#Forbidden Obsession

[bookboundblogger]

Under the Spotlight: Ashlei Morelli

Author of dark romance and mafia heat, coming in hot from Upstate New York. ✨ Yesterday marked the release of Naughty Pleasures, the latest spicy drop from self-published queen Ashlei Morelli. I’m thrilled to be putting her Under the Spotlight today! Ashlei writes dark romance filled with obsession, danger, and just the right amount of steam, and her stories always bring the heat. Based in…

[heavenpureheart]

[pangur-and-grim]

the vet healed my cat too much

[urfavstan]

Vampire Caleb!- was terrified to feed on you—his beloved human, whom he had sworn to protect until his last breath. Refusing his most primal urges was an easy decision when it came to you. For your sake, he survived on substitutes—anything but what he craved most. The dull ache inside him only grew as the more time he spent by your side.

Despite your constant reassurances and your willingness to ease his hunger, reminding him that you would never resent him for his nature and that you trusted him completely—knowing he would sooner stake his own heart than cause you pain—he still refused. He endured the torment, even as it drove him to the brink of sickness, bearing it all if it meant you were safe.

His plan might have worked, if not for that night. He had slipped into slumber, soothed by the warmth of your bed and the comfort of your scent. You couldn’t bear to see him so depleted. Out of love, you did the only thing you could—gave him what only you could.

Your blood.

As it dripped onto his tongue, you watched life return to your lover. And in that moment, a profound sense of purpose awakened within you.

[divaofmads]

Bound by Desire

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader (Y/N: Referred to as Jade.)

!!Warning!!: +18 only, MDNI, Angst, Jealousy, SMUT, Fluff, Violence, Erotic, Dirty Talk During Sex (Language), Standing Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Big Age Gap (Jade 22 / Joel 54), Fast and Secretive Sex, Rough and Dramatic Joel, Pregnancy Fantasy (Morning-after pill exists), Obsessive Joel, possesive Joel,

Word Count: 15k

A/N: I apologize for the mistakes I made in English that is not my native language and I am trying to improve my writing skills.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The world was now unrecognizable. The streets, once filled with the echoes of laughter, had turned into abandoned nightmares. Cracked asphalt was overgrown with wild weeds, and the roads were littered with the rubble of collapsed buildings. Rusted cars lay piled up along the curbs, nothing more than heaps of metal. Some had shattered windows, and bloodstains still marked their steering wheels. The entire scene was a haunting reminder of how swift and merciless the apocalypse had been.

The sky was covered with thick gray clouds. The wind carried the scent of burnt wood and rotting flesh, howling through the empty streets. The silence was so deep it sent shivers down one’s spine; only the distant echo of an infected’s scream broke the eerie stillness. The world no longer belonged to humans.

Joel Miller walked a few steps behind Ellie in silence. Ellie had her hands tucked into her pockets and occasionally kicked at the stones on the ground. As always, Joel remained on high alert. His eyes scanned the surroundings carefully, and his ears stayed sharp for the faintest sound. Because Joel had one rule: Always be prepared.

Ellie turned around and spoke to Joel. “Hey, Joel, imagine eating pizza on one of these streets. I bet this town would’ve been boring even back then.”

Joel frowned at Ellie’s absurd remark. “Focus, Ellie. Useless chatter distracts us.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Mister ‘Serious Man.’ But admit it, these streets are so dull they could bore the dead.”

Ignoring Ellie’s attempts at humor, Joel kept walking.

The town must have once been full of life. Storefronts lined the streets, their rusty shutters now tightly closed. Some shop signs had fallen, their lettering faded with time. Around the corner, an old playground stood. The swings’ chains were rusted, and the ground, once covered in sand, had turned into a muddy mess.

Joel and Ellie reached a three-story building in the middle of town. The front facade was heavily damaged, its windows shattered. But the door was still intact. After scanning the surroundings carefully, Joel decided to go inside. He opened the door quietly and gestured toward Ellie. “Stay quiet.”

Ellie covered her mouth with one hand and mimicked Joel in silence.

The inside of the building was just as abandoned and decayed as the town outside. Wooden floorboards were rotting in places but still held firm. Torn posters and peeling paint covered the walls. In one corner, an overturned table and scattered chairs suggested that this place had once been a hotel.

Joel began checking the building. He opened each door, scanning the rooms. The place was silent, but that didn’t always mean it was safe. On the first floor, he found an old kitchen. Searching the cabinets, he managed to find a few canned goods.

Ellie’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cans. “Ooo! Chicken soup? Joel, this is a feast!”

Joel smirked slightly at Ellie’s excitement. “A feast, huh? We’ll see how cheerful you are when one of those infected screams outside.”

Ellie scoffed. “Ah, always cheerful Joel. We really need to find you a joke book.”

When they reached the third floor, Joel’s attention was drawn to an old bedroom. It was at the very back of the building, with only a small window—making them harder to spot from the outside. He propped a chair against the door to secure it.

Ellie tested an old bed in the room, bouncing on it slightly. “Not the most comfortable, but at least we’re not sleeping on the floor.”

Joel nodded. “It’ll do for the night. Get some rest—we need to move at first light.”

Ellie was used to Joel’s authoritative tone, but she couldn’t resist a final jab. “Sure thing, Mister ‘Never Smiles.’ Just don’t wake me up with your grumpiness.”

Joel rolled his eyes at her remark and sat down in the corner, pulling out his gun to clean it. But his gaze kept drifting toward Ellie.

After losing his own daughter, he couldn’t remember the last time he had cared about someone this much. He knew Ellie was a spark of hope in this broken world, and keeping her safe was his top priority.

Outside, trash rustled slightly in the wind. The inside of the building was cold, but it was safe enough for now. Wrapped in a blanket, Ellie slowly drifted into sleep while Joel remained on watch. His eyes occasionally wandered into the distance, lost in memories of the past.

Joel was keeping watch, lost in deep thought, when a sudden scream from outside startled him. His grip on his gun tightened instinctively. Ellie peeked out from under her blanket and whispered, "Joel? What was that?"

Joel pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. "Don't move. Stay here."

The silence above became even more unsettling as they heard the distant screams and footsteps approaching the building. Joel silently stood up and checked his weapon. Ellie's eyes widened with fear.

"Are you leaving? You're going to leave me here?"

"I need to see what's going on. I promise I'll be back. Lock the door, and if someone comes, don't make a sound."

Ellie bit her lip and nodded. Joel gripped his rifle tightly and slipped out of the room, moving cautiously down the hallway.

As he descended the stairs, he heard a muffled sound. Someone was crying.

Peering around the corner, he spotted a group of men trapping a woman against a wall. She was wearing a tattered, bloodstained sweater, her back pressed against the cold concrete. Her hands were raised defensively, like a wild animal forced into a corner. Her face glistened with sweat and fear.

"Stay away from me!" the woman shouted. "I'm warning you! If you come any closer..." Her voice trembled, but she tried to mask her fear with anger.

The men laughed cruelly. The one in front, a filthy man with broken teeth and a leather jacket, grinned like a predator.

"Oh, look at this little bird," he sneered. "Scared, aren't you? But fear just makes the game more fun, doesn't it, boys?"

The group responded with laughter.

The woman grabbed a rusty metal pipe nearby and swung it at the nearest man. He dodged, but the pipe struck his shoulder, making him curse in pain.

"You little bitch!" he spat.

"I told you!" she screamed. "Stay back! If you come any closer, I will kill you!"

Joel watched from the shadows, controlling his breathing, waiting for the right moment to act. But he knew the woman wouldn’t last long. The men were closing in, breaking her defenses bit by bit.

"Fighting back only makes things harder, sweetheart," another man taunted. "Now drop that pipe and be a good girl."

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, but she held onto the pipe with all her strength.

Joel couldn't wait any longer. He took a deep breath and stepped out from the darkness, swiftly putting a silenced bullet through the head of one of the men.

As the body collapsed, the others spun around in shock. Joel wasted no time, charging at the second man and slamming the butt of his rifle into his face, knocking him to the ground. Then he turned to the woman. "Trust me. Now run!"

She hesitated for only a second before obeying, recognizing the determination in his eyes.

Joel now faced the remaining three men. They scrambled to pull their weapons. He ducked behind a nearby shelf as gunfire erupted, echoing through the building.

Upstairs, Ellie flinched at the sound of the shots, clutching her blanket tightly. She tried to stay quiet, just as Joel had told her, but she was trembling with fear.

Meanwhile, the woman hid in a dark corner as instructed, but one of the men spotted her. He lunged toward her. In desperation, she grabbed a brick from the floor and smashed it into his face before sprinting toward Joel.

Joel, momentarily surprised, quickly adjusted. "This way! Stay quiet!"

As they ran, she accidentally kicked a piece of metal, sending it clattering across the floor. The noise alerted one of the men, who turned to fire. Joel reacted instantly, taking him down with a single shot.

The last man charged at Joel. The woman seized the metal pipe again and swung hard, knocking the attacker to the ground.

Joel stood still for a moment, listening. When he was sure there were no more threats, he lowered his gun and turned to look at her.

She was panting, her face covered in sweat and dust. Joel, ever composed, calmly wiped his weapon.

Touching a wound on her shoulder, the woman finally spoke. "I don’t know who you are… but thank you."

"As long as you don’t try to kill me, we’re fine."

The woman raised an eyebrow at Joel’s harsh tone. "You can drop the tough guy act. You just saved my life."

Joel’s expression remained unreadable. "Saving your life doesn’t mean I trust you. What’s your name?"

After being hunted by raiders for days, the brief moment of relief made her legs give in, and she collapsed onto her knees. Her voice trembled as she answered, "Jade."

Joel watched as Jade sank to the ground, exhausted. Despite his usual cold demeanor, something inside him shifted. He crouched down, unzipped her backpack, and rummaged through it before pulling out a water bottle. As he handed it to her, his voice remained firm, almost interrogative. "Who were they? Why were they after you?"

Jade gulped down the water in one go, taking a few seconds to steady her breathing before looking at Joel. Fear still lingered in her eyes, but she was slowly regaining control. "I don’t know who they are. They’ve been following me for a while. They cornered me, set a trap. This… this kind of thing is normal in this world now."

Joel didn’t trust anyone in this new world. He needed to be sure she was telling the truth. "There has to be a reason. Either you did something to them, or you have something they want."

Jade scoffed and threw up her hands. "Oh, right, Joel. Because I’m probably carrying a bag full of gold, huh?… I was just trying to survive."

Joel narrowed his eyes, thinking. But before he could say anything, a small but firm voice interrupted from behind.

"Why are you being so hard on her?"

Joel turned quickly at the sound of Ellie’s voice. The young girl stood with her hands on her hips, glancing between him and Jade.

Jade couldn’t help but smile at the innocent but defiant stance Ellie took.

Joel sighed, "I told you to stay upstairs."

Ellie smirked, "And, like always, I didn’t listen."

As she hurried down the stairs, Joel let out a frustrated sigh. Jade watched them, shaking her head in mild amusement at their dynamic.

Ellie plopped down next to Jade and leaned in. "Hey, uh… what was your name again?"

"Jade," she said softly.

With her usual teasing tone, Ellie grinned. "I’m Ellie. Don’t you think Joel’s a little too grumpy?"

Jade smirked and gave Ellie a knowing wink. "I’d say he’s more than just grumpy. But thanks. Honestly, it’s kinda entertaining."

Ellie chuckled. "Oh, I bet. But seriously, he acts all tough, but deep down, he’s got a soft side."

Joel, overhearing, turned and frowned at her. "No one gave you permission to talk about me, Ellie."

Ellie shrugged. "Relax, big bad wolf. I’m just telling the truth."

Ignoring him, Ellie scooted closer to Jade, clearly curious. "So, you’ve been out here alone this whole time? How’d you manage that?"

Jade couldn't resist Ellie’s sincere and curious demeanor and answered, “I guess you could call it luck. Or maybe I just run really fast. But I’ve never seen someone like you around.”

“I’m a special kind,” Ellie replied. “Like… think of me as a superhero.”

Jade chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. You do seem pretty special.”

Ellie suddenly became serious and turned to Joel. “We’re not leaving her here, right?”

Joel shook his head and replied firmly, “Ellie, you can’t trust anyone in this world. This is her choice.”

“No, Joel. It’s not her choice. We can’t abandon her.”

Jade was momentarily stunned by Ellie’s words and glanced at Joel. “Listen, it’s really fine. I won’t cause any trouble for you. I can take care of myself.”

Joel scoffed at her words. “Take care of yourself? A group of guys almost tore you apart a few minutes ago.”

Ellie was annoyed by Joel’s harsh tone. “Joel, enough! We all need each other to survive in this world. We’re not leaving Jade behind.”

Joel couldn’t respond to Ellie’s determination right away. He just sighed and shook his head. “Fine. But only for tonight. At first light, we’re leaving. And she’s going her own way.”

Ellie, feeling victorious, turned to Jade and winked. Jade, still hesitant but grateful, looked at Joel. “Thank you. Really.”

Joel said nothing as he began reloading his rifle. Jade realized that this man wasn’t one to show emotions, but she could see how much he cared about Ellie. That, at least, gave her a small reason to trust him.

