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pedgito · 6 months

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𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 & 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 | a joel miller x reader oneshot

summary: this is based around work song by hozier, felt a deep need to write some joel miller comfort stuff. listen to the song if you fancy, it really helps, i swear. this is just a lot of angst, fluff, and longing wrapped into a 5k fic i wrote out a couple weeks ago out of missing writing and joel miller.

word count & warnings: 5k | 18+, fem!reader, mentions of violence/blood/fighting (nothing graphic), joel being in a state of shock, sex for comfort/coping, no heavy sex warning it's just v intimate, psuedo love confessions bc joel is bad with words

It’s like an atom bomb uprooting your world with the heavy rasps of a hand against solid wood, sending a sharp buzz of electricity down your spine as you shoot up from your position on the couch, nearly tripping over Ellie on the way. The remnants of a night spent like a teen, enjoying a sleepover with the young girl who had a lot to talk about. You knew enough about Savage Starlight that you were practically an aficionado now, but that didn’t matter.

Ellie only stirs slightly, turning on her side on the cushion of her make-shift pallet and you open the front door slowly despite your rapidly beating heart.

Joel never knocked, never really announced himself. He would come in quiet, quick, and busy himself upstairs. You knew that because he usually found you in his bed, waiting for him.

Tonight was a little different.

No grave can hold my body down,

I'll crawl home to her

You world spins as you see what’s on the other side, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you see him.

Joel. But he wasn’t alone.

“Maria—“ It’s laced with too many emotions, too many meanings. You shift your gaze between the two.

“Everyone—“ Maria has to force herself to take a deep breath, a careful hand on Joel’s arm as she forces him to take a step forward, “everyone is fine.”

“Maria, he’s covered in blood.” As if that wasn’t obvious.

It was crusted and oxidized down, sticking to his skin and covering him like something out of a horror movie. He wasn’t shaking, that was the first thing you noticed. Joel was unnaturally still. Frozen.

“Do you have him?” Maria asks, only expecting one answer. “I’ve gotta tend to Tommy and he’s not telling me a damn thing.”

“Is he hurt?” Your brow furrowed in concern, but Maria doesn’t elaborate at all. You reach for Joel silently, his skin icey to the touch, the rigid, cold weather partially to blame.

“He’ll be alright.” Maria assures you with a nod and she’s gone without another word, leaving you to stare at the shell of a man before you, his eyes boring into the ground, staring at the scuffed up material of his boots, not a word to be spoken. Not even so much as a breath.

“Is he in shock?” Ellie’s less than chipper voice speaks from behind you, forcing your heart to kickstart again.

“Um, I don’t—know…” You pull him inside gently, which he doesn’t fight, but he feels lifeless, “has he—have you seen him like this before?”

“Never.” Her eyes well with silent tears and you quickly shoo her away. Ellie almost seems thankful. Joel can’t admit it to himself but Ellie knows.

You care.

“Go upstairs and get some sleep, Ellie.” You assure her, “I can handle it.”

The walk to Joel’s bedroom feels miles away. Joel shows no signs of life still, as you drag him inside of his room and shut the door with a soft click.

“You need to shower.”

Joel knows this, he can smell it on him.

The smell of death.

You smell it too, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Joel,” You speak softly, invading his line of sight, a gentle touch against rough skin, his scruff a few days grown and there’s a small twitch as your warm hand makes contact, “are you here?”

His nod is a sigh of relief, a weight off your chest.

“Okay—okay, that’s good,” You keep your voice low, like a secret between the both of you, “do you need my help?”

Joel shakes his head weakly, pulling at the buttons of his thick coat, realizing slowly that it was just as bloodied as the rest of him. He wants it off. All of it. Now.

“Are you going to fight me if I try to help?” It’s lighthearted, but you can see how deeply it digs at Joel, like a fresh wound. “Sorry—I just, I want to help. Okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push your hands away when they reach forward and take the coat from his hands. You toss it in a nearby corner, out of sight and out of mind.

You could handle it later, get rid of the mess so Joel wouldn’t have to bother with it.

He toes off his boots after tugging at the laces, delicate fingertips tracing down his chest as you unbutton his flannel, forcing it down his shoulders. It takes a moment, but eventually he’s down to his boxers and tattered white undershirt, barefoot on the hardwood floor.

And he stops, leaning into you, pressing his forehead against your own in a silent bid of thankfulness, a heavy sigh escaping his chest.

Joel showers alone, eerily quiet. You get rid of the clothes, bringing them out to the garage to deal with in the morning.

Joel is already in the bed by the time you make it back to his bedroom, but if he was actually asleep was yet to be discovered, the nightmare replaying behind his eyelids unbeknownst to you.

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Joel wasn’t supposed to come back until later in the evening that day, well after work was wrapped up for the day and everyone was already tucked into bed. You found yourself in Joel’s bed most nights now, off and on for the first few months but now, almost a year into…whatever this was, it was a weekly thing, as often as Joel wasn’t out on patrol.

There was never an agreement about what this was either, not that there needed to be. But, the unspoken rule was to keep your problems away–the anger, the fear, the suppressed feelings you both have tried to keep at bay for weeks now. Joel only mildly complains about things around Jackson, but never about his life before, how he feels now, or how his pseudo-daughter seeks out comfort in your presence when Joel isn’t around.

Joel hasn’t stirred for hours, or so it feels. The night sky fades away into early morning, the tiniest amount of dawn peeking through his window and bathing him in a shadow of blue. The crinkle of sheets pulls your attention toward his face, your body heats like a furnace as it slid near, hoping that even in his slumber he might draw closer. There’s a brief moment where you think he might wake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer. Nuzzles.

You’ll take it.

He moves silently, letting you hold him. An arm slipped under his head, a leg slipped between his own thighs and his hands found their way around your middle and you sigh, a deep breath through your nose that does nothing to calm your worrying, aching heart.

If he wanted to talk about it, he would. That’s all you can hope for.

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

Joel is edging on delirious. The adrenaline was beginning to wane and he kept seeing things in faint recollection. The faces of the couple that had snuck into the cabin he and Tommy were patrolling last night, the fear on his brother’s face–something he hasn’t seen from Tommy since they were teenagers. They’re battle-hardened warriors, attack first and ask questions later. His brother was helpless then and if it weren’t for Joel’s terrible bout of insomnia—he couldn’t think about it.

He feels everything finally caught up to him, the physical exertion, the mental toll, he’s never slept so easily in his life and he feels terrible about it. He feels terrible about bringing this on you, forcing you to help piece him back together and keep him from falling apart.

Joel is a man, solid and steel-like in his ways but he’s not invulnerable to emotion. He feels it creeping in as he blinks his tired eyes open, the flutter in his chest growing strong when he feels you wrapped around him and his own limbs just the same.

He could’ve swore you left. The look on your face, of pure terror and disgust as he poured his heart out to you, but Joel quickly realizes that was only a dream, something his mind cooked up in the haze of hysteria.

“Is Tommy hurt?” You ask with a timidness he’s not used to, your fingers massaging at the base of his neck, twirling a curl of his hair around your finger idly, “Maria...didn’t say, she looked exhausted.”

We don’t talk about these things.

We don’t talk.

We don’t.

“I’m not asking you to tell me what happened,” You assure him like he’d spoked aloud, “Just…even a nod, Joel. Anything.”

Joel waits too long, to the point where you think he’s fallen back asleep. But eventually, he shakes his head. You relax briefly. No, he wasn’t hurt.

But, that doesn’t explain the blood.

As much as you wanted to know, it wasn’t your place to ask.

She never asked me once

about the wrong I did

Joel doesn’t understand why he feels drawn to you, so eager to have you here, home. You had your own place, your own things, but when you were here it almost felt normal. Real. He’s dragged this out for months, avoiding the looks you give him when things get a little too intense and he pulls away.

Ellie calls him an idiot every month that passes, knowing how good it is to have you around.

“Jesus, Joel—you can’t really be that oblivious.”

Joel forces Ellie to drop it.

But, not before she mumbles the word under her breath.

There’s a soft sob that racks your body as Joel stirs, crying silently above him with worry. You weren’t as great at burying those emotions as him, unfortunately.

Because, for tonight, well—it was almost too much to process.

“I took care of it,” Joel speaks through his gruff, sleep-filled voice, “Tommy’s fine.”

It? Took care of it? Come on, Joel.

“It was a couple. Hunters. They were from the west.”

You stay silently, scared that speaking might startle him too. You didn’t want to steal the chance of knowing, understanding.

“I handled it.” The emphasis around the word is enough to make you understand.

He killed them. There was no way around that.

“I’ve never…” The quiver in Joel’s voice is apparent, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, “I’ve felt a lot of things. Anger, betrayal, but that fear—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling Joel closer into the space you shared.

“They had their hands around him,” Joel explains slowly, like he’s trying and failing to relive that sight in his mind, “my damn hearing, old fucking age—another minute and things would’ve been a hell of a lot different.”

“But, you took care of it.” You affirmed him and his hands tightened against your skin. “Seem pretty damn capable to me.”

“Fuckin’ cowards.” Joel spits out, “We were sleepin’ and they tried to get the jump on us.”

“It’s alright, though—Tommy’s okay, you’re…okay,” You hesitate, a quiver of a breath from Joel ghosts over your chest, his tired eyes peering into yours, “You’re okay, right?”

“Always am,” Joel assures you with a low, soft response, “had so much on mind, though, ya’ know?”

“Well, yeah—”

Joel shakes his head, cuts you off for a brief moment. You don’t really mind, talking felt too draining right now.

“Ellie’s still learnin’, she can’t even go out on patrol by herself. Tommy and Maria have the baby now.” Joel’s fingers squeeze again, a nervous tic he’s picked up when he’s got himself wrapped around you, the urge to say things he wishes he could but can’t. You’re begging for it now, wondering if this was the moment. “I couldn’t live with myself if things went the other way.”

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

Joel was a killer. Is. But, with good intentions. Not that it was needed anymore.

Survival, family, protection. He’s killed for the wrong reasons and the good ones, but it’s never been something you’ve judged him on. You never even questioned it. You accepted it, moved on, and treated him like everyone else. But, of course, there was a tinge of sweetness that creeped in, got him all caught and wound up in your web.

“Did she give you any trouble last night?” It’s a quick turn from the heavy conversation you were having, but it isn’t lost on you. He’s silently asking things to shift to something else.

“No more than the usual,” You shrug, talking softly in the early morning ambience, wind howling outside his bedroom window, a storm brewing on the horizon, “I don’t think it’s me that you should be worried about her giving trouble anyways.”

He would be stuck here in Jackson for a few days. You’ve never been more thankful for shitty weather in a goddamn apocalypse.

“That kid loves you.” Joel comments fondly, and I do too.

“Only because I help her and Dina sneak out during town movie nights,” You admit, glancing away sheepishly, “she really worries about you.”

Joel nods knowingly, his usual scowl returning to his face. You reach forward, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone—in this light he looks fine, untouched and perfect, but he winced at the contact. He’s a tough man, but he’s not invincible.

The touch of his fingers as they wrap around your palm are instinctive, he’s careful that he doesn’t startle you by the quick action, but it’s almost like he’s being shocked and brought back to hours before, the one hit they managed to land on him.

You’ve seen a few of Joel’s violent outbursts, yelling matches upon yelling matches with Tommy but it’s never been directed at you. You retract slightly, fingers curling over the top of his own.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, “I didn’t realize—“

“I would never hurt you.” Joel says adamantly, but you can’t help but feel puzzled. “I’m not a monster.”

That idea never crossed your mind.

“Defending yourself doesn’t make you a monster, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t know why he feels the need for validation.

“Maria—she thought I,” Joel laughs sadly, a huff of air that borders on defeat, “Tommy was hitchin’ the horses up and she saw me first, without him and she thought I left him behind. That I sacrificed my own damn brother to save my ass.”

Maria had never been fond of Joel, that much was always apparent, even from the moment you met. She tolerated him because he was Tommy’s brother but that was all. There was no way around it.

“I’ve done plenty of shit to cement my place in hell somewhere, and so has Maria,” You tell him, “Doesn’t matter what she thinks, Tommy knows you would never do that.”

Joel squeezes your waist tighter, the soft skin molding under his calloused fingertips, “You’re too damn good to me.”

The kissing starts slowly, a soft caress as Joel moves in closer, and doesn’t even try—he waits for you, teasing you with a touch until you can’t fight anymore and you press your lips against his gently. It’s the first time in the last several hours that Joel doesn’t feel like he’s drowning, barely skimming the surface to keep himself afloat.

He feels horrible, using you like this—coping with things by stowing them away and surrounding himself with you in a hope that you wouldn’t ask anymore questions, that he would have to explain his actions or justify them. But, you taste too damn sweet under his tongue and he prods until you let him in, a small sigh leaving your mouth as your lips part.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He swears like a symphony, sounding more devious than it should as it leaves his lips, “Can’t keep at this, not with Ellie upstairs.”

“Joel, she’s not here.” It’s not so obvious to Joel, who’s just about as oblivious to every teen antic thrown his way. “She’s out with Dina, probably. That’s usually where she goes when she’s upset.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I heard her moving around when you were asleep,” You explain quietly, jostling your head slightly on the pillow until Joel’s situated over you slightly, his head resting in the palm of his hand that held him upright, “it’ll do you some good to talk to her in the morning.”

Joel nods knowingly, half-smiling as he pushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb finding the sensitive dip behind your lobe and rubbing until you couldn’t hold your laughter in, letting it bubble out weakly before falling silent, a soft, but serious look growing across your features.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” You tell him, “please.”

“C’mere,” Joel nudges his chin upwards, drawing you in close, “I’m not goin’ down without a fight, darlin’.”

“I’m serious,” You don’t need to force a love confession on him, not that it would salvage anything or make things better, because Joel already understands—there’s too many instances where he’s felt his heart tug in all the weird, uncomfortable places he’s kept locked away since he was younger, before the outbreak, before Sarah, “you can’t do that anymore.”

“I’m here,” Joel assures you, forehead pressed firm against your own as he nods, “I’m right here.”

He failed to mention how after the attack, the split second of everything flashing through his memory, the possibility of losing Tommy, disappointing Ellie, that you were the one thing that kept him conscious enough to come home.

He’d left you with a burning kiss the day he left, kissing like two lovebirds trying to keep a secret as you hung around the stables as the pairs readied to leave.

It was his own little promise of a return, but you didn’t realize in just what shape. He was good at masking, even now. Joel was hurting, but all he wanted was you.

And you could give him that.

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Joel hums, soft and quiet, “Don’t move,” He pleads, “need you right here.”

His palms are heavy, feeling so much larger than they should as they span the length of your body, pulling you in close and cradling you like a safety blanket. Maybe you should stop, it isn’t the best route to cope with the situation, but Joel is there—wanting and needing and he’s mouthing at the junction of your neck in a way that has you gasping for air.

He needs you to occupy his mind, it’s what you did best for him. Joel needed somewhere else to be, anywhere but the hellscape behind his eyes when sleep succumbed to his pure exhaustion.

Just a moment. Just a moment to breathe. To feel.

Your brow furrows so deep that you're scowling now, but mostly out of concern, forehead scrunching from the emotion and you cradle Joel’s face carefully between your hands, “Tell me what you need.”

You.

He doesn’t say as much, but you can feel him sifting for your tattered pajama pants as he digs his fingertips under the waistband and yanks, hoping you’ll get the idea.

Okay, this is fine. He needs sex, you can provide him that. But, you won’t let him escape. Joel needed to be present and here with you, not forcing himself to some far off space in his mind and keeping you around him like nothing more than a warm body for him to fuck.

