#OC: Alan Sharpe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnamongorll · 7 months ago

Text

a fragile line - epilogue

read on ao3! (179k words) | previous chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Chapter warnings: smut

Word count: 6k

Epilogue

Juliet's POV:

Juliet burned down her father’s house.

It didn’t take long, there was some gas in the basement that Matt dragged up the stairs and the five of them got to work, drowning most surfaces in the thick liquid. Juliet watched as it covered the bookshelves full of religious texts, dampening the words Elijah had used to justify his treatment of her. She locked eyes with Ethan when Joel handed her his lighter, her blood roared in her ears as Juliet silently asked him if this was the right decision, if she was thinking clearly.

They stood at the edge of the property, bags already strapped onto the horses, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Joel had assured her that the flames would die out before they reached any nearing properties, but a part of Juliet hoped that the fire would surround the town, erasing every part of it.

After a long moment, Ethan had nodded and Juliet flicked the lighter with a surprisingly steady hand. The flame was strong when she threw it towards the house and they watched with stunted breaths as the worn porch steps illuminated in red and orange. The fire was quick to lick up the side of the building, through the door, and into the hall.

Juliet released a slow, staggered breath when the windows exploded and Joel shielded her body with his own, gripping her shoulders and pushing her towards the horses with sharp, muffled commands in her ear.

Juliet stumbled over her own feet but she struggled to tear her eyes from the flames. Joel boosted her onto the horse they shared before joining her, gripping the reins as he turned the creature in the direction of Ethan, Charlotte, and Matt who had already begun riding down the street, away from the haunted house that was finally being destroyed.

As their horse gained speed, and Juliet’s old home became a speck of red and black in the distance, she imagined that same fire coating her skin, burning away every scar that was birthed in that house, erasing every echo of a scream from her mind, and making room for new memories.

No one emerged from their hiding spots as they rode through town. The people who were left were scared and tired. Juliet had gutted this town of its monsters.

When they made it through the town’s gate, Juliet’s body finally slumped into Joel’s back as she slid her arms around him. Even through his coat, she could feel the waves of heat pouring off of him, holding the cold at bay. Juliet’s cheek nuzzled into the thick leather of his jacket and she felt him release a heavy sigh.

She didn’t have to look to know that his mouth had curved into that reluctant smile he used to fight so hard against and Juliet’s eyes fell closed, a feeling of peace flowing through her despite the harsh journey ahead.

Behind her eyelids, Juliet pictured her father’s house falling apart piece by piece as his empire blackened and burned, crumbling to the ground, and her shoulders relaxed as she tightened her grip on Joel.

Elijah’s house would never hurt anyone again, she’d made sure of it.

……………….

With a combination of severe weather, groups of raiders and hoards of infected, the journey back to Jackson took a lot longer than any of them had expected.

It was mid-February before they returned, arriving at Jackson’s gates worn and malnourished. The snow still stuck to the ground and, from the gates, Juliet could spot some Christmas lights that still hung from the sides of buildings, reminding her of the day they left.

Tommy was the first to greet them, pulling Joel into a hug that nearly knocked the two of them over. Joel gripped his brother tight, murmuring words that she couldn’t hear as Tommy nodded and slapped him on the back.

Juliet watched politely, smiling as the brothers reunited, yet she couldn’t help but feel that festering reminder of her guilt begin to curl around her stomach, and her eyes darted away, ashamed of her part in their separation.

When they broke apart, Juliet was surprised to find that Tommy’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in with a gentle force as his chin rested on her head.

“Careful,” Joel warned from beside them, his arms crossed as he watched Juliet for any hint of pain or discomfort.

Juliet felt Tommy’s laugh reverberate through her body as he brushed off his brother’s concern, smiling against the top of her head. She leaned into the hug, her eyes burning as she felt the weight of his worry and accepted the offer of his renewed friendship.

When they pulled apart, Joel’s feet crunched through the snow to stand behind Juliet and Tommy looked between the two of them with a hint of surprise in his brown eyes, then he shook his head and his mouth broke into a crooked smile.

Juliet looked between the brothers, watching a silent conversation pass between them as her eyebrows furrowed. After a moment, Joel’s hand landed on her shoulder and he nodded at Tommy.

Something passed over Tommy’s face that she couldn’t quite identify at first, but as Joel’s hand slid around her waist and he turned them in the direction of the town, she realised that there was something resembling acceptance in his expression.

Juliet brushed it off and focused only on the warm feeling of Joel’s hand as it settled on her waist and the realisation that he didn’t care who saw the evidence of his affection towards her.

…………………………

No one questioned it when, that evening, Joel packed up Juliet’s stuff from her house and moved it into his.

She sat on his bed, her legs crossed under her as she watched Joel carefully unpack the small collection of items and clothing she had gathered during her time in Jackson. Neither of them said a word as he pushed his things aside to make room for hers. There was no discussion, no hint of doubt. Joel moved as though his actions were the most natural thing in the world, as though Juliet sitting on his bed watching every motion of his hand was a usual occurrence.

When he closed the last drawer, he turned to her, straightening his spine and reaching a hand up to rub along his jaw and the scuff of a beard he’d managed to grow on their journey. It reminded her of the days before they reached Jackson, when Juliet would try to imagine what it would feel like to touch his face and not feel like she’d been scorched.

When his eyes met hers in the low lighting of the room, Juliet struggled to decipher his expression. She shifted under his gaze and her tongue escaped her mouth to wet her dry lips.

Joel didn’t miss the movement and he began to walk over, with slow, careful steps, almost as though he didn’t want to spook her, like knew how dangerous he was and what might happen if he got too close.

When he stopped, Joel stood with his legs touching the edge of the mattress and his chin tilted down to tower over Juliet’s cross-legged form as she gazed up at him with inquisitive eyes. Even after all this time, Joel’s movements still remained unpredictable and she liked the feeling that sparked over her skin as she attempted to guess what he might do next. There was no fear in waiting, no apprehension that Joel might do something to hurt her, there was just a buzzing anticipation of his touch and a sharp focus in response to his full, undivided attention.

Juliet’s eyes shuttered closed when his rough palm met her cheek, grazing upwards against her flushed skin until he met her hair. His fingers dug in, scratching her scalp until a soft moan flew from Juliet’s mouth as her chin lifted towards him.

He groaned in approval, using his other hand to untangle her hair from its braid as the pressure from his touch increased. Juliet forced her eyes open as she felt the heat from his gaze begin to burn her skin.

Her lips parted as she blinked up at him, a moan caught in her throat as his fingers kneaded into the back of her neck, rubbing away the tension that wrapped around her.

Joel was doing it on purpose, she decided, when a whimper trembled from her lips and his whole body shuddered in response. He was enjoying the way she came undone under his touch as she demonstrated just how much his towering presence affected her.

Juliet watched as his jaw moved and his gaze flickered to the door across the room. Through the haze of his touch, Juliet’s eyes narrowed and she begged her mouth to work, to ask him what he was thinking… but Joel held her tongue in his dark, heavy look and she was stunned into silence.

“Come with me,” he commanded in a low growl, and dropped his hands to curve around her elbows, helping her off the bed with tenderness that warred with the promise of something so brutal and savage in his eyes.

Juliet’s heart pounded as her feet met the cold hardwood floor and she allowed herself to be led across the room to what she now recognised as Joel’s bathroom. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated where this was going until Joel let go of her arm to flick on the light and then reach across the bathtub to turn on the shower.

Juliet’s tense shoulders dropped instantly. The thought of a warm shower had kept her going for the past several weeks, imagining herself standing below the stream and washing off everything that had happened to her. A smile found her lips at Joel’s thoughtfulness.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she moved over to the tub and turned, waiting for Joel to step out the bathroom as her skin itched to move under the water that was currently creating a cloud of steam between them.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, Joel closed the door and began to move closer, and closer until he had backed her against the tub. Juliet watched him with widening eyes as his hand moved to the top button of her flannel.

“Joel,” she said in a trembling voice. “What are you doing?”

His eyes found hers, and his eyebrows raised in an amused gesture as his finger grazed the button again. Surely he could hear how fast her heart was beating.

“I’m gonna help you outta these clothes, then we’re gonna get cleaned up,” he explained, before he paused and searched her face as the corner of his mouth twitched up. “That okay?”

Juliet’s skin began to flush. “We?” she repeated.

Amusement danced in Joel’s eyes as he nodded and his fingers continued to play with the button.

The hot steam coated her skin and Juliet couldn’t help but feel exposed. She’d been with Joel before, but it was too quick and rushed and unexpected for her to feel nervous. But now… he would see all of her and her heart seized at the thought of his eyes trailing along the scars that marked her skin.

Her head turned towards the wall, escaping his attention for a moment as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Hey,” he said, concern entering his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Juliet found his searching gaze and she swallowed at the sight of his confusion.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered, hoping her words would just fade with the hot steam and they wouldn’t actually reach his ears.

“Like what, baby?” he murmured as his palm found her cheek again. He stared down at her as the lines on his forehead grew deeper.

Juliet huffed out a breath. “Hurt, scarred,” she stopped, shrugging, then lifted her hand, ignoring the dull pain produced from the sudden movement. “Butchered.”

Joel’s eyebrows pulled together, his eyes narrowed and his mouth transformed into a thin line, all amusement gone, as he processed her words.

Juliet looked away as the flush rose in her cheeks, beneath his careful touch.

Suddenly Joel pulled away, and Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, worried that her nightmare of Joel’s rejection had come true. But only seconds later, his voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Juliet’s eyes blinked open to find Joel rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt. Her mouth dried as she watched his fingers move, exposing his tanned chest. With each button gone, Juliet’s breaths came faster and faster.

“Joel, what -”

“Look,” he repeated, releasing the final button and pulling his shirt open as his chest rose and fell in sharp, heavy breaths.

Juliet’s eyes were already tracing his skin, roaming over his shoulders and following the path of hair down his chest, committing every inch of it to memory. After the sudden shock of his exposure faded, Juliet looked closer and noticed the white lines that lightened his flesh, and the circular shapes that sent a blade of fear through her heart. Then, slowly her eyes dropped to the scar low on his stomach that her own fingers had a hand in creating.

She tore her gaze away before the memory of that day consumed her, when his blood stained her skin and he had begged her to leave him.

When her eyes found his, Joel looked down at Juliet with a vulnerability she had never seen.

On instinct, she stepped forward and her hand reached out until her fingers met his soft flesh. Joel flinched and sucked in a breath, scanning Juliet’s face as she began to trace the marks on his skin.

A fierce flame of anger built in her chest as she thought of how these marks were formed, and she realised the pain he must have endured. Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed deeply when she thought about how she hadn’t been there, how she wasn’t able to help him.

Then, Juliet thought about why he had shown her this, and her breath caught in her throat.

They were the same. He had survived, just as she had.

This was just another piece of evidence to prove how alike they truly were. Joel’s scars matched hers, how could she be embarrassed by them?

Juliet removed her hand from his skin and, before her nerves could stop her, she reached for the buttons on her own flannel and started to release them. Joel’s breath shuddered out of him when he realised what she was doing and, when her lost finger made it difficult, he replaced her hands with his own as he slowly, carefully removed the shirt from her body, leaving her shivering in just her bra.

Her flannel fell from his hand, creating a puddle of fabric at their feet.

“So beautiful,” Joel drawled as his eyes traced her chest.

Juliet felt the sincerity in his words and she glanced down at his hands to distract herself from the heat in his expression. She watched as his hand twitched towards her then stopped suddenly and curled into a fist.

