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aellynera · 4 years ago

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Enumerate (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

ENUMERATE

(hey hey. this is one of my submissions for @wasicskosgirl and her 800 follower celebration! congrats on your milestone, lovely! i wrote this in one sitting, which i rarely ever do, but the idea was immediate and persistent so this happened. i just made some final edits, and it was a lot of fun to do and i hope you all enjoy it!)

Word Count: ~1750

Summary: You have a question for Nathan. He wants reasons. You have a secret weapon.

Warnings: Some language. Innuendo. Smooches. Nathan Bateman. No actual plot, just a thing. Hopefully decently proofread. Superheroes.

with the prompt - “Don’t give me that puppy dog face. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Nathan Bateman glares at you over his glasses. Or, he would if he bothered to actually turn his attention away from the monitors in front of him, which, of course, he does not.

On the other side of the room, you’re stretched out on the bed, on your stomach with your legs bent up and ankles crossed behind you, lazily flipping through a magazine.

For once it’s not a technical journal; you’d finally put your foot down a few months ago, told Nathan you’d had enough of the esoteric mumbo-jumbo he kept all over the house, and after a few pleas and a little please, he’d caved. He might make a case that, until now, these celebrity gossip rags were a worse idea, but he can’t bring himself to do it. As a thank you, you always make sure to hand him his favorite one when you’re done with it.

You briefly debate arguing that building an AI and pissing it off so much it thought it had no other recourse than to try to escape and then stab you in the chest is probably a worse idea, but you don’t want to actually fight with him. And you’re not mean.

“I don’t know, I think it would be fun,” you call back to him.

The clicking of the keyboard never stops. He gets so involved in his work sometimes - okay, all the time, if you’re being honest - that nothing else seems to matter. You knew it isn’t really true; the fact that you’re on the bed wearing nothing besides one of his old, soft henleys and a pair of wool socks proves that. The ability to occasionally engage him in actual conversation while his mind blazes through lines of code is rare.

“I’m pretty sure we have different definitions of that word.”

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure they more than occasionally overlap.”

He scans your voice for any hint of sarcasm, any tinge of facetiousness. When he can’t detect any and can’t determine your actual intent, his eyes narrow.

“Enumerate.”

Well, sort of actual conversation.

You toss the magazine aside and sit up on the bed.

“And for every step you take towards me, I want a good reason, not some bullshit half-answer,” he continues. Still typing away, still staring at his screens.

“How do you even know I was going to walk over there?” you mutter.

“I know your operating system, kitten,” he says, “so. Enumerate. And count those steps for me. I know you’re good at counting.” If he’d bother to look at you, you’d see the slight smirk on his face, but it doesn’t matter. You hear it in his voice. You know he’s mostly teasing you.

Then again, if Nathan bothered to turn around to look at you, he’d also see the giant, exaggerated steps you’re taking on the path to his desk. It isn’t very far from bed to desk. Nathan is nothing if not efficient, and one never knows when inspiration or insomnia will strike or you might need quick data access.

But you have a secret weapon and you are going to deploy it with as little delay as possible.

The secret weapon has never failed you before.

You roll your eyes. Smug asshole. “One. It gets us out of the house.”

“We have everything we need right here. Hardly a compelling reason. Try again.”

Another giant step. “Two. A little human interaction, other than verbally sparring with me and taking me on every imaginable surface of this house, would do you some good.”

The clicking might pause for a split second. You can’t be sure because it picks up and keeps going just as it had before, as Nathan replies, “False correlation. I hate most people, in large part because they can’t keep up with me. Not like the way you do.”

You smile, even though he can’t see you, and open your mouth to keep going, but he’s not quite done. “And, if I remember correctly, and I always remember correctly-” you swear you hear his eyebrow arch “-that other part does us both some good. You haven’t had any complaints thus far, and a few of those surfaces were actually rather un-imaginable. You gotta try harder, baby.”

Damn him.

Another step, another reason. “Three. It’s what normal people do.”

The clicking finally stops and Nathan spins around in his chair. He takes you in - one foot as far out in front of the other as possible without you falling over, arms held out awkwardly to keep your balance, wearing only his shirt and your fuzzy socks, hair still a mess from the evening’s previous activities - and gives you a pointed look. “That’s what normal people do?”

You giggle, then straighten your face. You take another step. Now you’re almost in his lap. “Four. You’d look really, really hot in some spandex and a cape.”

Nathan growls and pulls you into his lap. “I said no bullshit.”

There’s your opening. Secret weapon time.

You bite your lip and give him the widest, saddest looking eyes you possibly can. You think of lost puppies and kittens, the ending of Casablanca, that song in Coco that had you bawling. And you blink once, very slowly, just for dramatic effect. Not that you need to. Your trap is set.

Nathan groans and drops his head to your chest for a moment, and then looks back up at you, scowling under his glasses. “Don’t give me that puppy dog face. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

You grin down at him. “You’re not.”

“God damn it.”

“Nathan, it will be fun,” you insist.

In response, he stands suddenly, scoops you up and tosses you back on the bed, his body caging you underneath him.

“You really want me to go to, of all the fucking things in the entire known universe, a comic con with you.” It’s not a question.

“Well, I mean, you did already buy me the tickets.”

“Beginning to regret that decision,” the resignation in his voice is strong, but you can also hear some amusement. And maybe something a little more.

You pout at him. “And my sister can’t go with me now because of some stupid emergency work thing.”

His brow furrows. “Like I don’t have actual work to do?”

“And it would be a shame to waste them…,” You blink at him a few more times.

“I’ll donate them to a children’s charity or some shit.”

You smack him lightly on the shoulder, then your arms wrap around his neck as you lean forward and whisper in his ear. “And I still say you’d look amazing in a super suit.”

“Bull. Shit,” he leans up and nips at your neck.

You smack him harder this time. “Hey, those are good reasons.”

“Will it make you happy?” he sighs.

“Yes.”

He pauses for a few minutes with his face buried in your neck, then pulls back to look at you. His stern expression cracks, ever so slightly, at the hopeful smile on your face. And those damn puppy dog eyes. “You do make a compelling argument.”

You squeal in delight, holding his face and kissing him firmly on the lips.

“But...people. A lot of people. In public,” Nathan grumbles, narrowing his eyes and giving you the fakest stern look he’s ever given you.

He knows you know he was never going to say no to you. He can’t. He may know your operating system, but his own systems fail when you run this particular subset.

And the secret weapon never fails.

You smirk back, your grin and the light in your eyes threatens to throw his brain completely offline.

“That’s where the costume comes in, Mr. Fantastic.”

Nathan scoffs. “If I have to wear a costume, it is not going to be Mr. fucking Fantastic.”

“So you’re saying you will dress up.”

“No, but...there’s better options than that.” A lie. He was serious about being seen by thousands of people in public, and at this point, he’s not above wearing a ridiculous costume just so no one actually sees him at a fucking comic con.

