Mr Robot Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

could you do an elliot x reader where the reader comforts him after his dream of making out with tyrell turns into a nightmare of being strangled to death by vera?

Semper Ad Meliora

Yeah, this is exactly what the ask says. Little bit of tyrelliot, then a classic hurt/comfort that hopefully didn’t end up being too corny or dramatic. It starts out in Elliot’s perspective and then switches to the reader’s. The title is Latin because I felt like it.

warnings: like... pg-13 sexuality, language, violence, references to suicide

There aren’t many people in this world who like me. There aren’t many people who even try to find something about me they understand. Which is why when Tyrell finally steps forwards and leans in towards me, I don’t step away.

His lips meet mine and I shudder. My bones ignite when he touches me, hot and trembling under my skin. One of his hands cups my face and he pulls me closer, his frame flush against mine, and suddenly I’m allowing him to rule me, to move my body how he wants as he nips at my bottom lip. My lips part without me telling them too, giving him entrance and answering the question of attraction that had never been asked. Little by little his hands move lower, caressing down my neck to unzip my jacket and grab my waist. Never before have I thought of Tyrell as strong, but with every moment that he holds me, that his lips are soft and commanding against mine and his tongue searches for more, I feel less and less in control. And the heat that rises between us through my chest and sparks my heart to beat in double time tells me that for once, I like it.

He pauses in his attack for a moment and hovers his lips against mine, breathless. “We’re gods, Elliot. And this is enlightenment.”

There isn’t enough time for me to think of a response, all I want is to feel him on me again, to consume me so my world can be his. This time I reach to him, lacing my hand into his hair and pulling him in. There’s a restlessness in his kissing now, a harshness to the almost animalistic moaning escaping from his throat. He moves into me, pushing me back with one hand on my chest and the other pulling me closer to him from behind.

Before I realize it, we’ve toppled back onto my bed. He pins me down with his body, a dangerous position with a dangerous man made safe by mutual pleasure. He whispers my name and all thought leaves me as blood rushes to every part of my body. All I am is hunger that wants to be fed and prey about to be devoured. My hands move to touch him, to draw the rippling muscle and soft, inviting edges closer to me. He pauses and pulls his shirt off and an involuntary growl comes from somewhere within me. I want to feel him, to hold every bit of him from his proud chest to the heaving, sweating abs to the perfect v leading downward. My progress is blocked by his pants and I desperately search for the button, too impatient to wait any longer. I can feel him hard against me and it makes me all too aware of my own arousal, the throbbing and hardening that won’t be ignored much longer.

Both his hands find my neck. They toy at my collar then still with the thumbs crossing over my trachea.

I freeze and close my eyes, the fire in my body threatening to go out. “Tyrell…”

Instead of relaxing like I hoped, his hands clench around my throat. A split second which feels like an eternity passes as I realize I can’t breathe. I try to cough, gag, anything to release the mounting pressure, but nothing works. I want to push him off of me but my limbs have turned to heavy stone. All semblance of mobility has escaped me. My eyes, the only piece of me I still have control of, snap open to find Vera leaning over me, all his weight coming down on my neck. He leers at me, the purple around his eyes horrifyingly bright. This is a dead body reanimated, the true appearance of a man so disturbed and twisted. His skin looks like thin paper, the veins visible through waxy, sweaty flesh. Bloody tears pool in the skeletally hollow skin beneath his eyes and run down his face to drip onto mine.

My eyes water and a sour taste claims my mouth. Vera lifts one hand off of me and taps it to his own chest, but it doesn’t change the fact that I, without question, am suffocating. He bumps his fist against his chest. The pattern of his pounding matches the beating of my gradually slowing heartbeat.

He laughs when he sees my eyes widen. “I just wanna help you be your true self. This ain't a death, Elliot. You’ll be reborn.”

My head is exploding, the pressure is too much. I need to escape, to run, to fly, to die, anything to get away from this monster in front of me. A fire lights in my lungs. Heat in my chest burns me from the inside and I want to writhe with the pain of it, do anything to express the agony that insists on being felt. The flames lick up and incinerate every part of me they touch. The torture reaches up through my throat, past Vera’s impervious hands, and into the gaps behind my eyes. If only I could surrender, let myself slip away into unconsciousness, even death, then it would be gone. It would all be gone.

If higher powers do exist, death is the only one that comes when called. I fall away, off some invisible ledge into an infinite abyss. My stomach drops away from me, then I hit something hard and jolt awake.