Feeling a sudden sense of confidence at his reaction, Juliet reached around and managed to unhook her bra. For a long moment, she held the cups over her breasts as her heartbeat roared in her ears, then she dared to look up at Joel.

Juliet’s mouth dropped open. He stared down at her with what looked like anger burning in his gaze and Juliet felt a sudden pulse of fear fire through her as her hands began to tremble. She forgot, sometimes, how dangerous Joel was, and what power he truly held in his body. He could break her if he wanted, she might even let him.

Slowly, her hands dropped and the bra joined her flannel on the bathroom floor.

Joel moved and Juliet realised how right she was to be frightened of him. His lips met her neck with a force that would have knocked her backwards if his hand hadn’t slid around her naked back, holding her in place. Juliet’s neck was pushed upwards by Joel’s other hand, exposing more of her throat as he feverishly scanned her flesh with his lips, kissing, tasting, tempting her with the edges of his teeth, like they might bite into her neck at any moment.

Juliet couldn’t keep track of the noises she was making, they were blending in with Joel’s groans and the sound of the water that continued to stream from the showerhead behind them. The steam in the bathroom was becoming unbearable, stealing away any breaths that she could take in between Joel’s attack.

Soon, his lips moved downwards as his hand cupped her beast, pushing against the flesh until his thumb grazed her hardened nipple and Juliet’s entire body shook with the force of her moan.

She swore she felt Joel’s mouth stretch into a smile against the bottom of her neck as his hand moved to her other breast, grazing her nipple in the same maddening way. Juliet was losing her thoughts, they were floating away and she couldn’t catch them. The only thing that consumed her mind was where Joel’s lips would go next.

Juliet didn’t have to wonder for long. Without any warning, Joel’s thumb was replaced by his mouth as it captured her nipple in the warm heat of his tongue. Juliet felt his groan against her skin and the sound shot a pulse of heat down her entire body.

Juliet began to writhe against him, her hands reaching out, trying to grab a hold of anything to keep her weakening legs from giving out. Her good hand quickly caught a hold of his jeans and started to scramble to unhook his belt, needing to feel the hardness she felt against her stomach.

She whimpered in frustration when her efforts failed. Juliet couldn’t concentrate when Joel’s teeth grazed against her skin, sending a shiver of heat straight down her spine.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmured when his mouth left her and his black eyes locked with hers.

Juliet straightened, gasping for breath as she watched him effortlessly release the hold on his belt, unpop the top button and slowly bring the zipper down. She was pretty sure she stopped breathing when his thumbs tucked under the material and pushed his boxers and jeans down in one single movement, his eyes never leaving hers.

Juliet’s eyes dropped immediately to Joel’s cock. Her mouth dried when she was reminded of its length and size, and she watched it twitch in response to her close attention.

Her legs squeezed together. Joel didn’t miss the movement.

Reluctantly, Juliet’s eyes made their way back up to Joel’s face and she saw that vulnerability shine back at her again. Juliet was struck by an overpowering need to touch him, the boiling in her blood was reaching a breaking point, but he was always at least one step ahead of her. His hands were at her trousers before she could inhale another shuddering breath.

“You want this?” he demanded in a low growl.

Juliet nodded without a single ounce of hesitation. Her need for him was wrapping itself around her throat, strangling her, restricting her oxygen.

Her trousers and underwear were on the floor. Juliet’s mind was in a daze. Everything was in slow motion. She watched as Joel bent to unhook her trousers from her ankles then used his position to tuck his arm under her legs and lift her to his chest.

Juliet gasped but didn’t protest when Joel stepped into the bathtub and settled her down under the heat of the water.

Her head tilted back in pleasure and a low moan unleashed from her mouth, before it was swallowed by Joel. His lips consumed hers as his hands found her hair, tangling his fist in the soaking wet strands.

With both of his hands distracted, Juliet reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, squeezing gently. Joel’s lips ripped from hers as his head dropped to her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he shuddered out.

Juliet’s other hand grazed over his hair as she began to move her hand up and down his length until her thumb brushed over his tip and a strangled groan escaped Joel’s throat.

She could feel the thick dampness forming between her thighs despite being under the stream of the showerhead, and Juliet used her grip on his cock to position him at her clit, pushing her body forward until the head of his cock made contact with the nerves that forced her mouth to open in a silent scream and her head to fall back.

Joel snarled and broke away, pushing her against the wall of the shower, cradling her head with his hand.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he scolded, wiping away the droplets of water that clung to Juliet’s eyelashes in an act so gentle in comparison to the anger that pulsed in his eyes.

Juliet liked the sensation of fear that sparked across her body as she quickly shook her head.

Joel huffed out a frustrated groan as his searing hot gaze followed the path of the water down her body, then his eyes flashes back up to hers.

His finger began to trace her lips, tempting her to open them, to let him in. Eventually, she caved and Joel’s finger slid into her mouth. On pure instinct, Juliet’s lips wrapped around his finger and she felt his cock twitch against her.

Surprise darted in Joel’s widened eyes, and he looked down at her mouth.

“Suck.”

Juliet obeyed immediately, wrapping her lips tighter around his finger. She swore her legs were about to give out as she watched Joel’s eyes fall closed in response.

When he pulled the finger from her mouth, it was dripping and Joel’s eyes darkened even further before his gaze dipped to where she was clenching with need, and his lips transformed into something between a smile and a snarl before his wet finger found her clit.

Juliet’s head swung backwards as he began to circle the bundle of nerves, pulling whimpers and moans from her throat. He didn’t let up, not once, Joel was not a man who responded to cries for mercy - he took what he wanted without remorse.

“Please, Joel,” Juliet cried when he picked up speed.

Instead of an answer, Joel’s lips met her neck again, sucking and tasting her damp skin as his traitorous finger left her clit and sunk deep inside her.

Juliet jumped and writhed against him at the intrusion. It was too much, the heat from the shower, the feeling of his tongue on her neck, his finger moving in and out, over and over, killing her each time.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked in between heavy breaths.

Juliet nodded vigorously, confirming her death wish.

Joel made a dismissive noise with his tongue and ceased all movement. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

Juliet groaned in annoyance. “Yes, I can handle it,” she confirmed in a sharp whine.

Joel breathed a laugh against her neck. “Good girl.”

Juliet was still processing those two words when a second finger sunk inside her, curling to meet a spot she barely knew about.

“Joel,” she whimpered against his chest, feeling overwhelmed.

The sound of his name caused Joel to nip at her neck with his teeth and Juliet began moving against his fingers, losing control.

A third finger joined in and Juliet lost it. Her cries echoed in the bathroom as Joel’s name fell from her lips more times than she could ever count. She was getting so close, it was actually painful.

Joel’s lips captured hers, his tongue forcing itself inside, before he made his final attack.

With three fingers pumping inside her, Joel moved his thumb and grazed it against her clit. Juliet cried out at the sensation, the sound getting lost in his mouth, and then he pressured harder, circling her with an edge of absolute cruelty.

That did it.

Juliet came with a scream trapped in her throat and her lip caught between Joel’s teeth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothed as he released her lip and her body slumped against him. His hands moved around her back, rubbing her skin, pulling her closer. “Shhhh.”

When her body stopped shuddering, she pulled away and blinked up at Joel. He was watching her with an expression Juliet had never witnessed before. At first glance, it looked like anger… but she knew better.

Joel was breathing heavily, panting almost, as he stared down at her. A muscle jumped in his jaw and Juliet reached up to press a kiss to it, enjoying the sight of Joel’s surprise.

When her lips left his skin, Juliet’s eyes dropped to his cock, still hard and twitching against her stomach and she swallowed, wanting desperately to know what it would feel like pushing inside her.

Her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts because Joel captured her face with his hands and demanded her attention.

“Not fuckin’ you in a shower either,” he grunted out, referencing that night in the cabin when he was so close to giving in on the decaying couch.

Frustration and bitter disappointment flooded Juliet. She was sick of waiting, she wanted him, needed to feel him as close to her as possible.

Juliet covered his hand with her own. “Then take me to bed,” she whispered.

Joel’s eyes widened, and she watched as he considered her proposition, his cock still rock hard against her skin. She ached to reach down and wrap her fingers around him, to make him feel the way she had felt only moments ago.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands left her face and reached down to the back of her thighs, lifting her up until she was wrapped around his middle. She yelped and buried her face in his neck.

When she lifted her head, Joel had turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and placed her on the bed. She was soaked and the water from her hair flooded the bed despite the towel underneath her. But the way Joel stood over her, watching her, told her that he couldn’t care less.

His hand found his cock and began to move up and down his shaft as his eyes trailed over her damp skin, over her breasts, down her stomach…

“I’ll never get tired of lookin’ at you,” he choked out as his body reacted to his quick movements. Juliet was jealous, she wanted to be the one touching him, making him feel that way.

“Come here,” Juliet begged as she slowly dropped her legs open.

Joel’s eyes immediately fell between her thighs as he began to move his hand faster.

“Please,” she whined, spreading her legs even wider.

“Goddammit,” he cursed before he released his cock and climbed onto the bed, moving until he caged her with his body.

Juliet couldn’t help it, she gripped his face and pulled him towards her, kissing him slowly, exploring his mouth, memorising the taste of him on her tongue.

“Joel, I need you,” she breathed against his lips.

He released a strangled groan, and pulled himself back until he captured her gaze as he explored the look in her eyes.

“You sure you want this?” he asked cautiously, his voice deadly serious. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Juliet nodded her head, her heart ached at his words. Joel was always so protective of her, even from himself. She didn’t know how to express to him how badly she wanted this, how he could never hurt her.

“I love you, Joel,” she whispered.

Joel froze, his face was stunned as though she had landed a blow on his skin. She hadn’t said those words since that night in Elijah’s house, and from the look on Joel’s face it was as though he thought he imagined it all those weeks ago.

Finally, he broke out of his trance and he reached down, pushing her thighs further apart before gripping his cock and guiding the head into her tight heat. Juliet gasped, stunned by the feeling of him pushing into her.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he grit his teeth, and Juliet knew that he was waiting for her to adjust before he kept going. She dropped her head back and tilted her chin down in a sharp nod.

Joel released a heavy breath as she took more of him in, enveloping his cock a little at a time until his body began to shake and Juliet pushed her hips forward until he slid into her all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck, Juliet,” he ground out, as though he was pained.

Juliet’s mouth was open in another silent scream as she attempted to adjust to the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, hitting that impossible place inside her.

After a long moment, Joel pressed his hands against the sides of her hips as he pulled out, then rocked back into her so carefully.

The whine she released was utterly pornagraphic.

Joel lost control, she could feel it in the way his hips jerked towards her and his hand left her hip and buried itself in her hair as his lips captured hers, inhaling the moan that was working its way up her throat.

Kissing her harder, Joel pulled out again and pressed into her, experimenting with the sounds she made against his mouth.

“I love you,” he groaned against her lips as he rocked into her again, pulling out, holding himself like some endurance test, then jerking his cock back inside her, over and over again.

Juliet felt tears slipping down her face, mixing on their tongues. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to his words or the feeling of their bodies clashing against each other and the primal growls Joel was releasing every time he pushed back inside her.

Soon, he picked up the pace and he decided to torture her even more as his thumb reached down to play with her clit, cirling it as his cock pounded against the spongy spot inside her.

Her cries verged on delirious, she was sobbing, screaming, gripping him, clawing at him.

Joel joined in on the delirium as his groans faded into snarled words against her skin that she could barely make out each time he slammed into her.

“Fuck, baby.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You feel so good.”

“I’ve thought bout’ this too many times.”

“I’m so fuckin’ in love with you.”

He was going so fast now, Juliet couldn’t breathe.