“Isn’t he, like, the smartest superhero though?”

He pretends to think about it for a minute, lazily tracing a finger along your jaw. “True, but. What else does he do? I mean I know I’m flexible but…”

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to not burst into a fit of laughter as you stare back into his deep eyes. “Okay, fine. What about Wonder Woman? I’d do almost anything to see you with some golden wings. And those boots? Damn, that would be hot.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a menace.”

“You haven’t had any valid complaints thus far.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, then sighs. “Almost anything, huh?” His hands have dropped down your torso, and his fingertips are gliding over your smooth skin under the hem of his shirt.

You can see the wheels start turning. Your lips purse and a smile forms. “Don’t change the subject,” you chide him. “What are your other better options, then?”

“Xavier. You could push me around for the day, it would serve you right for even asking me to do this.”

The laughter rises fully and bubbles over. “Even you’re not that lucky.”

“Or maybe Iron Man. I know I could make a working suit, and that would be pretty fucking cool,” he states, matter of fact. You’re honestly not sure if you should be amused or a little worried that he’s not kidding.

“Those are definitely better options than Mr. Fantastic,” he says softly.

You raise your head up to catch his lips, but stop just before you make contact. He makes a small noise of protest, but you just shake your head ever so slightly.

“Hmm, I’m not convinced,” you whisper, your breath fanning across his mouth. “I need some good reasons. No bullshit, Bateman.”

Nathan’s groans are silenced as you surge forth and capture his lips, kissing him fiercely and thoroughly. But his silence is only temporary, and the groans return when you pull away and hook a leg around his hip.

He stares down at you as you look back at him with the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen, and you smile innocently and bite your lip. He bites his own as you softly issue one more word into the air around you.

“Enumerate.”

~end~

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Nathan taglist: @millllenniawrites

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#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman #ex machina fic #nathan bateman fanficiton #my writing #Amandas800 #wasicskogirl #writing challenge #writing prompts

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 4 years ago

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So @wasicskosgirl here is my one shot from your 800 Followers celebration list. I didn’t think I’d be able to write it and I started and restarted this so many times ending with this little creation!

‘Who did this to you!’ ‘Promise me that if I tell you, you won’t go after them.’

Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: mention of hospitals, drug mention and accident mention, swearing, mention of marriage, fluff? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Huge grey storm clouds roiled across the sky as fierce winds battered the car park you stumbled through, the rain pelted down onto you as you dived through the glass doors that opened. You shook your coat out, spraying large water drops all over the floor as you tried to drag your soaking hair out of your eyes. You’d had a phone call to come as quickly as possible but it had still taken you forever in this weather. You marched through the next set of doors into the emergency department, people were everywhere as they wandered aimlessly around, your eyes searched the area in desperation even though you knew he wouldn’t be in here. You joined a queue for the desk, your heart beating as you counted the amount of people waiting before you.

Too many, too many people…

You rattled your car keys loudly drawing the glare of the person in front as you fidgeted. You just couldn't stay still as the line shuffled forward slightly.

‘Come on, come on!’ You whispered angrily, glaring at the hideous plain white walls. You hated hospitals, the smell, the colour it just reeked of death to you and you avoided them at all costs. Of course he’d drag you here.

‘Hello I’m looking for Poe Dameron, I was told he was here!’ You gasped finally reaching the dividing glass.

‘Are you family?’ She asked without interest.

‘Yes, I’m his wife!’ You tried not to snap, you tried not to think they should already know that but your nerves were frayed. You tapped your foot impatiently as the clerk slowly went through the records on her computer screen.

‘He’s down the hall, third bay on the right.’ You didn’t even say thanks you just left, making your way down the halls that all looked the same as you tried to listen out for his rich voice, your eyes counted the bays. All the curtains were closed and you hesitated not wanting to burst into the wrong section. You looked around for a member of staff but saw no one and you felt a flare of anger as you spun on the spot wondering where the hell everyone was? Then you heard him, a groan reached your ears and you knew it was him. You carefully twitched the curtain catching a glimpse of his curly hair. You slipped into the bay, casting your worried gaze over his broken form as he coughed slightly.

‘Jesus Poe!!’ You hissed rushing to his side as you took in his bruised face. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Oh heeeey,’ he whispered, his eyes widening slightly as he focussed on you but you could tell he was groggy, clearly they’d given him something to help with his pain.

‘Who did this to you?’ Your hands shook as you reached for him but you weren’t sure where to touch him without causing pain.

‘Promise me that if I tell you, you won’t go after them!’

‘What the…just tell me what happened!’ He tried to sit up but his efforts were futile as he just seemed to sink deeper into the bedding and he stopped with a loud sigh.

‘It was the neighbour's cat!’ You paused as you tried to digest his words.

‘I’m sorry, the neighbour's cat? Benji?’

‘Little shit was on the roof,’ he groaned as he moved against the bed again. ‘She came knocking on the door, the old biddy...’

‘Mrs Marsden?’

‘Yeah her...white hair was flying in the wind…’

‘Jesus Christ Poe, tell me you didn’t get up that ladder in this weather? Is that what happened? It wasn’t the cat, it was you!’

‘No no, definitely the cat,’ he grumbled as he tried to pull his shirt down. ‘Look, fucker scratched me. Fell off the ladder, landed in,’ he took a sharp breath in as he closed his eyes in pain. ‘Fell in the tree, fucking hurt.’ You put a hand over your mouth, you weren’t so worried anymore, now you’d seen him and heard him talking the panic had finally died down to be replaced with amusement. ‘Are you, laughing?’ You closed your eyes as you tried to subdue the laughter bubbling up inside you but it began to burst from you and he frowned. ‘You’re laughing at me?’ You sniggered loudly at his offended tone. ‘My own wife laughing at my misfortune!’

‘I’m sorry!’ You managed to gasp out. He grabbed his pillow, feebly throwing it at you as he hissed in pain. ‘Poe Dameron you are such an idiot!’ You said softly putting his pillow back behind him, his brown eyes locked with yours and his hand gripped onto your arm.

‘But I’m your idiot,’ he mumbled. You gently swept his disheveled curls off his forehead, feeling how soft they were entwined in your fingers as you brought your face close to his.

‘Yeah you are,’ you leaned forward kissing his forehead breathing in his comforting scent as you did.

‘I couldn’t leave it crying on the roof,’ his dark eyes were wide as he stared imploring up at you and you smiled, realising you couldn’t love this man anymore than you already did.

‘It’s ok,’ you whispered. ‘We’ll just send her the medical bill.’ He snorted with laughter and instantly tensed up in pain as it shot through his body.

‘You’re a mean one Mrs Grinch,’ he groaned as he laced his fingers with yours giving you a reassuring squeeze.

‘Yeah well, I get mean when my husband is in pain.’

‘I’ll be alright,’ he mumbled, his eyes getting heavy.

‘I know. I know you will.’ You watched as finally he slipped into sleep, still holding your hand tightly.