As Joel slung his rifle over his shoulder and silently climbed the stairs, he kept an eye on the two girls following him. Ellie, still thrilled by their conversation, stuck close to Jade, eager to learn everything about her. Meanwhile, Joel felt the heavy weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. Now, that weight included Jade.

The upper floor was darker and dimly lit. It was clear that this place had once been a hotel, with time leaving its marks on the walls and furniture. The peeling wooden panels, the half-torn carpet on the floor, and an overturned chair in the corner were all silent witnesses to abandonment.

Joel pointed to a larger room at the end of the hallway and turned to Ellie and Jade. “You two stay here. I’ll keep watch in the other room.”

Ellie frowned. “Seriously? Wouldn’t it be safer if we all stayed together?”

Joel’s response was firm. “Ellie. No more arguing.

Ellie rolled her eyes but finally gave up. Jade gave Joel a grateful look and nodded before following Ellie into the room.

Ellie fluffed up an old mattress in the corner of the room and then turned to Jade. The bed was old and filled with creaky springs, but in this world, it was a luxury. Jade sat down and gazed out the window, while Ellie plopped down beside her, her curiosity evident. “Alright, tell me. Who are you? How have you survived? And why do you seem so… I don’t know, positive?”

Jade smiled and shook her head. “I wouldn’t say I’m positive. I just… accepted that I don’t have another choice.”

Ellie furrowed her brows, unsatisfied with the answer. “But from what I’ve seen, you’re pretty tough. I mean… whatever happened to you, it made you stronger. So, what was it? Your family?”

Jade’s smile faded instantly. She turned toward Ellie, but her eyes seemed to be looking far away. “My family… I saw the cruel side of this world early on. My dad died trying to protect us. My mom… she couldn’t take it. I lost everything before I was truly alone.”

Ellie’s eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly pulled herself together. “I’ve lost people too. Everyone has, right? But you… how do you keep going?”

Jade gave a small smile and shrugged. “Maybe surviving isn’t just about being strong. Maybe it’s about learning to find something beautiful.”

Meanwhile, in the next room, Joel sat on a chair by the window, his rifle resting on his lap. The moonlight was the only thing illuminating the room. He tried not to listen to the girls’ conversation, but the thin walls made it impossible.

Hearing Jade’s soft yet sorrowful voice, Joel felt something stir inside him. Her words brought back memories of his own losses. Sarah… those days. The anger and regret that constantly simmered inside him threatened to resurface.

Jade’s words echoed in his mind: "Maybe surviving isn’t just about being strong. Maybe it’s about learning to find something beautiful."

Joel found himself caught in that thought. What was he still trying to find in life? What was that beautiful thing for him, if not Ellie?

Ellie suddenly changed the topic and turned to Jade with a sly grin. “By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you look at Joel.”

Jade’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

Ellie shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “Living in the same space with him, I know Joel looks like a grumpy old rock. But… I think there’s something likable about him.”

Jade looked uncomfortable. “Ellie, you’re really imagining things. Joel is just…”

Ellie smirked. “Just what? Tough? Grumpy? Yeah, sure. But deep down, he’s got a heart. And I think you’ve noticed.”

At that moment, Joel, having heard enough, stood up and walked toward the door. He swung it open with determination, making both girls turn to him.

“Are you two going to shut up and sleep, or am I going to have to listen to this nonsense all night?”

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh at Joel’s grumpy reaction. Jade, embarrassed, avoided his gaze. “Oh, come on, Joel. Don’t be mad at us. We’re just having fun.”

Joel shot them a sarcastic look. “You’re giving me a headache. Now sleep.”

He slammed the door behind him, turning away, but a small, fleeting smile appeared on his lips. He quickly composed himself, shoving the feeling down as usual.

Ellie and Jade’s laughter still echoed in the room.

The morning had begun with a cold, gray sky, as if the clouds had wrapped the world in a thick blanket. The wind slipped through the broken windows of the abandoned hotel room, strong enough to disturb the sleep of those inside. As always, Joel was the first to wake up. His rifle was still by his side, his shoulders slumped after a sleepless night, his eyes tired but alert. He stood up and looked out the window. The streets were still quiet, but silence never meant safety.

Ellie and Jade were still asleep in the other corner of the room. Ellie was curled up in a blanket, snoring softly. Jade’s face was peaceful, yet the slight crease between her brows hinted at a night filled with deep thoughts. Joel averted his gaze from them and moved quietly. But just as he did, Ellie mumbled sleepily, “Joel… where’s breakfast?”

Joel shrugged and answered coolly, “Breakfast? Maybe you could ask one of the infected wandering outside.”

Ellie rubbed her eyes and sat up as Jade began to stir awake as well.

Jade silently got out of bed and started gathering her bag. Ellie, noticing her movements, asked curiously, “Hey, where are you going?”

Jade gave her a small smile. “Like I promised, I’m going my own way. You two are already carrying enough.”

Ellie’s expression changed immediately. Her eyes widened, her brows furrowed. “No way! I’m not leaving you like this. Joel, say something!”

Joel let out a deep breath. He seemed caught between Ellie’s insistence and Jade’s determination. He turned to Ellie. “Ellie, she’s made her decision. She doesn’t want to be a burden.”

Jade slightly lowered her head at his words. She thought he didn’t like her, unlike herself. “Thank you, Joel. For understanding.”

But Ellie wasn’t having it. She took a step forward, grabbed Jade’s bag, and slammed it onto the floor. “No, listen to me. Leaving alone would be stupid! And I care about you. You’re a good person, Jade. We can stay together.”

Joel was about to respond harshly, but Jade spoke first. “Ellie, you know how this world works. I can make it on my own. But… I have another plan.”

Ellie and Joel both turned to her with curiosity. There was a brief moment of softness in Joel’s eyes. “What plan?”

Jade pulled out an old map and spread it out on the bed. A small area was marked. “This place is called Cedar Heaven. It used to be a farming town, but now, it’s a community working to rebuild. They grow their own food, they provide education… and they have strong defenses against the infected.”

Ellie’s face lit up with hope. “Are you serious? This place is real?”

Jade nodded slightly. “I’ve met a few people who made it there. They’re survivors who came together. I want to join them. But the road is dangerous.”

Joel took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking in a calm but firm voice. “You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous. The infected aren’t the only problem—there are hunter groups out there.”

Jade met his gaze. If he didn’t want her around, why was he offering now? “This is my choice.”

Joel looked at the map again. Cedar Heaven. The name sounded almost too good to be true, like a distant reflection of survival and hope. He placed the map back on the table, his voice breaking the silence with a tone of certainty. “Let’s make a deal.”

Jade was caught off guard by how sudden and direct he was. She raised her brows. “A deal?”

Joel nodded, his expression serious. “Take us to Cedar Haven. We need a safe place. And while we get there, you won’t be alone. We’ll go with you.”

Jade studied him carefully, weighing his words. Surprise, hesitation, and a hint of doubt flickered in her eyes. “You? But… I don’t have any real connection to this community. It’s just a name on a map. You don’t even know what’s waiting for you there.”

Joel’s voice was steady. “We don’t, but right now, it’s the best shot we’ve got. And I’d like to think you’re smart enough not to try going there alone.

Ellie jumped in, excitement in her voice. “This is a great idea! Jade, you don’t want to be alone, and we need a safe place. Joel’s brain actually works sometimes.”

Joel shot her a glare. “Ellie, be serious.”

Jade considered their offer. With Joel and Ellie, she’d be safer. But there was still one thing she wasn’t sure about. “And if I take you there… what if they don’t accept me? What if my presence causes problems?”

Joel’s voice didn’t waver. “Then we move on. But at least we’ll have tried. We won’t leave you behind. And in the meantime, we help each other.”

Jade’s hesitation lessened a little as Ellie gave her a warm look. “Come on, Jade. We make a great team. Besides, no one can be as grumpy and tough as Joel, so they’ll probably find you less of a problem.”

Joel rolled his eyes and chose not to respond to Ellie’s sarcastic remark. Jade was intrigued by Ellie’s energetic and charming attitude. She smiled slightly and replied, “Alright… I accept.”

Joel’s expression remained serious, but deep inside, he felt a sense of relief. Yet, he also knew he couldn’t distance himself from Jade. Maybe this journey was just an excuse for him, or perhaps, deep down, he felt that he needed to have Jade by his side. Jade, on the other hand, seemed to understand the complex emotions hidden behind Joel’s tough exterior. She silently nodded and moved to her corner to get ready.

Joel said, “Good. Let’s get packed. We don’t have much time.”

Ellie, filled with excitement, hugged Jade.

Ellie: “You’re awesome! Now you won’t be alone, and we’ll be safer. It’s a win-win situation!”

Jade was surprised by the warm welcome but accepted it with appreciation. She looked at Ellie with a faint smile. “I hope it’s as easy as you think.”

Ellie: “It will be! As long as Joel is here, we’re safe. He’s basically a human Terminator.”

Joel let out a deep sigh at Ellie’s comment.

Joel: “Ellie, stop chattering and get your bag ready. We need to leave now.”

But Joel knew that keeping Jade with them wasn’t just about survival. Even though he couldn’t name the feelings growing inside him, having Jade around gave him an unexpected sense of comfort.

The three of them started walking toward the outskirts of town. Abandoned cars, fallen power lines, and scattered metal debris reminded them once again of the hardships ahead. The scent of burnt wood and rust carried by the wind made the desolation of the place even more apparent.

Joel led the way, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. His steps were quiet but determined. Ellie walked beside Jade, occasionally glancing at her as if she wanted to say something, but Joel’s silence seemed to have affected everyone. Jade, on the other hand, appeared fully focused on their task. Her eyes stayed on the road and the surroundings, inspecting the vehicles for anything useful.

Ellie was the first to break the silence. She turned to Jade with a slight smile. “Hey, Jade. Do you know anything about cars? I mean, do you know how to start one?”

Jade looked at Ellie, thinking for a moment before replying with a confident expression. “Yeah, I know a little. My dad used to be a mechanic. I used to help him sometimes when I was a kid. If the car is in working condition, it’s not that hard to get it running.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “Wow, that’s so cool! Joel usually gets the cars running, but… how should I put this? Sometimes, he relies on luck. One time, we actually set a car on fire while trying to—”

Joel suddenly stopped and turned to Ellie with a stern look. “Ellie. Be quiet.”

Ellie ignored Joel’s reaction, winked at Jade, and shrugged with a grin. Jade gave a small smile at Ellie’s playful attitude, but Joel’s serious demeanor made her keep her guard up.

A few minutes later, Joel suddenly raised his hand, signaling them to stop. The three of them immediately fell silent. Joel carefully observed a corner ahead. They were standing next to an abandoned parking lot filled with deserted cars, but some of them seemed to be moving. A faint growling sound echoed off the walls of the buildings.

Joel quickly turned back and spoke in a hushed voice.

Joel. “A group of infected. I don't know their exact numbers, but at least four or five. Stay quiet. Follow my lead.”

Ellie furrowed her brows and asked in a low voice, “What are we gonna do?”

Joel looked at Ellie first, then at Jade. “Jade, take Ellie and hide between the cars. I’ll go ahead and distract them. If things go south, take the back road and run.”

Jade hesitated, locking eyes with Joel. “What about you? Can you handle them all on your own?”

Joel answered with a cold expression. “This isn’t my first time. Just do as I say.”

A wave of unease and discomfort passed through Jade, but she didn’t argue with Joel’s determination. Grabbing Ellie by the arm, she pulled her towards the space between the cars.

Joel moved toward the parking lot with slow, steady steps. He readied his rifle and leaned against a car, scanning the area. The moving figures gradually became clearer. A group of infected had gathered around an old truck, growling and communicating with each other in guttural sounds. Joel took a deep breath and threw a rock at a car window, creating a sharp noise.

The infected immediately turned toward the sound. They hesitated at first but then slowly started moving in Joel’s direction. He held his breath, gripping his rifle tightly, aiming at the lead infected.

Meanwhile, Ellie and Jade crouched behind a car. Ellie tried to steady her breathing as she turned to Jade and whispered, “Can Joel really do this? Is he gonna fight them all alone?”

Jade frowned, watching Joel. Something stirred inside her. She admired his strength and experience, but the thought of leaving him to face this alone unsettled her.

She spoke in a protective tone, “Stay here. If anything goes wrong, signal me.”

Ignoring Joel’s orders, Jade quietly stepped out. Moving cautiously, she made her way toward him.

Joel had just taken down one of the infected when he spotted her and hissed, “What the hell are you doing? I told you to stay hidden!”

Jade shot back, “I’m helping you. Don’t be so damn arrogant!”

Joel glared at her for a moment, but when another infected lunged at him, he had to refocus. The two of them instinctively moved back to back, fighting together.

Joel was both surprised and impressed by Jade’s stance and courage. As he tried to suppress his thoughts, he found himself acknowledging that she was someone he could truly rely on. But with that trust came a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to face.

Joel barked, “Jade, don’t turn your back! We take them down before they get close!”

Jade snapped, “Don’t give me orders, Miller! I’ve got my own plan!”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Jade’s stance. She moved with a calculated precision, not a trace of panic or fear. When an infected lunged at her throat, she sidestepped swiftly, driving her knife into its skull. Blood splattered over her hands, but she didn’t hesitate before shifting to her next target.

