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whenrockwasyoung19 · 2 years

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New Fic Alert!

The New Guy and the New Girl

Jimmy Keene x (adult) Reader

No real warnings apply. It’s just some cute fluff. Bit of romance, no sex

Summary: Y/N just started working at the prison as a dentist. You never would’ve thought you’d end up here, but here you are. You’re a bit nervous about this new job, but then you meet someone who seems to make it all better.

You didn’t ask for this job. You didn’t ask for metal detectors, or the occasional drug test, or all the badges, or the constant surveillance.

But you did ask for something, and you asked the wrong person.

You left dental college about six months ago with one, simply request: to get a job as a dentist as quickly as possible. As your mother reminds you, again, and again, you’re not getting any younger. “Yes, mom”, you’d say in your head after each undesired reminder, “I went to school a little late.” Four years to be exact, but only because you got a little sidetracked by a guy and Europe and Italian cheeses. But after the divorce papers were signed, you found your way back to reality.

And once you finally reached the end of school, you could finally scoop up a bit of that American Dream your grandma always talked about. So you applied for jobs. You thought it’d be easy to get a job as a dentist. You don’t know where that notion came from, but it came and stuck with you, until it was forced after you after the eighteenth rejection email.

But finally, after a couple of months of searching, you got an interview. The brief convo with the hiring manager was, as you expected, pleasant. In the pre-interview, you were, as you’d always intended to be, confident, cool, unwavered. The interviewer was impressed by this ‘unwavering’ quality, as they noted. This also didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the location of the interview: The Outer Depths Prison, about 28 miles south of Chicago.

Somehow, you never saw yourself ending up in a prison, and yet, you found yourself interviewing at one. You went through the usual checks, background checks, fingerprinting, all pretty routine, but they also had to strip search you–that was quite unusual. Though, the CO was quite cute, so you didn’t mind as much.

The interview, despite being a little shaken up by the strip search, went well. Once again, the interviewer admired your confidence and unshakability. A week later, you showed up for your first day.

Your first patient was a fairly young guy, about your age. He had dark hair, brushed back, though not totally tamable. For some reason, he always had a few pieces that stuck up or fell in his eyes. As a result, he was always playing with it. He could never quite leave it alone.

As soon as you saw him, you asked yourself how he got in here. He wasn’t like the other inmates–not that you would know. You’d never met them. But you’d seen prisoners on TV, so you knew the type. This patient was the type. Sure, he had the right build for it. His shoulders were broad, his arms were like two thick tree branches. You had never seen his chest, but you imagine he had abs to match those shoulders. Despite the football player build, there was a certain softness there too. You sensed it before he even spoke. His hazel eyes were the dead giveaway. They weren’t hardened, like the COs you’d met, or the couple of prisoners you’d seen in the distance upon arrival. Not him. There was something vulnerable right behind his eyes.

You knew he wasn’t like the others the first time he spoke.

“Hello,” he had said in a gentle voice, “I’m Jimmy.”

“Dr. Y/N, at your service.”

“The guard said to take it easy on you. He said you were new.” Something shifted then, in his voice and in his eyes. There was a certain confidence there. Was it cockiness, or was it charm? You couldn’t tell, but you wanted to keep listening to find out.

“I am new, but I have worked on patients before, just in a different setting,” You replied. You didn’t tell him that you’d only worked in dental school and not in the real world.

“S’alright,” he continued, smirking, “I’m new too.” There was something in the way he looked at you. He was still that confident jock that he had eased into, but that softness in his eyes was creeping back in. the two sides of him, soft, gentle soul and cocky jock were sort of melting together. And you wanted to keep listening.

“When did you arrive?” You asked him. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to ask that. In fact, you didn’t know what was taboo and what was fair game.

“Last week,” he answered. The confidence melted away, and you could see the weight that was bearing on him. You briefly wondered what he left behind, a home, maybe a job, possibly a family. “It’s only been about eight days, and with about 700 more to go, it feels like time has totally stopped. I’d like it to move quicker.”

“It will,” you told him. “I went into dental school late, like really late. So when I saw that it’d take four years, I just felt this dread pass over me. I was really going to have to spend another four years in school, another four years not working, living with my parents, and not really moving forward. Okay, bad example, dental school is nothing like prison.”

