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highhhfiveee · 7 months

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safety net (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

tags: fluff? angst? just exposition really. no mentions of porn or sex here! just mike being a hero and reader appreciating him errors in here as usual!

part two: 💸

you didn't really do dating.

you'd tried so many times before to no avail. things would start nicely, people making your laugh float into the air and your heart flutter, but it never got past that. anytime you start to think about these things seriously, the other party pulls away. you're always left in the dust, responsible for picking up the pieces of your heart, gluing them back together, and trying again.

it's exhausting and after your last failure, you're not sure you want to try again.

one chance encounter on a dating app changes your mind. you think it's so foolish how easily you fall into it, giggling and kicking your feet at yet another potential partner, but when your first date is coordinated successfully and the second and the third, you begin to feel safe enough to indulge.

for your fourth date, you've arrived at this fancy restaurant in the middle of the city. you're super done up, wearing a dress that you love but have to return in the morning and your tallest pair of heels. your hair is swept up just the way simon, your date, likes it. you never liked it this way, but he calls you "so beautiful" when he sees you like this, and it makes your blood rush in your ears so you wear it up any time you're around him.

simon was nice, but you didn't have much in common; he was a straight-edge tech guy. he went to bed at 10 every night and woke up at 6 every morning, planning his days out in five-minute increments (he'd excitedly showed you his planner and you had to pretend that you were very very interested 💔).

you, on the other hand, woke up at noon on days you didn't have to work, going to bed at 4 am the night before. you never knew what to do and your apartment was covered in sticky notes donning different tasks: "read book". "wash dishes". "mail off package".

you two managed nice, small talk-ish conversation and he made you feel pretty. the only thing you two had in common was your love for coffee.

you're seated at your table and all goes well up until you receive the check, although you're a little bored. you're picking at your dessert and wondering if the art on the walls is real as simon opens the billbook and slides a card in there.

"i have to go to the bathroom. be right back," he stands, craning his head down to place a kiss on your cheek, and then you're alone, finally tuning into the din of the restaurant. it's busier than you realized.

your waitress takes your bill and leaves to tender you out. simon is still using the bathroom, and at first, it's not worrying. you wouldn't be surprised if he got lost on the way there, but after ten minutes, you start to worry.

the waitress returns to your table and you think you're fine to leave, but she sets the billbook on the table, stating, "did you have another form of payment? it said this card was expired."

you shake your head, anxiously blinking your eyes. "expired?" you open the book to see the $400 total at the bottom of your receipt and simon's card tucked behind the plastic pouch. you take it out and inspect the expiration date. three years gone.

"i--i, uh," you begin to panic. you had no idea what to do. you didn't have $400 in your bank account, $405.72 less than that actually. you didn't have anyone to call to spot you; what normal person had a casual $400 to throw at a friend for dinner? if you called your mom, she would laugh over the receiver the whole time, hanging up on you.

the waitress is staring at you, expectantly, but you can't even meet her gaze. in your alarm, you scanned your eyes around the restaurant and caught simon, in his very noticeable purple suit jacket, speed-walking towards the entrance of the restaurant.

you shoot to your feet, taking off your heels, wrangling up your other belongings and dashing after him.

you hear the waitress shout, "ma'am!" behind you but there's no stopping you. what are you gonna do, pay for the meal?

you're pushing yourself in between other patrons, forgetting your manners. you're hyperfocused on simon, keeping track of his head bobbing through the throng of people.

he's made it outside just a little before you, using a brisk pace to walk down the sidewalk.

"simon!" you yell, watching him speed up a bit until he's a phantom around the corner. "simon!!!"

there are some stragglers outside, just a few eyes on the frantic girl holding her heels and screaming. you're sure they think you're drunk, but you don't care.

you scream simon's name one more time. it's shrill and blood-curdling and something you'd never expect to come out of you. you didn't get upset like this, and you know you're truly upset when you feel a tear hit your arm.

you rarely cried, but here you were, breaking down on the sidewalk outside one of the most expensive restaurants in the state. you take a despondent seat on a bench, trying to catch your breath and stop crying. you take your hair down childishly, and the thought of simon liking it sends you back into tears.

you're a blubbering, snot-covered mess when mike sees you. he's exiting the restaurant, asking for his car from valet when he notices you on the bench, staring blankly into the air.

you're beautiful, and he's unsure as to why you're sitting here in tears. no one else decides to check on you. he takes the initiative.

his hand reaches out to your shoulder and it makes you jump, shouting at him to back away from you. he holds up his hands, muttering, "hey, hey. i'm sorry, i don't want to hurt you. i just wanted to ask if you were okay."

you don't expect the voice that comes out of him. its suburban, syrupy tone doesn't quite match his look; his hair is freshly cut and it feels like there's not a single wrinkle in any of his clothes. they look quality, and expensive. the rings adorning most of his fingers give off the same vibe.

great. one of these guys.

"i'm fine," you snap, wiping at your congested nose with the back of your hand. "i don't need saving, especially not from a nice guy like you."

mike laughs, and you're embarrassed to admit to yourself that you like how it sounds.

"who said i was a nice guy? i just asked if you were okay." you shrink away, avoiding his eyes.