Joel stole a quick glance at Ellie. Her eyes were wide with fear, her hands trembling. His protective instincts overrode everything else.

Joel called out, “Ellie, stay there! Do not move!”

But just as he turned back, he was stunned. Jade was holding her own in a brutal fight. An infected had tried to tackle her, but she had thrown it off and finished it with a swift stab.

Joel muttered under his breath, half in admiration, “Damn… this woman’s a one-woman army…”

Jade noticed his stare but said nothing. Instead, she spotted an infected creeping toward Ellie.

Jade shouted, “Ellie, get down! Now!”

Ellie immediately dropped to the ground. Jade kicked over a nearby trash bin, crushing the infected beneath it, before swiftly finishing it off with her knife.

Joel watched as Jade’s protective nature became more evident than ever. She wasn’t just capable—she was willing to put herself on the line for Ellie.

Joel shot down a few more infected before yelling, “Jade, more are coming! We need to get out of here!”

Jade quickly scanned the area. Her eyes landed on an abandoned SUV. It looked old, but the door was slightly open, and it might still run.

Jade called out, “Miller, cover me! I’m gonna start that car!”

Joel frowned. “Without a key? How?”

Jade smirked. “Just watch me.”

She sprinted to the SUV, yanked the door open, and scanned the dashboard. No keys. She reached under the seat and found an old screwdriver. Memories of her father’s mechanic days rushed into her mind. She ripped off the cover under the steering wheel, exposing the wires.

Ellie, watching in shock, asked, “What are you doing?”

Jade, "I'm borrowing the car for a while."

Jade found the ignition wires and stripped them. Then, she rubbed them together, creating sparks. After a few attempts, the engine roared to life. But the growls of the infected grew closer.

As Joel fired his shotgun at the creatures, Jade started the engine and moved the vehicle. She turned it into a weapon, driving straight into the infected. Blood splattered onto the windows, revealing the impact’s brutality.

Joel took down the last few infected and sprinted toward the car. He jumped inside, breathless. Ellie, sitting in the back seat, stared at Jade in awe. "You're a mechanic, huh? You literally brought this thing back to life with magic!"

Jade, still breathless and exhilarated, replied, "You should thank my dad. He taught me everything."

Joel’s tone was harsh. "Don’t do that again. You don’t have to risk yourself just to protect Ellie."

Jade smirked. "Oh, were you worried? I do better when I take action on my own."

Joel didn’t respond. This was the moment he realized how strong Jade was—how she could be a real protector for Ellie. But deep inside, a strange spark of admiration for Jade had begun to ignite.

Jade gripped the steering wheel tightly, not even sparing a second to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Her eyes flickered between the cracked asphalt ahead and the growing horde of infected.

She thought to herself, Stay calm, Jade. This is easier than it looks. Just hit the gas and go. No problem, right?

Ellie leaned forward from the back seat, breathing heavily, her small hands clutching the edge of the seat. "Jade, come on! If we wait any longer, they’re gonna break through these windows!"

Joel shouted, "Drive! Now!"

Jade slammed her foot on the gas, but the vehicle lurched forward as it hit a toppled trash container. Her eyes locked onto the blood splattered across the windshield and the infected clinging to the glass. The creature clawed at the surface, and a deep terror stabbed through her chest.

Joel barked, "Don’t look at it! Focus on the road!"

Jade shook herself out of it. She floored the gas pedal, and the car lunged forward. The creature clinging to the windshield slammed into a metal pole and tumbled to the ground. But that didn’t stop the swarm of infected coming their way.

Joel’s voice filled the car. "Turn left! There’s a clearer path!"

Jade jerked the wheel, sending the car splashing through a massive puddle, mud spraying from the tires. Her hands were slick with sweat, and she felt like she was losing control of the steering. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an infected charging toward them—and then slamming into the side of the car like a sledgehammer.

Ellie screamed, "Joel! They're getting in!"

Joel remained calm, reloading his shotgun as he leaned back in the seat. His voice was steady. "Speed up. I’ve got you."

Something in those words steadied Jade. Her eyes flashed with determination.

Without hesitation, she swerved and aimed the car straight at a group of infected standing in the road. Metal met flesh. The windshield was painted red. Jade’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter as Ellie’s terrified voice rang out.

Ellie whimpered, "So much blood… Can’t we slow down a little?"

Jade glanced at the rearview mirror, watching the infected disappear behind them.

"No. We can’t."

Joel frowned as he realized what Jade was doing. She wasn’t just using the vehicle as transportation—she was turning it into a weapon. She plowed through the infected, transforming the car into a machine of steel and blood.

When Jade reached an intersection, she slammed on the brakes, and the car jolted to a sudden stop. Then, she quickly spun the wheel and took another route. Joel glanced at her profile, noticing the determination burning in her eyes.

Finally, they had escaped the infected. The vehicle rolled into an abandoned parking lot and came to a halt. When Jade turned off the engine, her hands were shaking. She exhaled deeply and rested her head against the steering wheel. In the backseat, Ellie was still trying to steady her breathing.

Joel lowered his rifle and looked at Jade. He tried to maintain a stern and cold expression, but there was gratitude in his eyes.

"You risked your life to protect Ellie," he said. "Good job."

Jade lifted her head, smirking despite her exhaustion. "Save the praise, Miller. I was just doing my job."

A faint smile ghosted over Joel’s face. In that moment, the tension between them seemed to shift into an unspoken understanding.

Finally, Joel spoke again, his voice a mix of sarcasm and something more thoughtful. "I hate to admit it, but… watching you fight the infected was surprising. You’re pretty good. So why do you act like a scared little girl when it comes to hunters?"

Jade turned to him, locking eyes. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, a small smile forming on her lips—though there was something much deeper hidden beneath it. "Because the infected are predictable. They’re just hungry. They act on instinct. But people… people are worse. They choose to be cruel."

Joel remained silent for a moment. Her words stirred something inside him. He now understood why she fought so fiercely, why her eyes burned with such determination. But he said nothing more.

Ellie, however, couldn’t stand the silence any longer. "But you have to admit, you two made a hell of a team! I mean, Joel, you were like a damn action hero with that rifle. And Jade, you turned that car into a freaking infected-crushing machine! You guys were awesome."

Jade let out a small chuckle at Ellie’s enthusiasm. "It’s easy to be a team when you’re in the middle of chaos."

Ellie noticed the hint of sarcasm in Jade’s voice but ignored it. Instead, she turned to Joel, pushing further. "Come on, Joel, admit it. Jade was impressive! Did you see the way she handled the wheel? It was like something straight out of a movie!"

Joel furrowed his brows, immediately catching onto Ellie’s teasing. His voice hardened slightly. "Ellie, enough. You talk too much."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Oh sure, because talking is what’s gonna get us killed, right?"

Joel decided to end the conversation there. He checked his rifle and then turned to Jade, his voice firm. "Let’s go. We can’t stay here any longer."

Jade gave a silent nod, loosening her grip on the steering wheel before pressing the gas. The car moved forward once more. The road ahead was littered with cracked asphalt, collapsed buildings, and abandoned vehicles.

A heavy silence filled the car, broken only by the low rumble of the engine and the distant howl of the wind.

Joel rested his right hand on the door handle, his eyes fixed on the window outside. But his mind was elsewhere—on Jade. The way she fought, her determination, and even the way she protected Ellie lingered in his thoughts. Deep inside, he felt a strange stirring—something he hadn't felt in a long time. I need to stop feeling this way, he thought.

Ellie couldn’t take the silence any longer and leaned forward from the backseat. “Hey, Jade. Do you know anything about music?”

Jade couldn’t ignore Ellie’s energy and smiled slightly. “Yeah, my dad used to sing while working in the repair shop. I learned a few songs from him.”

Ellie started humming a tune, then raised her voice a little.

"Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone… It’s not warm when she’s away…"

Jade hesitated for a moment before joining in. Their voices, even in the shadow of war, brought a fleeting moment of peace.

As she sang, Jade stole a glance at Joel. He was still silent, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. But the hard expression on his face seemed to soften just a little. She had to admit it to herself—she was drawn to Joel Miller. There was something beneath that tough exterior—the way he loved Ellie, his unwavering determination in battle, and the way he tried to hide his interest in her. It only made her more curious.

When the song ended, Ellie turned to Joel with a teasing grin. “Hey, Joel, have you ever sung a song? Have you ever had fun? Or have you just been scowling since the day you were born?”

A faint smile flickered on Joel’s lips but disappeared just as quickly.

“You two like to talk. I like to listen.”

Jade smirked at his response. She knew she had to push her complicated feelings aside for now and focus on the road. But being with Joel and Ellie gave her a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time.

As they continued their journey through the ruins of the world, each lost in their own thoughts, one thing was certain—despite everything, a bond was forming between them.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, like the faded memories of an abandoned town. Jade was at the wheel, her eyes scanning the road for obstacles. Ellie lounged in the backseat, rummaging through her bag while secretly forming a plan in her mind. Joel sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, watching the outside world with a weighty seriousness—as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders.

Ellie glanced at Jade and Joel. There was something in the silence between them. Tension? Maybe. Or was it an unspoken pull between them? Ellie grinned to herself. They might need a little push.

Suddenly, Ellie leaned forward and tapped Jade on the shoulder. “Hey, we need to stop!” she said with sudden urgency.

Jade glanced at her through the rearview mirror, her brows knitting together. “Why?” she asked, though she was already easing off the gas.

Ellie clutched her stomach dramatically. “Why do you think? My stomach hurts. Maybe it was that old can of food, or…” She trailed off and turned to Joel with a smirk. “Maybe it’s because you’re so damn gloomy, Joel.”

Joel narrowed his eyes, his mouth opening as if to respond, but then he caught Ellie’s teasing grin and sighed instead. Jade chuckled as she pulled the car over.

As Ellie hopped out, she called back over her shoulder, “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone, okay?” She winked at Joel, who just raised his brows and turned away.

Silence settled over the car. Jade rested her elbows on the steering wheel, hands clasped together. Joel shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze still fixed outside. Jade considered breaking the silence but hesitated at Joel’s usual stern expression.

Joel finally turned to her. “Ellie’s playing a game,” he said flatly. “You realize that, right? She can feel the tension and is trying to leave us alone on purpose.”

Jade chuckled. “Are you serious?” she asked, but when she saw his unchanged expression, she stifled a laugh.

Joel furrowed his brows. “She’s set her sights on you, you know. She’s trying to make you part of the family. But I…” He stopped, looking at her. Seeing the amusement in her eyes, he frowned.

“Why don’t you take me seriously?” he asked, his tone slightly sharper.

Jade shrugged. “Because Ellie’s right. You are gloomy.”

Joel looked like he was about to get even more annoyed, but then his eyes lingered on the slight curve of her lips, and he realized this conversation was heading somewhere dangerous.

“Fine,” he muttered, exhaling deeply. “Say whatever you want.”

Jade kept her hands on the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. The silence between them was thick, like a dense fog. Joel sat beside her, one hand resting on his knee while the other absentmindedly stroked his beard. His eyes drifted over the ruined buildings outside, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

Time passed in that quiet tension. Finally, Jade gathered the courage to speak, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She kept her eyes on the road.

“Joel… you know, you’re really hard to understand.”

Joel turned his head toward her, his face unreadable, but he had definitely heard the uncertainty in her voice.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone slightly rough.

Jade took a deep breath. She lifted her hands off the steering wheel, staring at them in the empty space for a few seconds as she thought. Then, she turned her head slightly and looked at Joel. Her eyes held a mix of emotions—hope, fear, and disappointment all tangled together.

"Uh..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... being around you feels strange. You're tough, grumpy... but at the same time, you're a good person. I mean, seeing your dedication to Ellie... it's impressive."

Joel tensed his shoulders under the weight of her words. He pressed his lips together as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

Jade stayed quiet for a few seconds before adding, "Sometimes... when people find more than they expected, they don’t know what to do with it."

Joel understood exactly what she meant. But the feelings her words stirred in him kept him from responding. He knew Jade had feelings for him, but he also knew he couldn’t return them. Years of pain, loss, and guilt had built a wall around him, keeping him from forming emotional attachments.

"Jade..." he finally said, his voice slightly cracked. "We just made a deal, remember?"

Those words hit Jade like a dagger to the heart. She quickly turned her eyes back to the road, gripping the wheel tightly. She was angry at herself—why had she been so open? Trying to compose herself, she let out a sharp laugh.

"Right, just a deal," she said. "Don't flatter yourself, Miller."

A few minutes later, Ellie returned to the car, holding a handful of gathered plants. A wide grin stretched across her face.

"Alright, we're ready!" she said, hopping into the car.

Joel shook his head. "You picked plants? What are you planning to do, Ellie? Make a bouquet?"

Ellie spoke seriously. "Of course not. We're going to use this for antiseptic. Also, I figured you two had talked. Don’t disappoint me."

Jade laughed at Ellie’s comment. "I think you're right about Joel."

Joel rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "Just drive. Let’s get going."

The road stretched ahead, and Joel remained silent. His eyes constantly scanned the surroundings for danger, but his mind was stuck on Jade’s words. The realization of her feelings stirred something inside him—something he wasn’t sure he could handle. A part of him wanted to embrace it, but another part knew he had to keep her at a distance. Everyone he had ever loved was gone. He couldn’t go through that pain again.