He’s got you all pliant under his touch as he needs at soft skin, thumb digging into your hip bone as he shifts between your legs lazily, spreading you wide and using the arm that is holding most of his weight to unfurl his hand and reach for that tight space behind your knee, tucking that leg up and over his right hip—this feels undoubtedly vulnerable, but he’s staring at you with those eyes and you absolutely fucking melt, his mouth parted by mere centimeters as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

“Go on, darlin’,” Joel encourages, “I know you need it too.”

That was an understatement.

He’s already hard, head of his cock resting against the small expanse of skin between his groin and belly button. It’s like a wave of heat that rushes over your bodies when you finally touch him how he’s been begging—not so much with words but pleading looks. He needs it even more than you do.

Usually you would spend a while in the throes of leisurely foreplay, letting Joel devour you until you were nothing but a heap of numbness on the bed and only then would he allow you what you were begging for the entire time. His cock, buried deep enough inside you that it felt impossible. But, there was none of that.

Your thumb slides over the head, smearing the precum in a too teasing motion that has Joel cursing under his breath before you’re abruptly guiding him to your core, slick and waiting without a single touch, embarrassingly so. Fortunately, you and Joel were long over that. Joel was overly aware of the effect he had on you—mind, body, and soul.

He slides home and you have to take a moment, a second to breath, chest expanding with a full breadth of air as Joel pulls you in closer, if that was even possible, warm hands settling firm on your hips, his head resting against the pillow you both shared, “There she is,” Joel comments vexingly, “always know what you need, right, baby?”

As good as it feels to hear him, the way he can melt you with a single phrase or sound, he’s still on guard in the way he’s shielding himself against your body, rocking his hips in a motion that drowns out all relative thinking and it builds, builds until you can’t take it and you feel like you just might burst. You slip a hand out from under him to pull at the chain on his bedside lamp, drowning you in a soft yellow glow and Joel doesn’t look right away—that’s how you know.

“Switch me,” You suggest softly, followed by an even lower, disgruntled noise from Joel, “—Joel, come on.”

Joel feels that distant ache in his bones, the soreness in his hands from the damage they caused, he groans with the movement, but even louder with the way you sink back down onto him once he’s settled against the mattress, hands fisted into his shirt and rumpling it up his stomach, revealing a few inches of soft skin, grinding down against him until he’s nearly writhing. His mouth opens slightly, ready to say something you didn’t want to hear.

You offer a soft shhh, eyes focused on the lines of his face, beautiful with age and scrunched up in pleasure, eyes closed as he settles into the feeling of you again, “Stay with me,” You jeer quietly, a soft giggle settling on the surface as you smile, ever so slightly, ”‘can you do that?”

Sometimes it feels like an impossible feat, but Joel grips you a little tighter, pulls you in ever the more closer and the slick of your body feels so goddamn good, he doesn’t even realize his thought breached his lips before your breath is hot against his ear, his mind battling the thoughts buried under the surface and every filthy thing he could blurt out in the moment, he’s so tense with anticipation, “Stop thinking so hard, Joel. You’re home. Safe.”

And for once, he gives in. A long, hard fought battle that succumbs to his own exhaustion, allowing the kinder touches, the intimate glances between two people, almost like your fingertips were grazing each other’s souls. It’s felt intense before, but this moment is sharp around the edges and Joel knows what you need to hear. He’s fought it for a while, trying to right his wrongs, remind himself still, that he didn’t deserve you. He’s done fighting.

“Just need you, darlin’.” He admits gruffly, lips sliding against each other in a messy, lazy attempt at a kiss, “Always know just what to do.”

In other words, you could read Joel like a book.

And in the few years you’ve known him, you were hoping that was the case, considering the level of intimacy you’ve reached. Joel comes with a tired, drawn out groan that pierces you deep, and you’re right there—right there, before Joel is flipping you over with little fight on your end, sucking on your clit with a ferocity that doesn’t let up, coming with a shout as you grip his hair at the root, riding out the extent of your climax against his mouth as he eased you into your sated state of exhaustion.

The comedown is heavy, long, extended bouts of silence as you two try to catch your breath, slow your pounding hearts and Joel, at some point, finds his way higher up your body, his head laying against your chest, just underneath your breasts and it's an easy position to rub your fingers into his hair, along the planes of his face. He'd never admit it, but this is his favorite part. The after.

For you, it was everything.

"I want you around more often," Joel says quietly, like a whisper, "—m'tired of worrying about you when you're not around."

It almost makes you think you slipped into some sort of fugue state, not believing that the Joel Miller had said anything remotely close to a confession. But, then again, he surprised you every day. And you knew he couldn't ask you outright, not now, maybe not ever.

But, you'd settle for this.

"I'm not going anywhere, Joel." You promise, "You've always got me to come home too."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #my writing #posting this and hiding for another six months #pedrostories

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cordeliawhohung · 6 months

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okay HI IM SUCH A BIG FOR THE SOFT SPOT SERIES I LOVE READING IT SO MUCH.

Just wanted to pop in and request a little comfort with ghost? I'm mid-way my midterms right now and I haven't slept properly for nearly 4 days. I need that man to either fuck me to sleep or cuddle me.

Again, love your work. Love everything you write, really. You're an amazing author and thank you for sharing your skill to the world LIKE YOU SHOULD 💅💅💅

hi hun! thank you so much!!! i'm glad that you're enjoying it a;lsdkfj like i've said before soft spot is my babyyyyy and youch! sorry to hear about finals! that's such a pain, and i apologize that this has taken a moment to get back to you. but now that you mention it, i don't think i've ever written anything just... fluffy for Simon. so i think i'll write you a short and sweet fluff bit that will hopefully cheer you up! thank you so much you are such a sweetheart 😭

warnings: none! super fluffy! sleeping issues and Simon thinks cuddles is the best medicine (:

masterlist (:

Sleep wasn't coming easy for you. A majority of your nights had been spent getting minimal sleep before being startled awake by your own thoughts. It was difficult to pin down the exact reason. You weren't stressed, or at least you liked to pretend that you weren't, and there were no strange dreams or nightmares that ailed you. Just your own thoughts, the constant feeling that you had to be doing something, anything, otherwise you were wasting time.

You stood in the kitchen with a cup in hand as you ran the sink. Everything always seemed louder at night. Your footsteps, the water pouring from the spout, even your own heart beating in your chest. The very atoms buzzing in every object around you even seemed too loud.

"It's late."

Simon's voice was deep and groggy as he spoke from the doorway, and it was piercing enough so that it cut through the noise of everything else in existence. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and you could see a faint indented line across his cheek. He must have been sleeping pretty well, which was the whole reason you left the bed in the first place; to not wake him with your restless tossing and turning.

"Baby, go back to bed," you said softly. You eyed the pale green neon of the microwave clock that read 2:04 in the morning before taking a quick sip of water.

"You've got work in the mornin'," he said simply before stepping further into the kitchen.

You sighed before setting the cup next to the sink, and you leaned against the counter. There was little doubt in your mind that Simon was just as tired of your restlessness as you were. Constantly slipping out of bed, wandering around the flat in an attempt to get the buzzing in your mind to stop long enough to hopefully fall back asleep again.

Simon's hands brushed against your hips where he pulled you closer, and you nearly melted into him. Hands resting against his chest, you let him pull you close. You felt the warm breath from his nose tickle your hairline as he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead.

"Come back to bed," he mumbled into the crown of your head. It wasn't a request, but wasn't a demand, either. It was something that landed somewhere in the middle.

Either way, you listened. Even though you could feel the static of the world rattle your bones and shake your mind, you trotted off after Simon as he led you back into the bedroom. Your side of the bed was cold when you crawled back in, and you wondered just how long you had been standing in the kitchen for.

Simon liked his space when he slept. Something about you being too wiggly, but you didn't mind. You were used to laying your head on your pillow and holding the blankets tight under your chin to lull yourself to sleep. So when you felt Simon's hand on your shoulder, rolling you over to face him, you were a little surprised.

"Come here," he prompted in his sleepy daze.

And so you did. His arm snaked around your torso as he pulled you close, and instead of a pillow underneath your head it was his chest. His other arm rested on his torso so that he could reach and rub gentle circles along your back. One last time, he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your head before laying down.

He didn't say anything else, and neither did you. The only thing you did was lay there, cheek pressed against his chest while your arm held him around his waist. Each beat of his heart reverberated brilliantly within his chest, and every breath he took sounded long and deliberate.

Instead of focusing on the noise of the universe around you, you found your mind enamored by Simon instead. How the subtle rise and fall of his chest rocked your body with his. How you could hear the blood gushing through his body, feel the fibers of his body creak with the weight. His warmth bled into you, coaxing your muscles to soften. You focused on trying to match your breathing with his, and you wondered if you did it long enough, if your hearts would start to sync; if your blood would pulse at the same speed; if your bodies would begin to meld.

Eventually his hand stilled, and his breathing slowed even more, and you continued to match his pace. Soon, you were nothing more than just two souls occupying the same space; atoms weaved together; lovers intertwined. Slumber settled over you before your mind even had the chance to process it, but even in your sleep your body knew you were right where you belonged.

sorry if this is too short! i'm trying to practice not writing 6k words for every single thing i put on this site a;lksdjf either way i hope it was enjoyable, and i hope you're able to get some good rest soon, anon <3

#core responds #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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jackiepackiee · 2 months

Note

Oh hey there! This my first time requesting you!

I have a request for chuuya nakahara and dazai osamu. I wanna ask that how would he be a as a boyfriend to a s/o who could control electrons in the atmosphere.

For dazai its how would he confess to girl who he admires for a long time but is scared to lose her, but she confesses to him before he could?

Thank you very much and I love the rule about angst without a happy ending i mean cmon life is tough enough already we all are carrying emotional baggage in some way or the other 😭😭

Love you admin, take care! 💞💞

Trying this again because I finished and tumblr deleted it ALLLL

I love science!

𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾 & 𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝐸𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝒜𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈- 𝓃𝑜𝓅𝑒

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈 / 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓁𝑜𝑔𝓊𝑒

𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾

Will ask the most annoying questions

“Can you make your body a metallic bond so when you’re hit by an enemy, you’re malleable. Oh! Can you make the hatrack an ionic bond so I can make his charges line up and he’ll explode!”

“Dazai… No!

Yall meet a work

He teases you, goes on missions with you, pranks Kunikida with you

But it’s not until your ability goes haywire and you’re hurt one day that he realizes he likes you

From then on, he hugs you when your ability acts up

Nullifying you and getting a hug

A win win in his book

Little things change

He does his paperwork, doesn’t drink as much, teases you more, and makes less suicide attempts

Though, he can’t confess

You’re too good, he can’t ruin you with his depression and violent past

But, what if you say no?

He thinks it’s a lose lose

What a dumb thing for such a smart guy to think?

He finally decided to confess when Ranpo tells him that it’s a good idea

(Ranpo, the world's greatest detective, can obviously tell you like Dazai and he likes you. Why not be the wingman for the new it couple?)

“Dazai… the entire agency knows. And I’ll tell them for you… unless you get me a snack. Yknow, I’m no romance detective, but love is in the air.”

So… he brings you to the Port

Wins you a cute little teddy at a game slot

He’s about to confess

But… before he can speak

“Dazai, I like you!”

You like him. You. So incredibly intelligent, strong, kind? He’s smart, but would’ve never seen this coming

He noticed how the ocean twists

You ability acts up and is causing the hydrogen and oxygen to disconnect

You’re practically shaking with nerves

So… he hugs you

Not a kiss… he would never rush such a perfect moment

The ocean calms, you ability nullifies

Now that you’re dating, the question are WORSE

“Did you change the atoms in my brain so I love you?” “One, no. Two, that’s not how love works!”

Brags to everyone, even if it’s annoying

Just adores you

Thinks he could die happy

Although, he’d much rather live to love you

Makes sure that all your missions are local so he can get to you incase electrons start buzzing around

Calls you dumb things, stupid science jokes, it’s a headache

Overall, so smart but sooo stupid

𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶

Thinks you’re the coolest!

Likes to think your abilities are similar and you two have a connection

Also… a bit dumb

So he asks so many questions

What, he’s fascinated with you and he wants to know as much as he can

“Valence electrons? What?” “What do ya mean I can’t see em? Too small?”

Even if he’s technically the strongest in the entire Port Mafia, thinks you’re better

I mean, he can control gravity but you can manipulate matter!

Thinks that you’re a gift for all his years of hell and unluckiness

Even if you’re just a friend… for now

Never EVER lets you go on missions alone

Makes sure at least one of his trusted subordinates is with you

And if that can’t happen, he’ll make sure Mori gives Chuuya you’re a dangerous work

He’ll miss sleep to take your work, just so you’re safe

If you’re ever overwhelmed, he’ll float you off the ground

Makes sure that you can calm down

Maybe it’s the air higher up, maybe the scenery?

Or… maybe it’s his arms wrapped tight around you

He realizes during one of these moments how much he loves you

“Shh, it’s okay. You ability is stable and you’re safe.”

After asking Kouyou for advice, he’s ready to confess

Buys roses, wine, a jazz record, and a little stuffed animal

Knocks on your apartment when…

You open the door… looking stunning.

“Chuuya? What’re you doing here?”

A gorgeous red outfit, styled hair and makeup. He used his ability to float the gifts to the ceiling so you wouldn’t see.

“Oh… you look pret- I mean! You’re so dressed up.”

“Yeah… was about to leave.”

His heart sunk, although his cheeks warmed at the sight of you in such a beautiful outfit.

“Do you have a date?”

“Date? No, I don’t.”

What a relief!

“Well, what’s the occasion?”

“… I really like you Chuuya! I was gonna try and find you at work now!”

Oh woah… did he just die and go to heaven?

Gives you the sweetest kiss (It’s definitely his first)

Now that you’re dating, he spoils you

Remember how no one is allowed to put you in danger?

Before, he’d let other watch you

But now he’ll clear his day just for your safety

Tries to learn as much as he can about science so he can talk with you even more

“Damn it… electron sea? I thought we had seven seas already?”

Overall? Perfect 11/10

#bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd fanfic #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x fem reader #bsd dazai #chuuya x fem!reader #chuuya x you #JACKIEPACKIEESTORIES

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chouxsardine · 5 months

Text

Mariner's Complex -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Look for the lighthouse when you are lost, it will always bring you home. May the light in your soul guide you, may the love in your heart keep you strong." -- Jake is nervous before going on stage. You know just the right way to calm his nerves.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 2532

Warnings: 18+! minors be gone, mention of alcohol, mention of anxiety, public sex, unprotected penetrative sex, soft Jake (please let me know if I missed any!)

Genre: Smut, hurt/comfort (kind of)

Author's note: This piece is inspired by the gif above. I am smitten upon seeing it. This is my first time writing smut. It's about vulnerability, about receiving and giving love, lots of love. It is my fictional way of hoping that Jake is reminded of being one of the best guitarists out there and that he is loved by us. Deepest thanks to the wonderful @sacredjake for beta reading and for inspiring and encouraging me to pick up writing and post this. Please do yourself a favor and read her works; they're awesome beyond words. Enjoy!!

🎧: songs that pair nice with this piece: Lost at Sea by Lana Del Rey and Rob Grant; Mariners apartment complex by Lana Del Rey (can you tell I'm bad at titles now?)

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There’s just something about the air in the stadium before the concert; it feels like with every inhale, it immediately turns into adrenaline. With its graininess accentuated, one can almost sense the atoms buzzing in the air, like a shoal of sardines forming a bait ball, enclosing him, a cyclone where he is the eye. Is this what Josh means when he writes “carbon dancing through time” ?

His mind is racing a million miles a second; it’s like hoping onto a car with broken brakes, he’s bound to hit something in the hazardous terrain——

Knock knock. “Jake?”