You were definitely going to have words with that damn cat.

#Amandas800 #wasickosgirl #prompt one shot #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #CW:hospitals #CW:drug mention #CW:accident mention #marriage #that damn cat

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leiakenobi · 4 years ago

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Title: One-Hit Wonder Fandom: Inside Llewyn Davis Pairing: Llewyn Davis/GN!Reader Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Your friend drags you to karaoke for her 30th birthday. When you finally get up to sing, a handsome stranger can’t seem to take his eyes off you. A/N: So I’ve had this idea kind of floating around my head for two months, but then last week I saw the prompts for the follower celebration that @wasicskosgirl has set up, and one of them finally sparked the inspiration I needed to get the idea on the page! Congrats on reaching 800 followers, Amanda!! Prompt is marked in bold.

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

You want to be able to say that you had better things to do with your Saturday night.

Better things to do than tagging along to the birthday party of your co-worker who you like enough, really, during work hours, but you’ve never exactly considered yourself her friend. Not that you’d be unwilling to put in that work to become better friends, if maybe she wanted to grab drinks after work sometime or something like that. She’s firmly in “work acquaintance who could become a friend” territory.

But drinks and karaoke with her and her college friends isn’t your idea of a way to break the ice.

She tries, earnestly, to keep you a part of the conversation. She keeps explaining the backstory for inside jokes and references a decade old, and whenever possible, she asks you follow-up questions that invite you to share yourself with her and her friends.

It’s nice enough. It’s also clear, as soon as they begin to get tipsy, that it won’t last.

They’re so quickly reverting to their college group dynamic, and you can’t begrudge them for that, not really. You just wish you had had something better to do than watch on, drink mediocre alcohol, and listen to strangers sing very badly. Because the problem with co-workers is that they know your bull shit face. So you couldn’t lie, and you couldn’t exactly tell her that you’d rather stay home and binge something on Netflix for six hours.

Maybe, you think, maybe you can clear out after singing one song. The group gets their first shot at the stage early enough in the evening, so if you play your cards right, you think you can get up and sing… loiter politely for another fifteen minutes… and then go home.

Again, they’re sincere enough about trying to include you: when it’s your turn to sing, they cheer you on as you head up there and look through the song catalogue. Most of the titles hit you in a rush of songs that you half-know, which is your perpetual issue when you try to do karaoke. How so many people manage to retain such a wide array of nostalgic pop, classic rock and oldies, and more recent hits, you’ll never understand, because you somehow remember none of them.

You strike gold with this machine, though.

Right out of high school, you got a job at the mall that you hung onto all through college. That was the most aware of pop music that you ever managed to be, and it was then that you first heard “Magic Mike.” The song was the greatest combination of upbeat and depressing that you’d ever encountered, and during the summer after sophomore year, it was everywhere.

Spotting it on the small karaoke screen, you think why not.

You select “Magic Mike,” and you sing about love and death and the heartache of a lingering loss. You sing it with a smile.

The performance is well-received, and you use it to lay the groundwork for your departure not too far down the line when you get back to the table and say, “Wow, guys, that wore me out more than I expected.”

Yes. You’re as good as gone.

Until five minutes later when you are gently elbowed in the side. “That guy at the bar has been staring at you since you got off-stage.”

His gaze shifts the moment you look at him, but yes, you’ve got no doubt that he was staring.

The guy’s not bad-looking, really, and it might be worth going over to him—perhaps he’s even the something better to do than sit around with an acquaintance and some strangers.

Alternatively, he could be a creep, in which case you’ll need to be rescued, and then you’ll feel obligated to stick around even longer.

But you do like his curls, and his beard, and the soft frown on his face.

“I’m going to see what he wants,” you announce at last.

Your words are met with a chorus of approval, and you pick up your drink before crossing the room.

He’s ordering a drink when you reach the bar, but as soon as he’s finished, you tap his shoulder; from the ease with which he turns toward you, it seems like he either saw you coming, or is unsurprised by your arrival.

“Um, can I help you? Why are you staring at me?”

The man’s lips quirk up just slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I was just… the song you sang up there.” He points needlessly toward the stage. “Kind of a weird choice for karaoke.”

You shrug. “It was one of the only ones I knew.”

“Really?” Now he looks genuinely bewildered. “You weren’t ready to do ‘Mr. Brightside’ or ‘Dancing Queen,’ but you had ‘Magic Mike’ at your fingertips?”

Wow. You can’t help feeling a little defensive, not so much for yourself – yeah, maybe it’s a little ridiculous that you weren’t ready to belt even the most standard karaoke hits – as for whoever wrote “Magic Mike.” Admittedly, you don’t… remember his name, right at this moment, because he didn’t really get anywhere after releasing that single, but the song is good, and you say as much. “Hang on, I think it’s nice.”

“Shit, yeah, of course it’s nice, I just…” He runs a hand through his hair a little anxiously. “I feel weird as hell saying this. I promise I don’t mean this to be some kind of line, but it’s, uh… ‘Magic Mike’ is my song. And I don’t really hear it around these days, so it was just nice, is all.”

His song? “No way.”

***

Maybe you finally start to believe it after Llewyn pulls up YouTube and shows you a performance of the song on Good Morning, America, but even then, it feels surreal. Mostly because you can tell how surreal it is for him. It also feels surreal when you ask, “How come you never got another hit?” and he shrugs vaguely. “That’s more like second or third date talk.”

Raising your eyebrows, you fire back, “We’re not on a date.”

“I never said we were. Just said that topic is second or third date talk.”

You smile, and he follows suit.

It’s just that he genuinely seems uninterested in talking about his music beyond thanking you for singing it, which… is not what you’d have expected. He tells you that he works as a librarian now and plays at open mics in his free time, and if he’s to be believed, he kind of likes it that way.

And you think you do believe him. You believe him because he turns the subject toward you and his music doesn’t come up again. His brief dalliance with fame doesn’t come up again.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been talking to Llewyn until you feel a hand on your arm and—God, you flat-out abandoned everyone you started out the evening with. But there’s no animosity there, just a gentle, “Hey, we’re headed out. You coming?”

Giving you the out, if you want it.

“No, that’s okay.” You give her a gentle smile and say, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

She glances at Llewyn for a beat, and her own lips curl into a smirk while she nods. “Mhm.”

Llewyn is graciously drinking from his glass, feigning obliviousness when you look back at him. You’re trying to decide whether you want to order another drink when he tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “Do you want to get something to eat?”

Oh. You glance around the bar curiously—last call from the kitchen happened before you even came over to him. “What, now?”

He shrugs. “Sure. There’s a taco place down the street that has a late-night happy hour.”

For an instant, the suggestion gives you pause. There’s something so impulsive and spontaneous about it, and it’s not that you’ve never left a bar with a near stranger, but something about the way that Llewyn asks you… It doesn’t even feel like there’s a presumption that the night’s going to end with sex. He seems to earnestly want to just keep spending time with you and chatting.