Meanwhile, Ellie kept chatting with Jade from the back seat, sharing childhood stories and cracking jokes about the old days.

"You know, Jade," Ellie said cheerfully, "you're not as grumpy as Joel. At least you smile every once in a while."

Jade laughed at Ellie’s comment, but her eyes drifted back to Joel. As she gazed at his stoic face, she realized how difficult it was to hide her own feelings. A voice inside her whispered, "You love him." But another voice warned, "This feeling will destroy you."

At one point, Ellie turned to Jade and asked about a song. "Come on, tell me. Do you know this one?"

Jade smiled. "Of course, I do," she said, and started singing along with Ellie.

As Joel listened to the two of them singing, he felt something inside him slowly start to unravel. But along with that unraveling came a sense of unease. Jade’s voice was cracking through his hardened shell.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he thought to himself, "What am I doing? I'm setting myself up for pain all over again."

Ellie then started another song:

"Country roads, take me home..."

Jade joined in. Her voice was softer compared to Ellie’s, but undeniably captivating. Joel kept staring out the window. Hearing Jade’s voice within the song, feeling the gentle tone of it, left him with a strange mix of peace and discomfort.

After a while, Joel took a deep, silent breath and shook his head slightly. "How much longer do I have to put up with Ellie’s little games?" he wondered. But deep down, he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward Jade’s presence.

After a long and arduous journey, Joel, Ellie, and Jade finally arrived at the entrance of Cedar Heaven. The settlement was surrounded by massive concrete walls, protecting the remnants of civilization inside. From the outside, the contrast between the sanctuary and the chaotic world beyond was immediately apparent. Machine gun towers lined the walls, soldiers patrolled the perimeter, and a heavily fortified metal gate stood at the entrance, emphasizing Cedar Heaven’s determination to survive.

As they approached the gate, the sounds of life within reached their ears—children’s laughter, workers shouting, the rhythmic hum of generators. Yet, this peaceful ambiance was starkly contrasted by the stern expressions of the soldiers guarding the entrance.

A soldier raised his hand, commanding them to stop. "Halt! Don’t come any closer!" he ordered in a firm voice. Several others aimed their weapons at them. Ellie flinched slightly, but Joel immediately stepped forward to negotiate.

"We came a long way to get here," Joel said. "We’re just looking for a place to rest."

The soldier narrowed his eyes at him. "All of you? Drop your weapons and walk slowly toward the gate."

Joel scoffed at that. "Drop our weapons? In this fucked-up world, trusting someone is a death sentence. Give me one good reason to do that."

Ellie rolled her eyes at Joel’s rough tone. "Joel, if you keep talking like that, they’ll send us back before we even get in," she muttered.

Realizing that Joel’s approach was making things worse, Jade quickly intervened. She stepped forward with her hands open, speaking in a calm tone. "Look, we’re all exhausted. We’ve been traveling for a long time, and we really just need a place to rest. We’re not trying to bargain with you—we’re just trying to survive."

The soldier hesitated for a moment at Jade’s more peaceful approach. "We don’t know who you are. Cedar Heaven takes security seriously. How do we know you’re not infected?"

Jade understood their concern. She pulled out a map from her bag and showed the route they had taken. "We encountered infected along the way. If any of us were bitten, we wouldn’t have made it this far."

Joel interjected in his usual gruff tone. "Listen, if you're that paranoid, scan us. But hurry it up, because this kid..." He gestured at Ellie. "...is tired and hungry."

Ellie’s face flushed. "Hey, don’t call me ‘kid’ like that, Joel!"

The soldier glanced between Jade and Joel before speaking into his radio. "Three civilians at the checkpoint. We need a scan. Can we grant temporary access?"

A few minutes later, someone emerged from a small booth near the gate, holding an old medical scanner. The device emitted a high-frequency beep as it activated, designed to detect infection levels in the blood. Any anomaly would trigger an alarm.

Joel grumbled impatiently as they were scanned. "This is the dumbest damn procedure. If we were infected, do you think we’d still be standing here?"

Jade turned to him with a scolding look. "Joel, please. Just be patient."

Once the scan was complete, the device confirmed that they were clean. One of the soldiers turned to the gate and radioed for approval. A tense silence followed, making Joel’s patience wear even thinner.

Finally, the massive metal gate began to open, revealing the life inside Cedar Heaven. Green spaces, running generators, smiling people, and even a small market area came into view. Ellie’s eyes lit up. "Whoa… is this real? It looks like a dream!"

Joel, however, remained cautious. "Not a dream, Ellie. Nowhere is completely safe," he said gruffly.

Jade felt a mixture of relief and guilt as they stepped inside. She knew she needed to talk to Joel about his harsh attitude at the checkpoint, but she also understood that there was more to his behavior than just stubbornness.

As they entered, a settlement official greeted them and explained the basic rules. "All newcomers to Cedar Heaven must remain under observation for three days. During this time, you’ll be assigned temporary housing. Your needs will be met, but for the safety of the community, you must abide by our rules."

Joel didn’t seem too pleased with the official. Meanwhile, Ellie, still marveling at the settlement, laughed as she watched Joel and Jade’s constant bickering. All she could think was that this place might bring not only safety—but also a bit of entertainment.

Although Cedar Heaven seemed like a utopia compared to the outside world, strict discipline was enforced to maintain order. There was a quarantine area specifically for newcomers to prevent the community from being threatened by an infected individual. Joel, Ellie, and Jade were assigned to a barrack made of wooden planks and metal sheets—minimal but clean. Compared to the ruins of the outside world, this place offered a level of comfort that could almost be considered luxurious. Inside, there were two bunk beds, a small table, a few chairs, and an old but functioning gas stove placed in the corner.

Near the door, a few basic supplies provided by the community were neatly stacked: several bottles of water, canned food, hand sanitizer, and a few pieces of clean clothing. The clothes were donations from the community, chosen for practicality—durable pants, thick sweaters, and weather-appropriate boots. Upon seeing the clothes, Ellie mumbled under her breath,

"Fashion week is definitely canceled here..."

Joel responded with a smirk, "There’s no place for fashion in this world, Ellie. Does it work? Then you wear it."

Jade silently examined the clothes, choosing a pair of pants and a sweater. The ongoing tension between her and Joel was evident on her face. She averted her gaze, standing quietly in the corner, trying not to draw attention.

Meals in Cedar Heaven were served at specific times in a communal dining hall. When Joel, Ellie, and Jade entered for the first time, they couldn’t help but admire the organization and discipline within the hall. People sat at long tables, eating the distributed meals and engaging in quiet conversations. The food was simple but filling—bean soup, a few slices of bread, and canned vegetables.

Ellie took a sip of the soup and scrunched up her face. "What is this, Joel? Are we eating rubber?"

Joel lifted his spoon and took a big sip, then raised an eyebrow at her. "If you wanna survive, you eat it. Stop complaining."

Jade remained silent as she sipped her soup, not engaging much in the conversation. Noticing her quietness, Ellie nudged her lightly with her elbow.

"Hey, silent princess, don’t be so withdrawn. You better start talking to us, or you’ll be stuck listening to Joel’s boring stories."

Jade smiled but didn’t reply. Joel shot Ellie a sharp look. "My stories aren’t boring."

Ellie pursed her lips and grinned. "Of course, Joel. Of course..."

That night, Ellie had asked for permission to stay in the dining area and chat with new people. Joel hesitated but eventually let her go, knowing she needed to spend some time with others her age. This left only Joel and Jade in the barrack. As silence filled the room, Joel sat at the edge of the table, spinning his knife absentmindedly. Jade sat on the bed in the corner, flipping through the pages of an old book. Yet both of them were preoccupied with the weight of the silence.

Joel's mind kept drifting to Jade. He wanted to resolve the tension between them, but he didn’t know where to start. Finally, he took a deep breath and decided to speak.

"Jade..." he said, his voice initially soft but then growing firmer.

Jade lifted her head, surprised but wary. "Yes, Joel?"

Joel set his knife down on the table. "I know how I’ve treated you throughout this journey. I’ve been harsh. Unfair. But... this is who I am. And I can’t change that."

Jade frowned. "Joel, what are you trying to say?"

Joel remained silent for a moment before averting his gaze and continuing, "I’ve tried to ignore the way you feel about me. But you keep pushing whenever you get the chance. The problem is... what you feel isn’t right for either of us."

Jade’s expression wavered between shock and disappointment as she responded, "What’s not right, Joel? Not running from my feelings? Don’t worry, I’ll meet new people soon and leave you in peace."

Joel’s face tensed with a bitter smile. "You’re still too young, Jade. And me... I’m just a wreck trying to escape my past. My life exists only to keep Ellie safe. I have nothing to offer you."

Jade felt the weight of his words sink in, falling silent for a moment. But with tears welling in her eyes, she looked at him. "I can’t change how I feel about you, Joel. Even if a platonic love hurts more than anything..."

Joel lowered his head, his words catching in his throat. "These feelings... they make you weak. I can't protect you, Jade. In this world, love is a luxury. And there's no room for luxuries."

The silence between them spread through the room like a heavy fog. "The fact that I don’t love you breaks your heart, Jade. But I had to make it clear for your own good."

When Ellie returned to the cabin in her usual cheerful manner, she immediately sensed the heavy atmosphere inside. Her eyes darted between Joel and Jade. "What happened this time? You two look like you just tore each other apart."

Joel didn’t answer and lay down on his bed. Jade, meanwhile, kept her gaze fixed on the floor. Ellie, after waiting for a moment, shook her head and muttered to herself, "Ah, the world of adults is so weird."

Joel turned in his bed, closing his eyes, but he knew the weight inside him wouldn't let him sleep that night. Jade, too, tried to suppress her emotions, yet Joel's words echoed in her mind: "The fact that I don’t love you breaks your heart, Jade."

The leader of Cedar Heaven, Markus Hayes, was a charismatic and intelligent man in his late thirties. Thanks to him, the community had developed an organized structure and remained largely isolated from the outside world. His ability to influence people was his greatest strength, solidifying his leadership. The arrival of Joel, Ellie, and Jade had been reported to him, and once their quarantine was completed, he invited them to his office.

The office was on the upper floor of Cedar Heaven’s main building, a spacious room filled with neatly arranged files and maps on a large wooden desk. The walls were decorated with old-world maps, community plans, and various documents concerning the survivors. Markus sat behind the desk, carefully reviewing reports.

When a knock came at the door, he took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "Come in," he said, his voice calm yet authoritative.

Joel, Ellie, and Jade entered. Markus' sharp green eyes first scanned Joel, then Ellie. But when he looked at Jade, he hesitated for a brief moment. There was something about her posture, her quiet determination, and her beauty that caught his attention.

Markus stood up and walked towards them. "Welcome," he said. His voice was soft yet carried the weight of leadership. "I’m Markus Hayes, leader of Cedar Heaven. If you managed to make it here, you must be quite capable."

Joel shook Markus' hand with a short, firm grip. "Joel Miller."

Ellie stepped forward with a grin. "Ellie. And yes, we’re capable. But really, this girl," she gestured toward Jade, "she’s the one who got us here."

Markus turned to Jade and extended his hand. "Is that so? Then I must congratulate you… Miss?"

Jade hesitated before shaking his hand. "Jade. I just wanted to help."

Markus' smile widened. "Wanting to help is a rare thing in this world. I hope you find a good place here, Jade."

Joel immediately noticed Markus' interest in Jade. The subtle shift in his voice, the way his gaze lingered—it sparked something in Joel’s chest, an ember of jealousy. Clenching his jaw, he rolled his eyes. "We’re just here to rest. Then we’re moving on."

Markus shook his head slightly. "Ah, Joel… This place isn’t just a rest stop. People build their lives here. Maybe you should consider that."

Before ending the meeting, Markus explained the privileges the community could offer. "I’ll be granting you some additional assistance," he said. "After all, we can always use talented people from the outside."

Joel responded with a sarcastic expression. "And what exactly do these ‘benefits’ have to do with us?"

Markus smirked, turning to Jade. "I just like to reward capable individuals, Joel. Especially someone as intelligent and strong as Jade."

Jade averted her gaze, slightly flustered. Joel, on the other hand, took a deep breath, struggling to keep his patience in check. "Seems like we need some rest. Can we leave now?"

Markus, sensing Joel’s frustration, remained unfazed. "Of course. But Jade, if you’d like to learn more about our organization, you’re welcome to visit me later."

As Joel headed for the door, Ellie was clearly amused, trying hard not to laugh. "Ah, Markus is such a sweet guy, isn’t he, Jade?" she teased.

---

Back at the cabin, Joel was nearly seething. His hands clenched, his face dark with frustration as he paced to the corner of the room. Ellie, enjoying the scene, sat back while Jade remained silent.

Joel finally broke the silence. "What exactly is this 'special treatment' that man is giving you, Jade?"

Jade lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "What do you mean?" she asked, her tone firm.

Joel took a step closer. "He made his interest in you pretty damn clear. Did you like that?"

Jade narrowed her eyes. "Does it matter, Joel? Or did you come here just to interrogate me?"

Sensing where this was going, Ellie quickly intervened. "Okay, okay, calm down! Joel, Markus was just being nice. And Jade benefited from it. We all did. Now don’t tear each other apart over it, alright?"