As if someone pulled the switch, he is snapped back to reality. He immediately recognizes the voice of his lover. The sweetest sound in the world. His shoulder visibly relaxes, the corner of his mouth turning up, and his heart feels tender. He has always appreciated this—forever so considerate and thoughtful, always respecting his privacy even though they have already been together for so long.

“Come in!”

As expected, his lover’s face came into view, the familiar smile.

“I got you the salad you wanted!” You said, raising the white plastic bags in your hands.

You can tell he is anxious the moment you push open the door. Years of a committed relationship must have formed some kind of telepath between you two. You can almost sense it in the air. Is it a thing though? Like the service dogs that can smell it when their owner’s heart is beating too fast. Well, you know someone’s heart is certainly racing now.

You can’t quite figure out where his anxiety is coming from. They boys are at the middle leg of this tour. Is it from the traveling? Or maybe it has to do with his string snapping during soundcheck earlier? Or it could just be his brain playing tricks on him. And you respect that, even amazed or amused because you know it’s from the very same place where all the amazing melodies and witty remarks are born.

You spotted the glass on the vanity. Amber liquid barely covering its bottom, corresponding to the proportionate empty space in the newly-opened bottle of whiskey right next to it. You know Jake is never one to get plastered before going on stage. The alcohol is just a pacifier for his nerves. You follow his gaze to the white roses sitting in the vase. He’s remained quiet all this time, not even trying to hide his feelings, only giving you a smile through his reflection in the mirror. The comfortable silence hangs mellowly like willow branches, a mute radiation of his trust and vulnerability.

You set the bag aside and squat down in front of him, thumb brushing the back of his hand. You know better than to ask questions like “are you okay”. You know that right now your physical presence is already a comfort for him. You’d rather let him take the lead for the rest.

Jake tilts up your chin—a silent cue for kisses. You happily oblige, feeling his lips forming a smile upon contact with yours. He releases a contented sigh, pulling back after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got me now.” Now sitting across his lap, your hand rests gently on his cheek. Jake immediately leans into your touch like a cat, turning his head and pressing kisses into your palm.

“They already double-checked it. I’ll ask them to pay extra attention before the show starts, just to make sure.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing the little hoop dangling.

Jake hums, knowing you are referring to the snapped string earlier. Stupid mistake. His throat feels dry, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I——”

“Shh,” you give him a peck on the lips, “none of that. You don’t have to explain anything. Those feelings are valid. And they are temporary.”

Then a brilliant idea strikes you.

“We’ll take a walk, alright?”

“Here?” He cocks his head in slight confusion.

He immediately recognizes that you are giving him a taste of his own medicine. Well, in a good way. He knows you are talking about one of those “mental health walks” that he proposes when you are engulfed by the noises inside your head. But the backstage is not street gardens or some hiking trials in a park, how will that work?

“Yeah, you have time. Right?”

There’s indeed at least a good half an hour before the last sound check. He can’t argue with you. By the way, when were he ever able to say no to your invitations? This little genius mind of his lovers, constantly conjuring up the most amusing and endearing words and ideas like the hat of a magician. With a resigned smile, he caves in, placing his hands in yours.

“Come on, up you get, you lazy butt.” You step back and pull on his arm.

“Hey, you love this butt!” He protests in feigned grievance.

“Yup, can’t deny it’s a nice one.” You jokingly smack his ass as you follow him out of the dressing room, feeling happier hearing his banter, seeing him slowly getting back to himself. He’ll get there, you will make sure of it.

The corridors are generally quiet around this time, allowing the artists to rest before the real frenzy starts. Occasionally, stage crews pass by, rolling equipments boxes down the hall. You two swiftly move out of their way, hand in hand, strolling as if window shopping in the mall. You are entertaining Jake with a funny little incident you saw on your way to buy him food.

“You should’ve seen it, really,” you snort out a laugh recalling the scene, “that poor lady is struggling so hard and the shopping cart is just running away from her, loaded with two cases of Guinness!”

Jake is laughing with you, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. You turn to admire his profile, the apple of his cheek rising, the wrinkle to his nose deepening, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. There’s nothing you love more than seeing Jake smile and laugh, it never fails to create that fizzy feeling in your heart, like a bubble approaching the surface of a cream soda.

Having jumped out of your storytelling, your attention diverts back to the feeling of Jake’s arm snaking around your waist. Now his hands are sliding up your sides, from the small of your back to the sweet spot on your flank.

He turns to look at you. Upon meeting his gaze, you immediately pick up the implicit plea. His caramel eyes full of admiration, the edge of his iris grows fuzzy. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze falls to your lips.

You cover the distance between you with a kiss. This one is different from the one in the dressing room. The tip of his tongue tickles your bottom lip with small licks before him pulls back a bit and mutters under his breath, “Want you, want to be close to you.”

Once again, you are more than willing to indulge.

It’s just so convenient that you happened to be near the corner where a pilaster protrudes enough to hide you from the passersby. As your back hits the wall, your fingers are already tangled in Jake’s hair, holding him close. You are circled by him, his freshly applied cologne lingers, now well adapted to his skin, bergamot wrapping the hidden notes of pepper and cedar. Jake kisses along your jawline and traces downwards, creating a dotted line of kisses across your breasts and hovering over your navel. His hands tugging on the waist of your pants. As he unzips it smoothly, he dives back in with more kisses, nibbling on the material of your underwear.

“No,” you mumble, tugging on his elbow motioning him to stand up, “I want you in me.” You loved it when he goes down on you, but not now. Now you need it to be about him, you know he needs it too.

There is a halt in his movement, suddenly his eyes a shade darker.

“Yes, let it out, Jake.” You hold your forehead against his, making sure he hears every word certain and clear. Whatever it is, a much-needed release, a claim of territory, an outlet of his bundled nerves. “Use me. Fuck me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Jake sucks in a breath.

You smirk, tilting your head back against the wall and surrendering more of your body to his arms. Jake’s hands on your thighs cover the coolness of your skin as your pants pool around your ankles. His knuckles tracing your heat through the fabric, the ghostly touch making you squirm.

“Please, Jake.” You loop your arms around his neck, raising up a leg pressing it into the side of his waist.

“So wet for me already, angel.” With frantic eagerness, he takes out his length and pulls your underwear aside. Your slickness draws his hard cock inside as he bottoms out in one firm and steady thrust. Jake was looking down as he enters you, his eyebrows creased in concentration, eyelashes throwing shadows under his eyes. He never fails to marvel at the way your bodies connect, it catches him in awe every time no matter how many times you have fucked, just as you are exploring each other’s bodies for the first time. When his gaze meets yours again, it’s like moonlight spilling behind clouds. You are the only object of his vision.

“Yes!” You mouth silently as he starts moving, him picking up the pace almost instantly as if placed in a running wheel. Jake’s head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath radiating and him lapping up at whatever area of skin he comes in contact with. His arm goes under your knee and finds leverage on the wall, the other hand holding onto your pelvis, pinning you in place. The rough texture of the brick wall rubs against your back along each shudder, magnifying the titillation deep inside you.

You feel like with each thrust his insecurity and anxiety ebbs away like the snaky morning fog, replaced by his confidence and charming self: the one you know will work his magic on stage tonight just like ever, the one that will make the entire stadium shake and roar just by his fingers moving across six strings, the one that proves both to the world and to himself again and again that “it could be done”.

You can feel him swell and twitch against your walls, you squeeze you thighs and clench, knowing he’s getting close. The spasms of his cock tickling that particular spot to the point of no return, the ecstasy washing over you like a cascade. The whines and screams rolling and tumbling in your chest like a pot of boiling water, threatening to jump out of your mouth. You roll your eyes back and swallow them down, releasing only one suppressed moan of “let go, baby” against Jake’s ear, and that is enough to send him over the edge.

With one jerk of his body, he cums hard. You can feel the additional thickness of his release almost dripping down your crotch. Jake’s whole weight falls towards you with the hunch of his shoulders. His chest presses firmly against your body, its rise and fall teasing your still hard nipples.

You hold his head against your chest as he comes down from the high, fingers brushing away the naughty strands of hair that have flown into the corner of his mouth and stuck to his cheek.

“As much as I would like to stay here forever, you really have to get going. They must be looking for their rockstar everywhere.” You chuckle while shimmying out of your rumpled underwear, using it to clean up.

“Damn.” Jake leans back against the wall as he watches you, still on cloud nine and short of words. For a moment, all he can do is look at you.

“Stop staring.” You nudge him, unable to stop blushing facing his caramel eyes filled with unadulterated adoration. You bet if you could reach into them, you would find a handful of stars. Plus, Jake looks exceptionally beautiful post-fuck, the upturn at the corners of his mouth accentuated the curve of his cupid’s bow. The smug smirk is counterbalanced by the rosy blush on his cheekbones, a tell-tale sign of his satiated desire. Good. That’s what you’d expected and what you’d like to see.

Jake cups your face in both of his hands as he leans in for a kiss. This time, almost childish, his pouted lips pepper all over, the bilabial “mwah” is especially pronounced, causing you to giggle again.

“Quite the walk, huh?” You insinuate.

“Well, now I prefer to call it the ‘mental health fuck’,” Jake slowly straightens his back, resembling a cat stretching after a content nap. “Catch you on the flip side, my love.”

He was already a couple of strides away when he rushes back to kiss you again, catching you in surprise. Aggressive and fervent in his actions, but oh so gentle when his mouth meets yours. This is the type of kiss where he takes the lead, and you are completely at his mercy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, and his teeth softly bite your lower lip. It’s a kiss that steals your breath and your heartbeat away for tits entirety . “You know you are my lighthouse, yeah?” He stares right into your eyes, his voice low and husky. “ You always guide me back when I’m lost at sea. My Leucothea, my Lady of Luck.”

You feel a lump in your throat, and every word goes straight to your heart. The feelings there are so overwhelming that they rise and swell like tidal waves. It;s so much love that it makes you want to cry.

“Gosh, Jake, such the poet.” That all you manage to say.

“Because you’re my muse, my angel,” Jake smiles again as he steps back one last time. “And now it’s time for me to set sail again, yeah?”

“Aye aye,” you blow him a kiss, “Fair Winds, Captain.”

You watch as he leaves. The Starcatcher symbol on his back standing tall and proud. The crystal embellishments on his jacket scintillate, jet crystals and glass beads shimmers, reflecting the lights like a thousand stars falling onto his shoulders. He is the warrior that breaks their fall, wearing them proud as a crystal armour. You watch as he marches forward, carrying on his shoulders the weight of dreams. Your dearest rocker, the bravest captain.

For Jake, the atoms are still buzzing, but now he can feel them moving rhythmically, like the joyful wings of a hummingbird or the secret dance of bees. They delivering a yet undecipherable but nonetheless auspicious message. Soon he will be going on stage, carrying a heart full of love from his lover, so he can give all his love to his fans out there. And he knows if he looks, he will find you among the crowd, a cluster of flame, a powerhouse of love.

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Thank you so much for reading!! :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

The description of Jake's jacket is heavily relied on this post

kudos to who spotted the TLSP reference hehe

If you are in need of some fluff, feel free to check out my another Jake pieces: Permission to Fall || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

#jake kiskza x reader #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

CULT OF VAGABONDS: PROLOGUE

NAVIGATION || COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER I ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: It all began with a white van, a gun to the spine, and five smooth words. It ended with death.

WORDCOUNT: 4.07k

WARNINGS: Abduction, blood and gore, high stress situations, angst, major character death, vomit, descriptions of wounds, canon typical

A/N: I apologize to the people who hate reading all italics - I had to do it for my own sanity since this is a flashback, lmao. I promise it’s not sticking around. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

It would have been kinder to take the bullet.

Your mind runs as you’re placed into a wooden chair roughly, the bag over your head obstructing everything but the thin beams of light passing through the itchy ramie fabric. Bits are glimpsed—people moving, shifting large bodies; tapping feet, and muttering voices like a grim party of ghouls.

You’re going to hyperventilate, you admit with a startling calm that bleeds into induced shock. Under the binds, your hands shake so violently in your lap that you wonder if they’ll break apart like glass—the skin fragments shattering as bones turn to sharp dust. Air gets thin. Black dots start dancing.

“Sir,” a voice to your left speaks, American, and you’re flinching away before the word is fully out, head whipping to the side as if you could make out more than a blob of black and gray. A sob lays heavy in the bareness of your throat as sweat slicks your neck. What was going on? “I…I can’t—”

“You’re excused.”

The sound of receding footsteps and the slam of a door is scarcely heard above your own breathing, a deep inhale to help push back the void, and a wheezing exhale to welcome the next. Bare membranes of your throat reek of bile, and you think you threw up in the van that had driven you here, though you don’t remember much of that.

Just the gun in the base of your spine and a low, smooth, voice with a British accent into the shell of your ear.

“Head down and stay quiet.” Someone had said, sternly.

Oh, it would have been kinder to take the bullet. What was it that those shows always warned you about? Never let someone take you to a second location? Your eyes wrench closed as the muscles of your numb fingers tense and loosen in an anxious pattern.

Along the floor, your feet shimmy, not able to keep still despite your mind screaming at you to try—try and disappear into molecules of oxygen and carbon. Everything had a sheen of hypersensitivity. The lights buzzed in your ears like bombs, the rope peeled back atoms of your epidermis, and the tiny groans coming from the left of you were like screams as your senses burned with a thousand suns.

But the British man had said to stay quiet—so stay quiet you did. What other choice did you have? You knew they had weapons, you shouldn’t doubt that they would use them.

But you really wanted to start screaming your head off.

When the heavy hand landed on the top of your head, only a soundless sob fell from the strained noose of your esophagus. The bag was ripped from you with a flurry of hair and dribbling tears, sweat flying down your neck faster than Pegasus sprang from the Gorgon Medusa’s blood.

Immediately wrenching your small-pupiled eyes closed with a whine, an invasive overhead light composed of knives stabs into your already blurry vision; your hands jerk upwards to attempt and cover the attack. Silence reigns above all, besides from the single source of that muffled groaning from beside you.

“Mhm…Erm…Hem,” it seemed like the sounds were gasping breaths of your name, hidden behind layers of gagged fabric, swathed in saliva and distress. But…how?

Who else was in this room with you and your kidnappers?

Blinking away the shock to your senses, your chin rises from your chest and your hands lower back down hesitantly. You’re ashamed to admit it, but the first thing you noticed was the state of the room.

Namely, how tiny it was.

Peeling blue paint hides a slideshow of broken drywall, a layer of indiscernible wallpaper hanging off like broken limbs that reach to the concrete floor. Although this might have been a beautiful basement in the past, now your flickering eyes lock onto the newer additions.

Swallowing saliva through a closed airway, the tray of silver metal doesn’t fully register with you, nor, then, does the revolver and the six bullets placed beside it. That dying innocent speck in your heart tries to persuade you to a state of fantasy.

‘If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not—’ The sentiment replays over and over in your head when you rapidly look away from the weapon like it was on fire and begin to notice the statue-like men instead.

This can’t be real…it has to be a joke. Some sick, twisted, joke.

Five of them, all dressed in black; balaclavas over slate faces tainted with grim determination. You glance over the lot of them and feel your intestines bunch, the beasts shuffling from one foot to another with a predatory gleam to the laced boots. Not one of them was lacking combat gear—vests, holstered weapons, and packs filled with God-knows-what—they looked like soldiers, but that wouldn’t make any sense.

Your hysterics only increase when one speaks, body flinching back.

“Let’s get this started, then, shall we?” You can’t even tell which began the uttering, but the accent is undeniably British. Gruff, tainted with sharp gravel; not to be ignored if that authoritative edge was anything to go by.