“Joel,” she gasped out. “I think I'm gonna come again.”

His finger moved quicker, tempting her sanity until she tipped on the edge.

“Do it,” he commanded. “Come for me.”

White hot brightness exploded behind her eyes as pleasure wracked her body. Somewhere far away Juliet could hear Joel groaning as she tightened around his cock.

“Shit,” he breathed and the pressure on her hip increased as Joel pulled his cock out with a strangled groan.

“I’m gonna,” he choked out and Juliet stiffened as she felt heat explode over her stomach before Joel dropped his head, coated in sweat, in the space between her neck and shoulder.

Juliet instantly pushed her fingers into his damp hair, soothing him, whispering to him how good he made her feel. When his breathing slowed, Joel reached up and gingerly captured the wrist of her butchered hand before pulling it to his mouth and pressing his lips against her palm.

Juliet bit her lip to stop more tears from falling.

He pulled back until their eyes met, blinking slowly as their breaths found the same rhythm.

As she watched a wave of emotions ripple in Joel’s eyes, Juliet was struck by a sudden, fierce terror and realisation that, despite how perfect this moment was, it couldn’t last forever.

“I - I can’t ever lose you, Joel,” Juliet confessed as she sliced a hole in her soul and spilled its contents in front of him.

Joel shook his head as that signature line between his eyebrows deepened, and Juliet wanted to reach between them and run her finger over it, to learn everything that had caused it to form.

“You won’t lose me,” he assured her as he tilted her head towards him and his trembling lips found her forehead. “I’m yours.”

Juliet wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight, not willing to ever let go.

…………………

The following year passed quickly.

After a few weeks, the dust settled and Jackson’s community stopped questioning their strange disappearance. The looks thrown at Joel and Juliet when they walked through town, with Joel’s hand on the small of her back, died down after a while.

When early spring arrived, Joel convinced Tommy to let them back out on patrol, this time as partners. Juliet refused to let Joel go out without her, and vice versa, so it was really the only option. They were most at peace out on patrol; it reminded them of the months they’d travelled across the country, learning each other’s habits, realising they couldn’t be apart.

They watched each other’s back out in the open, then went home to the same house, and the same bed. Joel learned how to cook, more than just eggs, and made sure that Juliet never went without a meal. He cooked for others too, they invited Ethan and Charlotte over often for dinner, drinks, and board games. Sometimes Matt joined them too, making sure to sit as far away from Joel as possible.

A few months after they returned, Maria had her baby…

Juliet watched Joel become an uncle. She smiled with him as they played with Tommy’s daughter, then held him close at night when the memories grew too heavy for him to carry alone.

Jackson became a home for the both of them. Juliet had a place to fill with the books she collected on patrol, and Joel found a talent in wood carving. He surprised her with little carvings of things only the two of them would understand: like the monkey that sat on their kitchen windowsill, reminding them of Juliet’s shock at the university. And Juliet surprised Joel with a guitar, which he’d been attempting to teach her how to play. Juliet wasn’t very good but she liked the way Joel kissed her when she got a chord right, so she kept the lessons up.

The nightmares still found Juliet, some worse than others, but she didn’t wake up alone anymore. Joel was there to brush a hand over her hair and kiss her forehead, anchoring her to the present.

They got married the following year, in August when the grass was green and the sun warmed the air.

They stood in the field of an old farmhouse that was to be their new home, under a willow tree where wildflowers grazed their legs and snagged at Juliet’s dress. Joel had told her that back before the world ended, weddings were supposed to be officiated, but laws didn’t exist anymore so they just decided to do it themselves, not willing to share any part of the day with others.

Joel and Juliet exchanged rings at sunset, when the soft shades of orange and pink painted the sky. They whispered promises to each other in the ruins of a world where happy endings didn’t exist anymore, and yet they found one anyway.

When Joel pushed the ring onto Juliet’s finger, he wasn’t surprised when the heavens opened up and rain descended upon them. Juliet just tipped her head back and laughed, and Joel watched, mesmerised by the sight of her joy.

They kissed as the light faded, and Joel found that his own eyes burned as he reached to capture the tear that rolled down Juliet’s cheek before the rain stole it from him.

.......................................

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx @elli3williams

#joel miller #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #tlou joel #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify #joel miller smut

105 notes · View notes

jokeringcutio · 1 month ago

Text

Story Commissions

I'm raising money for 2025 goals

Let's start the new year with opening up some commission slots. You can help me out and keep me writing by commissioning a story via my Ko-Fi [ Here ]

(No fixed prices & surprise donations without reuqests are also welcome)

for examples, browse my blog & masterlist. In this post: [1] Get Inspired (See what I have written for and what others enjoyed [2] How does it work (everything you might be wondering, including why I am holding this action to raise funds and why I have been less active lately)

I don't need a story but want to help out

You can donate via Ko-fi and have my eternal gratitude :)

Get inspired:

Most recent fills have been Arthur Harrow x ftm reader, among my more popular works are: Scream's Stu Macher (stepbrother), FNAF William Afton (also Stepdad series), Black Phone's Albert Shaw & Moon Knight's Arthur Harrow fics.

Among characters I have written for are: Stranger Things (Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Vecna/Henry Creel, Billy Hargrove), Dead Boy Detectives (Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Niko, Crystal, basically all), One Piece (Buggy), Crimson Peak (Thomas Sharpe, Dr. Alan McMichael), (Blue Eye Samurai) Abijah Fowler, Terrifier (Art the clown), Baldur's Gate 3 (Gale, Astarion), Joker (Arthur Fleck, Heath Ledger Joker), Scream (Stu Macher, Billy Loomis), Black Phone (Albert Shaw), Moon Knight (Arthur Harrow, Jake Lockley/Steven/Marc), House of a 1000 Corpses (Otis Driftwood, Baby), Halloween (Michael Myers), Rocky Horror Picture Show ( De. Frank-N-Further, Riff Raff, Magenta, Comubia), Tanz der Vampire/Fearless Vampire Killers (Alfred, Herbert rt von Krolock), Harry Potter (Professor Snape, Remus Lupin, Scabior Snatcher, Draco Malfoy), Enola Holmes (Enola Holmes, Sherlock Holmes (Also BBC version), Joost Klein (The music artist), Once Upon A Time (Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin), Peter Pan (Captain Hook), Game of Thrones (Arya, Jaqen H'ghar, Jon Snow), Doctor Who (Tenth Doctor, Twelfth Doctor), Blake's 7 (Roj Blake, Kerr Avon, Servalan, Soolin, Tarrant), Lord of the Rings (Aragorn, Legolas, Frodo) & The Hobbit (Fíli, Kíli, Thorin), Rings of Power (Adar), First Reformed (Ernst Toller), NCIS (Ziva David, Leroy Jethro Gibbs), Alice in Wonderland (Alice, Mad Hatter, Knave of Hearts (Ilosovic Stayne) 2010 movie version), Sweeney Todd, Romeo & Juliet (Also musical versions, mostly wirtten about Mercutio, Tybalt, Benvolio and Romeo), Star Wars (Kylo Ren, General A. Hux, Luke Skywalker), Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog (Angus, Rowan), Xena Warrior Princess (Xena, Gabrielle), Wednesday & The Addams Family

See any series/characters not listed, just poke me first. Among my specialities are: Dark fics, VillainxReader, Pregnancy kink, Older man/younger woman, height difference, reader inserts (you pov, no names and abbreviations used).

How does it work?

You can donate via my Ko-fi and leave a prompt

I'm known to write around 3000 words, even when I say it will just be a 1000 word short thing (others know I might get carried away). I won't make promises, but if you donate more, you'll get more words. I have deliberately not set a fixed amount for the tales because I am happy with every little help I can get.

What will you write and what won't you?

I will write sfw, sweet tales, but also explicit content and most kinks. I love writing from a reader's perspective (2nd person) but can do 1st person or 3rd. I can write about you, your OC, or your favorite pairing. I'll write het, slash mxm/fxf, poly. I won't write underage or miscarriage-related content.

If you doubt, DM me

If you want to know if I'll write about your characters or have more details to share than fits inside the ko-fi box, sent me a message on here.

Why not work a proper job to get your money?

I can't work because of Long Covid.

What am I saving for?

A new laptop (299 euros) & A table/attendance to the Spice & Steamy Bookevent in Amsterdam in Octorber 2025 (apr. 100 euros)

Girl, we haven't seen you around for ages, why now?

True! As those who have followed me for years know, I fell ill in 2020 and have been very irregular with updating. Due to Long Covid, I barely have energy and time to write as I am asleep a lot. It also means I can't work a proper job any longer. Which sucks. I'm currently a stay-at-home mom. Still sleeping a lot.

I have had surgery last August, removing my womb etc, got rid of a tumor and have been feeling a lot better since. But like I said, still limited energy thanks to the long-term drag of covid and sleeping a lot.

Any plans?

Yes! You haven't really seen me around last year because I tried to focus my energy on writing original tales to publish in 2025, since I can't work a proper job. I'd saved up money to achieve that goal (buy cover, hire editor) but then my laptop broke down and I had to use up my savings to replace it). Any more questions? Just ask! :)

#story commissions #I'm opening up slots #I'm not expecting many requests but every little bit will help #commissions open #story commissions open #reader inserts #help me #fund me #I love you all

15 notes · View notes

adhdnursegoat · 1 month ago

Text

Episode 7

Word count: 7.4K

Content Warning: depictions of violence and masturbation

Pairing: Edward Nashton X OC Romy Winslow

Setting: Pre-Arkham Origins; 2013

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2024

The names blurred together on the screen, each one a grim reminder of Gotham’s rot, festering just beneath the surface. Edward scrolled through the database, his sharp eyes darting between columns of information: names, ages, employment histories, and last-known locations. The pattern wasn’t immediately clear, but patterns always revealed themselves to him eventually. They had to.

Marcus Kane.

Javier Moreno.

Luis Dominguez.

DeShawn Green.

Alan Park.

And so many more.

He clicked on Luis Dominguez’s file, his fingers moving with practiced precision. A grainy ID photo filled the screen, showing a man in his early 30s with tired eyes and a forced smile. He’d worked at a warehouse on Gotham’s south side, one of the dozens flagged in the database Romy had compiled last week. The same warehouse where his body had been found two weeks ago—another so-called “accident” in a growing list of suspicious deaths.

Edward’s hand hovered over the mouse as his jaw tightened, his mind racing to piece the puzzle together. Luis wasn’t the first victim connected to the flagged properties. He wouldn’t be the last. These weren’t random deaths, and they certainly weren’t accidents. The connections were there, buried beneath layers of falsified reports and sanitized records. Edward could see the edges of the web, even if the full picture hadn’t yet come into focus.

He clicked into another file: Marcus Kane, 45. The data painted a grimly familiar picture. Marcus had been undocumented, working under the table for a ghost company listed as a subsidiary of Janus Logistics. His death had been ruled a heart attack, but Edward wasn’t buying it. Not with the growing number of cases tied to Janus-owned properties.

A pattern was emerging, one that gnawed at Edward’s mind with infuriating subtlety. These men weren’t just unlucky—they were expendable. Tools discarded when they outlived their usefulness.

He narrowed his eyes, scrolling through more entries, the hum of the computer the only sound in the dimly lit room. His thoughts, however, kept circling back to Romy. Her meticulous attention to detail had been instrumental in compiling these files last week, her ability to sift through mountains of data both impressive and irritating. She’d flagged the initial anomalies, bringing the network into sharper focus.

Too sharp.