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie. He just took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. Jade turned away, hurt. She couldn’t understand why her feelings were affecting Joel this much.

Without looking at Ellie, Joel muttered, "We just need some rest."

But Jade could sense the storm of emotions behind his words. Joel’s jealousy confused her, but she had no plan to unravel it. The coming days in this community would only add more tension.

---

The next morning, Joel, Ellie, and Jade gathered in front of the large wooden building serving as the community's headquarters. It was a repurposed old town hall, its windows reinforced, solar panels lining the roof, and barbed wire surrounding the perimeter. From inside, the sounds of controlled chaos echoed—orders being shouted, discussions taking place, engines rumbling.

Markus emerged, dressed in a pragmatic yet refined manner. Even his clothing exuded authority and charisma; a sturdy leather jacket, binoculars and a notebook in his side pockets, an antique revolver at his belt. His eyes landed directly on Jade, and a faint smile appeared on his face.

"It’s time to introduce you to the way things work here in Cedar Heaven," Markus announced. He gestured toward the entrance, leading the group inside.

Inside, a large board displayed a list of assigned tasks: food supply, defense, training, repairs, medical production, and scouting. Markus pointed to each category, explaining who would be assigned where.

"Ellie, you’ll be in the training program. You’re young, you’ll learn quickly. Also, you’ll be trained in archery. We need to expand our skill sets." Ellie scrunched her nose. Training sounded way too boring for her.

Joel spoke briefly and to the point. "Joel Miller, you'll be assigned to defense and external patrol duties." His words were cold and formal. The mission was dangerous; there was always a risk of encountering infected or hostile groups. Joel understood this and frowned.

When it was Jade's turn, Markus’ tone changed completely. "Jade, you've proven yourself impressive with your repair skills. You'll be working with the machines and vehicles here. Also..." he said, locking eyes with Jade, "...you could join our management team. We need someone as talented as you."

Joel's hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. His face gave nothing away, but his mind was a storm of anger, jealousy, and frustration. Markus’ blatant interest in Jade was driving him mad.

After assigning the tasks, Markus promised Jade a more comfortable life in Cedar Heaven. "If you agree to join the management team, we'll provide you with a private accommodation. And we can arrange better supplies for you as well."

Jade furrowed her brows unconsciously. Markus’ interest was obvious, but these privileges were tempting after the harsh years she had endured. Yet, she couldn’t ignore Joel's reaction. When she stole a glance at him, she noticed the tension in his jaw.

Ellie stood beside Joel, visibly annoyed by Markus' words. "This guy really sticks his nose into everything, huh?" she muttered.

Joel said nothing. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his eyes were fixed on Jade. In the midst of all this special attention, he noticed how she looked—her eyes cast downward, considering the privileges Markus had offered, yet seeming like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Joel knew how strong Jade was, yet seeing her looking vulnerable affected him in ways he didn't understand.

That night, when Joel retreated to his bed, his mind was filled with thoughts of Jade and Markus. The thoughts wouldn’t let him sleep. He kept replaying Jade’s reaction to Markus’ words over and over again. It was impossible to ignore Markus’ clear desire to keep Jade close.

Ellie’s words echoed in his mind: "What do you think about Jade and Markus?" Joel hated that he couldn’t answer that question. The idea of Jade being close to someone else was driving him insane.

Joel finally made a decision. Instead of denying his feelings for Jade, it was time to say something. But just as he was about to act, Ellie entered the room.

"Joel," she said, her voice tired but firm. "We can’t let Jade be pressured into this. Markus seems decent, but we need to protect her. Don’t forget that."

Joel pondered the meaning behind Ellie’s words. Protect Jade... But was this just about keeping her physically safe, or was there something deeper—something about his inability to control his own emotions?

Mornings in Cedar Heaven were always busy and structured—patrol teams, farming work, and the distant echoes of gunfire from the training grounds filled the air. As Joel prepared for his first patrol, he headed to the defense equipment depot, which had been converted from an old garage. Around him, militia members of various backgrounds prepared in silent determination. The scent of metal and gunpowder reminded him of FEDRA outposts. He scanned the shelves, memorizing the locations of every weapon and bullet. This was how he survived—by being prepared.

The patrol leader showed Joel a simple route. On the map, Cedar Heaven’s perimeter was outlined with barbed wire, watchtower locations, and potential threat zones. "Joel, you’ll be patrolling the northeastern sector," the leader said. "We spotted a few infected there last week, but it should be clear for now. Stay sharp."

Joel acknowledged the instructions with a small nod. He pulled on a thick vest and grabbed a shotgun. As he inspected the weapon, his hands instinctively checked the trigger mechanism, a habit from years of experience. He was as stoic as ever on the outside, but his mind was elsewhere. Jade.

He had only seen her briefly that morning. She had gone to the vehicle repair area to start her assigned tasks. Even that short glimpse of her had stirred a wave of jealousy inside him. Markus’ obvious attraction to her made Joel’s blood boil. But Jade wasn’t just someone who didn’t belong with Markus. She was someone who represented a light in Joel’s life. And Joel couldn’t allow that.

As he patrolled the perimeter, his eyes scanned the surroundings, but his mind was fixated on Jade. Every shadow among the trees, every whisper of the wind carried echoes of her voice. He cursed himself. Survival in this world left no room for emotions. But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, Jade’s presence haunted him like a ghost.

Jade had been working in Cedar Heaven’s repair area since early morning. Thanks to what she had learned during quarantine, most of the vehicles here were operational, though the lack of spare parts slowed things down. After listening to Markus’ instructions, she had picked up a wrench and got to work.

She relied on the knowledge her father had taught her about fixing vehicles. As she lifted the hood and examined the engine, her hands worked out of muscle memory. With dirty fingers, she checked the battery connections and spotted a leak in the radiator. She felt a quiet sense of pride—she could tell Markus was watching her with admiration. But that admiration made her uncomfortable. Because there was another pair of eyes she wanted to see. Joel’s eyes.

She convinced herself that Joel didn’t care about her. She reminded herself of this every single day. His cold and distant demeanor had slowly drained her courage. Who was she fooling? She had once believed that Joel was someone she could trust. But in the end, Joel only cared about his own survival and Ellie. She had learned not to trust people, and Joel was no exception. So she decided to keep her distance. But that decision didn’t stop her from secretly watching him whenever she could. She knew his patrol schedule, knew when he came and went.

As Jade wiped the grease from her hands, her eyes drifted toward Joel, who was walking in the distance with his shotgun slung over his shoulder. He looked strong and determined, and she couldn’t help but admire him. But admiration was mixed with sadness. Because Joel’s distance sent her a clear message: "Stay away from me. Don’t trust me. I’ll only hurt you."

Joel patrolled the perimeter, locked in an internal battle. On one hand, he told himself he shouldn’t think about Jade. She would be better off with someone like Markus, a leader who could offer her stability. But on the other hand, the thought of Jade smiling next to Markus ignited a rage inside him. He struggled to understand why his feelings were so intense. Jade wasn’t supposed to mean anything to him. But it wasn’t that simple.

His eyes drifted to where Jade was working. Her hands were covered in grease, her face illuminated by the sunlight. Every movement she made revealed her skill and strength. Joel thought of his past—Sarah, Ellie, and now Jade. The world had always taken away the people he loved. Maybe that was why thinking about Jade hurt so much. Because if he let himself get close, he would lose her too.

They were so close, yet so far from each other.

Cedar Heaven was running as usual, but for Markus, seeing Jade had become one of the moments he looked forward to the most in his day. On the outside, she appeared tough and distant, but Markus saw the fragility, intelligence, and strength within her. He admired Jade’s diligence and skill. Instead of hiding his admiration, he started making up excuses to call her frequently.

That morning, Jade was busy inspecting a vehicle in the repair workshop. Her hands were greasy as she worked under the hood when one of Markus’ assistants arrived. "The leader wants to see you," said the young woman. Jade frowned—Markus’ summons had been becoming more frequent lately, and it unsettled her. Nevertheless, she nodded politely and grabbed a cloth to clean her hands.

Jade knocked on the door, and Markus invited her in. As always, he looked cheerful and friendly.

"Jade, you arrived just on time," Markus said, setting aside the papers in his hand. "I need to ask you something."

Jade patiently listened to Markus, but she soon realized that his real intention wasn’t to consult her—it was simply to spend time with her. Their conversation shifted from Cedar Heaven’s tasks to Jade’s past.

"Your father was a mechanic, wasn’t he? It shows," Markus said, complimenting her as he offered her a cup of coffee. Jade declined, but the warmth in Markus' gaze made her even more uncomfortable.

Markus kept finding excuses to get close to her, touching her hair, brushing her cheek, or standing so close that there was almost no space left between them. His meaningful stares made it clear that he wanted her to feel the attraction between them.

"You are one of the most talented people here, Jade," Markus said, his eyes locked on her face. "It's a privilege to work with someone like you."

Jade responded with a forced smile. She could have stopped Markus from behaving this way, but she didn’t. Whenever Joel disappointed her or made her feel inadequate, she used Markus’ attention as a defense against the anger she felt toward Joel. But she was making a mistake. Even though she remained cautious around Markus, he interpreted her tolerance differently, taking it as encouragement.

When Markus suddenly grabbed her waist and pulled her close, Jade was caught off guard. She thanked him for the conversation but quickly made up an excuse to leave the office. She felt as if her chest was tightening. Markus’ intentions were now clear, but she didn’t have the courage to confront him about it.

By the time Joel returned to Cedar Heaven from his patrol, he was exhausted, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of Jade. After handing in his weapon at the depot, he searched for Ellie. He found her sitting in the cafeteria, stirring a hot bowl of soup that Jade had brought her.

"Ellie," Joel said, his voice carrying a tired but firm tone. "How are you?"

Ellie put her spoon down and smirked. "I'm fine. But judging by that look on your face, I’d say you’re not."

Joel ignored her teasing. He sat down and stared at Ellie’s bowl. "Where's Jade?" he asked.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Last I saw, she was in Markus' office. He calls for her a lot. Something’s going on."

Joel's brows knitted together. "What do you mean?"

Ellie shrugged. "Can’t you see it? The guy is obviously into her. Rumors spread fast."

Joel's face grew more tense as he processed Ellie’s words. Under the table, his fists clenched, and he gritted his teeth. His jealousy burned, mixing with his growing anger. The mere thought of Jade spending time with Markus was enough to drive him crazy. But he couldn't let it show.

He stood up and walked outside, letting the cold air hit his face as his mind spiraled. Markus’ interest in Jade was obvious. But what bothered him even more was that he didn’t know how Jade felt about it. Maybe she felt safer around Markus. Maybe she was responding to his flirtatious gestures, smiling that sweet smile of hers—the one that haunted Joel’s thoughts.

Joel knew his dark past made him unworthy of someone like Jade. But that didn’t stop the jealousy from eating him alive.

Ellie’s words echoed in his mind. Jade being in Markus’ office, Markus finding excuses to touch her... These thoughts fueled Joel’s anger. He felt humiliated, but the worst part was the fear of losing her.

As Cedar Heaven’s daily routine continued, Jade noticeably distanced herself from both Joel and Ellie. At first, it seemed temporary, but over time, it became a habit. Whenever Ellie saw Jade in the cafeteria, she would wave excitedly and try to strike up a conversation. But Jade always found an excuse to leave.

"I'll talk to you later, Ellie. I have a meeting to get to," she said once, motioning to the files in her hands.

Ellie didn’t understand why Jade was acting this way, but she had a feeling it had something to do with Joel. Joel, on the other hand, pretended not to notice. But each day, he became more withdrawn, sitting alone in a corner, watching everything from a distance.

Markus and Jade’s connection had become an open secret in Cedar Heaven. People whispered about how often Jade was summoned to his office and how Markus made efforts to spend time with her.

"I think Markus wants to keep Jade close," one woman whispered in the cafeteria.

"Close? I think it’s more than that," another responded with a smirk.

Hearing these rumors only made Joel’s anger grow. Everyone was talking about Jade and Markus, speculating about their relationship and questioning Markus' intentions. But what Joel couldn’t understand was why Jade tolerated it. These thoughts gnawed at him, filling him with a mix of rage and jealousy.

One day, in the storage area, Joel spotted Jade walking side by side with Markus. They appeared to be discussing something on a map, but Markus' smile and Jade’s relaxed demeanor were enough to make Joel’s blood boil. The weight in his chest grew heavier, and he found himself leaning against the wall, struggling to steady his breathing.

Ellie could see the change in Joel. He was quieter, angrier than before. During meals, he often drifted off, lost in thought, and during patrols, he was harsher than necessary. Eventually, Ellie decided to confront him.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" she asked, catching Joel at a rare moment alone.

Joel frowned, as if he didn't understand. "What are you talking about, Ellie?"

Ellie crossed her arms and gave him a challenging look. "I'm talking about Jade. You love her. We both know it. But what are you doing? Just standing back and letting Markus spend time with her."

Joel's face hardened. "Ellie, this is none of your business."

"Yeah? Well, you're not doing anything about it!" Ellie snapped. "Age gap, past, whatever… You're using those as excuses. But the truth is, Joel, you're just scared to tell her how you feel."