The individual with crossed arms takes a step forward, buff and taller than all of the others except for one. That gargantuan creature watches you with numb light-blue eyes and pale lashes from a place against the wall. A shiver travels up your spine, and your shirt sticks to you, but you can’t look away.

They are the eyes of the living dead.

“This can’t be happening…” Your lips twitch, but only you can hear your words.

The one who appears to be the leader—Buff—tilts his head, but the dark cerulean orbs don’t even look at you. They keep to your left, at the sounds of panicked scuffling and scraping wood. “Gaz.”

Another man advances, not as robust as the first, but nonetheless built with violence. Tall. Steady. He bleeds contained purpose in the sinuses of his long fingers.

Biting your lip, number two — “Gaz” — stops near the metal table, but he doesn't look at you when your tear-flooded eyes bore into him. Your tongue is lead.

Who are you? You want to scream. What do you want?!

From the side of your eye, you see a flash of a navy blue suit, and your vision snaps to it aggressively. The air gets heavy and a stone sits in your guts.

Gaping, a familiar visage stares right back at you, the build of the face and the structure of the bones reflected back onto you––slated in the very genetic makeup that builds your frame.

A nice suit. A hurried goodbye in the morning as the butler made breakfast in the kitchen—A kiss to your forehead. Your tears slap your clenched hands, and you think you’re digging your nails into your flesh, but the thing that hurts the most is the hopelessness in your chest.

“Dad?” You sob and stare at the ragged form as your father struggles to speak around a gag, eyes running from one scuff and cut to another as the lights suddenly get ten times brighter. Damn not speaking, this was your father!

But if he was here along with you…

At that moment, all you can describe is the way your own heart was going faster than it ever had, to a point that the world swirled around you in shades of blue and red. If there was a time reminiscent of events that had never happened to you, getting into a deadly car crash or hanging onto the edge of a cliff as torrent rains battered your head, this would be it.

The alarm in your still head was telling you that this is the end of the road.

Your father’s hands are tied behind the chair, and you can see the signs of crimson dotting the floor from the binds, skin torn and weeping. His eyes are bathed in fear, the fast rise and fall of his lungs telling you all that needs to be unsaid.

And his blatant fear only increases your own.

“Dad…what’s going on?” One of the men in the front shifts, standing beside the dead-eyed individual, looking away to glance in the corner with shades of blue in his orbs and a fixing of his stocky biceps. “What is all this? Where…where are we? I was just walking to school—p-passing through the old neighborhood—”

You’re rambling through panic, and everyone just watches. They watch and watch and watch. Was this a game? A sick, twisted prank? How could they do this and just watch you panic like a bear in a trap?

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards.

You’d never thought that eyes could stay with you for all eternity—when you had a friend that moved away in sixth grade, the first thing you forgot about them was their eyes. The voice was much more important to remember; their gentle touch when they pulled you up at recess after an unfortunate collision when playing tag. But at that moment…

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows. Like a meadow, brown was encircled by light—a ring of amber around the pupil and flecks of emerald, though most of that was lost by numbness.

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting. The man everyone called Gaz was incredibly strong.

Something swam in the recesses of his gaze, some hidden emotion of sorrow or pity that showed as hesitation. He clears his throat and takes a glance at your now-raging father. You shake more violently than a house in a tornado; frozen and unable to speak. What was he going to do to you?

Gaz turns back to you and whispers, blinking through long eyelashes as the fabric of his face covering slightly moves, “It’ll be over soon.” British as well, but a tone smoother than the previous. The hand squeezes your flesh, and you flinch as far back as the seat allows.

He was the one that grabbed you this morning; your legs seize up like a dead deer at the familiar speech pattern.

The man moves back without uttering another word on sure feet, and you stare after. The sentence Gaz had given you was anything but reassuring, and with your state, it was more of a threat.

“Get your fucking hand off of her! What the hell is going on? Why is my daughter here?!” Your father’s voice fractures your gaze away from the menagerie of masked abductors, and you turn to watch him growl out in hatred; shell-shocked. “Are you after money? Ransom…? Answer me!”

“I’d think this would work better,” Buff grunted out, dropping the gag to the floor carelessly, “if you answered me, instead, eh?... Now, where’s the shipment?”

“Sweetheart,” your father turns to you, but your eyes always filter back to the gun—the men. The last out of the five strangers was one that you hadn’t seen move from the far corner yet. His hands were constantly readjusting over the black metal of a large assault-style rifle that you had only seen in movies. “—Sweetheart! Hey!”

Snapping to the feral expression of your father, you suck down air you’d been taking for granted and push away the dark spots. You’d forgotten how to breathe properly. Staring into his burning eyes, a plea is stuck to your tongue and a hunched build of your spine. But making yourself smaller wouldn’t help you like it would a rabbit hiding from a circling hawk.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights.

“It’s all going to be alright, okay?” He gasps at you, head swiveling to all parties faster than a racehorse. Buff seems to listen intently, arms loose over his chest and huffing under his breath. His deep blue eyes swivel to you, glinting darkly. “Everything is going to be alright—”

“Pick it up, Sergeant.” The command is cold, numb, and the clinking of a silver barrel connecting to a tray as it was grasped was enough to set your atoms on fire.

The gun lays loose in Gaz’s hand, hanging at his hip as Buff moves closer to your father and bends down to look into his eyes.

“The shipment. Tell me. I don’t make a habit of repeating myself.” In the corner, the isolated man hunches his shoulders, eyes darting from you back to your dad—but your own stare stays stuck to the gun. Ears twitch at the loud conversation as the black wave of overwhelming delirium gets larger.

Shipments? Your fast mind runs as your eyes dart from the weapon to your father, your wrists now raw and skinned from the constant movement.

Your dad grunts and his desperate eyes look at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“I–I don’t know what you’re talking about, what shipments? Who are you?! If you’re after ransom money just call my wife—she’ll get you what you need.” The leader chuckles lowly while shaking his head in exasperation, pulling back as his gaze goes hard. Your father strains forward after him and repeats the same sentence as before. “What is my daughter doing here you son of a Bitch? You don’t need her.”

He turns to you, his nice suit ruined with sweat. You’d never seen your father scared—not when you’d broken your arm when you were younger or any moment later. Not until now. His pupils are small; pinched in and glossy. Like a fearful animal trapped in a corner.

You doubted you looked any better as you blink back with a thousand-yard stare, choking back gasps and biting a cut into your lip. Constantly thinking that if you speak your head will get blown off in a shower of crimson.

“Sweetheart, this is all some big misunderstanding, alright? Don’t worry, we’ll be back home soon and this’ll all go away.”

“Yeah, you’d like that then wouldn’t you?” Buff growls, “Go back to a cush life while your weapons and drugs fund terrorists, eh?”

Terrorists?! Your eyes widen, turning back to the men with horror. So this wasn’t about your family's money?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your lips move, mouth parted and eyebrows tight as your very blood seems to cool over. Everyone looks at you and the one second of courage vanishes. “‘D-dad?”

“Ignore them,” the patriarch hisses, trying to get your attention back on him, “They don’t know what they’re talking about. They—You’ve got the wrong people!”

“I…I don’t understand why–”

“Sergeant.” Dread seeps like poison one drop at a time to corrupt you. There was never a moment in your life where you had ever felt like you were going to die before—an innocent sentiment of invincible youth.

But the gun being loaded puts the sense of watching a train crash right into the forefront of your mind; a sudden knowledge of your own morality. Your jaw goes slack as you hold back a scream. Steady, gloved, fingers pick up bullet after bullet and place the copper metal into a steel chamber, brown eyes hard as the stunned silence from your father physically hurts.

Clink-shunk, chink-shunk.

“What are you—?!”

“Last chance to change your mind.” The leader interjects, sighing, and you wonder as you hunch into yourself just how cruel this man really is. “Best pull the memory to you quick.”

“What?” Your father laughs in pain, throat getting choked up as he looks to every person, “Are you going to shoot me? In front of my kid?”

At this point it would be more accurate to call you ‘checked out’ if the blank look on your face was anything to go by; tears were falling and mixing with sweat, but your eyes were far away. As if about to fall asleep as you watch the world pass you by from the car window.

The leader shakes his head as Gaz finishes loading the revolver, flicking the barrel back with a deft movement of his wrist. Those brown eyes stay firmly stuck to the back wall.

Dead Eyes sends a long look to your father, and the wide-gazed form beside him tightens his grip over his biceps, shifting large hips. The man in the corner only snaps his head down and tries to disappear.

Electricity sizzles the air.

“No,” Buff answers casually, “we’re not…We’re going to shoot your daughter.”

Bile hits the floor as it rockets from your mouth; hissing through the lines between your teeth and splattering to the concrete in a sound of viscous liquid. Breakfast from this morning was unrecognizable as you blink down at it.

Someone’s shouting pleas—you’re sure it’s your father, because who else—and while you stay half-bent over the chair as your side leans on the arm, everything starts to ring. Feet struggle to stay steady on the ground below you, shoes stained with stomach acid and saliva as it drips from your chin. Over the rageful screams from your dad, the leader continues and you sputter.

“Gaz, it’s all you.”

“Yes, Sir.” The gun raises to your head, and your face tightens as you spy it from the corner of your eye, not registering beyond words and colors fading out before wafting back in.

Were you going to die in this basement? It seemed your body knew the answer even as your brain tried to disagree. There was no running or escaping, not a chance with all of these people. Even if you did manage it, how far would you get before a bullet was in your neck?

“Hey!” Your father yells, voice fracturing; arms twisting and feet splaying. The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors. “Hey, no, no, no. That’s not—She…She has nothing to do with this!” Your eyes slowly widen, face tilting as you still try to break through your dizziness. “I swear, she doesn’t know anything!” His face peels back, yet his eyes seem to focus on nothing as his attention hops from one person to another in distress. “Let her go and I’ll tell you all of it, okay? I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Tell you all of it? What does that mean? You want to ask, but the knowledge that your body had chosen neither fight nor flight but freeze was heavy in your heated and pounding brain as it pulses against your skull.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

You count the flood of blood that spreads through your body as the taste of vomit sticks to the back of your throat. Rats squeak from behind ventilation grates but wait eagerly for a meal as particles of dust fly past your wide vision.

Your father doesn’t look at you as you gape, and you’re not sure what to think.

Shipments? Terrorists? What could your Museum Director dad have anything to do with that? He had to be lying to save your skin—giving these people a false reality. Yes, yes, that was it. He was trying to save both of you, you just had to trust him.

Your chest rises and falls swiftly.

“I–I swear! I promise, let my little girl go and I won’t—!”

“I think she’ll stay right here.” The leader grunted, hooking his arms into his vest collar, pale eyelids half-closed. “Speak. Quickly”

“Okay! Just put the gun down—please!” The gun is lowered immediately, but it doesn’t make you feel any more present. Brown eyes surrounded by dark lashes meet yours for a few seconds before blinking away to the wall behind you; eyebrows minutely pulling tight.

You’d never hated a look of shielded pity more.

“They come in at night and stay by the dry docks—I don’t know how they get here so fast,” your father speaks as a man possessed, and, strangely, the individual in the corner starts to hang onto every word. Sending your form quick glances with rapidly moving eyes. Not that you noticed. “The products all just sit there until I can come by and take inventory! Two fifteen in the morning! It’s all under my name, I pay off the inspectors every month. Check dock number seven-one-three and the blue cargo containers.”

“What?” You mutter, trying not to gag and shake as if pushing away the instinctual actions would help you focus on the bitter revelation. “What are you…”

This is more than a lie—these are details. In-depth.

No, your mind tells you, no he’s just lying. Everything’s a lie.

“I swear it’s only me, no one else knows about it.” The man in the corner’s feet are shifting, leg muscles testing and relaxing as his fingers twitch over the metal of his gun. Your dad looks at you from the side of his eye, guilt in his bones. “God…I–I sell everything over the auctions held at—”

A gunshot pierces the air.

Liquid splatters your face, warm and heavy, and before you even know what’s happening you’re releasing a scream so loud it echoes off the walls. Snapping your chin down to your chest and bound hands over your head, a great yell erupts from the men, and a clamber of skin on gear follows the dragging of feet. Grunted breath and calls of alarm. All the noise scares off the scavengers in the vents with shrieks.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

You find a slumped figure in the chair your father had just been in with a shuttering inhale. Slack-jawed, you look over the crater that was left of his face numbly; lips and teeth ripped apart and a caved-in skull. His hair was strewn about, and without a cohesive thought, your fingers itched to smooth it down.

He hated when his hair was unruly.

A navy suit you’d seen at breakfast was stained—irreparable—with brain matter and blood that cascaded down a massacred face with a head tilted forward. His nerves jump with activity, spurring fluid to the ground until a puddle forms.

Your father was a good man. You—your father was a…good man.

The rest of the men continue to scuffle, barking orders as more feet suddenly race from the other side of the door. Your ears tune it out. You can’t look away, not even when a hand is placed on your shoulder and you’re suddenly being forcefully turned in the opposite direction of the corpse.

Unresponsive, your far-away look meets creased amber and dark lashes—eyes you had decided you’d never forget and now that sentiment was forged with steel and tempered to perfection. Just like you’d never forget that your father’s body was just a reach away, and it was never supposed to happen. His blood was staining your clothes; your face and hair. A bath of gore.

Dead…? No, he was just alive a second ago. He—he can’t be. How? I just saw him this morning. We were going to go into the museum tomorrow to help set up a new section.

Your mouth moves, but no words escape.

A smooth voice tries to speak to you, but all you do is watch the fabric of a black balaclava shift and strain as the noise sounds like car sirens. Gaz is attempting to shake you, lightly, and when it doesn’t help he looks around stiffly, pausing on the body before looking away to the ground in search.

Without much thought behind the action, your loose lips pull back and utter only one word. Weak. Fractured and horribly hoarse.

“Oh.”

It was somewhat of a mercy when the itchy ramie fabric of the previous bag was refitted in one swift motion. And all the while you sit there, shaking, a hand never leaves the top of your head, holding it down.

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denimbex1986 · 11 months

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'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 8 months

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Whumptember day 10

“What are you doing to them?” Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call

It felt like their brain was vibrating. All they could hear or feel was an endless buzzing, like all their atoms were trying to pull apart from one another. It was overwhelming, muffling any sensations from the outside world. They couldn't hear, they couldn't think. Their brain was vibrating.

It’d hurt, before. Or they thought it had. They couldn’t remember much before the buzzing had started, but they remembered struggling against the feeling. Had they fought because it hurt? Because it was bad? They didn't remember.

They didn’t struggle now. They didn’t know how, when the entire world was vibrating.

It was like bees had taken residence in their skull; not to harm it, but to reshape it. Everything useless was tossed away, the gaping holes being filled with honey. They’d fought to stop it, but then the memory of why they were fighting had been drowned in sticky sweetness.

It was dizzying and disorienting, it put their teeth on edge, but they didn’t know if it hurt. They couldn’t know anything, not when their brain was vibrating.

They heard voices somewhere outside of their hive they’d become, distant and nearly drowned out.

“What…what is this? What are you doing to them?”

“Hero, you’re aware of our reformation project, yes? Villain is our first patient.”

Just barely, they could hear the voices approaching.

“I–So you’re what, brainwashing them? Is this ethical? Does it hurt?”

Yes, the thought bubbled through the buzzing, it does, please it–

”No, not at all. It’s entirely painless.”

–doesn’t hurt? No, it doesn’t, but didn’t it before? They weren’t sure anymore. The question was being thrown away alongside the other trash, swallowed up and drowned out. They quickly lost hold of it.