Edward frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. He hated admitting that her work had been flawless. It meant she’d seen what he had—the unspoken connections, the chilling efficiency behind the façade of disorder. Romy wasn’t blind to Gotham’s ugliness, and she’d been far too quick to grasp the scope of what they were uncovering. It wasn’t her intelligence that bothered him—it was how unbothered she seemed by it.

His gaze shifted back to the screen, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. This was his case to crack, his puzzle to solve. The work was what mattered, not her involvement, not the way her observations stayed with him longer than they should. And certainly not the way her presence felt, at times, like a disruption he couldn’t ignore.

He exhaled sharply, clicking into another file, the weight of the revelation settling over him. The victims weren’t just numbers. They were part of a system—one designed to exploit, to erase, to ensure that no one looked too closely.

His lip curled. “She’s good,” he muttered in private, the admission slipping out reluctantly.

Edward’s gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, to the empty chair beside him. Romy had claimed that space as her own these past few weeks, invading his world with her presence, her scent, and her maddeningly confident demeanor. Now, even with her gone, the space felt occupied. She lingered, somehow, in the corners of his mind, impossible to dislodge.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as the thought settled. His hand rose to adjust his glasses, the motion deliberate, as if physically realigning his focus. With a sigh, he turned idly in his chair, letting the motion ground him as his gaze drifted to the stack of reports beside him. His lips tightened over his teeth. All this paper. The precinct’s stubborn clinging to outdated media was laughable in a world now dominated by digital precision. He rolled his eyes, his fingers brushing over the stack as though the mere texture of the pages irritated him.

And then his gaze landed on a smaller stack, set apart from the rest. The files Romy had left him last Friday before she left.

He hesitated, his hand hovering above the neatly compiled documents. Finally, he picked them up, flipping idly through the pages. The irritation that had flickered in his chest a moment ago began to dissipate, replaced by something quieter.

Each page was pristine. The data was meticulously compiled, each figure, timestamp, and cross-reference organized with such precision that it felt as if the documents themselves were tailored specifically for him. As he scanned the contents, he realized it wasn’t just well-done; it was exactly how he would have structured it—his preferences mirrored almost perfectly.

A faint sense of admiration stirred in him, unexpected and unwelcome.

Romy had taken almost three times the amount of time it would have taken him to complete this task, of course. He’d noted that last week—her slower, more deliberate pace was impossible to ignore. Yet, the result spoke for itself. The work was impeccable, precise, and thorough.

His smirk faded as he continued to flip through the pages, his brow furrowing slightly. How had she known what he would need? He hadn’t told her how to do anything. He’d just let her work, waiting for her inevitable failure. But she hadn’t failed. She’d anticipated the exact structure he’d find most persuasive, most efficient. He leaned back in his chair, the papers resting lightly in his hands as he considered the question. It wasn’t just competence. It was understanding—an infuriatingly precise grasp of what he valued, what he demanded.

For a moment, Edward allowed himself to sit with the thought, the faint hum of his monitors filling the silence. His admiration, as reluctant as it was, settled somewhere beneath the irritation she so often inspired.

Edward had not met someone like Romy before. It was maddening, this ease with which she had woven herself into his routine, carrying herself with an aura that was part silk, part steel—a contemporary, unapologetic, confident woman who drew him in, even as it irritated him.

She was a vision of modern allure, the kind of woman who knew exactly what power she held and wielded it with precision. Her wardrobe was anything but subdued, each outfit making a statement, often subtle but always intentional: tailored blazers, preppy shirts, chic sweaters, edgy dresses, and skirts that left just enough to the imagination. And those heels… He was ashamed to admit he had spared her calves numerous glances, observing the supple tone of her muscles poised in that unnatural yet oh-so classically alluring way.

There was her hair, cascading down her shoulders in luscious curtains, catching the light and shifting like silk with each movement, sometimes swaying when she walked. It was always luxurious, shimmering under even the poorest of office lights, and he was annoyingly aware of how often he watched it fall over her shoulder, only for her to flick it or brush it back in a way that drew his attention to the delicate arch of her neck.

Her makeup was never the same twice. It always accentuated her features so well, highlighting the line of her cheekbones, the arch of her brow, or the sensual curve of her cupid’s bow, each detail meticulously crafted yet seemingly casual. Some days, it was a timely look—a hint of blush, eyeliner sharp enough to cut, lips painted in a deep red or berry tone that made her look both effortlessly powerful and unattainable. Other days, it was daring, glossy lips and colorful negative space liner or sparse rhinestones decorating her eyes that pushed the boundary of professionalism in a way he couldn’t bring himself to dislike.

And those nails—acrylic, polished to perfection, shaped like little ovals. (Or were they almonds?) Mint green, then nude last week. Part of him wondered what color she had this week. He couldn’t help but notice the way they glinted when she typed or traced them along the edges of a folder. His mind wandered in spite of himself, wondering how her nails would feel on his skin like she’d jokingly suggested weeks ago, wondering what those slender fingers would look like wrapped around his…

No. No. No… No.

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, squeezing his eyes shut. Feeling an insidious twitch in his loins makes him take a slow steadying breath. Then he drug his hand down his face before letting his hand drop to his lap.

It was infuriating—but he couldn’t deny the effect she had.

He wanted to say it was just a physical attraction, mitigated by baser instincts, hormones like testosterone and estrogen infecting and influencing his mind.

But it wasn’t just the way she looked. Edward had expected that by now, Romy’s focus would have wavered, that maybe the allure of this “work-study” would wear off, leaving her bored and inattentive within the first week. Instead, she had surprised him with a silent, steady concentration that he was hesitant to say matched his own. When he explained something complex, her eyes were on him, keen and attentive, the barest nod to show she was following.

She was generally quiet when she worked, slipping effortlessly into that role—so much so that, despite her brashness, her crudeness at times, he found himself appreciating how well she actually listened when she wanted to, how easily she fell in line with his rhythm when the moment called for it.

Like a good girl, he mused, only catching himself a split second later with a grimace.

This combination of confidence and compliance, of inappropriate, well-timed quips, daring looks, and mindful attention, left Edward increasingly off-balance. Romy was a puzzle, a challenge he never expected to find in a young woman who looked and talked like her. He didn’t intimidate her, and every attempt to rattle her only seemed to draw that maddening, knowing smile to her lips—a smile that seemed to say, I see you, and I’m not backing down, sir…

Each Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Edward steeled himself for her presence, knowing that, despite himself, he was drawn in, captured by the quiet power she wielded so effortlessly. She was a force, he realized, a clever, stylish, glossy-nailed hurricane that had him, against all reason, anticipating the days they’d share the same tiny, musty workspace.

His gaze kept drifting to the empty wooden chair beside him, the one where Romy so often sat. He frowned. (He really needed to get her something more comfortable to work in.) She wasn’t there today—she had an exam, her first of the semester.

At some point, he realized he had forgotten to wish her luck. The thought unnerved him as soon as it surfaced. Why would I want to wish her luck? he thought. He shifted in his seat.

Edward Nashton had never been the type to wish anyone luck or to care about someone else’s success or failure. Normally, he found satisfaction in the inevitable stumbles of others—the way they faltered or fell short of expectations. He even relished it, especially in those who paraded their ambitions with the naïve confidence he so despised.

But with Romy, the thought struck a different chord.

He pictured her on graduation day: a vision of her in that cap and gown, her usual chic style distilled into a single pair of elegant heels and a dress hidden beneath the formless black robe. The idea tugged at him, bringing the faintest curve to his lips. He could practically see it—her triumphant smirk as she stepped across the stage to accept her degree, that self-assured stride carrying her forward. The image made something warm unfurl in his chest, something he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

He let the thought settle, that rare lift of the corners of his lips lingering for a moment. Maybe he should have wished her luck. After all, if anyone deserved it, it was her. Romy wasn’t like the others—she was intriguing, somewhat capable, and, against all his instincts, she made him feel… appreciative, somehow, of her presence.

Him, of all people, appreciative of someone else’s existence? Pfft.

In the silence, his eyes drifted to her empty spot again.

Today, in her absence, he decided he’d talk to Loeb.

Romy had been working alongside him for almost three weeks now, mostly assisting with mundane tasks and one-off cases, but she had also contributed to the analysis, organization, and compilation of his off-the-books response time investigation. The weight of it had been building, accumulating with each line of data, each correlation they had carefully drawn out together. Now, with everything laid out in stark, undeniable detail, he felt the pull to present it, to finally confront the decay that had festered in the department for far too long.

This was it. He was prepared, and with the foundation Romy had helped him build, the case was ready. There would be no disputing the corruption, no brushing off the carefully orchestrated negligence—the systemic rot that had turned Gotham’s protectors into something dark, twisted, and morally bankrupt.

As he stacked the pages, lining them up in perfect order, he couldn’t ignore the small, nagging awareness that Romy wouldn’t be there to see it. His grip tightened on the folder as he strode out the door and through the bullpen, every step steady, his pace unwavering. He was thankful no one stopped him, no one blocked his path. For once, his focus was undisturbed.

He climbed the stairs to Loeb’s office with long, deliberate strides, his resolve sharpening with each step. When he reached the mezzanine, he didn’t hesitate, rapping his knuckles against the door with confidence.

The answer was gruff, the Commissioner’s voice muffled but clear: “Come in.”

Edward’s breath remained calm, his nerves steady. The weight of what he was about to do felt right, as if every calculation, every line of data he had poured over—with Romy, his mind added—had brought him to this moment. As he stepped inside, his eyes locked onto Loeb.

The old bulldog sat hunched behind his desk, oversized form crammed into a worn leather chair that groaned under the strain. He was tapping at his phone, his fingers jabbing at the screen with impatient irritation, as though whatever he was doing was a poor distraction from the real issues at hand. Only when Edward stood before the desk, thick folder held firmly in his hands, did Loeb finally look up. The Commissioner’s beady eyes narrowed, a heavy sigh escaping him as he set his phone aside, clearly displeased to be interrupted.

“What is it, Nashton?”

Undeterred by his impatient tone, Edward held his gaze, feeling the weight of the evidence pressing at his fingertips. “I have something you need to see, Commissioner,” he said, his voice steady and low, just on the edge of formality. He slid the folder onto the desk with precision, opening it to reveal the meticulously organized pages. “It’s about a pattern I’ve uncovered in the officer response times. Specifically, certain neighborhoods and particular types of cases.”

The Commissioner’s eyes flickered over the documents. Edward paused, expecting a response, and, after a moment, his lips twitched. He forced down a smirk. The old man didn’t seem to comprehend what he was saying, so he continued, even being so kind as to lower himself closer and point out the data specifically. His actions were more helpful and generous than he had ever been in his life as he tried to make Loeb understand.

“For the last two months, I’ve compiled evidence of consistent delays in high-priority responses—delays that can’t be attributed to chance. The same officers show up in these records, over and over, and the pattern isn’t random.” Edward’s voice sharpened as he gestured to the pages.

He had never been more sure of something in his life. There was a mystery here, and he was smart enough to have uncovered it. The Commissioner should have been patting him on the back by now, but Loeb’s features tightened the longer Edward spoke. Edward laid out the evidence methodically, pointing to the pages, the names—Edison, Curtis, Hartley, and Murphy—and each pattern of delayed response times, tied to specific neighborhoods and incidents. His tone remained steady, but as he continued, he noticed the commissioner’s irritation seething just below the surface—the slight clenching of Loeb’s jaw and the narrowing of his eyes.

“And what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.” Edward’s gaze was unyielding as he straightened up from his position of helpfulness. “I’ve discovered facts and brought them to your attention. These officers are deliberately delaying their response times in specific areas, and the data points to a level of coordination that suggests they’re acting under instruction or incentive.”