Joel felt anger rise within him, but deep down, he knew Ellie was right. The feelings he had for Jade sat in his chest like a heavy weight.

After Ellie’s words, Joel remained silent for a long time. Even when the stars appeared in the night sky, his thoughts were still on Jade. Every moment she spent with Markus was torture for him. But it was a torture he had created himself.

***

Cedar Heaven was on the brink of unexpected chaos. Midnight had passed, and most of the settlement's residents were asleep. But the first scream shattered the silence, changing everything. One of the patrol guards shouted that a group of infected had broken through the inner defense line. Within moments, sirens echoed through the settlement, filling the air with fear. People scrambled behind barricades, clutching the few weapons they had.

Joel was awake the moment he heard the alarm. Years of survival instincts kept him alert. He checked on Ellie—she had already jumped out of bed, eyes wide with shock and fear.

"Joel, what's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Joel slung his backpack over his shoulder, his voice short and firm. "Infected. We need to make sure we’re safe before heading out. Stay close."

Ellie saw the seriousness in his expression and simply nodded. But Joel's mind was on someone else too—Jade. Was she safe? Did she have a weapon? Had Markus already found her?

But he had chosen to stay away from her. His own decision. And now, he regretted it.

Getting Ellie to safety was Joel's first priority. They moved quickly toward the center of the settlement. Screams and explosions shattered the usual quiet of Cedar Heaven. Every corner held a new threat. Joel kept Ellie behind him, staying alert with every step.

"Stay here," he instructed, pointing to a reinforced barricade. "Don't move. Not until I get back, got it?"

Ellie, for once, didn’t argue. She just nodded. Joel gave her a firm look before turning away and heading into the chaos—searching for Jade.

Joel moved through the tangled streets, trying not to lose his way. Every panicked person rushing past him, every pile of debris, every collapsed barricade only added to his anxiety. How did they miss such a large attack? But there was no time for answers.

He turned a corner and stopped when he saw something on the ground—a torn, bloody, and dirtied shirt that looked like it belonged to Jade. His heart pounded. She was here. Maybe still nearby.

What if Markus had already found her? What if she was with him now? The thought gnawed at him.

Then, a low growl echoed in the distance. Joel focused on the sound. Further down the street, a group of infected moved slowly but menacingly. And behind them, something even worse—a bloater. Joel’s grip tightened around his rifle. If Jade was trapped somewhere near this mess, she didn’t have much of a chance.

He moved carefully through the shadows, avoiding the infected. As he rounded another corner, he saw her—Jade, fighting off a group of infected. She held her pistol steady, taking careful shots and landing each one with deadly precision. Joel hesitated for a moment. She was fearless. Determined.

But the numbers were against her, and her ammunition was running low. Just as an infected crept up behind her, Joel raised his rifle and fired a single shot, dropping the creature instantly.

Jade flinched at the unexpected help but quickly recovered.

"Joel?" she called out, her voice a mix of shock and frustration.

"I came for you," Joel said, his voice gruff but sincere.

Jade hesitated for a second, then raised her gun again. "Alright, hero. Then let's fight."

Side by side, in the pouring rain and the darkness, they took down the infected one by one. Even in their silence, there was so much left unsaid, but for now, all that mattered was survival.

Rain poured from the sky, turning the ground beneath them into slippery mud. Joel’s rifle was wet, but his focus remained sharp. Ahead, silhouettes moved in the darkness—more infected. The guttural growls and eerie clicking sounds crept closer.

Joel glanced at Jade. She was quiet, focused. Her pistol was ready, her stance steady. He had noticed her agility back when she first arrived at Cedar Heaven, during that chaotic car chase. But now, fighting side by side, seeing her resilience firsthand—it gave him an unexpected sense of reassurance.

"Three on our left," Jade whispered. Joel nodded.

"Take that side. I’ll cover your back," he replied firmly.

Jade moved swiftly, aiming at the targets on the left while Joel turned to the right. His first shot hit a runner dead center in the forehead, but more were coming.

A sharp clicking noise made Joel instinctively duck. A Clicker was charging straight for him. Its grotesque fungal growth twisted its face into an inhuman shape, its movements erratic and terrifying.

"Damn it," Joel muttered, raising his pistol and firing twice. The creature shrieked before collapsing.

Jade’s voice rang out. "Joel, behind you!"

Joel turned just in time to see a Stalker creeping up on him. But Jade was faster. She lunged, plunging her knife into the infected’s throat. It gurgled, then dropped to the ground.

"You could be a little more careful, old man," Jade said with a smirk.

Joel tried to mask his surprise. "You enjoying this?"

"A little," Jade admitted, though her tone was serious.

Joel pressed his back against a wall, quickly assessing the situation. More infected were on their way, following the sounds of gunfire. Clickers and Stalkers, plus a runner—fast but weaker.

Joel formulated a plan in his head. They were outnumbered. But they still had a fighting chance.

"There's a generator up ahead. If we make some noise, we can draw their attention there," Joel said.

"Then what?" Jade asked.

"We'll take them down one by one. I'll handle the heavy work, you take care of the fast ones."

Jade nodded. "Alright. But don’t slow me down."

Joel smirked slightly at her response. For a moment, he thought back to the first time they fought together. Until they reached Cedar Heaven, he had witnessed how fast and strategic Jade could be in the infected-filled streets. Now, being a team again gave Joel an unexpected surge of energy. Somehow, it made them stronger.

They moved according to their plan. Joel threw a few rocks at the generator to draw attention. The infected gathered around the engine, falling into their trap one by one. Joel swung his spiked baseball bat at a Runner, sending it crashing to the ground. Then, he quickly stabbed a Clicker approaching from behind.

Jade, using her speed and agility, drove her knife into another Runner's throat. Joel glanced at her for a moment, observing the precision and determination in her movements. As she moved on to her next target, he found himself unable to look away. Her fluid movements proved, once again, just how strong she had to be to survive.

When a Clicker lunged at Jade from behind, Joel intervened swiftly. He aimed his rifle at the creature's head and took it down with a single shot.

"Thanks," Jade said without turning around.

"We watch each other's backs, don’t we?" Joel replied.

Jade took down a Stalker and turned, locking eyes with him. In her gaze, Joel saw a deep resolve, but also pain. The days they had spent trying to stay away from each other now felt meaningless in the chaos of this fight. Seeing her courage and strength, Joel was reminded once more why he found her so compelling.

By the end of the battle, they were both out of breath. Joel slung his rifle over his shoulder and looked at Jade. Her face was covered in sweat and blood, but her eyes still burned with determination.

"You alright?" Joel asked, his voice slightly unsteady.

"I’m alive, so yeah," Jade replied with a small smile.

A brief silence fell between them. They stood there, staring at each other as the world around them quieted.

After a while, they made their way to one of the shelters. They were drenched from the rain. Announcements over the base's speakers confirmed that the southern wing was back under control. Whoever had caused this recklessness would be found and punished.

The dim light of the shelter blended with the cold stone walls, amplifying the silence that echoed within. Jade sat on a wooden chair in the corner, absentmindedly playing with the knife in her hands. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, using the small task to mask the storm inside her. Her gaze occasionally flicked to Joel, but she quickly looked away each time.

Joel sat at an old metal table across from her, cleaning his weapon. His movements were mechanical, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.

It was as if an invisible tension had wrapped around the room. They both felt it, yet neither dared to be the first to cut through it.

Joel sighed, rubbing the rifle’s barrel with a cloth. His hands moved on instinct, but his thoughts were focused on Jade. She acted like she wasn’t aware of it, but Joel felt her every movement.

"You're being reckless," he finally said, his voice softer but still uncertain. "If you keep working alone like this, one day I won’t be able to find you."

Jade took a deep breath and turned to him. *"The real danger isn’t the infected, Joel. The real danger is people." Her eyes glistened. "Do you even realize what people do to each other? Even Markus..." she trailed off.

Joel sensed something hidden in her words. "Markus? What did he do to you?" His voice hardened instantly.

Jade shook her head. "Nothing. It’s just... I don’t trust people. That’s why I work alone when I’m assigned a mission. And..." She hesitated, breaking eye contact. "That’s why I couldn’t trust you either."

Joel felt his anger falter. He slowly stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "You couldn’t trust me?" he murmured. "Jade... I was only trying to protect you."

Jade met his gaze again, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. "You left me alone... You never really cared about me... Not even as a friend... I’m just trying to protect myself, that’s all."

Joel remained silent for a few moments. This was the most honest conversation they had ever had. He could see both fragility and strength in her face. Seeing her like this broke something inside him.

"Whenever you need me, I’ll be there, Jade... I left Ellie behind to come to you. If something happens to you... Losing you would be like losing everything."

Jade smiled, but to Joel, it still carried so much pain. Being this close to her, realizing just how deep their emotions ran, made everything even harder. Her fears and trust issues didn’t make her weak—they made her human.

"Don’t forget this, Joel. Sometimes we have to be close to each other. But that closeness should make us stronger, not amplify our fears," she said, her voice still trembling.

Joel nodded. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words thick between them. Jade's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, yet she still found strength.

She quietly gathered her things. Joel, leaning against the wall, watched her.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice as stern as ever, but underneath it lay a hint of worry.

Jade avoided Joel’s gaze as she noticed the tone in his voice. “I need to check in with Markus. I haven’t returned in a while, he must be worried.”

The thought of that man constantly watching Jade, always finding a reason to be near her, drove Joel insane. Just the idea of Markus wondering whether she had returned to the shelter or not was enough to make his blood boil. And now, seeing Jade about to walk away, a volcano of jealousy and anger threatened to erupt inside him.

“He must be worried, huh?” Joel said sarcastically, pressing his lips into a tight line.

Jade turned to look at him. “Yes, he must be. We all have responsibilities here, Joel. Is that a problem?”

Joel took a few steps toward her. “A problem? You mean that guy following you around all the time? Saying he’s worried about you? You think that’s normal?” His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable edge of anger in it. “Why don’t you stay away from Markus? Don’t you see how he looks at you? Are you that blind?”

Jade let out a tired breath, her expression weary. “I’m not blind, Joel! I see everything. But you’ve been distant, pushing me away, and I didn’t know what else to do! You keep shutting me out, and Markus… at least he sees me.”

The words hit Joel like a dagger to the chest. “Sees you, huh? What does he see? How to manipulate you? How to get closer to you?” His anger was rising. “Do you really think his intentions are pure?”

Jade cut in sharply. “He can’t manipulate me, Joel. I know what he wants, and I know what he’s thinking. And honestly, you have no right to judge me.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, trying to rein in his frustration. “I’m not judging you. I’m trying to protect you, Jade! But it’s like you’re purposely running toward him just to spite me. Why? Are you trying to punish me?”

Jade froze for a second, her gaze locking onto his. “That’s not true. I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of you not loving me. I wanted to forget you. Because I heard it from your own mouth, Joel. You don’t love me. Your anger pushed us to this point. And yes, maybe Markus was part of it, but it wasn’t just about him.”

Joel stood still, speechless. “You’re punishing yourself just to stop loving me? Jade, that man is dangerous. How can you not see that?”

Jade furrowed her brows, shaking her head. “Joel… I *am* afraid of Markus, okay? His attention makes me uncomfortable. But if I didn’t feel so alone, maybe I wouldn’t do things like this. You’ve always been a wall. I’ve tried to reach you, but you keep pushing me away.”

Joel’s anger wavered for a moment. He could see both rage and pain in her eyes. “You’re scared…” he repeated, his voice softer now, thoughtful. “Then stay away from him! Jade, if he ever hurts you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Jade let out a deep breath, lowering her eyes. “I feel alone, Joel. You think you’re protecting me, but you’re breaking me, every single day. Every moment I think you don’t love me, *that* is what hurts. And the person hurting me the most… is you. Markus… at least he listens to me. At least I can pretend to find some kind of solace.”

Joel felt something shift inside him. His hands clenched into fists, but this time, his anger wasn’t directed at her—it was at himself. “Jade, I’d protect you from everything. If it comes down to it, we’ll leave this damn place. But Markus? I can’t stand him. I won’t stand him."

Jade felt the weight of his words, for the first time sensing his sincerity. But she also knew how conflicted he was. She lowered her head slightly, speaking in a quiet voice. “Joel, trust me. Nothing ever happened between Markus and me. And I don’t feel anything for him. But you have to stop leaving me like this.”

Joel stayed silent for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled, trying to steady himself. “I won’t leave you, Jade. I’ll protect you. But if Markus ever lays a hand on you… this place will burn.”

The tension in the shelter was thick, pressing in on them like an invisible force. And yet, deep down, they both knew that this confrontation had brought them closer.

“The lie you told… about not loving me. It *was* a lie, wasn’t it?” Jade’s voice was soft, but firm. “You’re jealous of Markus because you love me. Desperately.”

Joel looked at her, his emotions swirling in his eyes. “Yes… but that’s not the point, Jade. I don’t deserve you.”

A bitter smile formed on Jade’s lips. She could see how much he loved her, but she could also see how hard he was trying to push her away. “That’s not your decision to make, Joel.”

Joel tried to take a step back, but Jade had already closed the distance between them. Her fingertips brushed against his hand—such a simple touch, yet it paralyzed him. His hands suddenly felt heavier, his heartbeat louder, as if something was holding him in place.