Something touched a distant part of their body, and it took a long moment for them to realize they were more than their buzzing skull. Something had been holding their arms aloft, and with a click, it released. They nearly fell forward without the support, but something wrapped around their face held them up, pulling at their scalp.

“Villain, can you hear me? It’s Hero,” The voice was back, closer, but still muffled by the chaos in their mind. It felt like the voice reminded them of something, but they didn’t know. The part of their brain that had known had been scooped out and replaced, leaving barely the shape of a memory.

Something clicked, the noise echoing in the mind, and the buzzing sharpened. They shivered at the sensation of their brain finally sitting still, the see of static shifting into an organized effort.

“Stand up,” The voice wasn’t muffled by the noise, it was the noise. The vibration was shaped by the words, speaking with power that they felt in their bones.

It was a relief, and they chased after that peace. They stood on legs they hardly remembered they had.

Something was moving on their head, whatever had been wrapped around their skull being removed. The world exploded into color, the change taking them a moment to adjust to. When they opened their eyes, two figures stood before them.

The vibrating was already coming back, their moment of peace fading. But then one of the figures clicked a button they held in their hands, and everything sharpened.

“Tell me, who are you and what do you want?”

They hadn’t known the answer seconds ago. They still didn’t know, and yet the truth formed in their mind. After the disorientating chaos, the confidence they felt at their answer was a comfort.

And outside of the angry hive Villain’s mind had become, Hero watched, a horrified onlooker, as their former foe’s face split with a vacant, dull-eyed smile.

“My name is Sidekick, and I want to help you in any way possible.”

#Honestly mind control is like wildly underused in whump #i know it's used a lot but still. underused #def a top 3 for me i should write it more #whump #whumptember day 10 #whumptember 2023 #day 10: “what are you doing to them?”/brainwashed/hanging from their wrists #villain whumpee #mind control whump #brainwashing whump #(still don't know the difference between those two)#forced reformation #hero #villain #my stuff #mind controlled villain #mind control

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killmongerskeepermain · 1 year

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Ms. Udaku // Shuri

Summary/Request: Can you do professor shuri / student reader.

Pairing: Professor!Shuri x Student!Fem!Reader

Warning: None

Word Count: 2.1k

The blaring alarm was enough to make you jump out of bed and onto the floor. Today was the day. A handful of students were handpicked to participate in a special technology program. You had been looking forward to this since you were amongst those chosen last week. Being smart has its perks. You don't have to listen to Mrs. Johnson go on and on about atoms and ions. Plus Ms. Udaku was doing the lecture. If you had to pick a professor to pin after, it was her. She wasn't even that much older than you. You would pass by her office just to speak to her on your days off. Usually she would wave off students for bothering her but not you. She tolerated your antics. Sometimes it made you wonder if she felt what you did. But that wasn't important right now. It was a big day so you already had your outfit picked out and knew how you were going to style your hair. A girl gotta prepare. Your phone started to buzz and you saw your best friend's name flash across the screen. "You almost ready Kiya?"

"Hey Y/N, I'm doing my hair but I'll be ready in like 10 minutes." She said and you bounced on your feet.

"Making sure you look good for a certain genius? We all knew she was going to be picked." You joked and she scoffed. "Bitch ain't nobody worried about looking good for Riri. I look good for me, myself, and I." She retorted and you smiled into the mirror. "I never said who said genius was. Bitch just admit you like her and move the fuck on. Yall already be eye fucking the hell out each other during microchem." You told her before letting out a laugh at her silence. "Yeah. Didn't know I peeped that shit huh?"

"Fuck you. I'm heading over to your room." She said before hanging up as you did your mascara. You two agreed to walk in together since this was huge for the both of you. Will look real nice on a resume. A soft knock hit your door and you walked over to let her in. Her hair was in a high ponytail with her makeup done and you shook your head before letting her in. "Okay. Who you looking cute for? Ms. Udaku?" She asked as she looked you up and down. You shrugged your shoulders as you grabbed your bag and book off your chair. "Me, myself and I." You repeated her earlier words as the two of you left the dorm room, headed to your destination. The classroom was divine. And you wouldn't say that about any of the rooms in this bitch. You caught sight of Riri sitting in the second row and a small smirk played on your lips. "Come on, I know where we can sit." You pulled her behind you to the front row a couple of seats down from the girl. Kiya immediately took notice and punched your shoulder.

"You bitch." You gave her a smile as you took your seat. Mrs. Johnson walked in with a smile before greeted the room as all eyes were on her. "Good morning. I'm glad all of you could make it today. Now I'm not teaching this program since this isn't my regular class time. Your professor for the course is Ms. Udaku. She is taking her time from her own classes to teach you all so show her the utmost respect." She told us as another woman walked into the room. You couldn't tear your gaze from her as she waved with a wide smile. It was until her brown eyes set on you that you lowered your own to the notebook on the table. You felt Kiya pinch your thigh and you refused to look over at her knowing smirk.

"It's a pleasure to be here. I wouldn't have known that so many people would be interested in this kind of stuff. But luckily you have me here to teach you."

"Will we learn about some of your experiments Ms. Udaku? They are popular amongst the student body at multiple universities." A voice asked from the back of the room.

"Please Shuri is just fine. I'm only 24 years old. Making me 2 or 3 years older than most of you here." She laughed and your heart skipped a beat. Fuck. She started her lecture and you felt Kiya nudge your arm shortly after. You looked over at her this time and she held a grin. "I saw that. Does my little Y/N have the hots for Ms. Udaku?" You rolled your eyes as you knew she didn't plan on letting this go. "No you didn't. Now shush. We're in the front."

"You picked these seats. Remember?" She smirked and you began to regret your plan. Last time I try to play matchmaker. "Shut up." You whispered before Shuri turned to face the two of you. Oh shit. "Would one of you like to tell me if this sequence will be a success or not?" She asked and you looked over at the sequence written out. You bit your lip, not wanting to look like a fool in front of her. "It'll fail." Kiya spoke before you could say anything and Shuri turned to you. "Your friend seems so confident in her answer. Why don't you elaborate why?"

"Well there's some components missing. Without them it won't turn out the way you expect it too. It'll turn into a completely different sequence, which could cause a big problem. So, she's right, it'll fail." You said softly and the room went silent. Were you wrong? Did you just embarrass yourself in front of the smartest woman in this room."What's your name?"

"Y/N." You began to fidget under her gaze and she gave you a soft smirk. "Good job Ms. Y/N." Fuck me. She held your gaze before turning back to the board. You let out the breath that you were holding as Kiya nudges you playfully. You felt another tap and looked back to see Riri with a smile.

"Pretty good for a mechanic and a bookworm." She said before looking over at Kiya, who seemed as if she was about to combust. Riri took notice as she sat back in her seat and I couldn't stop the grin on my lips.

"Okay Ms. Bookworm." You mumbled and she put her face in her hands. You stayed attentive during the rest of the lecture just staring. The way she talked so passionately about her work. The way her curls bounced in her face. You swore she caught your gaze a couple of times but you didn't even try to turn away. When the lecture was over she thanked everyone for attending.

"This has been quite the experience. I do plan to come back for another class so be on the lookout for that announcement. Anyway, I have some things to attend to back in my office. Off you go." The students started piling out but you took your time to put your books in your bag. You noticed Riri walking up to Kiya and decided against eavesdropping on your best friend. She'll tell you right after anyway. You felt a presence next to you and looked up to see Shuri.

"Ms. Udaku."

"Please. Call me Shuri. I wanted to tell you personally that you have a sharp eye. Didn't expect you to answer correctly after being put on the spot." She told you and you tried to hide your smile.

"Thank you Shuri. Although you did have me thinking I was wrong." You replied and she gave a small laugh.

"I was ready to tell you that you were. Since the two of you were talking during my lecture. But I'll admit you surprised me. See me after your classes, okay." She walked past you leaving you stuck in shock as you wondered why she needed to speak with you further. Kiya planted herself next to you before turning to watch Riri walk out the room. When the coast was clear she buried her head in your shoulder with a slight squeal.

"She asked me out. She knew I liked her. She KNEW I liked HER!" She said and you turned to her.

"Ms. Uda- Shuri wants to talk to me in her office." You started and Kiya froze before grabbing your shoulders tight.

"Okay Y/N. You are going to walk in there and butter her up. She wants you." She said and you scoffed. "She's our professor."

"She's teaching outside of her own class. So she's not OUR professor, Mrs. Johnson is. Besides, she's only 2 years older than you. I see nothing wrong." She shrugged as the two of you walked out of the room. "So while I'm getting head from Riri you better be in there face down ass up. And I want to hear all about it later tonight."

"Bitch what?" You laughed as she held onto your arm to steady herself, lost in her own laughter. We had finally calmed down when you looked at the time. "Well let me go on and see what she wants. I'll see you tonight."

"I'll bring the snacks. Bye girl." We went our separate ways and you suddenly felt your heart flutter. Secondly your hands started to sweat as you neared the office door. You stood frozen in front of the door and began to panic. What if you go in there and make a total fool out of yourself? What if you caught the wrong signals? Maybe you should just book it back to your dorm room and forget about the whole thing. But then you'll have another class with her. She'll most likely confront you or-

The door was pulled open mid mental crisis revealing Shuri. "You're not that quiet you know. Come in." You stopped into her office and bit the inside of your cheek as the door closed shut. "You can relax, Y/N. I don't bite." Oh but fuck do I want you too. You gave a small nod as you took a seat across from her desk. She leaned against the side and you took the chance to ask the golden question.

"Um, so what did you want to talk to me about?" You asked as she flipped through some pages in a file.

"You are one of the smartest people on this campus. Aside from Riri Williams. Your project on the machine used to detect usual metals under the water is astonishing. It even works above water. Where did you even get the parts for this?"

"A nearby junkyard. Riri told me about the place. Surprisingly most of the stuff worked just fine. Just a small tune up here and there. She nodded her head before placing the file on the table.

"I also want to speak about your staring problem." She said nonchalantly and you jerked your head up to see her already looking at you. "My staring problem?"

"Yes. During the lecture you always found yourself staring at me. Did I have something on my face? Or maybe you were spacing out? Either way I won't tolerate it during my class." With each word she got closer to you until her hands resting on the arms rests, trapping you between her and the chair. "I don't know what you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me Y/N. I have one of the smartest brains in the world. If you don't want this, just say the word and we'll never speak of it again." She was close enough for you to feel her breath on your skin. Fuck it. You leaned up to close the gap between you and she smiled into the kiss as she nestled her knee between your legs. You swallowed a moan as she applied pressure to your clothed pussy. Her tongue slipped along your own when she pushed her way past your lips. Her hand slid under your skirt and grabbed hold of your panties. You spread out slightly as she dragged them down your legs. Your heated meeting with the professor was cut short when a knock sounded from the other side of the door.

"Ms. Udaku, I have some questions about the assignment due next week." She pulled away from you to allow you to pull yourself together. Slipping your panties in her pocket she opened the door to greet the student with a smile.

"Of course. Ms. Y/N I'll see you next session alright." She turned to wink at you out of the student's sight and you nodded. You gathered your things before walking out of the office. You put a hand to your chest to calm down as you made your way back to your room. Not without stopping by the bathroom to wipe your thighs of the mess she made.

#poc reader #princess shuri #shuri black panther #queen shuri #shuri #shuri fanfiction #shuri fluff #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri imagine #shuri x you

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retrobutterflies · 2 years

Text

Love Drunk | e.m.

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Eddie is determined to take you to a nice, expensive dinner. But you have a sinking suspicion that he's trying prove that he's worthy of your love.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Major Fluff, Established Relationship, Eddie and the reader are obsessed with each other and it's cute

A/N: I refuse to stop writing about Eddie's kisses making the reader dumb!

Eddie Munson was magnetic. His fingertips had a habit of sneaking under the hem of your shirt, trailing up your spine and stealing the warmth from your skin. The cluster of sliver rings on his fingers were always slightly cold to the touch and when they grazed your skin they left a constellation of goosebumps along your back. The blunt of his nails scratched lightly against your shoulder blade and then calloused fingertips took their place, pressing gently into the muscle, massaging in small circles and stealing any remnants of tension that lingered from the day.

His lips felt like satin pressed eagerly against yours. They were warm and plush, chasing yours at any pause for breath. His teeth teased the tender skin of your bottom lip with soft love bites following harsh kisses. His breath fanned hot and minty against your skin, nose nudging yours, curls licking the sides of your face. The crook of your elbow hugged the warmth of his neck, pulling him closer at each desperate press of his lips against yours.

One of his hands found refuge against the dough of your thigh, fingers digging into the skin, soft and malleable. Your legs tightened further around the narrow of his hips, rocking forward unconsciously. Your skirt fanned over your legs, obscuring the view of you perched on his lap but you could feel the roughness of his jeans brush cotton and the jolt of tingles intensify the warmth glowing from your stomach.

Your hand crept into chestnut curls, weaving through fluffy strands before tugging a low rumble from his chest. Heaving breaths made his lips part from yours but your skin was ambrosia and his lips chased the supple curve of your jaw, swollen and plump as they caressed flushed skin. Each kiss left smoking coals behind as his candle fire lips warmed taut skin. Your head tipped to the side, inviting his searing adoration against your neck.

His canines nipped at your sweet spot, tingles racing up your spine like lightening. Your limbs were turning to liquid, body moulding to his as he continued his affections against the sensitivity of your throat. Your mind was pixelated, fleeting thoughts focused solely on Eddie and his fingers sneaking under the curtain of your skirt to seek the roundness of your ass and the flat of his tongue caressing fading stings from his love bites.

"So, so pretty," his low voice vibrated against your skin and his praise had your cheeks flashing hot. You preened and felt his lips tug into a smile. He nipped the skin again.

"My pretty girl," he continued, lips leaving scorching marks, trailing lower towards the valley of your neckline. His mouth found your collar bone, dragging his lips along the length, dotting light fluttering kisses along its expanse until he found the curve of your shoulder.

"You're not very nice you know," he said, lips dancing back up to your throat, finding your sweet spot again and stealing your breath once more. "Not letting anyone else have a chance at being prettier than you."

You whined lightly as his lips found yours again, heart skipping like a small child on a playground. Your mind was foggy, barely registering his words as his arm coiled tighter around your waist, pressing you flush to his chest. The vibrations of his chuckle scattered any atom of thought from your buzzing head, mind focused wholly on Eddie's lips against yours.

"I don't think Aphrodite will take too kindly to that either. Don't think she's too happy with you stealing her spotlight." Eddie's voice was teasing and low and hypnotizing all the same.

Your mind was humming as lips journeyed up to your cheeks. You felt like you were a machine fueled only by Eddie's affections. Each kiss, each nibble, each ministration supercharged your hardwiring until your fluttering pulse was powered simply by Eddie's silken lips. You whined again, twisting your head to seek his lips on yours once more. His low chuckle thundered in his chest, teeth catching your bottom lip to nip playfully.

"What do you want, pretty girl?" His tone was drenched in adoration and mirth, gazing at you through low lidded eyes. He pulled away, catching his breath, resting his head against the headrest.

Your eyes blinked open at the loss of contact, starry irises meeting his through wispy lashes. His breath caught in his throat, heart stuttering at the sight of you with your doe eyes and pouting lips and love drunk haze clouding your senses. It made him giddy, both hands moving to grip the sides of your thighs, squeezing lightly at the softness. The way your brows furrowed at his kisses ceasing, body unconsciously leaning towards him seeking out more of him and his love. He felt intoxicated by it, dizzy with the thought of him stealing your thoughts. He wanted to rob you of your cognizance until your mind orbited around him and him alone. That was his retribution since you had already entrapped his, every thought lingering with the scent of you.