“You’re throwing accusations around, Nashton.” Loeb’s gaze hardened, his eyes darting from the pages to Edward with an expression that bordered on contempt. “And you’re doing it with a lot of confidence.”

“‘Confidence?’” Edward’s voice remained cool, his posture unfaltering. “No, no. This is pronounced ‘evidence.’” He gestured towards the documents.

Loeb eyed the pages, and, after a moment, his lips pressed and pulled into a tight line. He flicked his beady eyes up to Edward and crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest, his uniform jacket pulling tight.

Edward rolled his eyes. “You can ignore it if you want, Commissioner. But I assure you, the numbers don’t lie.” Against his better judgment, he smirked—a tricky little thing that usually got him in trouble. “But people do…”

The words hit their mark, and he watched with satisfaction as Loeb’s face flushed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The Commissioner unfulred his arms pushed the folder away, slow and deliberate, his fingers clenching slightly on the arm of his chair as he leaned back, studying Edward with an unreadable expression. But Edward didn’t flinch. He knew the strength of what he’d brought, knew the hours poured into each line of data, each name flagged, each statistic meticulously cross-checked.

Then a strange smile curled on Loeb’s thin lips—an unsettling expression that never reached his beady brown eyes. It was the kind of smile Edward recognized, the practiced smile of someone who knew far more than he was letting on.

“I’ll look into it,” Loeb had said finally, his voice oily, almost too smooth.

“‘Look into it’?” Edward’s eyes had narrowed, a spark of frustration flaring in his chest. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight as he spoke. “What else is there to look into? The work is done.” His voice had sharpened, no longer masking his irritation. “I’d say the evidence is damning as it is.”

Loeb’s smile hadn’t wavered, but there was an unmistakable edge in his gaze now, one that bordered on condescension. “Careful, Nashton…,” he drawled. “You’ve done your job. I’ll take it from here. Now, let the real investigators handle it.”

Edward had opened his mouth, then paused before snapping it shut, biting back the urge to press further, to demand action right then and there, to curse and degrade Loeb’s so-called “investigators.” But as he’d watched the Commissioner casually close the folder, his fingers curling over it as though he’d already dismissed it, Edward had felt a cold realization settle over him. This wasn’t news to Loeb. He could see it in the way the man avoided his gaze, in his dismissive tone, in that unsettling smile.

Without another word, Edward had nodded, maintaining a neutral expression as he stepped back, masking the frustration roiling inside him. He needed to be smart about this. Keep a level head. But as he’d exited the office, shutting the door harder than he’d intended, the weight of the Commissioner’s reaction had pressed heavily on his chest. He had done everything right, laid out the evidence, made the case impossible to dismiss, and yet…

He paused on the landing, staring out over the bullpen, the precinct buzzing with detectives, officers, clerks, and secretaries—each one absorbed in their tasks, oblivious to the poison rotting at the heart of their work. The sight grated at him, a reminder of just how deep the corruption ran, how many people were blissfully unaware of the filth surrounding them. Or worse—they were all filth.

This fucking place… he thought bitterly. It’s an institution built on lies. Liars, thieves, conmen, cheaters—the lot of them.

Long before he descended the stairs, his earlier calm had evaporated. Each step felt heavier, his anger simmering in his blood. He had come to the Commissioner’s office prepared, ready to stand his ground, expecting resistance but hoping that, at the very least, his work would be taken seriously. Instead, he’d been met with that unsettling smile, those dismissive words that stung more than he cared to admit.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, his fists clenched at his sides. His mind raced, cycling through his options. Loeb’s reaction wasn’t just resistance—it had been a warning, a reminder that he, Edward Nashton, was playing in a league where power wasn’t wielded through logic or facts. It was a game played in shadows, where truth was twisted, buried, and left to rot. And yet, he knew he couldn’t walk away from this. Not now. If anything, this only drove him further. He needed a moment to collect himself, to let the red-hot anger settle into something cold and calculating.

With a quiet exhale, he turned toward the break room, a quick, bitter laugh escaping him. Coffee, he thought. It was the last thing he wanted, but somehow the small act of going through the motions, of finding some semblance of normalcy in this mess, felt necessary. He couldn’t let himself spiral. Perhaps a minute to focus on something ordinary would be enough to anchor him, to bring him back from the brink.

The break room was quiet save for the hum of the coffee machine, filling the space with its gentle whirr. He poured a cup methodically, the simple routine almost grounding as he tried to corral his chaotic thoughts. Loeb’s reaction still gnawed at him, festering like a splinter under his skin. The Commissioner’s dismissive smile, the way he’d pushed the folder away without a second glance—it all felt too rehearsed, too controlled.

Something’s not right, Edward thought, his hands tightening around the mug as he leaned against the counter, scowling into the dark liquid. His mind roiled with a thousand plans and counterplans. Strategies bloomed and unfolded, each one bent on taking this fight further, on unearthing the depths of the rot festering within the department. He would let Loeb sit with the evidence, watch for any cracks in the Commissioner’s carefully constructed facade, see if the old man made a move. In the meantime, he would keep digging, keep collecting irrefutable data.

As he leaned against the counter, his mind crystallized around a single thought: I won’t give up. This was no longer about simply amassing evidence; it was a matter of principle now, a puzzle layered with intrigue, a challenge that demanded his skill, his intellect.

There was satisfaction in it, knowing that only he, Edward Nashton, had the insight and tenacity to solve it. Loeb might have tried to dismiss him, but that dismissal only sharpened his resolve, igniting his obsession to piece this mystery together. It was a test of wit, and his pride flared at the thought of proving himself capable—superior, even.

But as he considered the implications of success, a different satisfaction stirred in his chest, one less idealistic and far more self-assured. Not only was this a battle of principles, but it was also an opportunity to solidify his place here, to secure the respect he’d long been denied. If he could expose this corruption, bring the whole, rotten infrastructure to its knees, his career would be not just made—it would be legendary.

A smug satisfaction unfurled within him. The Cybercrime Division, a department once treated as an afterthought, would rise under his direction, shaped into something formidable. He could already envision it: with him at the helm, the division would have the resources, the personnel, and the tools to finally track, trace, and dismantle the criminal networks that infested Gotham. He wouldn’t just be a nameless cog in the GCPD; he’d be its backbone, its mind. People would respect him, perhaps even fear him, for his unrelenting pursuit of truth. He would be the one to cut through the shadows, and his name would carry weight far beyond the precinct walls.

And deeper still, beneath the principles and the professional aspirations, there was a flicker of something darker, a quiet thrill in knowing that he alone had the power to control the narrative. He would have his victory, his influence. The thought settled into a quiet confidence as he took another sip, feeling the weight of his decision settle firmly within him. His legacy would be set in stone.

And so would Romy’s…

The realization sparked a faint, barely noticeable smirk at the corner of his mouth. What would it mean for Romy, still a student, to play a role in a case of this magnitude? To report back on her capstone project and tell them she’d been instrumental in uncovering corruption within the Gotham City Police Department? It would be no small feat. A move like this would cement her place here, secure her future. She wouldn’t be a mere preceptee but a respected part of something larger. He could picture it—the way she would walk through the precinct, head held high, with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen beyond the surface, someone with purpose.

And he felt something strange and unexpected—a sliver of satisfaction, even pride, in the thought. Romy had proven herself worthy of the work, skilled beyond what he’d initially thought. She wasn’t at his level, of course, but good enough to surpass his lowest expectations and, perhaps, even more curiously, someone he was beginning to respect.

The sound of someone entering the breakroom tore him from his thoughts. He looked up and immediately frowned and looked back to his coffee, brows knitted.

Hartley.

The officer swaggered into the room, crony in tow, mid conversation. But the moment they saw him, they grew quiet, however they were undeterred.

He saddled up right next to Edward at the coffee maker and grabbed a cup. Beside him, Edward could see the way Hartley glanced at him, a smirk tugging at his lips. Then he looked back to pouring his cup.

“Naaashton,” Hartley drawled, the grin in his voice palpable. “You’re more doom and gloom today than normal…” He cocked a sandy brow and backed away, casually blowing on his pipping hot joe. “What’s wrong? Missin’ someone?” He settled back beside his partner.

“I’m not sure I want to entertain whatever you are talking about, Hartley.” Edward grimaced, not even sure why he was responding at all. The officer’s statement intrigued him, though.

“C’mon, your girl—the new one?” Hartley smirked, nudging his friend, his voice dripping with mock interest.

“My girl?” Edward cocked a brow, his lips twitching into a sneer.

“Yeah, the babe strolling to and from your dungeon,” the officer drawled. He looked at Edward over the rim of his mug, taking a languid sip before continuing. “Please tell me you’re fuckin’ her in there.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” With an almost incredulous look, Hartley set his mug beside him on the counter. “Nashton… She’s super, super fu—super fuckin’ hot, bro.” He gestured to his partner—Curtis Murphy. “He’s seen her. We all have. That tight little ass, mmm, fuck, I bet everything about her is tight.” Those greasy eyes slipped back to Edward, a challenge almost in his gaze. “Is it?”

Edward’s eye twitched.

“Also, does she spit or swallow? Murph wanted to know.” Hartley gestured to his partner with a casual toss of his head, to which Murphy only smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

How crude. Vile.

A blaze of irritation ignited in Edward’s chest. He fought to keep his face neutral, barely lifting his eyes to acknowledge Hartley. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not,” he replied coolly, his voice even but with an edge that could cut glass.

“Sooo, she’s available, then?” Hartley smirked, his eyes glinting with that same crude confidence, as though he’d won some imaginary contest.

A dark wave of something rolled over Edward, something deeper and more visceral than he was used to—something he had not felt before. It made his grip tighten on his coffee.

Edward wrenched forward, the mug flying from his fingers and smashing into Hartley’s smug, unguarded face. The ceramic shattered against his nose, hot liquid splashing across his skin, searing it. Blood spurted, crimson against the pale breakroom tile, as Hartley recoiled, shock and pain twisting his features. But Edward didn’t stop there; he leaped at the man, his hands gripping his neck, feeling the resistance of muscle and sinew as he drove him to the floor. His shoes skidded against the tile, slipping before he found his balance, pouring his weight down onto Hartley’s trachea, feeling the pulse of his screaming carotids under his fingers slow, then weaken, until those greasy eyes, filled with cruelty, began to dull. There was something intoxicating about watching the smug light fade, about knowing it was at his hands, his doing. Beneath him, Hartley’s body kicked, scrabbling for purchase, desperate for air, clawing at Edward’s arms in a final, useless attempt at survival. His grip tightened, his lip curling in savage satisfaction as he bore down, watching as the vessels burst in Hartley’s scleras, muddling those blue eyes of his.

Then he blinked.

Officer Jack Hartley was still standing before him, unblemished, alive, leaning casually against the counter, his short but stout crony beside him snickering along with his crude jabs about Romy. Edward stared, feeling the blood drain from his face as the real world settled back in around him, the brutal fantasy fading but leaving a charged, dangerous energy coursing through him. His fingers were fisted around his coffee mug, and he was acutely aware of the tension in his arms and shoulders, the clenched muscles that had been ready to spring into action. The urge to throw the mug, to silence that smug look, was a raw, simmering instinct, something almost frightening in its intensity.

The thought of Hartley even thinking about Romy, let alone considering the possibility of approaching her, disgusted him in a way he couldn’t fully explain. It was the way Hartley’s words slipped so easily, so carelessly, as if Romy were just another conquest, just another prize for him to leer at and pick apart. It was the blatant disrespect, the dismissive way he talked about her as though she were an object, something shiny to be coveted.