"it's not my fault that you give that off. sounds like a you problem."

mike doesn't stop talking to you, which is surprising. even with all the disrespect, he sits beside you and rummages along the inside of his jacket for something to give you.

you don't admit it, but you're thankful for the small plastic package of tissues. "everyone has problems. there seems to be one plaguing you right now," he leans into your shoulder, eyeing you intently. "wanna tell me what it is?"

you're still cleaning yourself up, taking another tissue out to wipe at your ruined makeup when the waitress marches out of the restaurant with two burly security guards behind her. she points to you with zeal, announcing, "that's her."

the security guards make their way over to you, disregarding mike as he asks, "woah, woah, what's going on?"

"this young lady tried to skip out on her bill." you shake your head irritably, standing to your feet. you're not even half the height of these dudes.

"i didn't, my date did. he put an expired card down to pay and then used the bathroom excuse to get out of it." mike shakes his head. in what world would someone try to escape a date with you?

"makes sense, but you still have to pay for the meal."

"how the fuck am i supposed to do that?" you screech, crossing your arms over your chest. "i don't have any money. i have to return this stupid fucking dress in the morning just so i can pay my rent."

the dress is nice. it's a black satin maxi dress with thin straps and a slit up the side. it's fairly simple, but mike can't deny how well it fits you, and how good you look in it.

"i don't know what you're going to do, but you better do something or we're going to have to call the police."

"fucking call them! i don't care," you retort, and so begins your back and forth with the security personnel.

"you don't care?"

"no."

"are you an idiot? you just don't care?"

"okay, one, i'm not an idiot and two, i really don't. this whole situation is fucking stupid. i can't pay the bill, okay? i don't know what to tell you."

"my mom always said that as a female, you should never be broke. maybe it's time for you to stand on that corner right there in that pretty dress and sell your---" the man is cut off by a sharp "hey, watch yourself. i'll fucking kill you." from mike. he steps to the security guards, who retreat a little when they realize he's not joking.

you don't know this man, not even his name, but he asked you if you were okay then and now, he's standing up for you, even after you accused him of being a nice guy. you make a mental note to apologize to him after all of this.

"i'll pay the fucking bill. how much is it?"

"it's $400, mr. schmidt," the waitress says, her face awash with red. Last name basis? How often did he come to this expensive ass restaurant?

mike looks at you and then back to the waitress, saying, "charge it to my tab. tip the bill." The waitress nods excitedly, echoing, "thank you, thank you, thank you" as she scurries back inside with the security guards. They give mike dirty looks the entire way back, giving up just before disappearing into oblivion.

mike faces you. He's a little disheveled in the eyes, the irritation he holds inside written all over his face. somehow, even his scowl is attractive.

you rub your hands over your goosebumped arms, the chill in the air wildly apparent. mike is instantly shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, giving you a friendly smile. it's warm inside, and smells like the expensive department store colognes you snuck samples of as a kid. for some reason, you feel at ease.

"i'm sorry about your date. he sounds like a dickhead."

"yeah," you agree, biting at your cracked bottom lip. "i guess it's my fault. i really shouldn't have trusted a guy who planned his day by fives."

"hours?"

"minutes."

mike sucks air between his teeth, cringing at your words. "he sounds like a psychopath."

"maybe he was," you hum, using the lapels of mike's coat to pull it tighter around you. "dodged bullet."

"dodged bullet," he repeats, smirking down at you. his hazel eyes sparkle. you don't know why you feel so... positively unnerved yet tranquil in his presence. who was this man?

"mr. schmidt?" a valet worker in all white exits an expensive-looking, deep gray sports car. the interior looks like a spaceship, and you can't help but crane your neck a little further to get a better look.

you're not paying attention as the worker drops the keys into mike's hand and mike hands him a hundred-dollar bill he fished from his pocket. you're just focused on the car, wondering a million things. how much was it? how was its gas mileage? did it take premium gas or something more?

"do you need a ride home?" mike holds the keys up, jangling them in front of your face. you connect the dots and let out a loud belly laugh, completely blindsided.

"this is your car?"

"i...think so?" he teases, watching the happiness fall from your face. a ride home. why would you want to go home to be alone, once again collecting the jagged pieces of your broken heart from the floor?

mike instantly stiffens. "that was a joke," he clarifies, but you dismiss it with a raise of your hand.

"no no, it was fine, funny even. i just...i don't want to go home right now."

"do you want to come back to mine?" mike doesn't know if it's too forward, but it doesn't hurt to try. you needed company, and nothing would ever compel him to leave you here after everything. he catches the way your face twitches and raises his hands in defense again. "no funny business, i promise. just so you're safe, and not alone tonight."

you don't think over it very long. you'd been to plenty of strangers' houses, and this was only one night. you were sure you could trust this man. after your date from hell and nearly going to jail, what was the harm?

"okay, i'll come. thank you," you muse as mike leads you to the passenger side of his car. he opens the door for you, and you crane your head to him before you sit down. you're so close you can see the flecks in his hazel eyes, the freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, every single individual hair that peppers his jaw and mouth. it makes you forget your name.

"i'm y/n, by the way." he nods and smiles at you, wide and bright. suddenly, your legs feel like noodles.

"nice to meet you, y/n. i'm mike."

"mike," you repeat as you lower yourself into his car. "mike."

who knew where this would lead you?

been up all night writing this ayyeeeee, i write SO MUCH! going to work on writing blurbs, i promiseeeeeee. also this is very cute. i'm excited to delve into their story because it will be mostly pwp (for ficlets and blurbs) but definitely more structured for longer fics. can't wait to see where it goes!

#fnaf #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf fic #mike schmidt angst #mike stands up for you & you're like ?????#you can't believe it #you'll fall in love with him instantly #i did #faire is writing stuff #faire’s mike schmidt <3 #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3

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