"Eddie," your voice was melodic, lighting up the dopamine receptors in his brain at any whisper of a word from your lips. His smile deepened, hands massaging the plush of your thighs, head quirking to the side as his eyes traced the swoops and valleys of your flushed face.

"What do you need, baby?" he asked again, eyes glinting in amusement as your pout deepened.

You didn't answer. Instead your weight pressed against him as you reconnected your lips on your own accord. His giddy laugh vibrated against your lips before dissolving into your continuing affections. You sighed against him, arms snaking further around his neck to secure his adoration.

His hands were large and calloused and when they smoothed up under your shirt, over your love handles, following the dip of your waist and settling against your ribs they left tingles in their wake. His thumbs brushed soft patterns against heated skin, finger tips lightly grazing the underside of your sheer bra. Your legs squeezed around him and you felt him smile again.

He was pulling away once more and you were groaning, chasing his lips again and again. He acquiesced, little will to deny you anything, until the aching twinge in his stomach had him coming back to Earth. He tugged you away softly by your torso, pressing apologetic kisses to your lips and cheeks until you were partially satiated.

"Eddie," you grumbled, eyes opening to narrow at him accusingly. He snickered, leaning to press his forehead against yours, mirroring your grumpy expression though he couldn't fight off his widening smile.

"Baby, it's getting late," he said, leaning back to see your pouting face clearly again. One hand left the warmth of your back to pinch the skin of your cheek fondly. His hand smoothed swirling hair back, tucking stray pieces behind your ear. You sighed as his palm found purchase against the side of your neck, thumb tracing your jawline. He could feel your quick heart rate, pulse pumping against his skin. His grin deepened.

"By the time we make it out of this car they're gonna be closed," he mused, eyes alight in faux concern. The thought of staying there in his van, you perched on his lap, radio barely buzzing in the background, his lips continuing their cartography of your skin was viciously enticing. If it weren't for the fact that he was starving and that he had saved up enough money from his part-time job at Thatcher Tire to take you on a nice date, he would've let himself drown in you.

You blinked at him, mind slowly piecing back together as you remembered where you were and why you were here. Eddie was patient as you fluttered the haze from your eyes, moving to brush more wild hair down, dragging his nails lightly against your scalp to coax you back down to Earth with him.

"I promised you a nice dinner. And I refuse to drop you off at home with an empty stomach," he teased, swiping the velvet skin under your eye affectionately. "Your mom would kill me."

Your lips quirked upwards and you let out a soft laugh. The thought of parting from him, of not being completely consumed by him, was disheartening. But the empty grumbling of your stomach motivated you to slowly detach yourself from him.

"My mom loves you," you replied, dropping back into the passenger seat, brushing your hair back from your face, quickly pressing the backs of your hands to your cheeks as if to ward off the burning flush.

"Not if I bring you home starving. I wanna stay in her good books. I do not want my future mother-in-law hating me." His words had a giddy bubble of affection swelling up in your stomach and with a girlish giggle you tried to hide just how much his words affected you.

"Shut up," was your smart reply, hand weakly shoving his shoulder, cheeks forever hot, sheepish adoration coating your words making him flash white teeth and lean over the inner consul to connect your lips once more.

Eddie wouldn't admit this to you because he knew you'd make the two of you turn around but it had taken him a week of extra shifts to save up enough money to take you to Enzo's. He knew you didn't desire expensive gifts or lavish dates but he couldn't fight the ache deep in his chest at the thought of spoiling you. He wished he'd been more frugal in the past, saved up a little more or spent less on weed or band shirts so that when you crash landed into his life he had enough money to prove to you how much he worshipped you.

He had admitted this to you once, late at night with your legs entangled under his sheets, the soft glow of moonlight painting the contours of your face. You had looked ethereal, more so than usual which seemed impossible until you proved him wrong, and the words coated in insecurity had spilled from his lips like he had drank Veritaserum. And you would've laughed at him had he not looked so worried. The idea that he couldn't buy you expensive jewelry or take you to restaurants twice the price of Enzo's had never even crossed your mind. You had explained that to him, desperately seeking his warmth to pull him close, loving kisses attacking his face until he was laughing away the insecurity and burying his face in the curve of your neck.

Your reassurance though, no matter how sweet, didn't stop him from trying to meet his self-imposed standards. When he couldn't afford the prettily packaged flower bouquets from the florist in town, he made Dustin trek through the woods with him to find the famous meadow near Lover's Lake known for their native flora so he could make you his own, albeit clumsy, bouquet. When you wanted to go see a new band perform in Indianapolis, he had volunteered to be a roadie for a couple weeks at the music venue so he could secure you two tickets. And when he realized he really really wanted to bring you to a nice dinner at the best Italian place around, he took double shifts seven days straight to make sure he could.

Your face lit up as you stepped across the threshold, muted candlelight creating a soft glow and violinist in the corner playing softly over murmured voices. The shirt he borrowed from his uncle Wayne was a little tight around the collar and yards different from his usual attire making him a little self-conscious but you had worn a pretty skirt and silken top with a delicate chain necklace that glinted around your kiss stained neck making any complaints die on his lips.

"Welcome. Do you have a reservation?" The host gave you both a customer service smile, one that was meant to be kind but didn't truly reach his eyes. Eddie's hand flexed from its place at the small of your back, swallowing the nervousness that seemed to creep into his spine.

"Yes, uh, under Munson?" He hoped he sounded confident but he couldn't even remember the last time he wore a button up shirt even if it was as dark as his usual clothes. Wayne and him had attempted to contain his mass of curls but the good fifteen minutes you had spent on his lap in the parking lot raking your ring clad fingers through his hair probably counteracted any attempt at uniformity. He tugged on the silver chain dangling around his neck, fingertips tracing the metal links until they found the smoothness of the guitar pick resting at the end.

Eddie felt as though the host's eyes lingered on him for an extra moment before casting his gaze down to the leather bound book in front of him. His eyes followed the finger that traced down the list of scribbled names before it paused. Another breath of silence passed before the customer service smile was stretching back over the host's face.

"Right this way, sir."

Eddie's widening eyes met yours, already squinting in amusement at Eddie's unspoken comment. You bit back a smile as he pressed his hand into your lower back, encouraging you after the host. The table he sat you at was in the far back, nestled between already occupied ones filled with exactly the type of people you were expecting. He placed the menus in front of you, pristine white paper that looked as though it had been printed that morning tucked into cherry leather folders.

"Would you prefer still or sparkling?" The host asked, looking down at you with a napkin draped over his forearm like he was plucked out of a movie.

"Uh, just, tap water is fine," Eddie replied. He caught a glimmer of judgement in the man's eyes as if he had said the wrong thing before he was nodding and walking off.

"This place is really . . ." You trailed off, eyes sweeping the red curtains draped over ornate wallpaper, each table hosting a single tea candle flickering up at the lavishly dressed occupants. You weren't exactly sure what to say. It was beautiful but you felt slightly out of place with your hand-me-down skirt and unpainted nails. You weren't sure why Eddie had been so adamant about coming here, somewhere not even your parents had taken you to, but when he had shown up at your door with combed hair and a button down you knew you couldn't object.

"You like it?" You met Eddie's eyes, the flame from your candle dancing in his brown irises. A soft smile worked its way onto your mouth as you looked at him. He looked eager to hear your approval, rings clinking against his empty glass as he tapped nervously.

"I love it," you replied. I love you is what you meant. His smile made the dimples in his cheeks deepen and you wished you had been somewhere more private so you could lean over and kiss them. You didn't have the heart to explain to him that you truly didn't care where you had gone tonight. You half expected to go to the mall and sneak into a late night film so you could cozy up in the back seats and ignore the movie you didn't pay for.

"Pick whatever you want. Actually, pick two. Your two favorites. And we'll get those," he said, opening the leather menu to scan down the entrées.

"You want me to pick your meal?" you asked, eyebrows raising as you watched him toy with the corner of the paper he had untucked from the folder.

"We can share both. I don't mind what we have. I want you to try what you want," he explained. He met your eyes and you could see a hint of pink paint over his cheeks. The suffocating wave of affection that always lingered near when Eddie was around enveloped your chest. You wished the waiter would come with the water so you could swallow it away and not embarrass yourself with how stupidly you were in love with Eddie Munson.

Your eyes scanned the menu, a jumble of Italian words you had no clue what they meant and missing numbers where the prices should've been. You didn't think there could be so many different types of pasta all with names you vaguely recognized though couldn't picture. You knew Pesce meant fish but anything listed beneath it could've been whale meat and you wouldn't have been any the wiser. Eddie seemed equally lost, brows furrowing and lips morphing as if to attempt to pronounce the words.

"Maybe we can ask for recommendations?" you offered. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he nodded, pursing his lips and letting a small sigh escape his lips.

A moment later a new waiter returned with a carafe of water and a basket of complementary bread sticks. He filled both of your glasses before setting it between the two of you.

"Welcome to Enzo's. My name is Mario and I will be your server today. Can I get you started with any drinks?"

You looked up to meet the dark eyes of the waiter staring down at you. He was giving you a warm smile, looking as though he didn't even register Eddie sitting across from you. Eddie, who was very much aware of this sudden attention on his girlfriend, sat up a little straighter, resting his forearms on the white table cloth before speaking.

"We're fine with water," he said, snapping the attention of the waiter to him. He nodded, giving Eddie a smile though miles less welcoming than the one he gave you.

"Of course. Have you decided on any appetizers or perhaps," he turned his gaze back to you, smile warming, "you're ready for your entrées?"

Your mouth fell open, eyes flickering from this oddly friendly waiter to the unimpressed look Eddie was giving him.

"Uh, we–" your eyes met the waiter's again, Mario he had said, and you shifted slightly in your seat, "We were wondering if you had any recommendations?"

Eddie didn't like the way he grinned at you, flashing pearl white teeth. He watched him lean closer, irritation nipping at his jaw at the charm he wove between his words, hand reaching over to point to his recommendations. Eddie hoped he noticed the marks from his earlier love bites on your neck or the lingering scent of his cologne. He also hoped he felt the burning glare he was directing to the center of his stupid face.

You had no clue what he was saying, words barely registering as you tried to focus on anything but his breath dusting the side of your cheek. You could see Eddie's hardening glare from across the table and would've laughed at him had you not felt so uncomfortable with this random man leaning over you. It wasn't that he was unattractive or out of your age range, it was the fact he was a stranger and you were there on a date with your boyfriend.

"Um, could you give us a few minutes to decide?" Your words had him nodding, shuffling back with his glamoured smile still directed at you before he walked away.

"Eddie," your voice was soft, pulling his attention from the retreating back of his newfound enemy to your rounded eyes. You saw his jaw click in irritation. You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options.

He had put so much time and effort into this date. You knew he had wanted to take you here for a while and Dustin, after you hounded him, had admitted that Eddie had worked extra shifts to make up the money. You wanted it to be perfect for him, fulfill this fantasy he had in his head though you were already trying to figure out how to repay him. But he looked uncomfortable with his shirt buttoned up to his throat, eyes as lost as your reading the menu, and irritation bleeding out from him at the forwardness of your waiter.

"I know," you started, shutting the menu carefully as you thought through your words, "you put a lot of work into coming here. But . . . we don't have to stay."

"You wanna leave?" he asked and you felt your stomach twist in guilt. He met your eyes and you watched his shoulders sag. You wanted to take back your words the minute his face fell and it took all of your willpower not to throw yourself at him to make him smile again.

"No, I–" you struggled to find your words, "I mean, it's beautiful. I really like it. I do. It's just . . . it's a little out of our usual . . . comfort zone. But . . ." Your voice trailed off as you watched him wince at your words.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, the corner of the menu he had been picking at nearly ripped off from his agitation. "I thought it would be romantic but if you're uncomfortable–"

You shook your head, leaning forward so your hand could grab his, weaving your fingers together and squeezing.

"Eddie, I don't want you to be uncomfortable," you urged. He wrinkled his nose, free hand moving to cup yours, twisting the delicate rings around on your fingers.

"This isn't about me. This is for you."

"Last time I checked dates were meant to be for two people," you chided, letting out a soft laugh. A stormy look swept over his features making your smile wilt.

"But this is supposed to be a nice date. Nicer than wherever else I've taken you. A real date," he insisted.

"Our other dates felt pretty real to me," you wanted your tone of humor to crack his hardening visage but he only seemed to sink deeper into his thoughts.

"You remember our last date?" he asked, eyes focused on your conjoined hands. His brows furrowed, tongue poking out to touch the corner of his mouth. "Our last actual date. I took you to Pike's Peak."

He let out a quick laugh though it lacked humor. Your mind flashed to the mountain themed diner three towns over where you and Eddie had huddled into one of the booths, shared a grotesquely creamy milkshake and double fried onion rings, and stole kisses when the grumpy owner wasn't looking. You nodded, wanting to smile at the memory but fearing his mention of it had a different tone.

"That was nearly three weeks ago. And the nicest thing about that place was the new TV Sal had installed in the wall so he could watch baseball," he murmured. He twisted your hand over so he could trace his finger along the creases on your palm, an invisible line of tingles following.

"I liked that date," you said after he paused. A sigh escaped his lips. You wanted to reach out, pull him close and smooth the wrinkle between his brows. You wanted to press reassuring kisses to all the high points of his face and draw the tension from his mind. But you didn't, waiting patiently for him to finish his thought, hand squeezing his in encouragement.

"I know," he sighed again, "I know. But–" he paused, eyes flickering around the post-war building, at the exposed brick and dangling chandelier and waiters dressed like they were from the 1940s, "You deserve to be taken someone nicer than a diner filled with truckers and lumberjacks."

"Eddie," you sighed, brows furrowing at the direction his mind was heading. He looked at you finally, eyes flickering with uncertainty and that frustrating insecurity that you wanted to beat dead with Steve's nail adorned baseball bat. You squeezed your hand again, reaching your other one over to envelop his.

"You have this funny idea in your head that in order to prove you love me you need to pay for it," you continued, unable to keep the irritation out of your tone, directed at the self-doubting thoughts that kept puncturing Eddie's soft heart.

"I love our dates. I don't want you to feel like we have to go somewhere like this for them to be good enough."

He felt his stomach coil in regret at the sadness that washed over your features. His eyes narrowed in on your pout forming, feeling like he was the biggest idiot in the world to make you sad.

"I know," he muttered again though you could still see the doubt swimming in his irises.

"I don't care if we go to a Michelin star restaurant or eat take out in the back of your truck. The common denominator is that I want to spend my time with you."

His big brown eyes stared at yours with waning uncertainty and unfiltered appreciation before he was harshly swallowing away the thick vulnerability that was wrapping around his throat. He knew in the back of his mind that he was being stubborn. He knew you didn't need this strange show of masculinity or financial stability to prove that he loved you. But sometimes the voice in the back of his head had him doubting his every move, making panic flash hot in his chest at the fear of losing you.

But he knew you. The way one kiss from him had your eyes growing hazy, limbs melting until you were coiling yourself around him like snake. The way you would insist on talking late into the night even though he could hear the sleepiness in your voice over the phone. The way you preened under his praises and grew whiny for his affection and distracted him from taking you to dinner because you wanted to make out in his van. He knew you and he knew you loved him.

His fingers swiped the the silky skin of your wrist, pinching the skin affectionately as he slowly let a smile form on his lips.

"Sounds like you kinda have a crush on me," he said back. His lighter tone and softening features had the ball of tension unraveling inside of your chest. You couldn't help the incredulous smile that overtook you coupled with the soft nudge of your shoe against his shin.

"You'd like that wouldn't you," you shot back, his dimples deepening at your teasing tone. He pulled your hands up so he could press a kiss to the back of one, half moon eyes piercing yours.