Edward took a measured breath, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Hartley’s gaze. “Someone who has the good taste and sense to work with me, Hartley, wouldn’t stoop to… lower standards,” he said, his voice dripping with cold disdain, every word pointed. He took a slow sip of his coffee, savoring the flash of annoyance that flickered across Hartley’s face.

“Hey, easy there, Nashton,” Hartley sneered, recovering quickly, his smile twisting into something uglier. “No need to get all possessive…”

He met Hartley’s gaze with an unflinching stare, his eyes icy and sharp, cutting through the officer’s smug confidence. “Possessiveness requires actual interest,” he drolled, his voice low and laced with contempt. “To which I have none.” Liar. He leaned in, his words clipped and direct as he narrowed his gaze. “No—what bothers me is the way you talk about people as if they’re here merely to stimulate that worn-out pleasure center of your puny brain. Not that I care, really. It’s just disconcerting to know you truly lack the executive functions to think with anything else but your dick.”

Hartley’s grin faltered, caught off guard by the blunt dismissal, but Edward didn’t linger long enough for him to respond. He kicked off the counter with a calm, deliberate stride, and as he passed the fuming officer and his dullard friend, he paused just long enough to let a cutting look settle between them. “So, go ahead, bro. Take your best shot.”

Without waiting for a response, Edward strode out of the breakroom, each step laced with the simmering anger he was barely keeping in check. But as soon as he was alone, the composure he had clung to in Hartley’s presence began to fracture. His brow furrowed, his jaw tight, and he picked up his pace, shoulders hunched with barely contained irritation as he stormed toward his office. The door swung open with more force than necessary, and he slammed it shut behind him, the sound stunted and sharp in the small space.

Inside, Edward sat, slumped in his chair, his gaze hard and unfocused, his mind still tangled in the aftermath of that encounter. Hartley’s words echoed relentlessly, the crude insinuations churning his thoughts with a bitterness he couldn’t seem to shake. Moron, he thought, his jaw clenching. Someone as mindless as him even thinking he had a chance with his student?

The thought alone felt like an insult.

But why?

Why was he so certain that Romy would turn someone like Hartley down?

When he examined it more closely, it almost seemed irrational—uncharacteristically emotional. After all, she was the type, wasn’t she? She was beautiful—effortlessly so. A former cheerleader. Sorority girl. Confident in ways he’d never been, with that easy demeanor of hers, and a social prowess that seemed second nature. Surely, he told himself, she’d been with someone like Hartley before. Hell, maybe she even belonged with someone like Hartley—someone who fit the part, who shared her seeming ease in the world. Someone easy to look at, easy to be with, and, more likely than not, someone who had never questioned his place in life.

The thought twisted his stomach in a way he didn’t understand. It grated against him, like sandpaper on raw skin. He’d always prided himself on his independence, on his unwillingness to conform or to care what people thought. But when he pictured Romy with someone like Hartley—a brute with no sense of subtlety, no spark of intellect, no intrigue beyond what he could bully or seize—it felt… cheap. Like she’d be wasting something; as if choosing someone like Hartley would somehow diminish the sharp wit and depth Edward had begun to glimpse in her.

And that, he realized with a pang, was what was eating at him. There was something in Romy that was different. Something he couldn’t name or fully understand but that he recognized, just beneath the surface, with every sly smile and barbed quip. She wasn’t what he had assumed, not another vapid pretty face that she presented herself to be.

Edward’s fingers stilled against the desk, and he inhaled, fighting to steady the unsettling rush within him. But his resolve wavered as his gaze drifted, almost instinctively, to the workspace she had set up beside his own.

The space felt strangely alive, as if it still held her presence, each detail carrying an imprint of her—the faint scent of her enticing perfume, the memory of her acrylic nails tapping against the keyboard, a sound he had come to find oddly comforting. In his mind, he could almost see the subtle arch of her spine leading up to that delicate curve of her neck. And there it was again: that teasing smirk that seemed to hover on her lips, one he had come to anticipate.

A smirk tugged at his own lips, and his gaze softened, his body losing some of the tension it had held only moments before. If he was honest with himself—something he rarely allowed in matters of this nature—there was a part of him that could, reluctantly, agree with Officer Hartley on one thing: Romy was, indeed, gorgeous. Beautiful in a way that was more than superficial, more than just a passing attraction. From the very first moment he’d seen her, he knew there was something about her that demanded attention, that drew his gaze with a power he couldn’t ignore. And in the privacy of his thoughts, he allowed himself to study the memory of her, her details vivid in his mind’s eye.

Her silken hair, the way it fell in such deliberate elegance around her face, and her alluring lips that he’d noticed moved with practiced charm, always careful, always in control. His mind traced over her—the shapely swell of her chest, her torso dipping into curving hips that seemed almost grippable. His breath caught, lingering on the image, following the memory of her form down to her thighs and calves. He had spent more than a few moments catching himself watching her cross her legs with that easy elegance, the subtle rise of her skirt when she shifted.

Then, Edward realized, with a pang of something between shame and excitement, that he had thought about the details of her existence more than he cared to admit. There was something fascinating in the way she carried herself… it was as if she were caught in a perfect balance between poised elegance and calculated seduction. She was fully aware of the effect she had, that much was clear, yet there was a restraint in the way she wielded it—enough to spark intrigue, but always keeping her allure just out of reach. It was maddening. That understated power she held, the way she navigated through spaces with that cool demeanor, the confidence that lingered around her like a cloud—it stirred something within him he was almost embarrassed to acknowledge.

But what was most confounding, what gnawed at him as he tried to dissect it, was that indifference. That fronted, artfully worn disinterest, as if she was completely unbothered by the world’s attention. But he wasn’t fooled, not entirely. He could see the hints, the subtle ways she showed she did care, that she was keenly aware of the impression she made. The way she smoothed down the fabric of her skirt, the deliberate flick of her hair, the glance in a pocket mirror when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was controlled, honed, a display of ease that felt intentional.

And, God, was it all effective.

Edward groaned, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his hands raked through his hair. His fingers gripped tightly at the roots, as if the pressure might somehow quiet his thoughts. His teeth grit, his brows pulling together into a sharp line as his eyes focused on the gritty black-and-white linoleum beneath him.

It didn’t help.

To his chagrin, Edward felt a tug of arousal pooling low in his belly, his body betraying him with a telltale twitch he wished he could ignore. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back to his desk, willing the vision to fade. Yet it lingered, leaving him with a sense of helplessness he despised. He had never let anyone make him feel this off-kilter, this irrational, and yet here he was, caught up in thoughts he knew better than to entertain.

The repulsion he felt with himself caused his stomach to churn. He should not be feeling this way about her; should not be thinking like this. She was his student. But he could not help it. The dam in his mind had been broken, and now he could not stop himself from imagining what it would be like to have her.

Edward sat with his head in his hands, thinking hard about what to do. He reasoned with himself. Maybe if he were to release the pressure, he would feel better and be able to put the temptation behind him? Maybe then he would feel better?

Sitting at his desk, alone in the dusty, old file room converted to his workspace, Edward reached a hand down to grip himself through his pants. It had been so long since he allowed himself to indulge such primal desires. Normally, he did not need such baser pleasures, but he suddenly felt desperate. It was a disgusting desperation that he hoped the end would justify. Hand trembling, his fingers brushed against the top of his trousers and boxers. He undid the fly and button, trying his best not to think about it. Throat bobbing tight, he dipped his hand into his boxers to find and tentatively wrap his hand around his cock. A sigh of relief escaped him as he relaxed back into his seat, eyes slipping closed.

He, lips parted and brows knitted together, touched himself. He could already feel the uncomfortable stress leaving his body as a new pleasurable tension replaced it. Attempting to clear his mind, he tried to focus merely on the sensation of his fingers squeezing gently at the head before stroking down to the base of his member. Edward wanted to think about anything else but Romy. However, there was no use in thought-stopping because it only made the thoughts more persistent.

A desperate mewl left his lips as he imagined her—her body, her hands, her nails, her lips wrapped around him instead of his fingers. He could practically feel that pink tongue of hers on the tip of his cock, licking up the pre-cum that dripped and spreading it down his shaft. Edward couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have her pretty face staring up at him, her knees red and bruised from kneeling. Hand moving faster, his breath came in short gasps as he chased his climax. He wanted this to be over with, and yet…

The image of Romy now sitting in his lap enveloped his mind in a searing grasp. She straddled his hips as she bounced eagerly on him. The thought of her warm, wet cunt squeezing him nearly made him cum alone. His ears tingled as he practically heard her moaning his name, squealing as he filled her to the brim.

“Mr. Nashton! Yes, please fuck me, sir. You’re so good. The fucking best!”

Feeling his body nearing his climax, he pictured her riding him, her delicate fingers gripping his shoulders as she continued bouncing up and down on his hard cock, her skirt bunched around her hips and panties shoved to the side. The sound of her voice, hoarse and mewling as she begged him to fuck her good, echoed in his now burning ears.

“So close... I’m so close. K-keep going.”

Edward’s hand picked up the pace; desperation in his movements made the gestures jerky and short.

“Yes, that’s it! You’re so good, Edward. So fucking good to me. I want you to cum for me. That’s it, Edward, cum for me, baby!”

The groan that tore its way from his throat was stunted in the small room, his body trembling and shaking as he felt himself spurt into his hand.

“You did so well...”

Edward slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving. The silence that followed was deafening, the hum of the computer the only sound cutting through the thick, suffocating quiet. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as the intensity of his climax faded, leaving him adrift in the stark reality of what he’d just done. He blinked, the gravity of it all pressing heavily on his chest, the remnants of Romy’s vivid tableau lingering in his mind like an afterimage burned into his vision.

The memory was both deeply embarrassing and—he hated to admit—sickeningly satisfying.

His gaze flickered around the dim office, the quiet air feeling heavier now. His hand, sticky with evidence of his indulgence, curled into a loose fist before he sighed sharply, reaching for the box of tissues on his desk. A grumble rumbled low in his throat, a mix of frustration and quiet shame.

As he wiped himself clean, the hazy satisfaction began to fade, replaced by the creeping, familiar irritation that so often shadowed his thoughts. His gloves were a mess, and with a grimace, he tore them off, tossing them carelessly into the wastebasket. The action felt small, but it was a release—a way to discard the moment, as if ridding himself of the gloves might cleanse him of the lapse in his usually rigid self-control.

Edward muttered to himself as he finished cleaning up, the words lost in the low hum of the room but tinged with unmistakable annoyance.

Then he caught his reflection in one of the darkened monitors, a fleeting glimpse of himself—his slightly tousled hair, the vulnerability etched into the sharp lines of his features. The image was almost jarring, his own gaze looking back at him with a rawness he didn’t want to acknowledge. He looked away quickly, wadding the tissues and tossing them into the trash, his movements brisk and methodical.

The shame burned, but his walls were already rebuilding themselves, his detachment slotting back into place like armor he couldn’t live without. He adjusted his glasses, straightened his posture, and leaned forward again, his hands already reaching for the keyboard.

“Ridiculous.”

Ao3 link here!