But if the way he’s looking at you is any indication, you don’t think sex is exactly off the table, either. If that’s where you want the night to end.

“Tacos sound great.”

***

It’s a warm summer night, so you sit outdoors at one of the picnic tables they have set up outside the restaurant. You gorge yourselves on chips and guac and somehow still have the stomachs for what feels like a million tacos afterward. By the time you start to slow down, you’re both pretty firmly sobered up from whatever buzz you might have had when you left the bar.

Elbows on the table, you lean forward, settle your chin in your hand, and squint at Llewyn. “Y’know, if we wanted, we could call this our second date and you could tell me more about what happened with your music.”

Llewyn scoffs good-naturedly. “I don’t think that’s quite how dates work.”

“Karaoke and tacos definitely seem like two separate date activities.”

“Mm, even if that were true…” Llewyn leans forward too, appraising you with an amused smirk. “I thought you said that us chatting at the bar wasn’t a date.”

You purse your lips into a smirk of your own, and it doesn’t escape your notice that it briefly draws his attention to your mouth. “We can fudge the numbers a little bit for the sake of a good story.”

“How do you know it’s a good story?”

“Just a hunch.”

He hesitates over… the answer, you’re nearly convinced that he’s going to tell you the answer. But his eyes are so damn sad, and his smile is a little bit less earnest when he replies, “I’d hate to ruin our late-night dinner with that. Maybe it should wait ‘til date number three.”

So you ask him to tell you about what he’s been reading lately, instead.

When you try to put twenty bucks toward the check, Llewyn looks outraged, waving away your money until you say, “I’ll let you pay if you walk me home.”

“Deal.”

You raise your eyebrows. “For all you know, I could live an hour away.”

“Worth it if you let me pay for your dinner.”

It’s sweet—so sweet that your heart stutters, just a little bit. “Okay.”

***

You don’t live an hour away, but you don’t live close, either, and you’ve probably been walking for about twenty minutes when you briefly fall silent between stories. And it’s then, after a pause, that Llewyn shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “My manager found out that I wrote ‘Magic Mike’ about an ex-boyfriend, and he freaked out about it. That’s… that’s what happened.”

“Shit.” You nearly don’t ask the real question on your mind, because it feels weird to say aloud to him. “Could… could he not tell right away?”

Because you could. You’d assumed it immediately, thought that was part of what was gut-wrenching about it.

Llewyn actually laughs, loud enough that you’re briefly self-conscious about walking around this residential neighborhood and making noise so late at night. “I told him it was about my old singing partner. Which was also true. I figured I’d just keep the boyfriend part a secret until I trusted him more, but that didn’t really go well. He sabotaged my relationship with the label and made sure I couldn’t get any other representation.”

“That’s… I don’t even know what that is, Llewyn,” you murmur.

“It’s shitty.” He says it matter-of-factly. No real sense of malice or resentment in his voice, and you suppose you understand why—he’s had quite a few years to get over that life. But that doesn’t mean that the hurt doesn’t linger, and you see it in the moonlight as you look at him. “And I didn’t enjoy that kind of career enough to fight, not when I knew I could play music anywhere.”

“Do you ever wish you had? Fought for it, I mean.”

“Sometimes, I guess,” Llewyn concedes. And then he turns toward you and offers up a playful smile. “Right at this moment, I’m feeling pretty glad I didn’t, though.”

You roll your eyes and elbow him. “What a corny fucking line.”

He elbows you right back. “Is it a line if it’s true?” Before you even have a chance to answer, he sees your expression, and he sighs, resigned. “Maybe it’s a bit of a line. It’s true, though, I promise. For the most part I think I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Coming to a standstill, you smile gently. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Llewyn also stops, looking over your features with a curious expression. An absolute, is this the time to kiss you, expression.

So you clarify: “I meant actually where I need to be, we just got to my apartment.”

“Oh, shit.” He looks around, his gaze falling on the building that you’re now standing in front of. “Okay. I, uh…”

Even though he was so earnest and at ease a few moments ago, Llewyn is oddly tentative now that the end of your evening is staring him in the face. So you put him out of his misery. “Do you want to come up? If I’m counting right, this is our third date.”

Lips quirked up, he inches closer to you. Getting into your space and you don’t mind in the slightest. “You’re absolutely not counting right.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. The gesture makes his curls flop endearingly, and you’re already thinking about how good it’ll feel to run your fingers through them—to pull them hard. “No. But I guess we can fudge the numbers a little bit.”

——

tagging: @knivesareout @hyperfixatingmenever

✨ taglist form here ✨

#amandas800 #llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis #fanfic #my fic #wasicskosgirl

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mattmurdocksscars · 4 years ago

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800 Follower Writing Challenge

Hello, hello! Thank you all SO much for 800 followers! I can hardly believe it! For this milestone, I’ve decided to do a writing challenge! The rules and prompts are below! Please select, have fun, and enjoy!

Due Date: March 31, 2021

Rules:

You do not have to be following me to participate!

Tag everything with #Amandas800 and @wasicskosgirl

Send me an ask with the prompt you want and a character! You can pick more than one prompt and character, but please make sure to do them all!

A prompt can only be used twice.

You can write for any Marvel, Oscar Isaac, or Pedro Pascal character!

You are welcome to post any time between now and the due date!

You are more than welcome to write NSFW (some of the prompts came straight from a smutty prompt list lol) just no underage, p*do, inc*st, noncon, dubcon, etc

If necessary, please use appropriate warnings, tags, and ratings

Prompt list below:

“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?” (Rydal - @nathan-bateman)

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” “Do it then.”

“Don’t give me that puppy dog face. How am I supposed to say no to that?” (Nathan - @aellynera) (Nathan - @autumnleaves1991-blog)

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” (Steve - @megantje123)

“If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.” (Javier - @houseofthirst)

“I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Dance with me?” (Nathan - @be-the-spark-flyboy)

“I’m pregnant.”

"Why me?" "What?" "You could have anyone you want, so why me?" (Poe - @starryeyedstories)

“We’re not just friends and you know it!”

“I don’t deserve to be loved.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“What did you just say?”

“There’s just one bed…”

“….Who did this to you?” “Promise me that if I tell you, you won’t go after them.” (Poe @mylifeisactuallyamess)

“How are you holding up?” “How does it look like I’m holding up?!” (Poe - @anetteaneta)

“Are you bleeding?!”

“Get out!” “Please, let me explain.”

“Bite me.”

“Make me.”

“Like what you see?" (Reeves - @aellynera)

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“I’m going to be late because you can’t keep it in your pants.” (Abel - @sergeantkane)

“Um, can I help you? Why are you staring at me?”

“Bite your lip one more time. I dare you.”"

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting." (Blue - @autumnleaves1991-blog)

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in."