“You were in purgatory,” he noted, in a surprisingly non-judgemental way, “I can see what you meant.”

“Well, in that case, I can assure that your sentence will eventually end. The 700 days will come to an end, and you’ll move forward.”

“Like you’re doing,” he noted.

“Like I’m doing,” you echoed.

There was a slight pause, as you both seemed to forget why you were here. And then you remembered: dentistry!

“Sorry, sir, you had a toothache.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s over here…”

It turned out, his tooth was perfectly healthy. He just had some untreated gingivitis, and the inflammation was causing him some pain. He had remained somewhat calm and collected while you checked him over, but in the moments before you announced his diagnosis, you could see how tense he got. So, you happily announced that there was basically nothing wrong, and he’d just need a regular cleaning to sort him out.

During his cleaning, the two of you continued to chat. You quickly learned that Jimmy was a big baseball fan, but he wasn’t a Cubs fan. Perhaps revealing a bit too much (which you could tell by the way he blushed) he admitted he didn’t like the Cubs out of slight rebellion. His father was a die-hard Cubs fan, so he grew to love the Red Sox, even though he’s only been to Boston once. You told him that you used to be a Cubs fan, but decided to back the Yankees since you wanted to support a winning team.

After swapping some baseball stats, and fighting over a recent game, your conversation eased into one about TV. Jimmy revealed that he missed TV.

“Don’t you guys have a TV room,” you’d remarked.

“Yes, but I’ve never gotten control of the remote. I always end up watching the news, Letterman, or TV Land, and that doesn’t interest me much.”

You ask him about his favorite shows, and he tells you all about his favorite cop shows, like Miami Vice and Hawaii Five O. the irony doesn’t pass him by.

After pulling away to let him speak, he said. “Not sure if I can watch those shows anymore, now that I know what it’s like to be in the back of a police car.”

You had so many questions for him. You wanted to know what he was in for. It’s minimum security prison (or minimum for short, you learned), so nothing too terrible. Just something illegal and bad enough to get him two years. You also wanted to know why he did whatever it is he did, and what kind of life he led before prison. But you were just his dentist, not his psychologist or his girlfriend, so you didn’t ask.

You just asked him something you’d always wanted to know. “I now know what it’s like to be inside a prison, but I don’t know what it’s like inside a police car.”

“Shitty,” he answered, as he tried to stew together something more eloquent. Swallowing hard, he continued, “I had to just stew in the knowledge that I had ruined my own life.” he laid back down and opened his mouth. “Sorry, you were in the middle of something, and I’ve been babbling on.”

“No, it’s okay,” I answered. “A little insight into what it’s like in here wouldn’t hurt.”

“I can tell you what it’s like. Hell. just hell. Like, when I say that, I don’t mean in the colloquial sense, just like, hey it’s hell in there. I mean it as a pretty apt metaphor here. It is hell; we’re trapped here, like demons in hell. We’re given shitty food, which I imagine is the case in hell. It’s hot as hell because the air condition has been broken all summer. And you have to constantly worry about pissing off the wrong person, or else your ass is getting beat.”

He then looked up at me with those vulnerable eyes of his. Once again, he seemed to think he’d said too much.

“You asked,” he added cheekily.

“I’m glad I did,” you answered, swallowing hard. “I think I need to know how people in here think; otherwise, I won’t be able to talk to them, to reach them. I’ll just be an outsider to them.”

“You are an outsider,” he remarked, “But in a good way. You don’t want to fit in here. Trust me.”

“I don’t think you do, either.” You surprised yourself with that comment. “I don’t think you’re one of them.”

“I am one of them,” he insists.

“Okay, fine,” you relent, because you weren’t about to argue with a stranger about things you didn’t fully understand yet. “We aren’t that alike. But we are alike in one way: we’re both trying to get our footing here.”

He nodded then. “I think we’ll find it. I’ve certainly gotten more used to this place. Perhaps you can as well.”

“Perhaps I can.”

“Now,” he continues abruptly, “Shouldn’t you finish cleaning my teeth?”

“Right!”

Eventually, the appointment comes to end once you finish cleaning his teeth. He gives you a smile, a much brighter one, and tells you, “You’re doing awesome. So don’t let this place intimidate you, alright? You’ve got this.”