8 notes · View notes

rando-simps-alot · 2 years ago

Text

Simp list (canon)

In chronological order

“[Outdated]” is a character i no longer like, for whatever reason, however I keep them on the list for historical record

10 is MMMMMMMMMM 1 is kinda smash

1. Spanish moon (five nights at Freddy’s security breach) 10/10

2. Sun (five nights at Freddy’s security breach) 9/10

3. Moon (five nights at Freddy’s security breach) 10/10

4. Clover (@inks-ns original character) 10/10

5. Sammy Lawrence (bendy and the ink machine/bendy and the dark revival) 11/10

6. NeIL (@sillystanleystuff original character) 10/10

7. The ink demon (bendy and the dark revival) 7/10

8. Peter (your boyfriend game) 0/10 [Outdated]

9. John Doe (John doe game) 7/10

10. Alan Orion (my dear hatchet man) 9/10

11. Ren (14 days with you) 7/10

12. Loki (@you-are-a-superstar original character) 10/10

13. N (murder drones) 10/10

14. Audrey drew (bendy and the dark revival) 3/10

15. Monika (doki doki literature club) 7/10

16. The projectionist (bendy and the ink machine) 6/10

17. Lord heart (@inks-ns original character) 8/10

18. Lord storm (@inks-ns original character)8/10

19. Meteorite (@inks-ns original character)8/10

20. Volo (Pokemon legends Arceus) 10/10

21. Betty (bendy and the dark revival) 10/10

22. Keepers (bendy and the dark revival) 4/10

23. Max (@aboutchicken298’s original character) 5/10

24. Springtrap (five nights at Freddy’s) 5/10

25. William afton (five nights at Freddy’s the fourth closest graphic novel) 8/10

26. Emo boy ink demon (by @iilusion-of-living) 10/10

27. The jester (@iilusion-of-living’s original character)5/10

28. Withered bonnie (five nights at Freddy’s 2) 5/10

29. Simon (@sillystanleystuff’s original character) 8/10

30. Fell sans 😞 (due to @kazachi69’s amazing video) 10/10

31. Eclipse (five nights at Freddy’s security breach) 10/10

32. Sarah (@you-are-a-superstar’s original character) 7/10

33. HoR (@sillystanleystuff’s original character) 9/10

34. Blood Moon (the Sun and Moon show) 8/10

35. Scout (@sillystanleystuff’s original character) 9/10

36. Lovesick Sun (@inks-ns’s original character) 9/10

37. Lovesick moon (@inks-ns’s original character) 9/10

38. Vampire moon (by @xitsensunmoon) 10/10

39. Timekeeper (Stanly parable untra-delux) 8/10

40. Roxanne wolf (five nights at Freddy’s security breach) 7/10

41. Cyn (murder drones) 10/10

42. Father Grigori (half life 2) 6/10

43. Satan (the Bible) 5/10

44. Twisted Alice (bendy and the ink machine/bendy and the dark revival) 8/10

45. Nightmare sans (due to @glitchysquidd) 7/10

46. Gavril (Gavril) 9/10

47. Shattered Dream sans (thanks kaz) 8/10

48. Kerlineo (@iilusion-of-living’s original character) 6/10

49. Dust sans (thanks @monsterroonio) 8/10

50. Megaira (@sillystanleystuff’s original character) 9/10

51. Leya (@sillystanleystuff’s original character) 9/10

52. Bill cipher (Gravity Falls)

53. Dr. Jekyll (The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) 8/10

54. Mr. Hyde (The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) 8/10

55. Ruin Eclipse (Five nights at Freddy’s Security Breach: Ruin) 10/10

56. Ruin Sun (Five nights at Freddy’s Security Breach: Ruin) 7/10

57. Ruin Moon (Five nights at Freddy’s Security Breach: Ruin) 5/10

58. Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) 9/10

59. Cthulhu (H. P. Lovecraft) 5/10

60. Winston (1984) 6/10

61. General Grievous (Star wars) 6/10

62. Eclipse (Sun and Moon show) 3/10

63. Jax (The amazing digital circus) 9/10

64. ROOM (@cursedxbf’s oc on ref sheet and pixel art)

65. Mr. Hyde (Mazm: Jekyll and Hyde)

66. Lucifer (hazbin hotel)

67. Husker (Hazbin hotel)

68. Vox (Hazbin hotel)

69. funny number is reserved for the time being

70. angel dust (hazbin hotel)

Please ignore any trends related to Yandere or sharp teeth, they are coincidences

37 characters until 100

Below are stats

22/51 on the list are robots

4/51 are confirmed human

35/51 are men

8/51 are women

8/51 idk their gender

9/51 are inky

18/51 are my friends ocs

28/51 are from or based on a horror franchise

1/51 have no canon form

0/51 are 1s

0/51 are 2s

2/51 are 3s

1/51 are 4s

5/51 are 5s

1/51 are 6s

8/51 are 7s

10/51 are 8s

9/51 are 9s

9/51 are 10s

1/51 are 11s

6/51 are alterations of existing characters

Stats Last updated at 51 characters (6/28/23)

125 notes · View notes

forest-falcon · 10 months ago

Text

Whumpy/Angsty WIP

Trigger warning for blood, angst, shock, whump.

OCs: Tamara Fielding, Jonesy and Mac who work with Captain Cass McCready as firefighters.

💚♥️🚒👨‍🚒👩‍🚒🧑‍🚒

As far as Virgil could tell, only two figures had stood in the direct path of the falling glass; Alan, and the firefighter who had pushed him to safety.

Alan was clearly unharmed; already scrambling to his feet, ready to assess the situation. He may be the youngest Tracy, but he was International Rescue material through-and-through.

The firefighter who had dived to save Alan, however, was still curled in the same position on the floor. Her fire jacket, and the settling dust, making it nearly-impossible to tell whether Alan's Good Samaritan was even breathing.

Please be alive, please be alive…

Maybe, by some sheer miracle, she had dodged the shards unscathed?

Maybe, she was simply lying and waiting for the immediate danger to pass?

Another second, and her ragged breathing became apparent.

Shit.

At least she was alive. He could work with alive.

"TAM!" Jonesy dashed towards his prone friend.

"Wait!" Virgil made a quick scan of his immediate surroundings.

Of course, the fire helmets were properly stored, and not immediately reachable in the decimated foyer. He'd have to improvise.

There was an upturned coffee table. That could work.

"Okay, with me" he gestured, using the table for cover from further debris.

Alan had followed suit, sheltering under the canopy of a firefighter's jacket.

Admittedly, the risk of further falling glass was relatively low - a large portion of the roof above them was now sky, but the wind outside had picked up, toppling the odd piece of loose rubble with a flurry of silt.

Virgil knelt whilst simultaneously removing his plaid shirt.

The casualty's fingers were hovering, quivering above a ragged piece of glass protruding from her abdomen.

"Tam, was it?"

"T-Tam-mmm-m," she nodded as she shivered.

"Short for Tamara." Jonesy offered.

"Tam, I'm Virgil. I'm going to need you to lie nice and still for me."

"O-k-kay…”

The firefighter gave a small laugh as a few rogue tears ran from the corners of her eyes.

“I'm o-kay. M'okay. M’kay. This is ..fineee!" Tam grinned against the tears, as though merely rejecting the situation would suffice

Virgil bunched his shirt and gently guided the woman's quivering fingers away from the wound.

What he'd give for his baldric right now.

"Tam, I know it's hard, but I'd like you to focus on your breathing for me...nice n' steady. Try to control the shivering if you can. We want this wound nice n' still."

"D... don't know...w-why... I'm...sh-shivering so m-much. Doesn't hurt that much...if-f-f I s-stay s-still."

Jonesy was staring at him. A silent conversation passing between the first responders.

Confident the risk of further glass falling was negligible; Jonesy set the desk down to shield Tam's eyes from dust. Sliding himself under the table, he reached for his friend.

"Hold my hands."

"M-M'okay" Tam's protest was feeble, and somewhat pointless, given that she conceded with a simple look.

"I'm sorry Tam, but this will likely hurt." Virgil apologised as he covered the wound (barring the glass) with his shirt.

"Alan, I need you to keep the pressure on this for me, while I set up an IV."

Fielding's sharp wail flooded the room, before fading to a choked whimper as the pain swallowed her voice.

"Ambulance should be with us in five." Mac called.

Five minutes? She'd bleed out in that time.

"Great, thanks," he mustered with as much positivity as his voice could muster.

Virgil rummaged through the medical rucksack for supplies. There must be something...anything, that could buy them some time. First thing’s first; IV.

He turned back to Alan, who was staring at the darkening shirt, his arms slack.

"Like this." Virgil manually guided Alan's hands back down to put pressure back on the wound. His brother's hands were surprisingly cold and clammy.

He's going into shock.

Virgil willed the thought away. Alan was a professional, he'd seen numerous rescues - some arguably worse than this. And right now, he could use all the help he could get.

Professionals aren't immune to trauma, though. She saved his life, possibly at the expense of her own. You need to watch him.

As soon as Virgil removed his hands from Alan's, the necessary pressure was gone again. Jonesy was quick to fill in for Alan, though his face wore a similar shade of grey.

Alan slowly stood, staring at the blood still slick on his palms. He continued to stare as he silently stumbled away in no particular direction.

Virgil tapped at his watch and dialed his emergency code.

Within moments, John's voice washed over him like a tonic.

"Virgil, you've activated your emergency beacon."

"Multi-casualty situation. Building’s unstable. Alan's in shock. Require urgent assistance."

"FAB, we're on our way."

"Your status, Thunderbird Two?"

"Uninjured."

"S-s-lot of-blood. M' S-scared." Tam continued to shiver.

"Hey, hey Tam. Look at me. Look at me."

Wide eyes fixed on his.

"Do you trust me?"

Tam gave a hesitant half-nod.

"You just saved my youngest brother. Do you think there's even a chance I'd let anything happen to you?"

The prone firefighter managed a weak smile.

"I mean, a feat like that's gotta be worth...oooh...at least two drinks at a London bar."

"Two whole drinks, huh?" Her voice was breathy.

"Have you seen London prices? Last time Scottie and myself were here, they charged him £35 for a small measure of whisky! £35! Even I needed a drink after that."

Tam's smile grew a fraction before her eyes suddenly rolled back, and her head lolled to the side.

"Tam? Tam?”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderwhump #thunderangst #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #alan tracy

24 notes · View notes

skeefee-sky · 4 months ago

Text

ALSO ALSO! (last thing i'm gonna post tonight, i promise xD) i was browsing some Thunderfam blogs 👀 and found a couple conversations mentioning the Tracys playing Among Us.

WELL! (lemme just, slide this under a read-more. warning for, slight blood and, sharp pointy things-)

while i was searching for my thundertober thing, i found something else in my folders! and... omg.... xD you know those picrew things you can do? where you create characters and ocs and stuff? i did one for the boys back in,,, 2020, i believe >w<

used this one specifically-!

and... guess who was bored just now... and remade it? <w<

added Kayo :D Scott's suit is white cause, there's no grey c': He's sus of both Alan and John. John's suit is dark blue not orange because,,, he literally blended in with all the orange and i was like, nuh-uh xD if it's not obvious, Alan is the imposter xD Kayo got stuck, getting caught near Alan, so she's also sus. Virgil's the detective; he was sus of Kayo at first but then.. yeah >w< Gordon was the first to d-... perish x'D his hampter's name is Squiddel (like 'squirrel' but, not x'D)

#sky's rambles #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #among us #thunderbirds x among us #??? tagsss xD #this is a ramble bcus i'm eepy xD #and found it amusing #OKAY! goodnight thunderfam <3

10 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 1 year ago

Text

My Commoner

Summary: Sarah, a healer with common origins, embarks on a mission alongside the arrogant and disdainful Sir Rickman to locate and confront a witch who poses a threat to the kingdom.

Pairing: Knight!Alan Rickman × Commoner!OC

Warning: Power dynamics, mistreatment, and a power imbalance between characters.