38 notes · View notes

aellynera · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Years of Your Life (Reeves x Reader)

THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE

(hey hey, this is my other submission for @wasicskosgirl and her 800 follower celebration! and yes, you read that right - it’s REEVES. i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it! CONGRATS Amanda!!)

Word Count: um like 6200ish oops it was supposed to be a blurb

Summary: They say the best years of your life happen in high school, but what do they know?

Warnings: Some language. Female reader implied but no pronouns/description. Teenage angst. Adult wistfulness. Mostly fluffy tho. No promises about proofreading. Frog murder.

with the prompt - “Like what you see?”

It all started back in high school. Sometimes you wonder how often people say that, and if it’s really true or they’re just falsely remembering how things happened because high school is supposed to be the best four years of your life.

But in this case, it’s true. Because high school is when you met Reeves.

Sophomore Year. High School. A Friday.

It was the third day of sophomore year, fourth period on a Friday morning, your last before the lunch break. Biology class was maybe the one you were least looking forward to, not exclusively because of the required frog dissection, but pretty damn close. Gross. And you never understood why the school year didn’t just start on a Monday, but you were new here in San Diego. Maybe they just did things differently.

It was bad enough being the new kid. It was worse when you walked into class halfway through the lecture, even if it wasn’t your fault. The timing of the move was weird, and you’d spent most of the first two days, and this morning, doing placement tests and talking to your counselor.

And now you were being called out in front of the entire class.

“Ah, there you are,” your teacher announced as you walked in the door. “Everyone, this is our new student, please make them feel welcome. You can sit over there.”

Your eyes followed as she motioned to the empty seat at the lab table in the back of the room. Suddenly you weren’t sure if your face felt hot because of embarrassment or because of the boy in the other chair.

Dark, curly hair cut close on the sides but longer on the top. Deep brown eyes framed by long, long lashes. Full, plush lips curling up into his cheek on one side. A nose that, okay, maybe might be a bit oversized but for some reason worked on his handsome face and--

Well, shit. Definitely not the embarrassment.

You shuffled your way to your seat and slid into it with your head down. A few students watched you curiously but soon turned their attention back to the lesson. You tried your best to focus on what was going on, to not look to your left at the distraction next to you.

You weren’t very successful.

By now you thought you’d sneaked enough covert glances to know that we was wearing a leather jacket, had a small diamond stud earring in his left ear, a bunch of silver-studded brown suede wrap bracelets around both wrists, a silver ring on his right index finger, and oddly precise handwriting as he took notes. In between relevant facts the teacher was sharing, he was doodling tiny music notes in the margins of his notebook.

And he totally caught you looking.

“Like what you see?” he leaned over and whispered.

Your mouth felt drier than the Sahara but also somehow so moist you were afraid you might have actually drooled on yourself. You should have opened your mouth to respond but your brain refused to make the connection. Probably for the best.

At least, at first. When it finally caught up to you, the only response your brain could provide was, “Maybe?”

Now would be the perfect time for the floor to swallow you whole.

He just winked at you and his attention went back to the doodles around his notes.

You shifted your gaze back to your own notebook, but you don’t know if anything else of importance was said, and don’t remember writing anything down. The bell ringing sharply pulled you back to reality and you hastily shoved your books in your backpack, ready to escape.

Just as you were about to leave, a voice called out. “Hey, sorry about earlier. If I freaked you out or anything.”

You looked up. He was smiling at you, a little shyly. You bit your lip, your brain and mouth still refusing to connect.

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Reeves. You’re new here?”

“Um…” you smacked yourself internally. This was ridiculous, you weren’t really shy, you knew how to have a conversation, he was just introducing himself. You were going to have a serious conversation with your brain later about proper communication techniques.

It felt like hours had passed, but you finally pulled yourself together enough to respond. “Yeah. My- my dad got transferred for work, we moved here like a week ago. He literally dragged the family across the country. I’m originally from New York City.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, cool! I always wanted to go to New York City!”

You found yourself smiling back.

“Do you...wanna sit with me at lunch?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you could tell me a little about the city? And...about you, since we’re gonna have to commit heinous acts of violence on an amphibian together? I’d like to know who’s wielding a scalpel next to me.”

The giggle that escaped your throat could not be contained. This boy - Reeves - was adorable. “Oh. Okay, yeah. I’d really like that.”

The Present.

Poor Lenny the Frog never stood a chance. Then again, neither did you.

To be fair, Lenny was already dead when you and Reeves got your hands on him. Well, when you got your hands on him, because for the full first half of that specific class period, Reeves refused to touch him and nearly turned as green as Lenny once was. That’s when he insisted on naming your cadaver, because somehow giving it a name made it easier to deal with.

You were pretty sure Reeves was nuts.

By the middle of sophomore year, you were dead too, but not for the same reasons.

By the middle of sophomore year, you weren’t sure how you were still alive, because every time he looked over at you and gave you a sly smile during class, gave you that look, you felt your heart go taut and you forgot how to breathe and certainly, rightfully, should have been dead.

Your friend Alexis stuck her head into your bathroom. “Hey, we’re just waiting on Vanessa, and then we’re good to go. Drinks first? The show doesn’t start until 8 so we have time.”

You glanced up from your makeup and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Alexis grinned. “Aaaaaah I’m so glad you agreed to go out tonight! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“Oh, it’s gonna be something,” you muttered, going back to your eyeliner.

Alexis had been the first one to see the concert announcement about a week ago. A benefit show at one of the clubs down in Greenwich Village, some punk revival thing (for charity) with a bunch of different singers and musicians. Not normally your scene, but Alexis scanned through the names and suddenly remembered you’d known Reeves in high school. You said yes, he was in your class, and you’d been lab partners once. Vanessa squealed in excitement and Alexis announced you were going to the show. There was never any actual agreement.

Because of course Reeves was going to be there. And of course, you had to be too.

Junior Year. The Parking Lot. A Tuesday.

“I’m just saying, it was a ridiculous foul, and it should never have been called,” Reeves groused as you walked out of the gym.

“We also should have made like twenty more of our own foul shots,” you pointed out.

The Lake Howell Silverhawks had fallen to their arch-rivals in a somewhat glorious fashion. You didn’t even like basketball that much. But that didn’t really matter. The games were just an excuse to go out for burgers before and hang out with your friends during.

It was definitely an excuse to hang out with Reeves.

Junior year, you were both disappointed to find you didn’t have any classes together, but you still almost always ate lunch together. He’d come over to your house to study during the week and sometimes just to chill out on the weekends. Over the past year, he’d shown you all around the city and taken you to his favorite places. You told him all about New York, how you missed it and one day you’d go back, and all the famous sites and which ones were tourist traps that he was only allowed to visit the very first time and then never again.

You spent so much time together, even your mother liked to tease you about why he wasn’t your boyfriend.

It took a while for you to find the words to tell her it was because he was someone else’s.

As much as you liked to pretend she didn’t change anything, Randie Rustenberg changed everything. It was gradual, like a creeping vine of ivy, and she slowly took him over. There was no malice; it was just one of those things that happened. Reeves spent less time with you, his best friend, and more time with Randie, his girlfriend.