I stare into the dark of my apartment. Qwerty’s fishbowl looks empty in the black. My jacket sits abandoned next to my couch, an empty envelope lying next to it. Nothing moves. I wipe a cold sweat from my face and take a moment to catch my breath. Just a dream. Vera is dead. Tyrell is dead. There’s nobody left to hurt me. Nobody real, anyway. As much as I try to convince myself, as much as I silently scream to empty space that they’re gone, something in me remains unconvinced and their silhouettes dance on my chest at night, taunting me. They call back to recent memories that I want more than anything to bury and forget about again.

My cheeks are wet. I was crying in my sleep. Fuck me. I stare up at my computer for a moment. It feels a million miles away just sitting across my room. I can’t make it there. My arms hang limp, folded weakly over my shuddering chest, and I think my legs are shaking. Dead or not, Vera can still take my power away from me. He will always be the one in control.

My phone is right next to me. I hesitate, held by some remnant of paralysis and the emptiness of my apartment. I think that all color has abandoned me. The inexpressible blackness in the corners of this room and the shadows that lie as paralized as I am are proof of this. The stillness and the silence turn the space into a coffin that calls me to join the lifelessness. I can’t let the darker parts of my mind rule me, but for every moment I try to steady the shuddering in my breathing and convince myself the danger is all in my head, the hair on the back on my neck stands up in defiance. 

Maybe Darlene would understand. She at least is distractingly loud, her voice alone a force to be reckoned with. But I can’t tell her about Vera. She doesn’t need to help me carry that burden. I reach over and grab my phone, breaking the spell that I let bind me. I scroll through the contacts, passing Darlene’s to settle on the only other person I can think of. The only other person who takes me as I am and seems, somehow, to accept the chaos that swirls in every corner of my mind. 

I give up on trying to explain anything and type the first thing that comes to mind, hitting send without reading it back. 

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The freezing New York night air hits your bare legs. You twiddle a cigarette between your fingers and watch the tiny glow at the end. The windowsill you sit in is layered with dust, collected over time by your reluctance to close off your outlet to the world. You want the breeze, the cold, the odd smells and sounds of one of the less sanitary neighborhoods. It makes you feel like you’re constantly eavesdropping on the world, plucking bits of other people’s lives and loves out of empty air, like catching snowflakes and watching them melt in your palm, forgotten. Nobody can see you from the ground. The altitude allows only your silhouette to be visible from the ground level and that only adds to your attraction to the open window. You want to shiver when you step out of the shower like you did tonight because it gives you the option to sit naked and let the elements batter your skin raw. Time enjoyed is not time wasted, John Lennon said that, and you like the thought, even if it seems a bit optimistic. 

You hold the cigarette out into the wind and watch the flame flicker. The little light seems to belong to the night sky. It joins the stars in their shining and matches the pale gold of the moon. Strange, how you pick your poisons. This little cigarette could eventually cause your death, but still you sit here, taking drag after drag of it, not a real care in the world.

Your phone buzzes and you snap out of your pointless reverie. You grab it, turn it on, and freeze at the time. You’ve been sitting here doing nothing for hours when you should be asleep. One in the morning is a ridiculous time to be gazing out the window, but the city never sleeps, and honestly, why should you?

You read the text before checking who sent it; I need you again. At first, you ponder ignoring it, all too used to the amount of late night texts from guys trying to be romantic, but the name Elliot Alderson jumps out at you. You quickly type out your response; ur lucky i lost track of time. i almost went to bed. omw, and send it. There are clothes littered all over the floor of your apartment and you grab a few at random and pull them on. Normally you’d put at least a bit of effort into your appearance, but you’re meeting Elliot. He’s seen you with the darkest shadows under your eyes and the greasiest hair and gave zero shits.

You call yourself an Uber and get to his apartment in record time. The stairs up to his floor seem like they go on forever and exhaustion makes your head spin before you take a minute to snap yourself out of it. You try his door and find it uncharacteristically unlocked. He must’ve opened it when you texted him back. You let yourself in and blink hard, your eyes unused to the dark.

Your heart sinks when you catch sight of him through the gloom. He sits on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, the sheets twisted into piles around him; he’d been thrashing. A bit of blood drips down his shoulder from a scratch near his neck where he must’ve nicked himself. The sinews and veins in his throat work in constant tiny motions and the skin around his eyes looks puffy and red. He hasn’t acknowledged your presence, his glassy eyes rooted on a corner of his kitchen area a little to the left of you, but it doesn’t matter.