"It's cute that you're denying it," he retorted, amusement and warmth coating his words. He kissed your hand again, a silent thank you. You felt breathless under his gaze, cheeks heating up warm and fast.

"I'm always cute."

"And always right."

You wondered if your heart rate could ever be calm around Eddie. You had a sinking suspicion that the erratic spikes and swirling butterflies in your stomach were permanent fixtures.

"I have an idea," you mused, thumb brushing his, head tilting to the side as your eyes trailed down his black shirt to his necklace glinting in the firelight. He hummed, waiting for you to continue.

"Why don't we go get some pizza from Tony's down the street. You can pay with your overtime money that you worked so hard for. And then I can show you just how big of a crush I have on you."

Your words had his heart leaping in his chest. He missed your comment about his extra shifts, entirely too focused on the plumpness of your lips and insinuation behind your words to realize he had been caught. His infatuation with Enzo's and it's snobby clientele and mystery food that cost far more than it was worth was crushed beneath your glittering eyes and dizzying smile.

"On one condition," he said, mouth quirking up in a coquettish grin, your heart fluttering at the sight.

"Shoot," you said.

"We take this basket of breadsticks with us."

Your gleeful laugh was all he needed to snatch it up from the table, grab your hand, and pull you through the restaurant until you were racing to his van with the host calling after you with a string of curses you couldn't hear over your laughter. And he tugged you in close, your perfume drenching his senses, lips pressing hastily against yours once more, eager to make you love drunk all over again.

Taglist: @eateraa, @feminist-mina-harker, @eddie-my-lovex, @samlealea

Link to my masterlist :)

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x yn #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n

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saltydoesstuff · 1 year

Text

Every Universe

"I love you." She uttered, barely above a whisper. "I love you in every universe." "Do we end up together in every universe?" He asked. "No," She replied, and the painful memories of those life times flashed behind her beautiful eyes as she reflected to the 'back then's. Yet, she smiled, "But I love you anyway, how could I not? My soul yearns for you, even before it had come to know you. It remembers, I remember." "Does it hurt?" She was silent for a moment, "A lifetime without you hurts more then a lifetime when we are not together." "I love you." He blurts out unthinkingly, desperate. He reaches out for her hand, taking it and holds it in both hands in a grounding grip. She looked down at their hands and smiled, relishing in the bitter sweetness. "I know." She confesses quietly. She held his hand tightly, trying to ignore the buzzing within her body- threatening to tear her apart atom by atom. "But you aren't mine. Not this time."

#rottmnt x reader #could be any turtle here #all up to you all :)#it's nearly 4 am but i had to write something down #the angst be angsting #may i make a proper thing out of this?#i have no clue- but i love the idea #like mc is able to travel between universes or something- or sees the future #basically some doctor strange shit #they have lived through countless timelines/lifetimes with the turtles #some good some bad- but one thing is for certain is their bond #context to this would most likely be soulmates #but not a love at first sight soulmate deal- like they are aware of the pull but the relationship still progresses naturally #but mc knows how it ends- in some way or another she loses the love of her life and now she has to do it all over again #she remembers everything but they don't- she has to live through the pain of loss while they are right in front of her-#just they are not what she had before #MMMMM I love this kind of trope #an endless cycle of loss and pain- yet beauty and love #i'm very sleep deprived #hopefully i can start getting actual requests done soon kjfds

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zelphafrost · 2 months

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Goddess of Multimodal Creation

Synergistic Pixelation

Buzzing in my atoms

Euphoric energies running from

The digital to my dendrites

Megapixel flowers

Blooming into creation

Cybernated fluids flow

From Your brain to the screen

Differential of two or more

Colliding in electric rhapsodies

Divine Belletrist elegantly

Weaving words with

Sound and light

Blissful Creations

~ Zelpha Frost 2024

#poetry #my poems #my poetry #zelphfrost #poets on tumblr #poets corner #original poetry #spilled poetry

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nori-writes · 1 year

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Hii! I was wondering if you could do either headcanons or a small fic for; Cassidy with a chubby fem s/o? It could go from how they met to the established relationship but anything would be great ^^

Cassidy x Chubby!Fem!Reader

Cassidy x Reader

W/C: 850+

A/N: Oh my god! Thank you so much for the request, I would love to write more like this! I really hope I did your ideas justice. One last thing, while writing this I did also write an angst/comfort that goes along with this fic, I’ll be posting that soon! (also I don’t know how far into the future OW2 is after OW1 disbanded, I’ve seen some places say only a year and others say 2-3 years, for the sake of this we’re going to say 2-3 years) Tysm anon!

You guys met between Overwatch 1 and 2!

He met you in a small bar at night.

When you guys met you were sat alone at the bar.

He is flirty, but a gentleman of course, he asked to sit next to you,

You said yes

Why wouldn’t you

“What is such a lovely lady doing sitting here all alone?” A gruff voice said behind you. As you turned around you were met with a man who looked to be about six foot with a cowboy appearance which held a smile, that of which you returned.

“I just came out alone, needed some time to myself, you’re open to sit here though, as long as you aren’t a creep,” You let out with a little laugh at the end.

He held a hand to his chest taking an offended look to his face, “Me? A creep, never,” He said, removing his hat and taking his seat next to you, “I’m Cassidy, Cole Cassidy.”

“Y/N L/N,”

Cassidy held a glass in his hand taking a sip, “Quite the beautiful name that fits a beautiful person.”

You felt your face heat up at his comment, “You’re hilarious, but I don’t know about all that cowboy.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out, scanning it before quickly finishing his drink, “I’m sorry to quickly cut this off but, I’ve gotta go. But, it’s been lovely meeting you even if it wasn’t for long. Would ya mind if I asked for your number?”

Who were you to say no? “Of course,” you said with a smile, pulling out an old receipt from your purse and a pen, writing your number on the back of it, and handing it to him.

He gave you a quick smile thanking you before heading on his way, not forgetting to text you that night.

After you guys talk for awhile you learn about Overwatch and such

You guys also finally go out!!!!

You choose where you want to go on a first date, he’s totally down for anything you want to do.

He is literally the perfect significant other after you two are together for a while.

He loves contact with you, cuddling? No need to ask, he’s already there.

He loves laying on your stomach, thighs, anywhere and everywhere he just loves it.

He can and will cup your face for the lil smoosh look (That’s the best i can describe it i hope that makes sense)

He finds it absolutely adorable!

Ever upset about how you look? He will literally sit there for hours talking about how much he loves every single atom of your body.

He would kiss your body up and down if that’s what he needed to do to get his point across to you.

Don’t even get him started with pet names, Pumpkin, darlin’, sweetheart, doll, sugar, and so so so many more

PDA? Yes. Your his, nobody else’s, he’s gotta let everyone know

He doesn’t get jealous, just protective

He totally gets jealous

By the time Overwatch is back together you guys have been together for a couple years.

You’re not an agent but you two do still live together.

It is canon that Cassidy loves chubbiness and you cannot argue, it’s final.

Your eyes slowly drifted open from the feeling of a pair of arms being wrapped around you and Cassidy’s resting figure flooding into your sight. All you could do was appreciate mornings like this. Mornings where Cole was home, he was in no rush to leave or get ready. It was just you and him.

You took in his figure, his silky chocolate brown hair in a bedhead type state with an ethereal expression, you wished you could stay like this forever. Moments like these only to be interrupted by the growling of your stomach.

As you tried to make your way out of bed you realised that Cassidy’s arms still had their hold around your body. You gave Cole a small little shake, attempting to wake him up, a hum to be let out as his eyes opened immediately fixating his gaze onto you.

“Will you let you out please?” You asked with pleading eyes, much to no avail.

The male let out a groan before a deep, gravely morning voice of his tiredly spoke, “Five more minutes…” The end of his words trailed off as sleep began to take over him again.

You shook him again this time with a whine attached, “Baby please, I’m hungry. I’ll come right back, I promise,” You wiggled but his grip around you only tightened at your attempts.

“Five more minutes sweetheart, then you can go get whatever food you want, alright?”

You nodded to his words, “But only five,” you said, finally agreeing, “no more than that.”

Content with your answer Cole found his head laid onto your chest. However, you knew five minutes was never only five minutes. But, a couple extra minutes in the morning with your lover never killed anyone.

If you enjoyed, my master list as always is here 💜

#cassidy overwatch #overwatch #overwatch imagines #overwatch fluff #overwatch fanfiction #mcree overwatch #overwatch fic #overwatch x you #overwatch mccree #overwatch x reader #jesse mcree #jesse mccree #cole cassidy #overwatch cassidy #cassidy x reader #mcree x reader #mccree x reader

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dccomicsimagines · 2 years

Text

The Kid and the Bum - Batfamily Imagine - Part Three

Part One Part One.Five Part Two

Warning - Gun Violence, Injuries, Death

Requested by @silly-thinkings - I was wondering if you can do a chapter for “kid and the bum” series. Where when reader gets rescued by Jason they call him dad for the first time.

***

The store was busy for a Wednesday at one o’clock in the afternoon. Jason carefully maneuvered his cart around two older ladies chatting away about the Justice League’s latest heroics. It took all he had not to roll his eyes.

He stopped by a display of cereal to check the list you had made him. A smile pulled at his lips as he thought about you buzzing around this morning. You shoved the list in his hand, demanding he get everything that you required for your birthday party.

Jason shook his head. “Who would have thought I’d have to plan a birthday party?” he mumbled to himself. You listed a bunch of decorations, plus cake and cookies. He leaned in and saw the cookies said Alfred’s cookies specifically. That was fair. Alfred’s cookies were superior to all.

He moved through the rest of the store, avoiding people as he got everything you wanted. He noticed people were all talking to each other and looking at their phones, but Jason didn’t concern himself with it as he was focused on getting ingredients for dinner tonight.

When he moved to the check out counter, he noticed the clerk was distracted by their phone. “Oh my god,” the clerk said, eyes wide. She looked up at Jason. “Did you hear the news?”

Jason blinked, putting items on the counter. “No, what’s going on?” He hoped it wasn’t just going to be celebrity news again. This clerk in particular loved to share gossip about Bruce Wayne. Jason had to swallow a chuckle. Not that it wasn’t entertaining to hear.

“The Joker took over Elliot Elementary.” Jason’s blood ran cold. His hand dropping the pack of streamers on the floor.

“What?” His chest tightened, he gasped for air.

The clerk nodded, looking at him worriedly. “Yeah, it just came out. He’s got a news crew recording the whole thing.”

Jason thought about you. How happy you were when he dropped you off. Now you were in his worst nightmare. “I gotta go. I’m sorry.” Jason left all his groceries and sprinted out of the store. His body felt numb. An atomic bomb could have went off right now and Jason wouldn’t feel it. Every cell in his body knew he had to get to you.

He got to his bike and juggled his phone out of his pocket, dialing your number. Bruce had recently given you a phone. Jason allowed it only because you were so happy about it. It went straight to voicemail. Right, you would have it off when you were at school. You probably weren’t near your phone. Jason knew you would have turned it on to at least message him if you could.

The voicemail beeped. “(Y/N), I heard. Just stay safe, don’t get his attention. Keep your head down and try to hide when you get a chance. Please sweetheart.” Jason swallowed hard. “Message me when you get a chance. I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up the phone and hopped on his bike. Just as he turned on the engine, a car honked right next to him. He flinched, glancing over to see Tim and Kon parking next to his bike. “Jason, get in the car. Kon will drive your bike to the manor,” Tim said, getting out of the car.

“I don’t have time for this!” Jason shouted, revving the engine of his bike. Kon appeared in front of Jason’s bike. Jason narrowed his eyes into the deadliest look he could muster with the fear coursing through his veins. “My kid is in his hands!”

Kon shook his head. “You’re not in your right mind. You can’t go in guns blazing.”

Jason snarled. “What do you not understand?! My kid is in that monster’s hands! That freak that beat me with a crowbar then blew me up!” His hands shook. Jason’s heart ached like it was about to explode. Tim appeared next to him and turned the cycle’s key off.

“Jay, you know we need a plan.” Tim’s hand clapped on Jason’s shoulder. Jason forced himself to look at Tim. “Take a deep breath and think. (Y/N) is smart. She knows what to do and the Joker doesn’t know who she is to us.” Jason pressed a hand against his mouth to keep from screaming. “Jay, get in the car. Please.”

A breeze blew past Jason’s face, cooling his face. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Fine.” He climbed off the bike. “But you better drive fast.”

***

You stumbled up the steps of the school bus. Joker’s henchmen stood around with guns. Kids were crying, but you didn’t. You looked around as you took a seat next to two other kids toward the middle of the bus. Exit in the back and in the roof. You were closest to the roof exit, but you wouldn’t be able to reach it on your own. The last of the kids got on and two more henchmen came on to stand in the front and the back. Kids mumbled in fear.

Cursing under your breath, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of this bus now. You sat back in your seat, letting the kid sitting next to you take your hand and squeeze your fingers to the point of hurting.

You used your free hand to slip your phone out of your pocket and tucked it under your thigh while pressing the power button. Before you were taken out of your classroom, you had slipped into your cubby and grabbed it.

Once your phone was on, you did a quick glance down at it to see Jason had called you. He must know what was going on, but did he know you were taken out of the school? You bit your lip before tapping the emergency app Bruce had shown you how to use.

The bus hit a bump in the road, making kids scream. “Shut up!” The henchman in front said, pointing his gun at everyone. It went quiet.

You swallowed hard and put your phone back in your pocket. “Hurry up, bum,” you whispered to yourself.

***

Jason bounced his knee as Bruce drove the batmobile through the city. He glanced out the window before eyeing the blinking red dot on the dashboard. “It’s been a hour since (Y/N) triggered her alert.”

Bruce hummed, tapping the comm button. “Report.”

“The teachers are safe. They were locked in the gym with only a few men guarding them. All the students were transported elsewhere,” Dick said first.

“Nightwing, I need you to send me today’s attendance records.” Oracle’s voice sounded strained. “I just finished a program that I uploaded to your lenses. It will help us make sure all students are accounted for.”

Jason crossed his arms to keep his hands from shaking. His mind kept playing cruel tricks on him, making him imagine how scared you were, how you could end up dying like he did. Jason pressed a hand against his mouth. His skin felt cold and clammy.

Bruce glanced over at him before speeding up. “Red Robin, Batgirl, what’s the status?”

“One bus is at Ace Chemicals. They are unloading the kids,” Tim said. “Do you want us to move in before they take the kids inside?”

“Yes.” Bruce reached over to rest his hand on Jason’s knee. Jason stilled. “Has anyone seen Joker?”

“Other bus is by the docks. Looks like they are planning on driving it into the bay. Superboy and I are moving in,” Damian said sharply. “No sign of Joker.”

Jason eyed your tracker. “They’re taking (Y/N) out of the city.”

Bruce frowned, glancing at the screen. “We’re following (Y/N)’s bus. They are leaving city limits. Spoiler and Starfire, what’s your status?”

Spoiler panted over the comms. “We extracted the kids from our bus. The driver drove the bus straight into Iceberg lounge. No casualties.”

“Good work. Let me know when you find Joker.” Bruce turned off the comm. “Jason, hold yourself together. (Y/N) needs you.”

“I am.” He flinched away from Bruce’s hand when he noticed it lingered. “I hate that he hasn’t been seen yet. You know what that means. He’s using the other buses as decoys.”

Bruce pursed his lips. His eyes on the road. “We’ll get her.”

Jason ran a hand through his hair before slipping his helmet over his head. He closed his eyes, falling into a meditation the League of Shadows taught him back in the day. It calmed his mind, readying him to save you.

***

You hopped down the steps of the bus, frowning at the decrepit nightmare that was the Arkham Orphanage. Alfred told you a lot about the history of Gotham and about the five families. You wondered why were the Arkhams allowed to be in charge of this sort of thing.

