the two of you stepped inside. Why, oh WHY, hadn’t you left the stupid thing at home? Or the office? Or literally anywhere else on this planet?

Sylus, of course, looked completely at ease. Hands in his pockets, head held high, he strode toward the table like he belonged here. Like red velvet and gilded trim were just part of his natural habitat.

You scurried after him, trying not to feel too out of place as you glanced around at the décor. Vintage paintings lined the walls, pieces straight out of the Renaissance. For a moment, your heart twinged. As a kid, you’d dreamed of having your finger paintings displayed like that. Who wouldn’t?

When Sylus sat down opposite you, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. Red eyes. Why were his eyes red? You made a mental note to ask later. For now, you were too busy trying not to look like you’d just wandered into the wrong part of town.

The waiter appeared almost instantly—seriously, were they psychic?—dressed in a crisp black suit that looked more expensive than your entire wardrobe. They handed you an ornate menu, embossed with gold lettering, and you tried not to gape at it.

Sylus, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed. He opened his menu casually, glancing over the options as if he'd done this a hundred times before. Maybe he had. His cool demeanour only made you more self-conscious, and you found yourself fumbling with your own menu, struggling to hold onto both it and your backpack at the same time.

"So," Sylus said, breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you immediately forgot how to read. "What do you think so far?"

You hesitated, glancing around the room again. The glimmering chandeliers, the thick red drapes, the gilded frames—it all screamed high society, and you were pretty sure your drenched coat and scuffed boots screamed not invited.

"It’s, uh… fancy," you managed, feeling like the understatement of the century.

Sylus’s lips curved into what might have been a smirk. "Don’t worry. They won’t bite." He nodded toward the waiter, who was standing just far enough away to give the illusion of privacy while still keeping an unnervingly watchful eye on the table. "Unless you order the snapping turtle soup. Then you might have a problem.”

Your eyes widened. "Wait, is that... real?"

His smirk deepened just slightly, but he didn’t answer, leaving you to wonder if he was joking or if you’d just walked into the most bizarre dinner of your life.

The waiter returned, and Sylus ordered with practiced ease, rattling off something that sounded both impossibly elegant and completely foreign to you. When it was your turn, you panicked and pointed to the first thing you saw on the menu, hoping it wouldn’t cost more than a month’s rent. The waiter nodded and disappeared without a word.

"Good choice," Sylus said, leaning back in his chair. His red eyes gleamed with quiet amusement, and you couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or teasing you. Either way, your stomach did a little flip.

“...So, uh…” You floundered, your brain scrambling for literally anything to say. Your eyes darted around the table, the walls, the chandelier—anything that could spark a topic of conversation. “How did you… find this place? It wasn’t on Google Maps or anything.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his expression calm, almost amused. “I own it,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Oh. That… made sense.

Wait. HE OWNS IT???

Your jaw dropped. Owns it? He owns it?

“Oh,” you managed, your voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched—more a squeak than an actual word.

Sylus’s smirk deepened; his red eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched the realization crash over you. He was clearly enjoying how flustered you’d become. Stupid handsome guy, with his stupid smirk, and his stupid amazing restaurant… and that stupid, perfect face—

“I like your glasses.” His voice cut through your inner monologue. “They frame your eyes well.”

What.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to him. Was he serious? The intensity of his stare confirmed it. Oh no. Your face instantly turned the colour of a ripe tomato, and you could feel the heat creeping all the way to your ears.

“T-th- you- thank- I- uhm…” English. Just speak English.

You cleared your throat, desperate to sound even remotely composed. “What… do you like to do?” you blurted out, your voice creeping dangerously close to a squeak. That wasn’t helpful. At all.

Sylus leaned back slightly, humming in thought as his gaze drifted toward the ornate chandelier above. Why was he so… UGH. His calm, collected aura only made you feel more like a tightly wound ball of nerves.

You fidgeted in your seat, your fingers clutching at your bag as if it could somehow shield you from his unnerving poise. Finally, he spoke, his tone casual but still carrying that magnetic depth you were starting to find unfairly distracting.

“I like singing and going to auctions,” he said, his piercing red eyes returning to meet yours. “How about you?”

STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS. The thought screamed in your head, but you bit it back, trying to appear calm. Instead, you blurted, “Oh, cool. Nice—I, uhm, I like poetry, and I used to paint a lot… but recently, uh, I’ve been really busy with overtime at work.”

As soon as the words were out, you regretted them. Why did you sound so boring? His eyebrow arched slightly, and your stomach dropped. Was he going to laugh? Make a snide comment about painting being childish or poetry being dull?

Your gaze darted away before you could see his reaction, heat rising to your face. But then he nodded—and smiled. A real, genuine smile.

“What type of poetry? And where do you work?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying a thread of genuine curiosity.

Wait—what? He… was interested?

For the first time that evening, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease, a warm feeling in your chest. His interest felt genuine, not forced, and the way he listened—his focus entirely on you—made your usual anxieties soften. You found yourself smiling without meaning to, the words tumbling out more naturally than before.

By the end of the night, the restaurant felt less intimidating, the world outside the rain-slicked windows quieter. Sylus walked you to the door, umbrella in hand, and paused just as you stepped onto the street.

“I’d like to do this again sometime,” he said, his voice steady, but there was a rare warmth there—so subtle you almost missed it.

Your breath caught for half a second. “Yeah,” you managed, the word a whisper. Then, a bit louder, surer of yourself, “I’d like that too.”

The rain fell around you, but under the small circle of the umbrella, it felt like the world had stilled for just a moment.

Thank you for reading!!

#sylus fluff #ncs valentines day #blind date matchmaking

62 notes · View notes