You search around for his backpack, which has never been in the same spot twice when you’ve been to his place. Tonight it’s sitting next to his radiator, shoved into the corner. You pull his laptop out of it, check that the battery has juice, then make your way over to sit slowly down next to him. Nothing you do can be sudden right now, judging by how shaken he already looks. Lifelessness doesn’t suit him. It draws the color out of his skin and steals the awareness you’d grown used to. You sit next to a shell of the man you know him to be, all semblance of soul ripped from him. You’re here to bring him back to life.

You open the laptop and think out loud to snap him out of the hole he’s dug himself into at least a little bit. “Careful Massacre or Back To The Future or As Good As It Gets… I’m thinking tonight is a Marty Mcfly night.”

He doesn’t move at first, though you hear him take a deep, shaky breath, then he reaches over and types his passcode into the computer. He looks vaguely over at the screen as you pull the movie up and push play. The flickering white light and awkward voiceover countdown that introduce the movie feel like an assault on your senses after the noir peace of the New York night, but even just a few seconds Elliot starts to blink himself back to earth. You smile. Nothing like the comfort of a near-memorized movie to help someone claim back the weight in their bones.

Almost two hours later the movie ends. You sigh and place the laptop down on the bed next to you. The end credits music plays in the background and adds to the empty air. To you, having sound in the background makes even the scariest subjects seem less intimidating, like having something to lean into if you can’t handle someone’s words somehow lessens their power. Elliot’s breathing has settled and the dazed, glassy look in his eyes has disappeared, replaced by the sharp, shy glint of silent calculations you’re used to. He’d leaned back while you were watching, using his elbows to hold his weight and prop himself up. Since he’s pretty close to that position anyway, you flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

“So, you wanna tell me what happened now?” You can sometimes coax Elliot into talking on nights like these. Being so blunt makes you cringe inwardly, but if you’re going to get an explanation out of him, he needs a push. His weight falls on the mattress next to you as he mirrors your position, lying on his back with his eyes pinned on the ceiling. You turn your head and see his eyes shut, his lashes still slick with leftover specks of tears.

Just when you’re ready to interrupt the tense silence with the suggestion of opening a window or taking a walk, he speaks. “I’ve watched a lot of people die. Don’t think I realized there was a pattern at first. Angela always said that the stuff that happens to us when we’re kids shapes the rest of our lives, but I don’t think... I guess I never took that seriously. I forced myself to forget. Wish I hadn’t. Maybe things would make sense.”

“Do you mean-”

“You saw Vera’s body. I saw it. I saw his blood spilled all over Krista’s rug. He’s dead. Gone. There’s nothing left of him.” His words have weight, like he can’t get them all the way out of his throat, but if he doesn’t, he’ll choke. “Tyrell, too. They never found his body but it was freezing out. Nobody can survive that with a bullet wound. He knew that and so did I. If I had stopped him from walking off then-”

“If you start down that path you’re never going to stop wondering what you could’ve done,” You whisper the words to the ceiling. “The hypotheticals don’t matter anymore. Like you said, they’re dead, so-”

“Then why can’t they leave me the fuck alone?” His words pitch to a yell, a bark of desperation which cracks as it reaches its peak. 

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer you. You take a deep breath and squint at the ceiling. Patience has never been a virtue of yours, but you tend to be able to find untapped reserves of it for Elliot. You know what it’s like to get lost in your own mind, to blink and find the world covered in mist because, once again, you took shelter in your thoughts. One time before it took him forever to finally tell you what was haunting him. He told you afterward that he wouldn’t be angry if you ran from him, that he wouldn’t blame you if you turned your back on him.

“You won’t scare me. I’ve been here from the start and never turned away.” Sometimes all he needs is a reminder.

“I see them in my dreams. Vera, Tyrell, sometimes Shayla or Angela. Tyrell doesn’t even shake me. He’s how he was when I knew him. All that fervor and ambition wrapped up in someone with no morals. He feels real,” He falls silent and you can feel his hand moving, probably grabbing hold of the blanket underneath him. “Vera’s different.”

“He tries to break you?” 

“He says he’s saving me. Says he’s going to help me be reborn.”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide that you can’t stand the twisting feeling in your gut that comes from hiding information from him. “He told me about it. About what Vera did. Your other pers- Mr. Robot.”

“I know. I was there.”

“You were…?” You don’t exactly know what to make of this, but feel relieved that Elliot knew what was happening.

“He wouldn’t agree to tell you if I wasn’t. I needed someone to know. I couldn’t tell you myself,” He pulls his arms over his stomach and takes a deep breath. “Didn’t know what to do or how to keep going. Still don’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat formed by the strain in his words. “I don’t think you’re supposed to. I can’t even imagine having all of that thrown in my face in one night. You went through something nobody should ever have to go through. We’re not made to take that kind of shit. Nobody would know what to do after that. But you have to keep going.”