The girlfriend you desperately wished was you, because ever since that first biology class you’d had the biggest, stupidest crush on him.

Eventually you had a boyfriend of your own. Theo was a nice guy, he really was. Polite, friendly, had a good sense of humor, liked your family. And your family loved him. Your mother was so happy that you had a boyfriend, she seemed to forget to ask how Reeves was and if you’d seen him lately.

Of course you saw him. You saw him every day, in the cafeteria, at his locker, passing by in the halls. Sometimes you could find him playing the grand piano on the stage in the empty auditorium. Yes, if your mother bothered to ask, you saw Reeves all the time. Now it was just always with her.

Except this week. It was a break of sorts, no classes, just some sports and other school activities. Randie was on some trip with her parents for some kind of church function, and Theo was fishing with his dad on some lake up north. He’d told you where, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to recall. So when a bunch of your friends and a bunch of his friends all said everyone was going to the basketball game, there was no debate.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

Sometime during the game, your friends wandered off to the snack bar and never ventured back. His friends started a game of hacky-sack under the bleachers. And you found yourself pretending to understand all the finer points about hoops strategy, cheering and yelling along with Reeves and having a great time, just like you used to.

“Where’d you park?” he asked as you left the gym and headed out into the sea of cars. You vaguely pointed in the direction of yours and he grinned. “Oh, good, I’m that way too. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

The faint glow emitted by the lampposts in the parking lot bounced off his curls and his eyes, when you could catch a glimpse, were bright beneath them.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

The walk wasn’t very far, but it felt like it was over in a second. You hadn’t said anything on the way, just soaked in the comfort of walking next to him as he kept commenting on the game.

He was waving his hands everywhere, looking at them as he talked as if his hand motions would make things make any more sense to you, in the middle of saying something about your center and how they needed to get better about blocking out when you finally spoke.

“Oh, shit.”

Reeves looked up at you. “What, you don’t agree?”

You dropped your bag on the ground and rolled your eyes. “No, my car is locked and I left my keys inside.” You pointed to the passenger seat. Your keys stared back at you derisively.

You both stared back at them for a moment, then he grinned. “Hang on, I got you.” He held up one finger and trotted off to his car, coming back a minute later with something in his hand. “This should take care of it.”

You took a step back. “Reeves? Um. Okay, why do you have a coat hanger in your car.”

He rolled his eyes back at you. “For emergencies, duh.” He quickly twisted the hanger into a hook shape and went to your passenger side window.

“And why do you know how to break into a car with said coat hanger?”

“Like I told you,” his tongue poked out between his teeth as he worked, “for emergencies. You think I haven’t locked my own keys in my car once or six times?”

“Did Randie teach you how to do this?” The words were out of your mouth before you could think. She probably had. She might have been churchy when required, but she was also responsible for about half of Reeves’s stints in detention (the other half just being him making the wrong joke at the wrong time and pissing a teacher off.)

Thank god he didn’t seem to hear you as he kept working at the lock. Finally you heard a *click* and he pumped a fist into the air with a little “yessss!”

And then you’re not really sure what happened. You bent down to pick up your bag and then you were standing up and Reeves’s face was literally about three inches away from yours and for the eight thousandth time since you’d know him, you forgot how to breathe.

Neither of you said anything for what felt like days. You just stared at each other under the dim halo of the parking lot lights.

“Here you go.” He took your hand and dropped your keys into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Like what you see?” the corners of his mouth quirked up, just the slightest little bit.

“...Maybe.”

And the staring recommenced. Were you two getting closer? Physically closer, you meant, of course you were close, you’d always been close. Well, at one time you were really close but then Randie Restenberg happened and it wasn’t fair that she got to know what those lips felt like and did he always smell this good or--

“Yo, Reeves!” A pickup truck full of guys skidded to a stop behind your car and one of his friends - Jake? Jack? you barely remembered your own name right now - stuck his head out the window. “Fight to the death ping pong tourney at Matt’s house! You in?”

Reeves bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second before he pulled back with a soft “I’m sorry” before turning to his friends. “Um, yeah, sure. Sounds brutal. I’ll meet you there.”

The pickup sped off, tires screeching out of the parking lot. Reeves turned back to you, but you’d already gotten into your now unlocked car and started the engine.

You rolled down the window a fraction and gave him a weak smile. “Hey, um. Thanks for saving my butt. Now go kick theirs at ping pong, yeah?” Your face felt so hot, and for once you were grateful for the dim lights in the lot.

“You could, um, come along if- if you want.”

“Nah, I’m...I’m tired, I’m just gonna...um, head home. But I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?”

Reeves looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped onto the curb in front of your car, smiled, and raised his hand in a little wave as he watched you drive off.

The Present.

A series of shrieks and the slamming of the door told you Vanessa had finally arrived. It sounded like they were jumping up and down on the tile just inside your front door, which was ridiculous since you’d all just seen each other the day before. But typical.

You smoothed a pinkie under your eye, checked your makeup one final time, and went into the living room.

“Oh, you look hot,” Vanessa gushed. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down on your couch. “Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

“Reeves, of course,” Alexis laughed, leaning on the kitchen counter. She sorted anything she might need from her big purse into a little evening bag as she talked. “You know we go to all his shows. And you know they went to high school together.”

You snorted. “That was a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d remember me.”

Vanessa waggled her eyebrows. “You’re probably right, No offense, honey, but no one was that hot back in high school.”

He was, your brain supplied. Very helpful. You smiled wanly.

Vanessa continued. “But you were friends, right? You’ve never really talked about it. God, it must be so cool now to think that you were friends with Reeves back when he was an awkward high school teenager.”

“Reeves was never awkward,” you laugh. “It was kind of unfair.”

“But you totally had a crush on him,” Alexis offered.

Had? What do you mean, had? Oh my god, shut up, brain.

A pillow flew in your direction and you ducked as Vanessa giggled and Alexis rolled her eyes. “Come on, tell us something about him,” Vanessa goaded. “Wait. Was he, like, your prom date? That’s your secret! You totally went to prom with Reeves and you never told us!”

Senior Year. Prom. A Saturday.

The night was not supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be limousines and corsages and dinner with dates and friends. It was supposed to be endless pictures while your mother told you how gorgeous you looked and how handsome he was and your father gave a thinly-veiled shovel talk about how he knew what happens on prom night and what would really happen if that actually happened. It was supposed to be punch and cookies and balloons. It was supposed to be dancing closer than the chaperones were comfortable with and kissing with tongue when they weren’t looking.

It was supposed to be the best night of your life. It was supposed to be fun.

Nowhere in your weeks of dreaming of this night did it involve sitting on a bench in the girls’ locker room, knees pulled up to your chest, while the party carried on in the gym just beyond.

It definitely didn’t involve crying.