“Don’t,” Joel murmured, his voice rough, but fragile.

Jade tilted her head slightly, searching his eyes. “Why, Joel? Do you *really* love me, or do you just see me as someone you need to protect?”

A low sound rumbled in Joel’s throat, but it wasn’t an answer—just hesitation. Jade took another step forward. Now, their breaths mingled in the space between them.

Jade slowly lifted her hands and gently cupped Joel’s face. The warmth of her touch both calmed him and set him on edge. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingertips trace his skin. And yet, all he could think was how wrong this was.

"Jade..." he whispered, his voice trembling.

Without hesitation, Jade slowly reached for Joel. When her lips touched his, time seemed to stop. That kiss stirred a storm inside Joel and, for a brief moment, made him forget all his burdens. But Joel pulled away.

"This isn't right," he said, his breath unsteady. "You're young, Jade. I... I don't want to drag you into this."

But Jade didn't step back. She placed her hands on Joel's shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "Right or wrong, let me decide that. You always try to make choices for me, but Joel, I'm telling you what I want. I want you."

Joel's breath hitched. Seeing the determination in her eyes, he felt his walls begin to crumble. Yet, he still tried to resist. "Jade, if you knew my past, the things I've done... you'd understand why I'm afraid of hurting you."

Jade cut him off. "I've known enough people to recognize who would harm me, Joel. What hurts me is you running away from me."

Her words shook Joel more than he expected. Jade pressed her lips against his again, this time with more confidence, more passion. At first, Joel resisted, but in the end, he surrendered completely. His hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

That moment was like an explosion for both of them—a release of years of built-up emotions, fears, and longing. Despite all his doubts, Joel felt the reality of the moment. And Jade, in his arms, felt safe and whole.

When the kiss ended, both were breathless. Joel leaned his forehead against Jade’s. "What... what are we doing?" he whispered, his voice almost desperate.

Jade smiled softly. "We're doing the right thing, Joel."

As Joel tried to process her words, the turmoil inside him slowly settled into a quiet acceptance. The trust and love in Jade’s eyes brought him peace for the first time.

This time, her kiss was deeper, more intense. Joel resisted for a moment longer, but then he let everything go. His hands gripped her waist as he pulled her in. Their kiss was a collision of pent-up emotions—fear, pain, and desire merging into one.

Joel's breath trailed down to Jade’s neck as she clung to his shoulders. Time felt like it had stopped. The dim lights of the shelter cast soft shadows over their faces. As Joel let himself believe in this moment, he realized his walls had completely crumbled.

“No one can touch you but me,” Joel said, innocent as a child afraid of losing, “this is not something I can handle.”

Joel took off the girl’s wet jacket with a nasty movement and threw it in a corner. Her gray T-shirt was soaked from the pouring rain and stuck to her body. The cold hardened her nipples, exposing itself to Joel’s eyes through the cloth that hugged her body. Joel cupped her breasts through the cloth and began to caress the swelling lumps with his thumb. The movement that had echoed in Jade’s groin and sent butterflies flying through her belly now made her feel even more passionate as she reached for his lips. Her moist tongue met his between his lips, soothing the old wolf’s wounds. A white sheet was spread over the marks etched into his soul.

While they continued kissing, Jade's hand didn't stop either. She pushed Joel's hands on her breasts, allowing him to free his arms, and just like he did, she started to take off Joel's jacket. Everything was happening very fast. She had to. The fear of being caught was added to the intensity of their suppressed feelings for each other. A group of guards could raid them in the shelter while looking for people who were dead or bitten and at risk of infection. Normally, this shouldn't have been a big problem. One of the guards would smile at such a sight, curse with a half-mocking, half-envious expression on his face, and wait for them to leave the shelter with the same expression. However, Jade was the apple of their leader's eye and had a character that would turn dark for the sake of their goals. If they were very lucky, they could sacrifice them to the infected group.

But their repressed sexual feelings were very strong in turning the fear into fantasy in their minds. Joel Miller tangled his fingers in Jade's hair, pressing her closer to him, while his other hand went to his belt, trying to unbuckle it. Jade was luckier in this regard. Her fingers undid the button and pulled down his pants by holding them by the edges. Since the cut of the pants was designed to be wide, they slid on the smooth surface of the girl's thin legs and met the ground. She was much more comfortable now. She had cleaned herself of her clothes, which were a mixture of blood, rain and sweat, and wrapped her arms tightly around Joel's neck. She was moaning as if she were enjoying a pleasure she had forgotten the taste of.

Joel finally managed to get rid of his pants despite the girl's active nature. He pulled his lips away from hers and ended the passionate French kiss. He bent his knees slightly and got down to her level, reaching her upper thighs. He wrapped her legs around him and lifted her up. Now the girl was in his lap, her womanhood pressing against his manhood. Jade took Joel's face between her hands as they looked passionately into his eyes. Just as her lips were about to part to say the words, Joel didn't let her. "I was scared to death of losing you, Jade. But I'd rather die than see you with someone else," he said. This time their kiss was much harder and more uncontrolled. It was an expression of all the accumulated emotions, suppressed pleasures. Joel wasn't just kissing, he was telling stories about everything that had happened from the time they met until that night and the moments he couldn't explain inside; tongue strokes symbolized regret, small bites symbolized fear, lip movements symbolized loss... Everything fit into that kiss.

At a moment when the fire between the two seemed to disrupt the physical balance between them, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around Jade's body and Jade suddenly groaned when her back hit the wall; she lost her breath between the coldness of the wall and the man's warmth.

"You made me dependent on you, I am ready to be your prisoner," Joel said, his voice cracking and determined. If his daughter were alive, she would be older than Jade, but he wanted to be destroyed in the love of a young woman even younger than his daughter.

There was not the slightest hesitation in Jade's gaze in the face of these words; she was ready to leave herself to Joel with all the weight of that moment.

He waited for a moment, as if time had stopped. Then he brought his lips down on hers again like a hurricane. His hands were gripping her hips tightly, caressing them. He was protecting her by holding her between him and the wall.

Jade's hands first grabbed onto his shoulders with excitement, then slowly slid down to his neck. Their kisses softened for a moment, giving way to a deeper, more sensual passion. He bounced the girl in his arms and held her tighter, pressing his chest against hers more, as if he wanted to hide her from the world. While the girl's back was against the wall, Joel's lips slid down to her neck. The tension between them grew stronger with each breath they exchanged. The shiver Jade felt on her skin spread from her spine to her entire body. The girl whispered his name, her voice trembling like an oath. This made Joel more eager. His cock began to stir, and as he got erect, the pressure he was exerting on her womanhood increased. There was only a piece of cloth between his vagina and his penis. As their bodies continued their movements in sync, the tip of his cock brushed against her clit, Jade's eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as she pulled away from Joel's lips. She was breathing shallowly and moaning, her teeth clenched tightly.

Joel, meanwhile, had become a little more irritable as a manifestation of his fears. As their sexuality grew more sensitive, the dreams of Markus and Jade echoing in Joel's mind were the only source of passion in his aroused body.

When Jade suddenly turned her head to the right with the pleasure she was experiencing, Joel's lips slid to Jade's jawbone. He kissed her chin hard, rubbing it around it, and as his jealousy darkened his heart, he made Jade feel his teeth as if he wanted to hurt her and make her pay. When he finally stopped at her ear, he growled. "As long as the fucker stayed close to you, I wanted to kill him! To shot between his eyebrows without mercy... Like before." As if his jealousy was feeding his strength, he moved his hand to the girl's panties. In the meantime, Jade, whose leg was free, wrapped her legs tighter around the man's waist and hooked her feet together. As Joel pulled the tight panties aside harshly, the sound of the fabric tearing filled his ears. When Joel met her vulva with his fingers, he was surprised by how wet she was. How could he better express that Jade was so ready for him, that he was deprived of his skin? His fingertips were sliding easily on her wet inner lips. So wet and sticky. He stroked at about the same pace, speeding up the movement of his fingertips as he reached her clitoris, creating a vibrator effect. The hundreds of capillaries inside her clitoris were doubling their sensitivity as she felt Joel's breath on her ear and neck. Her breath was trembling with pleasure, her moans continuing to harden Joel's cock, stimulating the entrance to her vagina under the fabric.

Joel asked, almost in a whisper. "Like you said," he said, imitating her nickname for him, "do you like it when the old wolf touches your pussy like that, Jade, huh?" The warmth released from between his lips tickled her skin as he moaned into her ear. "Smooth and puffy."

While caressing with one hand, he continued to apply pressure to her vagina from under his boxers and stimulate the entrance of her vagina as if he was going to enter. "If I see you smile at him one more time, I won't be able to control myself after tonight," he clenched his teeth and his voice trembled with ambition, "I swear to you Jade. Because there is no one who can love you as much as I do, no one else can understand you, no one else can see you the way I do." Finally, he tightly clasped his middle and index fingers together and slid inside her entrance. Jade's moans echoed loudly off the walls as he moved his fingers rapidly inside her. She was holding Joel's muscular arms so tightly that her nails nearly dug into his flesh and made it bleed. "FUCK... JOEL!"

Joel pretended not to notice her and continued, "No one can satisfy you like this old wolf can, do you understand?"

Jade's breathing pattern was completely disrupted, and she was trying to answer Joel with moans squeezed between her trembling breathing. "Yes Joel, I belong only to you. My soul and body...only you...you can touch me."

Joel buried his head in her neck and breathed in the wonderful scent of her skin, now stripped of the odor of sweat. And when he lifted his head again, there was a note of triumph in his voice and expression. "Oh, there's my sweet girl. There's my baby girl."

Joel Miller’s cock was no different than Jade’s vagina. The colorless, sticky precum that leaked from the tip had seeped through the fabric of his gray boxers, darkening the light gray tone. The veins on his penis had grown larger and larger, swollen enough that it was visibly twitching under the skin. The cum pooling in his balls was too much to fit through the fabric. His tip was flushed with the tingle of the moment it met her vagina. Joel could not bear it any longer. He asked breathlessly, “Can you feel my cock, Jade, huh? Can you feel how hungry it is for you, how it yearns to enter your burning cunt, oh Jade?”

"Yes, Joel, I want him inside me so bad."

Joel put his lips to her ear and whispered. It was as if he was trying to drive her crazy. "Do you want daddy inside you, huh? Do you want me to fuck you like no one else, not even that son of a bitch Markus, could?"

"Yes Joel," she moaned as Joel prodded her with his fingers inside her.

"No, forget Joel! Say daddy, say it! Do you want me to fuck you so hard?"

"Fuck... Oh, yes daddy, I want you to fuck me. I beg you daddy... I want your old cock inside me."

Joel growled as he pulled his boxers down to his balls with a greedy tone. "I'm gonna show you what that old cock will do to you now, my little whore," Joel said. "No one else turns you on like me."

Finally Joel took his penis in his hand, held it tightly, and inserted the tip into Jade's vagina and pushed it in quickly. Its squeaky voice mixed with her moans and trembling breaths. Jade's body shook, Joel tightened his leg and hip muscles. But they soon got used to it. Joel moved in and out of the girl's warm vagina comfortably. He felt how his big cock was wrapped between the rough vaginal walls while inside the girl's hole. Jade had never encountered a penis with such a perfect anatomy before. He was applying equal pressure to the sensitive points of her vagina, allowing her to experience equal depths of pleasure. Her pupils rolled in their sockets, her moans quickened. As Joel increased his speed, Jade's hands were released from Joel's arms and hung down and to the sides. Her feet were swinging at least a foot off the ground, parallel to Joel's hard movements. Jade had completely surrendered herself to the strong arms of pleasure.

Joel tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the pleasure he was getting from Jade's vagina. "Oh, yes! You're such an insatiable, greedy whore, Jade," Joel moaned.

As Joel continued to thrust his penis into Jade, a muffled, runny sound was coming out of her insides, which were bathed in both of their pre-cum. As his speed increased, the man placed his hands under the girl's hips and caressed her tightly, bouncing her on his lap a few times to correct their position that was about to deteriorate. Although this movement caused Jade to lose her balance due to the proximity to the wall, she immediately raised her arms and hugged her older man tightly. The hard blows were driving Jade crazy and her screams were coming out. Fearless, brave, it didn't matter that her voice was spilling out into the streets. The idea of being caught by Markus' men while Joel Miller was fucking her only cared enough to increase her lust. She trusted this man so much, she was so sure of what he could do, this confidence gave her courage.

Joel looked desperate now, his voice trembling with a raspy voice. “You’re not just my lover, you’re my disease, Jade,” he said. “I’m obsessively in love with you.” He kept thrusting. It was as if every word he said was a spur to his hormones that filled the room. He pulled the girl’s hair hard. Her anatomy became apparent under the tightening skin of her neck. The green and blue tones of the veins wrapping around the blood flowing under the skin, her throat, her collarbone… And Joel began to bite mercilessly into her neck. The teeth marks were left on the skin. The girl’s mixed moans of pain and pleasure gave Joel a sexual power. Without taking his lips off her neck, he spoke again. “If anyone else sees you the way I see you, I will destroy those eyes, Jade. Because those eyes should never even dream of having you!”