“So do you.”

None of your other patients could really measure up to Jimmy. Some were nice, some were mean, some were shockingly cowardly (going as far as to cower in the corner), and some were tough enough to withstand the worst novocain shots. But none of them were like Jimmy. Very few were as open to chatting with you as he did. Most of them had real dental problems, so you couldn’t waste time chatting away while you had to drill and fill and extract. And when they did talk, it was always light fodder. Small talk. You’d discuss the lunch menu, the status of the air conditioning, the itchiness of the sheets, and how people were spending their commissary money. But nothing thought-provoking or particularly memorable. These were conversations you’d forget about in a week. But it’d been weeks and you hadn’t forgotten your conversation with Jimmy.

Then, without much of a warning, Jimmy returned. He just appeared in your office doorway one day.

“Do you mind having a look at something?” He asked you. You nodded and invited him inside.

“How have you been?” You asked him. “Have you adjusted okay?” He rocked his head back and forth, and you knew what that meant; he hadn’t adjusted, at least not much.

“I can’t really sleep,” he noted, scratching the back of his neck. “And I think I’ve been grinding my teeth, which sucks because I’ve really looked after my teeth. Two months in here, and I’m fucking them up.”

“Okay, let me have a look.”

He nodded, taking a seat in the chair. You took a seat at his side. He was laying down, and you were hovering over him. Your eyes met his, and you thought, for a second, you might melt. He then popped open his mouth, and you remembered that you had to do your job.

After poking around his mouth for a bit, he asked you, his voice muffled, “How have you been? I meant to ask earlier, but we jumped into this a little fast.” You pulled the tools out so you could have your convo. You couldn’t help but get butterflies as you geared up to talk to him.

“Alright,” you answered, “I’ve finally gotten my own apartment. It’s in the eastern part of Chicago.”

“Nice, I used to live in the Northeast…”

You begin swapping stories about the city, exchanging your favorite pizza joints and Greek restaurants. You quickly discover that he's Italian and a bit of a connoisseur of the local Italian restaurant scene. You tell him about the handful of good Iranian food spots in the area.

“I have to admit,” he replied sheepishly, “I haven’t had it.”

“Most people haven’t,” you replied flatly. “But I can make some recommendations–for when you get out.”

“In one year and ten months,” he noted.

“One year and ten months,” you affirmed, “See, that’s already much shorter than when we met. And does that feel like it was so long ago?”

He raised one apprehensive eyebrow. “Kinda, yeah,” he replied. “Does it feel that way too?”

“I’m not counting the days,” you answered.

“Really?” He sounded surprised, which puzzled you. “You’re not counting the days until you can get a different job, maybe one without a barbed wire fence.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know if and when that’ll happen. I’ve spent years of my life reaching towards some far off goal. It’d be nice if I could just stand still, for a bit, you know, just enjoy what I have now.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this is the place to do it.”

“It isn’t so bad on my end. Once I’m in here, and the doors are shot, and the CO goes outside the door, I feel like I’m in a regular dentistry. And once the patients come, and I start working, it all just feels like dentistry to me. Really, you don’t have to worry about me.”

He looked at you, really looked at you. You had to know what he was thinking. What did he want to know about you?

“I’ll try not to worry about you,” he sighed.

“You worry about me?”

“Course,” he answered with a coy smile. “The loonies that walk through that door. I think about you all the time, asking myself how you’re managing in this place.” “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking the same thing.”

He gazes at you. You recognized that gaze. Men have looked at you before. In particular, a man you divorced.

“So,” you start searching around for your tools, your eyes darting all around your tray. At last, you pick one up. “You wanted to know if you were grinding your teeth.”

“Oh, that,” he said flatly. You catch something in his voice, something off.

“Yeah, you said you were grinding your teeth. Right?”

“Can I be honest with you?” He said in a soft voice.

“Of course,” you answered, dropping your gaze. “What do you need?”

“I’m not grinding my teeth. At least, I don’t think I am. I only said that because,” he paused and sighed. “Oh god this sounds so middle school.”

“What?” You said teasingly. Perhaps you were back in middle school.

Smirking, he explained, “I lied about my teeth because I wanted to see you.”

You looked up at him with a wide, doe-eyed expression. You tried to shake it off, but you couldn’t stop staring.