The bass beats of the deejay and the harmony of laughter temporarily got louder as the locker room door opened, and then faded back into a muted thumping as the door closed again a second later. You could hear footsteps headed in your direction but before you could unfold yourself and wipe your tears away, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, there you are!”

Being able to find the words to describe how he looked in his tux, his curls slightly tamed by some gel, the blue rose (of course it would be an off color, why would he pick something standard?) pinned to his lapel, his lopsided grin… Finding the words was nearly impossible.

Of course he would show up now. Because your night wasn’t already crappy enough and half the reason you were sitting there weeping instead of out there dancing was standing right in front of you.

You realized that wasn’t fair. It was probably more like, twenty-five percent of the reason, and it wasn’t his fault. But that didn’t make it any better.

“Why are you in the girls’ locker room, Reeves?” you sniffled.

He furrowed his eyebrows and his nose scrunched up in concern as he took in your mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy red eyes. “One of your friends said you came in here like half an hour ago and nobody’s seen you since. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly not.” He sat down next to you. “Wanna talk about it?”

A deep, shaky sign left your chest. You didn’t really want to talk about how, earlier in the evening, you’d excused yourself to use the restroom and come back to the gym to find Theo dancing with...you didn’t remember her name, nor did you care. You didn’t mind that he was dancing with another girl, in theory, but it was another matter entirely when his hands were on her ass and she was sucking a deep purple mark into his neck. And he was laughing.

A short, vicious argument ensued in the coat room after you’d cut in and dragged him off by the elbow. And it turned out that he’d been seeing whats-her-name for months, somehow, behind your back while pretending that everything was perfect with you. When he was supposedly visiting his grandparents? He was with her. When he had to work an extra shift? He was with her. When he got off the phone with you, saying he needed to get to bed early? He was calling her.

Prom wasn’t supposed to involve a very public break-up.

And things didn’t get any better when, deciding you needed something to drink, you went back into the gym and immediately saw Reeves and Randie, dancing cheek to cheek, arms snugly wrapped around each other as a soft, romantic song wafted through the air. Because of course he was with her. She was his girlfriend and Reeves wasn’t a detestable cheating asshole.

There was always another her.

You couldn’t handle it.

So you took off to somewhere almost guaranteed to be empty. You figured the locker room wasn’t really the kind of place kids would want to make out, and you were right. It was blessedly empty. Until now.

But you couldn’t tell him the second part, so you just went with the first. His eyes got wide as you blubbered through the sordid details of Theo being a complete and utter twat. Another quivery sob half-burst from you and Reeves got up. He grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to you as he sat back down.

“Thanks,” you hiccuped.

“I never liked him,” Reeves announced.

You found yourself choking on a huff of air. “What? Yes you did! Everybody loved him. That’s what makes it extra shitty.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

Reeves cocked his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “Did you love him?”

Your mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. Why did you always seem to forget how to make words when Reeves asked you questions?

“What?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else loved him. Did you?”

You used every last ounce of willpower you had to not jump up on that bench and shout that of course you didn’t love Theo, you idiot, because I love you.

That would not make this night any easier.

The next thing you knew, Reeves put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, hugging you soundly. He rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re better off without him.”

You dabbed at your eyes. Nope, still couldn’t make words.

Minutes, hours, days. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, pressed to him and feeling him breathe beneath you. You no longer had any idea how long it had even been since everything crashed around you and he’d come to try and help you pick up the pieces. You just listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, as the muffled music and joyful shouts of classmates went on past the closed door.

Finally he spoke again. “Hey, you wanna get one of those complimentary pictures?”

“What?” Oh, great. You were finally able to answer his question but you could still only come up with that one word? Stupid brain.

“Well, I…” he sat up straight and, after the briefest look into your eyes, he glanced away. Was he blushing? You weren’t sure. “I always kind of...I kind of thought we’d have a prom picture together. I mean, I just figured, y’know, we’d go with a bunch of friends, but I always hoped I’d get a picture with my best friend.”

The sniffles were back in an instant. Damn him. “Reeves, I...you really want to get a picture now? I look horrible, I can’t get a picture taken like this!”

He took the paper towel from your hand and gently dabbed at your cheeks. “You couldn’t look horrible if you tried. Come on, it’ll be fun. And just think how excited your mom will be when she gets a copy of it.”

Despite your best efforts, you had to laugh. “Okay.”

You headed to the photo area after you washed your face, Reeves helped you wipe off the stray streaks of mascara, and you reapplied just a bit of makeup to make yourself feel better. You were never sure what Reeves said to the photographer before the shots, but he seemed quite happy to take multiples. Reeves stayed pressed against your back with his arms down around your waist, hands clasped together in front of you, for each and every one.

At some point between the second and third shot, he leaned just a little closer into you and you suddenly felt his breath against your ear. “Like what you see?”

For maybe the first time that entire night, your face broke into a genuine smile. “Maybe.”

For a few minutes, your night was absolutely perfect.

The Present.

It was the greatest date that never was.

“No, Reeves was not my prom date,” you told your friends with a shake of your head.

You left out most of the other details, partly because you didn’t want to answer eight hundred questions from Vanessa and partly because, well, you just wanted those moments for yourself.

After the pictures, Reeves had asked if you would like to dance. Until then you didn’t realize it was possible for eyebrows to shoot that far up a person’s forehead, but yours were up for the challenge. You’d mumbled something about if Randie would mind, because you were sure she absolutely would, but he brushed it off. Randie had gone off with her friends when he came to find you, and he really wanted to dance with you, just one dance with his frog murder accomplice. And he said that with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye and there was no way you could refuse.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

One dance turned into two, and then several, until the girlfriend in question finally did show back up and Reeves was pulled away, leaving you with a soft smile and a mouthed “sorry”.

Definitely the greatest never-date.

After prom, life returned to what vaguely resembled normal. Your love life sucked and Reeves still had a girlfriend that wasn’t you, and you didn’t see him much. To be fair, the end of senior year and graduation did creep up pretty fast so there wasn’t a lot of time anyway. Graduation was there before you knew it; he cheered for you and you cheered for him as you each walked across the stage. You made brief appearances at each others’ graduation parties and talked a bit and then, once again before you knew what happened next, it was time to leave for college.

You went back to New York. Reeves stayed on the west coast.

And over the years, like so many other people before you and after you, you just fell out of touch.

“And anyway,” you asserted, “we were just kind of friends. Yeah, like I told Alexis before, we were lab partners sophomore year, and we hung out sometimes, but that was it. Really.”

Alexis snorted and Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm.”

You threw the pillow back at her. “Mmmhmm.”

“All right, you two,” Alexis chided. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Somehow, you managed to get down to Greenwich Village without further interrogation and minimal shenanigans.

The Present. One Hour Later. Another Saturday Night.

The bar inside the club was pretty packed. Granted, it was a Saturday night down in The Village, so it wasn’t too uncommon, but you were honestly surprised that this many people showed up for a punk retrospective.