Author's Notes: I don't know if I'll do more chapters of this and turn it into a series, the fanfic got lost in my drafts and I decided to post it after changing some things, I'm going through a bad period of author's block. Who knows, it might help me write more if you guys like this.

Sarah, feeling the weight of exhaustion, continued to watch over Sir Rickman as he slept. Two days had passed since they embarked on the treacherous journey, and it had been exactly two days since Sarah last closed her eyes. Commanded to keep watch while the knight rested, Sarah's weariness was evident, but her duty compelled her to remain vigilant.

As the moon cast its silvery glow over the campsite, Sarah fought against the heaviness in her eyelids. The rustling of leaves and distant sounds of the night seemed to taunt her with the promise of sleep. Yet, the relentless command echoed in her mind – to stay awake and alert for any potential danger.

Sarah, a commoner and a servant of King Robert's castle, found herself thrust into the unforgiving world beyond the castle walls. Her knowledge of healing had marked her as a valuable asset for this quest against the witch tormenting the kingdoms. However, her role was far from prestigious; she was a mere watcher, assigned to keep the arrogant and ruthless Sir Alan Rickman safe during his rest.

Sir Rickman, the best knight in King Robert II's service, embodied the disdainful attitude that many nobles held toward commoners. Sarah, despite her healing abilities, was no exception to his scorn. The journey had become an arduous test of endurance, with Sir Rickman's threats hanging over her head.

The campfire flickered, casting dancing shadows that played tricks on Sarah's tired eyes. She couldn't shake the weariness that settled in her bones, the desperate desire to surrender to sleep. But she dared not defy Sir Rickman's command, for the consequences were dire – the threat of her life being severed by the sharp edge of his blade.

As the night wore on, Sarah's mind wavered between the urgency of her duty and the overwhelming pull of sleep. She watched Sir Rickman's figure, his snores filling the night air. In the quiet moments, her thoughts wandered to her life within the castle, where she was raised by maids, devoid of knowledge about her parents and bearing no surname.

Sir Rickman, married to Princess Margaret, the daughter of King Robert II, held a position of power. His disdain for his wife and his arrogant demeanor extended to all commoners, treating them as beneath his notice. Despite this, Sarah, bound by duty and a sense of survival, had little choice but to endure his presence and heed his commands.

The forest, alive with nocturnal sounds, became a surreal backdrop to Sarah's struggle against sleep. Her eyelids drooped, and her senses dulled, but the fear of consequences kept her on the edge of wakefulness. The moon, an indifferent witness to her plight, continued its silent journey across the night sky.

Sarah, the commoner who had lived her entire life within the castle's confines, now found herself entangled in a perilous quest. The hunt for the witch held the promise of danger, but the immediate threat came from the very man she was tasked to watch over.

As the night deepened, Sarah's weariness reached its peak. The struggle between her need for rest and the peril of disobedience intensified. The distant hoots of an owl seemed to echo the warnings in her mind, a reminder of the precarious balance between survival and sacrifice.

In the early hours of the morning, Alan awoke to the feeble glow of the campfire. His eyes focused on Sarah, the commoner who had struggled to keep the flames alive through the night. The warmth that once flickered in the fire now waned, mirroring the tension between the knight and the reluctant guardian of the common folk.

As Sarah began to stir the remnants of the fire to life, Alan sat up, the creaking of his armor punctuating the quiet morning. Adjusting the leather straps and securing his sword, he cast a disdainful gaze upon the commoner attending to the campsite.

"Leave this," he grumbled, dismissing her efforts. "Go wake up and feed the horses. We'll be leaving soon, and I won't tolerate delays."

Sarah, her movements slowed by the lingering exhaustion, managed a tired acknowledgment. She attempted to shake off the remnants of sleep from her eyes before venturing toward the horses tethered nearby. The silent exchange spoke volumes – an arrogant knight demanding obedience, and a commoner navigating the delicate balance between duty and survival.

While Sarah attended to the horses, Alan stood, his armor gleaming in the dim light of dawn. The air carried the tension between them, a silent battlefield where each gesture and command reinforced the hierarchy that defined their roles.

"Make haste, commoner," Alan barked, his impatience evident. "We've wasted enough time."

Sarah, her response muffled by the distance, simply nodded and continued with her assigned tasks. The morning sun began to cast its golden hues across the landscape, painting a deceptive facade of serenity over the underlying conflict.

As the sun began to cast its morning glow over the clearing, Alan surveyed their surroundings with a calculated gaze. The knowledge of their route was etched in his mind, and the village awaited them in three days. A subtle confidence crept into his demeanor, his certainty in the path ahead evident.

Amidst the quiet anticipation, Sarah approached the knight, her voice respectful yet cautious. "The horses are ready, Sir Rickman. Would you desire something to break your fast?"

Alan, seemingly disinterested, questioned, "Do we still have fruit in our bags?"

Sarah nodded, confirming, "Yes, we do."

"Then we shall eat that to break the fast," Alan declared, a command that brooked no argument. The practicality of sustenance took precedence over any consideration for comfort.

As Sarah attended to the provisions, Alan's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, his mind undoubtedly focused on the impending journey. The delicate dance between the commoner and the knight continued, the unspoken power dynamics woven into their every interaction.

The morning unfolded, painting the scene with hues of gold, while the duo prepared to resume their quest. The village, a distant promise on the horizon, held the key to unraveling the mysteries surrounding the witch tormenting the kingdoms. Yet, for Sarah, it also held the potential for a reprieve from the nightly struggles in the open wilderness.

The journey pressed on, a relentless march toward the elusive resolution that lingered on the horizon. Alan, mounted on his steed, exuded authority, and Sarah, the reluctant guardian, navigated the complexities of servitude with resilience born from necessity.

As they set forth, the horses carrying them towards the destiny that awaited in the village, the shadows of the forest whispered tales of both peril and possibility. The dichotomy of their roles lingered, a silent undercurrent that shaped the narrative of this unlikely partnership against the backdrop of a medieval realm.

Sarah rode behind Alan while eating an apple, trying desperately not to fall asleep. Two days of riding non-stop, two days without sleep, were starting to take their toll. Hesitant, Sarah glanced at Sir Rickman, swallowing her pride before asking if she could pose a question.

Alan arrogantly replied, "You're already asking a question, commoner. Spit it out."

Gathering her courage, Sarah finally voiced her plea, "Sir Rickman, may we stop to rest? I am weary, and my eyes can barely stay open. A moment to sleep would do me good."

Abruptly stopping his horse, Alan turned his steed around to face her. Sarah quickly pulled on her horse's reins, the tiredness evident in her eyes as she met Alan's gaze. The air grew tense as the knight regarded her request.

"You dare ask for rest?" Alan sneered, his disdain cutting through the weariness. "We have a task to accomplish, and your trivial need for sleep shall not delay us."

Sarah, undeterred, spoke with a firmness that defied her common status, "Sir Rickman, I am but human, and exhaustion plagues even the strongest. A brief rest will rejuvenate me, ensuring I can continue to serve as your watcher effectively."

Alan's eyes bore into Sarah, his disdain palpable. "Who do you think you are, a Lady?" he spat with arrogance. "You're nothing more than a filthy and worthless commoner. If you believe for a moment that I will halt the entire journey for your rest, you are sorely mistaken. You must learn your place."

Sarah, feeling anger bubbling within, her exhaustion momentarily overshadowed by defiance, responded in a tone that surprised even herself. "Sir Rickman, I may be a commoner, but I am not without value. A well-rested watcher is more useful to you than one who collapses from exhaustion. Allow me a brief respite, and I assure you, I will fulfill my duty more effectively."

Alan dismounted his horse, the clinking of his armor accentuating the tension. He walked towards Sarah, pulling her abruptly from her horse. Sarah, caught off guard, let out a startled scream, her apple dropping to the ground as Alan's grip tightened.

"Did you dare to question me?" Alan growled, towering over her. "Know your place, commoner. Your worth is in your silence and obedience."

Sarah, fear coursing through her, stammered, "I... I meant no disrespect, Sir Rickman. I only thought..."

Alan interrupted with a harsh laugh. "You thought? Commoners like you don't think. You obey. This journey is not about your comfort; it's about fulfilling your duty. Now, pick up that apple and tend to the horses. We move on."

As Sarah, shaken and subdued, retrieved the fallen apple, the power dynamics between the arrogant knight and the commoner became even more pronounced. The journey continued, the shadows of the forest concealing the struggles and conflicts that unfolded beneath the surface of their uneasy alliance.

The duo rode for another two hours, Sarah silently enduring the weariness that clung to her every movement. Alan, seemingly impervious to exhaustion, abruptly halted and dismounted his horse. Sarah, following suit, avoided questioning his odd decision to stop while it was still daylight.

Tying the horses to a nearby tree, Sarah tended to their needs, ensuring they were fed. Approaching Alan, who sat against a tree with an air of impatience, she cautiously inquired, "Sir Rickman, is there anything you require?"

Alan, arms crossed and gaze fixed ahead, grumbled, "Rest, commoner. You'll be of no use if you collapse from fatigue."

Surprised by his unexpected consideration, Sarah nodded gratefully and sought a quiet corner to rest after lighting a fire. As she settled down, the fatigue that had been haunting her finally caught up. The forest, once a daunting backdrop, became a cocoon of tranquility as she succumbed to the embrace of much-needed sleep.

As the hours passed, the sun descended, relinquishing its throne to the moon and stars. Alan, true to his relentless nature, maintained a vigilant watch over the campsite. The crackling fire cast flickering shadows on his weathered face, the lines etched by years of unwavering service to the crown.

Observing the commoner, Sarah, sleeping peacefully, Alan grunted, acknowledging the necessity of allowing her rest. However, any semblance of compassion was swiftly denied within the fortress of his pride. His decision to let her rest was not born out of concern for her well-being but rather a calculated move to preserve her functionality for the mission.

"Commoner or not, she serves a purpose," Alan muttered to himself, as if reaffirming the transactional nature of their alliance. The fire's glow reflected in his steely eyes, concealing the complexities that lay beneath the armor of a seasoned knight.

The moon ascended higher, and the stars adorned the night sky like distant witnesses to the unfolding drama. Alan, driven by an unyielding commitment to the mission, rose from his seated position. He surveyed the surroundings with the precision of a seasoned warrior, ensuring that no threat lurked in the shadows.

As he tended to the fire, sparks dancing into the darkness, Alan's thoughts remained fixed on the impending confrontation with the witch. The well-being of a commoner was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It was the success of the mission that dictated every decision, every sacrifice.

Denying himself the acknowledgment of any sentiment towards Sarah, Alan brooded over the strategic aspects of their journey. He pondered the upcoming challenges, the terrain, and the potential traps laid by the elusive witch. The weight of past victories bore down on him, and failure was an outcome he deemed unacceptable.

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Alan's stern countenance betrayed no hint of the internal conflict spurred by his decision to allow Sarah rest. The commoner's fate, like that of others beneath his station, was inconsequential when weighed against the success of the mission.

In the quiet hours of the night, as the moon held its silent vigil and the stars whispered tales of both conquest and sacrifice, Alan's gaze lingered on the slumbering figure of Sarah. Her vulnerability, hidden in the peaceful reprieve of sleep, went unnoticed by the knight who only saw her as a means to an end.

With the fire casting its glow upon him, Alan steeled himself against any sentiment that threatened to cloud his judgment. The quietude of the forest embraced the dichotomy of their roles – the arrogant knight and the commoner bound by duty, both navigating the treacherous path towards an uncertain destiny.

#alan rickman #knight #Middle Ages #alan rickman x reader #Alan rickman x oc #a more vibe #Severus Snape #with #judge turpin

41 notes · View notes