Elliot grinds his teeth, a small sound made audible by the muted world around you. “Why?”

“Fuck if I know… because I wouldn’t really like a world without you? I’d miss you. A lot. Or because even if you don’t feel like it all the time, there’s so much to move forward to. There’s so much you haven’t done yet,” You glance over at him and see his eyes shut again. Your next words come out as an almost whisper. “Sometimes for me the only thing that keeps me going is the fact that the city is beautiful and different every time I look at it. And if I… if I just gave up then I might miss something.”

There’s something about lying in the dark late at night that weeds the truth out from amongst the lies. Everything said here is sacred and ephemeral. The words will dissipate into the air and never resurface again, except for perhaps in loaded glances and hushed, desolate words. Long ago you accepted that although the sun sees the most of you, the moon and stars know all your secrets. Elliot seems to share in the understanding that the midnight hours are to be trusted, that the parts of him that are hidden in the day can come out to play. The tenebrosity of his demons blend in with the black of the sky and remain faceless.

Some time passes and your words hang in the pregnant air. You can’t get a read on him. The laptop next to you has long since fallen asleep, the light of the screen snuffing out and leaving the room in total darkness once again. The only thing you can hear is Elliot’s quiet breathing.

To your surprise, he breaks the silence first. “What if the pain doesn’t end?”

You take a moment to think out your answer before you speak. “I can’t pretend like I could understand how you feel. I’ve lived a pretty simple life. But I can say with full confidence that it never really goes away. But it does get easier. Every time it hits you it pushes you down to the ground and stomps on you for good measure, but you learn how to stand back up. And eventually that stomp turns to a punch in the face, and then a hard pinch, and then nothing. And, after a really long time, you can catch yourself when you fall,” You smile despite yourself, the memories of people you’ve lost making your heart skip a tiny beat. “You learn to live with it. You survive it. And it’s the hardest thing to do, but when it really comes down to it, it’s either that or surrendering. And you, Elliot, have never been one to stop fighting.”

“I wish there was another way out.” His voice is finally back to normal, no strained waver or veiled desperation. Just weary, resigned honesty.

“Yeah, me too. Unfortunately, the only thing to do is reach into darkness and take what you can get,” You wrap your arms around yourself, uncomfortably aware of your heart beating in your chest. “Just make sure you have someone as an anchor. It can be hard to remember you exist sometimes.”

“Will you be here for me?” His words are thin and deathly quiet.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always have me.”

“Okay.” There’s a sense of weariness to his tone, exhaustion finally showing itself. His hand reaches out to touch yours. His fingers lace their way through yours and grab on tight like you’re the only thing keeping him on solid ground.

“Always, Elliot. You’ll have me.”

Masterlist

Meet the Author: Hello! I’m Alex and I’m a garbage fire of a person who has no clue what she’s doing. I’m a Pisces, an INFJ, and forever a hopeless romantic with a flare for drama. I started watching Mr. Robot with no intention of joining the fandom, but then I happened to decide I love Elliot and, well, here we are.

Requests are open, I take forever to write but it will get done. I genuinely enjoy being dm-ed and will talk forever about the majority of Rami Malek’s characters. I almost always have some kind of prompt list up as well.

Oneshots:

Claustrophobia: Essentially Mastermind’s origin story (the server room incident)

Semper Ad Meliora: (Elliot x Reader) after-nightmare comforting. You all know how these kinds of plot go but we never really get sick of them. Title translates to “Always Towards Better Things.”

Worth It: (Elliot x Reader) First thing I wrote on here. How I thought meeting Mr. Robot early on might go down.

How The Impossible Happens: (Elliot x Shayla) My own rendition of their first date. Also happens to be my favorite thing I’ve ever written.

A Love Letter to Mr. Robot, A Confession, And The Importance of Picking Yourself Up: why the show means so much to me and many other people

Multi-Chapter WIPS:

In His Eyes: (Elliot x Reader) Essentially a road trip and coming of age with some extra drama mixed in. Really cliché at times, but honestly, sometimes you just need a cute and messy kind of thing. Will most likely be 3 chapters long.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Ad Astra

tfw you’re watching a video of Martin Wallström speaking in Swedish and the subtitles say that he reads Tyrelliot fic at night and you’re thinking to yourself “there’s no way he said that” but then you remember it’s Martin Wallström, captain of the Tyrelliot ship, so maybe he did but then again you don’t speak Swedish so you just don’t know