There were a few other relatively big-name acts you recognized on the bill, and a fair number of people were wearing t-shirts with Reeves’s most recent album cover on the front. There were even a few that had shirts with his face on it, which was frankly kind of weird.

“Looks like you’re not his only number one fan,” Vanessa smirked.

“I just enjoy his music,” you said off-handedly as you tried to flag down a bartender. “But anyway, tonight isn’t even about him. We’re just here to support charity, right?”

Alexis pretended to agree with you. “Right.”

You glared at both of them before turning your attention back to the bar. Yes, you came to every one of his shows in the area. When you had time. When you could take the night off. When you could rearrange your schedule and switch shifts at the last minute and promise favors to be able to attend them. When you maybe once or twice just called out sick because nothing else worked. So what.

They were really starting to get on your nerves.

The bartender finally noticed you and took your order, and you looked around the club again while you waited.

Lots of people, ranging from just-allowed-to-buy-booze to mid-sixties businessmen. A few folks that looked to currently be in their golden years but were clearly once punks in their prime. Many people in black and chains and mohawks and neon hair and piercings, to the point where you honestly couldn’t tell who was a performer and who was a patron.

The one person you were looking for was the one that you couldn’t pick out of the crowd.

“He’s gotta be here somewhere!” Vanessa’s voice shouted from somewhere behind your shoulder.

“Vanessa, you’re getting a little weird about this,” you called back as you grabbed your drink and turned around.

“Like what you see?”

Eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open, you almost dropped your full glass.

Vaguely, nearby, you heard the sound of glass shattering and shot a glance to your left. Alexis really had dropped her drink, and Vanessa was clutching onto her arm for dear life. She was holding her glass at a slightly odd angle and the contents were dripping onto one of her shoes.

The crowd silently pulsed backwards as one, clearing out around the four of you for a respectable distance. Several people watched curiously; surprisingly, they just stood back and stared instead of trying to get involved.

Reason Number One why you really couldn’t blame them: Reeves stood there, right in front of you. Literally less than two feet away, looking right at you. His mouth pulled up into his familiar lopsided grin, his hair still dark but shot through with strands of silver, curly on the top and shorter on the sides. His nose with the little dent, perfect on his face under those dark, luminous brown eyes and...holy shit, was he wearing eyeliner? He was wearing eyeliner.

Reason Number Two why you really couldn’t blame them: Leather pants. Under his old, faded t-shirt and black leather jacket (you were used to seeing him in brown, but you had to admit the black looked good) he was wearing leather pants.

Reason Number Three why you really couldn’t blame them: Quite simply, Reeves was standing in the middle of a bar in New York City and he was talking to you.

You blinked once, then twice. You may have blinked more times but all you could think about was the fact that, after all these years, your brain still couldn’t make words when Reeves asked you a question.

That same old question.

Suddenly you were grinning back, completely ignoring your friends and their dumbfounded squawking and sputtering next to you. You were smiling because even though your brain couldn’t make full sentences of words, it could pull one particular word out of the void and let it come out past your lips.

“Maybe.”

Reeves grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and the crinkles at the corners deepening.

Someone - maybe Vanessa, maybe a total stranger, you couldn’t be sure - might have swooned from the sidelines.

“Always told you I wanted to come to New York,” he said.

“Always told you I’d go back.”

And the next thing you knew, the next thing that made any sense anywhere in your mind, was that Reeves had stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and placed the softest, sweetest, most heart-achingly gentle kiss on your lips.

You pulled away in a daze, felt the heat rising in your cheeks, as you heard a muffled choking sound halfway behind you. Definitely Vanessa.

Alexis and Vanessa’s eyes, already bugging out of their faces, nearly fell out of their sockets when Reeves turned to address them.

“Hey, ladies. I’ll come talk to you after the show, but for now, I just need to borrow your friend for a few minutes, okay?”

There were somehow still more bizarre, mostly inhuman noises that came out of your friends and even later, when they’d deny ever acting like that in front of a famous rock star (and rolled their eyes at you when you corrected them that he was a musician, not a rock star), it wouldn’t matter because you weren’t paying a single bit of attention to them them anyway.

You only had eyes for one person.

He took your hand and pulled you past the bar, into a little room in the back; the office, presumably. The second you were both inside, he wrapped his arms around your waist and looked you in the eyes. He just stared for a few minutes, or maybe hours, you weren’t sure.

It really didn’t matter.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered.

“Third day of school, fourth period biology class, sophomore year?”

Reeves smiled softly. “The second you walked in that door.”

“Why didn’t you?” you tilted your head to look at him. Okay, to gaze into his eyes. You tilted your head to gaze into his eyes and your subconscious hoped to any gods that would listen that you did not have actual hearts or stars in your pupils.

Not that it really mattered.

His arms never left you but he gave a little shrug. “Never seemed to be the right time. And then I had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “And I ended up with that lame excuse for a boyfriend. But do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?”

“When you couldn’t stop staring at me when you sat down at the lab table next to me?”

“Hmmm, maybe. But definitely when you told the teacher we had to have a funeral for Lenny.”

“Hey, Lenny was a fuckin’ hero,” Reeves batted his eyes at you innocently. “He performed a brave and great service to his country.”

“I am oddly happy you’re still an idiot,” you giggled.

“I’m ecstatic that you kept coming to all my shows in the city.”

You pulled back slightly and looked at the ceiling. “You noticed?”

Reeves gave you that look. That look he always gave you, when you were teenagers, when you said something either completely ridiculous or completely profound. That look he gave you when he thought you might not be looking, even though you were always looking. That look that said he always had your back and you were his best friend. That look that you thought you’d be lucky to see one more time but probably never would.

That look.

“Of course I noticed. I thought about having security make you stay back, but that’s just...no. You always looked happy, and I don’t know...I just didn’t want to intrude, I guess? Just always wondered why you never stuck around after the shows, never stayed to talk to me, never came knocking on the dressing room door.”

You thought about that for a minute. You really did try, but you couldn’t come up with a decent answer. You were happy. Just seeing him was enough, you told yourself. Just hearing him sing was enough, just being in the same room with him, just being near. Just like it was back in high school.

Only it wasn’t high school anymore, and now that he’d finally, finally - after years of would’ve and should’ve and maybes - kissed you, you knew enough wasn’t going to be, well, enough.

So that’s what you told him.

And Reeves pulled you close, leaned in closer, and kissed you again.

You pulled apart, breathless again, and rested your foreheads together.

After minutes, or maybe days, or maybe hours, and definitely years - it didn’t really matter - Reeves was there. You were there. And for once, you were really there together.

“Like what you see?”

“...definitely.”

The Future. Any Day. Every Day.

You always thought, and your friends always said, that the best years of your life happened in high school. And to a certain extent, that was true and you believed in that notion for a very long time.

But ever since that night, that one glorious night in a Manhattan bar, you realized you were wrong.

The best years of your life were still happening.

~end~

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