“Get moving.” One of the henchmen pushed you along. You stumbled into the kid in front of you before catching yourself. There were whimpers and sniffles, but all the kids were quiet. You swallowed hard, looking around for a way to escape, but there were more men with guns here. They lined the way right to the front door.

You wrung your hands together as you stepped inside the cold, haunted building. Dust was everywhere. Parts of the ceiling were caving in. You crossed your arms to try to stop your hands from shaking. A laugh you never wanted to hear echoed from somewhere inside the orphanage. A shiver went down your spine.

“Hurry up, Bum.” You followed the other kids to what looked like an old lunchroom. The men forced everyone to take a seat by the old lunch tables. You swallowed hard. Bouncing your knee, you tried to think of an escape plan. If you needed to, you could duck under the table. Of course, where you go from there is the problem.

“Look at all these kiddies,” Joker laughed, popping out of the door at the opposite end of the lunchroom. Kids screamed. A few started to cry. You stayed silent. Don’t attract attention. Jason’s words echoed in your head. “We’re going to have lots of fun.” He danced around the room before pointing a gun at a Kindergartener in the first row. The poor Kindergartener screamed as he pulled the trigger. You flinched.

Luckily, only a bang flag popped out. You relaxed slightly as all the kids screamed and cried in terror. Suddenly, your heart raced. Pressure built up inside of you and you found yourself standing up. “Leave them alone, you sick bastard!”

The room fell silent. You heard the blood pounding in your ears as the Joker’s focus turned to you. Jason was going to be mad, but you couldn’t do nothing. You needed to protect the other kids. One of the men came up behind you and smacked the back of your head with his gun. You grunted. Stars swarmed your vision.

“We have a brave one here, boys.” Joker laughed, gesturing toward you. “Now let’s show these kiddies what we do to brave ones.” You blinked away the stars and swallowed hard. Jason was going to be so mad at you.

***

“Take the northwest window. I’ll go through the door. All the kids are inside the old dining room,” Bruce ordered through the comm as Jason climbed over the Orphanage wall and dropped into the old playground.

Jason tapped the side of his helmet, scanning for the heat signatures. A huge cluster was in what Bruce said was the dining room. However, Jason caught a few heat signatures on the second floor. “I got some upstairs too.”

“Save the group of kids first, then we’ll go to the second floor.” Bruce growled. Jason saw Bruce kick open the front door and head inside. He shook his head. Your life was at risk, but Bruce wanted to be dramatic. Taking a deep breath, Jason waited until Bruce entered the dining room before he took out his grapple gun and aimed it toward the window. The first shots rang out. Jason clenched his hands to stop the shaking and fired the grapple.

He flew toward the window at high speed. As he was about to hit, he somersaulted and broke through the glass of the window. The glass shattered. Jason adjusted his aim slightly, kicking out one of the gunmen before flipping and sliding into a landing. “Go kids. Run.” He nodded toward the door. Kids started to run. Bruce was taking down three gunmen on the other side of the room. Jason shot the one closet to him, scanning the crowd of kids. Their names popped up on his vid.

“Cops are outside the Orphanage for extraction.” Barbara sounded relieved. Jason swallowed hard when he couldn’t find you among the kids.

“I’m going to check out the signatures upstairs.” Jason sprinted past Bruce and the gunmen. The stairs were old and creaked beneath his weight.

“Hood, wait,” Bruce said, but Jason ignored him. He tapped the side of his helmet and followed the heat signatures to a room at the far end of the building. A scream came from inside. Jason’s blood ran cold. He knew that scream.

“(Y/N)!” Jason kicked open the door. The sight inside made his stomach drop to his feet. You were chained to one of the old metal beds. Joker stood over you with a crowbar. Jason noticed the two gunmen in the corners and shot them immediately. “Get away from her, Joker.”

“Well look who’s here, my brave one,” Joker said, raising the crowbar to hit you again. Raw rage bubbled up inside Jason as he shot the crowbar out of Joker’s hand. “Ouch, now Hoodie, that was rude.”

You didn’t move on the bed, panting weakly with your eyes closed. Jason noticed your breaths were uneven. Your ribs had to be broken. Jason’s own ribs ached. A flash of an old warehouse with a crowbar and that evil laughing clown popped before his eyes. Jason shook his head, aiming the gun for Joker’s head.

“Back away from the girl, Joker.” Jason stepped forward. His finger itched to pull the trigger, but he could never kill someone in front of you. You didn’t need those nightmares.

The Joker laughed, reaching for his pocket. Jason rolled his eyes and sprinted forward to slam his gun against Joker’s temple. Joker fell like a sack of potatoes. Jason kicked him in the ribs for good measure before kneeling down beside the bed and undoing your chains. “Hey sweetheart. I’m here, don’t worry,” he soothed softly.

You opened your eyes. “Dad,” you whispered. Jason flinched, looking into your eyes. His heart melted at the sight.

“Yeah, Dad’s here.” Jason undid the last chain and carefully examined your body. You whined. “I’m sorry. I got to make sure I can safely move you.” Your ribs were broken, maybe some internal bleeding. Blood caked the back of your head. Jason bit his lip. Joker wasn’t hurting you for long. Thank goodness.

Jason carefully scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. He started toward the door. “Dad? Did I hear that right?” Joker cackled. Jason’s blood ran ice cold. So the Joker didn’t know about your connection to him...until now. “Does Hoodie have a kiddy? Oh my, what does the big old Bat say about that?” The Joker sat up. “Uncle Joker will just have to steal some more time with the kiddo. After all, it take a village to raise a child.”

Joker’s laugh chilled Jason’s blood. He tightened his arms around you as he glanced back at the Joker. Joker got to his feet, wiping the blood from his temple. Jason backed away from him, moving you to one arm as he pulled out his gun again.

Sometimes one decision changes everything. Jason knew this well. He chose to steal the tires off the batmobile, and he chose to go find his real mother. The consequences of those decisions changed his life. Of course, taking you in was one of those decisions. One of the best ones he had ever made. Jason glanced down at you to find your eyes closed and relaxed. You knew you were safe with him.

He looked back up at Joker. The rage bubbled up from inside. You wouldn’t be safe if Joker knew you were connected to him. There would always be that fear that he would find you, hurt you, kill you. In that moment, Jason made the decision without any regret.

He moved his hand to block your view of Joker. “No.”

Bang!

Blood and brain matter splattered. The shot echoed throughout the Orphanage. Jason’s ears rung. You didn’t stir. He thanked whatever higher being who existed for that.

“Red Hood!” Batman’s voice grew near. Jason put his gun away and walked out of the room with you cradled in his arms. Batman slid to a stop when he saw him. Jason just shook his head and brushed past him, only thinking of getting you out of this terrible place.

***

Once he dropped you off with a EMT, he stole one of the Jokers’ motorcycles and followed your ambulance to the city. Once the ambulance was at the hospital, Jason drove to the nearest safe house and cleaned up. He scrubbed his suit, getting rid of the evidence.

His phone rang multiple times, but Jason ignored it. He knew answering the phone wouldn’t do any good. Jason expected to feel more. Maybe regret? But all he could feel was worry and fear for you.

He tossed his suit to dry on the bathroom counter before stepping into the shower. Turning the water on hot, Jason scrubbed his skin until he was pink and raw. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you with the Joker.

“Jason?!” Tim said suddenly. Jason flinched, knocking his head against the low shower head. He groaned, opening the shower curtain to peek out as Tim opened the door. He was still in his Red Robin uniform. Tim’s face blushed, but his shoulders dropped. “Oh thank god. You gave us all a scare.”

“Throw me a towel. I have to get to the hospital.” Jason held out a hand. Tim grabbed a towel off the rank and tossed it to him before turning around. Jason slammed off the water. “If you’re going to arrest me, you can wait until I make sure (Y/N) is alright.”

“I’m not going to arrest you.” Tim crossed his arms, keeping his back to Jason. Jason dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I know you did what you had to.”

Jason snorted. “Is that what Bruce is saying?” Jason stepped out of the shower and brushed past Tim to head to the bedroom. Tim followed.

“Who cares what Bruce says? He’s not going to arrest you. I confirmed that.” Tim bit his lip as Jason dug through the dresser. He pulled out a shirt that was too small and threw it over his shoulder. Tim dodged the shirt.

“Okay, then why are you here?” Jason tugged a shirt over his head. It was tight, probably one of Dick’s, but it would work.

“To make sure you’re okay.” Tim turned his back again as Jason found a pair of boxers and jeans. “I mean...you just killed the Joker.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “It’s worse for (Y/N).” He pulled on the clothes and brushed past Tim to the door. “I got to go to her.”

“Jay, wait. Let me change and we’ll together.” Tim grabbed his arm. Jason held back the urge to snap at him. “Please. I don’t think you should be alone.”

“Fine, but move fast.” He jerked his arm out of Tim’s grasp. Tim turned and jogged into the bedroom. Jason took a seat on the couch in the living room. He bounced his knee, hoping you wouldn’t wake up before he arrived.

***

Thunder boomed as Jason barged through the hospital doors. The lobby was full of worried parents and scared kids. Apparently the cops were using the hospital as a meeting place to get the kids back to their parents. Jason bit his lip and pushed through to get to one of the receptionist. “I’m looking for my kid. (Y/N) Todd,” he demanded, making several parents shuffle away from him.

“If you could help us, please,” Tim added, resting a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason took a deep breath. He ran a hand over his face.

“Of course.” The receptionist nodded. She had dark circles under her eyes and her hands shook slightly. Jason’s heart went out to her. “(Y/N) Todd is currently being treated. I’ll have a nurse come out and get you. Please stand by the ER doors.” She gave them a tight smile.

“Thank you.” Jason tapped the desk before pushing his way through the crowd. Tim followed, eyes wide at all the parents, kids, and cops around.

“Maybe I’m never here for this part, but this is a mess,” Tim mumbled to Jason as they leaned against the wall by the ER doors.

Jason snorted. “Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to hold off the headache.

The two men fell silent. Jason’s heart ached. He wanted to see you, know you were okay and make sure you knew nothing about what he did. You didn’t stir at the shot, but maybe...

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)’s dad?” a kid asked, approaching him nervously. Their parents were a step away, filling out paperwork.

Jason cleared his throat. You had called him Dad only a few hours before. He never thought you would. Your relationship wasn’t that way, but it felt right. “Yeah, I am.”

The kid grinned. “You should be proud of (Y/N). She saved us.” Jason’s eyes widened. His knees almost gave out, but he caught himself on the wall. The kid didn’t notice. “When the Joker was pointing guns at us and was trying to scare us, (Y/N) stood up and told him to leave us alone. It was very brave.” Their parents called them over. The kid waved and ran off.

“Jay, you okay?” Tim bit his lip, grabbing Jason’s arm to stop him from sliding to the floor.

“She disobeyed me. I told her to keep out of sight and not to attract attention.” His chest tightened.

Tim squeezed Jason’s arm hard to get Jason to look at him. “Hey, (Y/N) is okay. Let’s just focus on that.”

Jason found himself nodding. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Right, yeah.”

The nurse appeared to collect them. She led them through the ER. It was busy. Lots of kids and parents, doctors jumping from bed to bed. “(Y/N) just got out of surgery. She had some internal bleeding, but should be fine.” The nurse sent them a smile as they reached recovery. “Third bed down.”

Jason jogged down and flung open the curtain to find you, pale, but breathing steadily. The heart monitors beeped, reassuring him. Jason’s knees gave out as he fell into the chair next to your bed. He grabbed your hand. You were cold. Jason rubbed your hand between his.

Tim sat down in the chair by your feet. He took out his phone, talking to someone in low tones. Jason didn’t bother to eavesdrop. His focus was only on you.

***

Hours later, Tim sat back in his chair in your private hospital room. Jason was asleep in the lounge chair that the Wayne Foundation recently added to all the rooms for patients’ families. You were still asleep as well only waking up briefly to see Jason.

The sunrise drifted in from the window. Tim got up and opened the curtains a bit to fill the room with natural light. Jason shifted in his sleep.

A knock came from the door. Tim turned, smiling when he saw Kon, Steph, and Cass peeking in. “Hey, they’re both asleep.” He noticed Cass had a container full of cookies while Kon and Steph had several presents in their arms.

“Aww, too bad,” Steph fake whispered loudly. Tim noticed Jason tensed, knowing he was awake. He decided not to draw attention to it. “It’s a big day for the birthday girl.”

Kon took a stuffed tiger out of one of the bags and tucked it next to you. “Happy birthday, (Y/N),” he whispered, gently stroking a hair off your forehead. Tim blushed at the sight, falling more in love than before. Steph poked Tim’s side with a playful smirk.

“So how’s Jason?” Steph whispered for real this time.

Tim shrugged. “He’s okay. Focused on (Y/N).” He bit his lip when he saw Jason’s eyebrow twitch. “Is Dick and Kori coming with the decorations?”

“Yes, soon. Kori had to feed the baby first,” Cass said softly, watching Jason. “He’s awake.”

Tim shook his head. Kon came to Tim’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Tim leaned into him. Jason opened his eyes. “Yeah, who wouldn’t wake up when Steph is so loud,” Jason said, rubbing a hand over his face. Tim wondered if it was hitting him yet. Then again, it was Jason. He hid everything well.

Steph stuck out her tongue at him. “Well, Alfred and Damian are going to bring the cake.” She danced over to poke Jason’s side. “Look at you, now we did all the work for you.”

“Sorry, I was busy.” Jason sat up with a groan. His back cracked loudly. “Did (Y/N) wake up?”

“No, she’s still asleep, but the nurse said she’s doing fine and should wake up soon.” Tim said, glancing at his watch. “We should all get some breakfast.”

“I’ll stay here with (Y/N).” Jason got out of his seat and stretched before moving to sit in the chair closest to you. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles. Tim and the others watched.

Cass patted Jason’s shoulder. “We will bring you something.” She and Steph left the room.

“You’ll be okay, Jay?” Tim asked as Kon took his hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Timbo.” Jason’s eyes stayed on you. Tim smiled and left with Kon. He knew Jason would be fine until they got back at least.

***

Jason studied your face. There was a slight furrow in your brow. He rested a hand on your forehead. You relaxed. “Are you awake, sweetheart? I know Steph was loud.” He smiled as your arm hugged the stuffed tiger closer to your side.

“Water?” you whispered, opening your eyes. Jason quickly poured you a cup and helped you sip from it. He hummed, noting how you winced at the movement.

“Do you want me to call the nurse for more meds?” Jason asked once you were settled back against your pillows. You shook your head, looking at the tiger then around the room. A little smile pulled at your lips at the sight of the presents. Jason’s heart melted slightly.

You giggled. “I’ve got to stop ending up like this.” Your eyes clouded slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, kiddo. You just keep me on my toes.” Jason kissed your forehead, swallowing back a flash of blood splatter before his eyes. He’d take trauma from you any day. “Happy birthday.”

“Wow, it’s already tomorrow.” You licked your lips and smiled up at him. Jason’s heart skipped a beat. He knew in that moment he’d never regret killing the Joker, not if it kept you happy and carefree. “Are we having my party here?”

Jason snorted, eyeing the presents. He stood up and grabbed the container. “Well, we’re having a party here. I’d imagine we’d have a better one once you’re better.” Popping open the lid, he was met with the addicting smell of Alfred’s cookies. “Guess what?”

“Cookies?” You perked up immediately. “Alfred’s cookies?!”

Jason laughed, sitting on the edge of your bed before offering you a cookie. You happily took one. Eventually, Jason knew he would have to face what he did, but for now, he’d focus on the here and now.

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