“You wanted to hang out with me?”

He smiled and nodded. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by because I have been wondering how you were holding up.”

“You know,” he added coyly, “What if I were to need some more dentistry done.”

“Like what? Your teeth are remarkably perfect.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, because it’s not real. It’s just an appointment slot that you’ll leave open for me.”

“How often?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Once a week?”

That made you smile a big goofy smile. “Once a week, you and I can just come in, chat for a bit, and I’ll send you on your way.”

He nodded, “Yeah, just some chatting.”

But as soon as he said that, you knew it wasn’t true. You knew what you were slipping into, but you did nothing to get your footing. You just said, “I want to see you again, and again, and again, and again.”

And that cocky confidence punched its way through the softness, “Likewise.”

And you melted right then and there, like puddy in the hot sun.

#taron egerton #taron egerton x reader #blackbird #jimmy keene #jimmy keene fic #taron egerton fic #in with the devil #fluff #romantic fluff

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agentnico · 2 years

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Black Bird (Apple TV+, 2022) Review

This show was great and all, but the most unrealistic part of it was Taron Egerton’s prison shirt. Usually prison wear is quite baggy, and for other prisoners in this show it is, but Egerton seems to have a clause in his acting contract that states he has to show off his big muscles on full display. Hence why he wears the tightest prison top possible, and I’m sure Egerton fans are nothing but pleased seeing him tense his guns, but I guess that is realism out the window.

Plot: As Jimmy Keene begins a 10-year prison sentence, he gets an incredible offer: if he can elicit a confession from suspected killer Larry Hall, he will be freed; completing this mission becomes the challenge of a lifetime.

Can’t remember myself getting so riveted by a crime show since....ever. I’m not really one to watch TV crime dramas, however Black Bird is such a well written, superbly acted show that hits themes of deep moral complexity. What really works in this show’s favour is it’s unrelentless well time paced. It doesn’t rush, it is a slow burn after all, however it keeps the central core mystery compelling throughout, as well as having relying upon being a two-hander about two men laying bare their true natures in thorny, anxiety-dripping back and forths.

Taron Egerton is absolutely sensational in this role, and again, I’m not simply talking about his veins sticking out of his muscles. It’s the emotion he shows whenever he listens to Larry’s ‘lies’ and stories, and the true horror and disgust he feels whilst still trying to hold up the act of being his friend. In the last few episodes especially Egerton lays it all dawn raw and its incredible to watch. Paul Walter Hauser is aptly creepy and unnerving as Larry, and his high pitch voice, though amusing and tad funny at first, amplified the uncomfortable notions every time he appeared on screen. Hauser makes Larry an absolutely vile presence, but also the script does this interesting thing where it allows Larry to have a mind-set of a victim, where whenever he does the horrible things he does, he manages to spin it around to seem like he had no choice. As if he was doing in in self defence. And naturally the knowledge and awareness of how messed up he is as a person and his lack of morality make for one of the most unpleasant criminal psychopaths in crime TV for a good while. This series also sees one of the final roles of recently deceased Ray Liotta, as Jimmy’s hard nosed ex-cop father who suffers from the constant feeling of guilt that he has failed his son. Having suffered a stroke, Liotta hits the stammering tone and frustration that comes along with a debilitating incident in a heart-breaking way. Whilst Hauser’s Larry provides feelings of disgust and spine chilling fear, Liotta is both adorable and sympathetic, and it is so sad that we have now lost this acting legend. Sepideh Moafi and Greg Kinnear round up the cast as the detectives trying to figure out the truth outside of the prison walls, and both do splendidly in their roles.

The main thing Black Bird suffers from is it is a tad short. Running at a total of six episodes, it wouldn’t have hurt having an extra episode or two to tie up a few loose ends. There is a guard in the prison who always makes things harder for Jimmy, as well as a Mafia boss who ends up feeling betrayed by Jimmy’s actions, and both of these side-plots end up going nowhere, and I feel should have led to more interesting conclusions. Regardless as a whole Black Bird is a fantastic crime drama. The methodical script is absolutely stellar, keeping you on your toes throughout, and always keeping you guessing. It’s an incredible true story and this is crime TV at its finest.

Overall score: 9/10

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