Joel's penis was throbbing. It seemed like he couldn't take it anymore. His groin began to ache. Without letting the girl off his lap and without getting out of her, he quickly approached the metal table in the corner of the shelter. In the meantime, Jade was begging Joel with the right timing to make her cum. That was all she had in mind. When Joel laid her down hard, face down on the metal table, the cold surface of the metal made her shiver.

"Don't worry, horny girl. Daddy's going to pour his hot, sticky cum inside you in a minute," Joel said breathlessly, his voice slightly raspy. He picked up the pace. He thrust harder. His groin was slapping her ass, her tight hips shaking and shaking. His balls were slapping her clit, and Joel was driving himself wild with pleasure, pushing himself to use his power over her. He tangled his hands in Jade's hair and pressed her face into the hard surface of the table.

Meanwhile, Jade moaned nervously. "Are you going to cum inside me, Joel?"

Joel replied with a devilish grin, "Yes, sweet baby, daddy's gonna get you pregnant."

Jade was so caught up in the pleasure of the moment that she could only say, "No." She couldn't resist Joel, on the contrary, she was diving deeper into the well of lust. But Joel got more furious at her negative response and growled. "Yes, baby, I'm going to get you pregnant." FUCK!" She was so close now... Both of them. Joel put his hands on her shoulders, holding her tightly, and leaned down, putting his weight on her. "I wonder what his face will look like when I tell Markus that your pussy belongs only to me," he said in a tone where hatred and pleasure were friends. "FUCK... Oh, Jade, your beautiful pussy belongs only to your daddy." he was out of breath. He held it and suddenly released it as he inflated his chest with air, reaching the peaks of pleasure. The girl was no different. The floor of the table was shaking from her moans. Joel was almost ready to come. He started slapping the girl's ass cheeks. When he landed the first slap on her flesh, her muscles tensed. "You're a very special girl," he said then and slapped her other cheek again. Jade tensed her muscles again, but the pain and pleasure were buzzing in her ears.

Jade felt warm inside her. The sticky, warm fluid that wouldn’t fit inside her vagina and was struggling to come out with a squeaky sound. Her pupils had almost disappeared with pleasure. “Do you hear me,” Joel asked, leaning in close to her ear, “I’m pouring my cum into your womb, baby. Daddy’s gonna get you pregnant.” His moans mixed with hers as he came. He laced his fingers through hers and pinned her hands to the metal table, on either side of her head. Jade’s knuckles ached from the table floor. She came too. Right after Joel, but Joel couldn’t do anything except stamp his feet and bite his lower lip, his movements restricted, and he could do nothing but moan. He was too heavy, and she was crushing beneath him.

When Joel finally pulled out of her, the floor was soaked with her pleasure juices. The wetness on his penis glistened in the light coming from the window. The water running down Jade's legs made her feel cold because of the cold air circulating in the room. While she was resting on the table, Joel sat on the chair next to the table and watched Jade as she tried to control her breathing. He witnessed how she was making her perfect, young and firm body writhe with pleasure and was spiritually satisfied.

[thatsitso]

Orb Witch Hat Atelier AU

[lavender-vixen]

Hi! I was thinking about an idea and wanted to know if you could write something about Henry Bowers having a younger sister, where he finds out she’s secretly dating one of the members of his gang.

Could you write how he would react to each specific member? Which one do you think Henry would disapprove of the most? And what kind of actions would he take in this situation?

Henry isn't the type of guy to be overjoyed at the thought of his kid sister sneaking around with one of his friends. Not that he thinks she's a saint or anything. But his sister? Messing around with one of his guys? That's crossing a line.

Vic Criss (the least bad option)

Vic is the calmest, most level-headed one in the gang, which means Henry wouldn't immediately want to kill him.

But that doesn't mean he'd approve.

Henry would still be pissed, especially if Vic had been keeping it a secret from him.

He'd probably corner Vic after school, slam him into a locker, and demand answers.

"You serious, man? You fucking serious? What, you think you're better than the rest of them? Think I'm just gonna let you play house with my sister?"

If Vic reassured him that he was serious about her, Henry might ease up, just a little.

Henry would threaten Vic but not beat the shit out of him...yet. He'd watch him like a hawk and make it very clear that if his sister got hurt, Vic would too.

Belch Huggins (not ideal, but not the worst)

Henry would be annoyed as hell but not instantly murderous.

Belch is loyal, but Henry would still feel betrayed that his sister was sneaking around behind his back.

He'd confront Belch immediately, shoving him against his car or dragging him away from the gang.

"You been screwing around with my sister, you fat fuck? How long?"

Belch would probably stammer through an explanation, trying to convince Henry that he actually likes her, but Henry wouldn't wanna hear it.

He'd rough Belch up a little, shove him around, and warn him that if his sister ever cried over him, he'd rip his head off.

Patrick Hockstetter (absolute worst option)

If Henry found out about this, he wouldn't just be mad.

He'd be murderous.

Because out of everyone, Patrick is the most dangerous, unhinged, and least trustworthy.

Henry knows exactly what kind of person Patrick is.

He wouldn't believe for a second that Patrick actually cares about his sister.

And if Patrick smirked, made some offhand comment, or tried to brush it off like it wasn't a big deal?

Henry would snap.

He'd jump Patrick on sight, fists flying, not giving a fuck where they were.

"You fucking psycho. You think this is funny? You think you can just use her like you use every other girl?"

And Patrick would just grin through bloody teeth, laughing his ass off, taunting Henry even more.

"Aw, come on, Bowers. You didn't think I'd keep my hands off her forever, did ya?"

He'd beat the shit out of Patrick, warning him to stay the fuck away from his sister, or he'd make sure he never touched another girl again. But Patrick wouldn't listen. He'd push, push, push, just to see how far Henry would go.

Henry would disapprove of Patrick the most. He already knows Patrick is twisted. He wouldn't trust him at all, not with his sister, not with anything. Patrick would taunt him, make it worse, and keep pushing his buttons just to get a reaction. Henry would feel like he failed as a brother by letting something like this happen. It wouldn't just be about protecting her, it'd be personal.

Henry wouldn't beat around the bush, he'd be in his gang member's face the second he found out. If he didn't like what he heard, he'd start swinging. He'd try to forbid her from seeing them, which would probably backfire. If it were Patrick, Henry wouldn't just want to beat him up. He'd want to ruin him.

Vic or Belch? Henry would watch them, but if they genuinely cared about his sister, he might tolerate it, begrudgingly. Patrick? Not a chance. This would end in blood.

[likesummerrainn]

AEW Forbidden Door | 06.30.24

[bl00dyfaiiry]

Save me, doctor.

-Yandere fem doctor x fem!reader

Tags and warnings: non con, fingering, character death, suicide, squirting, mommy kink, forbidden desire, no escape, yandere doctor.

BEEP

BEEP

The faint sound of the hospitals beeping grew louder as my eyes slowly opened.

The room was white and sterile, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. My leg throbbed with a pain that was both familiar and terrifying. I tried to sit up, but the effort was futile. My body was heavy, weighing me down into the bed. A soft hand pressed against my shoulder, urging me to lie back down. "You need to rest," a calm, yet firm voice said. I turned my head to see Dr. Valerie, her brown eyes staring into mine with a mix of concern and something else.. something I couldn't quite place.

"How did this happen?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Dr. Valerie's grip tightened slightly on my shoulder before releasing. "It appears you had a fall, Y/N," she replied, her eyes never leaving mine. "You've fractured your leg. Nothing too serious, but you'll need to stay here for a while."

Her smile was reassuring, yet it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was a tension in her demeanor that made me feel uneasy. I had only met her briefly before this incident, but she seemed overly invested in my well-being. She would often visit my room, even outside her regular rounds, bringing me extra pain medication or adjusting my pillows with a tenderness that was almost too personal for a doctor-patient relationship.

"You're lucky it wasn't worse," she murmured, stroking my hair gently. "But I'll make sure you're well taken care of here."

Her visits grew more frequent, and her attentiveness grew more intense. She'd sit by my bedside, her eyes never straying from my face as she'd ask about my day, my family, my life before the accident. It was as if she was trying to fill in the gaps of what she didn't already know. I found myself telling her things I wouldn't normally share with someone I barely knew, but there was something about her that made me feel... safe. Or at least, that's what I convinced myself.

The nurses spoke in hushed whispers about her, saying she was one of the best in the hospital, but also one of the most dedicated. They said she was known for taking her patients' recovery personally, which made me feel special in a twisted way. But there was a glint in her eye that I couldn't ignore. A hunger that grew with each passing day. Her touch grew more lingering, her smiles more intimate. It was as if she was laying a trap, one that I was willingly walking into because of the pain medication that clouded my judgment.

One evening, as she was checking my cast, she paused mid-sentence, her eyes flickering down to my hand, which was resting on the bedside. "You know, I read somewhere that physical touch can help with pain relief," she said, her voice low and soothing. "Would you like me to hold your hand?"

I nodded, too tired to argue or even think about the implications of her offer. Her hand was warm and soft, her thumb gently brushing against the back of my hand. The pain in my leg seemed to lessen, if only a bit. She talked about her favorite books, her childhood pets, her aspirations to become a doctor. Her words painted a picture of a caring, dedicated individual, but there was a subtle shift in her tone, a hint of possessiveness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

As the days turned into weeks, Dr. Valerie's care grew more personal. She would gently massage my leg, her eyes never leaving mine, her touch lingering just a bit too long. She'd ask about the people who came to visit me, and whether I liked them, if they were important to me. Her questions grew more pointed, her curiosity bordering on obsession. One day, as she was adjusting my pillows, she slipped up. "You know, it's funny how fate works," she murmured, her eyes glazed over for a moment. "If it weren't for that... little accident, we might never have met."

My heart skipped a beat as the implication of her words sunk in. "What do you mean, Dr. Valerie?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Her eyes snapped back to focus on me, and she offered a small, almost apologetic smile. "Oh, just that sometimes the worst moments in our lives lead us to the people who are meant to take care of us," she said, a little too quickly. "But let's not dwell on the past. I need to check your vitals and make sure everything is okay."

The hospital had indeed grown quieter over the weeks, a fact that I had only just noticed. The nurses and other patients spoke in whispers, and the corridors echoed with a sense of emptiness that seemed to amplify Dr. Valerie's presence. It was eerie, almost as if the very walls of the building knew something that I didn't. The occasional footsteps of hospital staff outside my room were the only interruptions to the silence, and even they had become sparse.

One night, I overheard a nurse mentioning that the hospital was going to be shut down soon. Apparently, the building had been condemned due to structural issues that had been discovered. This revelation sent a chill down my spine. With each day that passed, the hospital felt more like a prison than a place of healing. The thought of being trapped here with Dr. Valerie and her increasingly erratic behavior was more than I could bear.

The quiet of the hospital was unsettling. The usual chatter of patients and beeping machines had been replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press in on me from all sides. The few patients that remained were all on the mend, eager to leave this place behind. It was as if I was the only one who hadn't realized that the walls were closing in, that the hospital was dying along with my sense of security.

I noticed that Dr. Valerie's visits had become less professional and more personal. She would sit for hours, not just talking about medicine but sharing stories of her own, her eyes never leaving me. Her questions grew more intrusive, delving into parts of my life that even my closest friends didn't know about. It was as if she was trying to fill the void that the dwindling hospital population had left. Or maybe she was just trying to fill the emptiness within herself.

The silence of the hospital grew deafening, the creaks and groans of the old building echoing through the deserted corridors. The few nurses and patients that remained seemed to tiptoe around us, as if afraid to disturb the bubble of intensity that surrounded Dr. Valerie and me. The lack of activity outside my room only served to amplify the whispers of doubt and fear that grew louder in my mind with each passing day. Was it just the pain meds, or was there something truly wrong here?

One evening, as Dr. Valerie was updating my chart, I couldn't help but notice the way she spoke to the nurse. Her voice was firm, almost demanding, as she instructed them not to let anyone else into my room without her consent. The nurse nodded obediently, not even glancing in my direction as she scurried away. It was a subtle shift in protocol, but it didn't go unnoticed. When I questioned her about it, she waved it off as a precaution to ensure my privacy and recovery. But her eyes, they held a secret that sent a shiver down my spine.

Over the next few days, the hospital grew even quieter, the staff more scarce. Dr. Valerie was always there, her eyes never leaving me for long. Her attentiveness grew suffocating, and I began to feel like a caged bird, my wings clipped by the cast on my leg. Then, one day, the realization dawned on me—my family hadn't called or visited in what felt like forever. I tried to brush it off as the medication playing tricks on me, but the gnawing feeling remained. Something was off.

"Dr. Valerie," I asked, my voice shaking, "when was the last time my family came to visit?"

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable before she replied, "They've been busy, Y/N. They don't want to risk your recovery by bringing in any unnecessary stress or germs."

But something in her voice didn't quite match the words. It was too forced, too practiced. I couldn't shake the feeling that she was lying to me, keeping me in the dark about something important. My mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Had she told them not to visit? Or worse, had something happened to them?

As the hospital grew quieter, so did my hope of seeing anyone else. The other patients had been discharged, and the staff had dwindled to a bare minimum. Dr. Valerie was always there, her dedication to my care unwavering. She'd bring me meals, read me books, and even help me to the bathroom, her hands never leaving my side unless absolutely necessary. It was a level of care that was both comforting and suffocating.

One day, as she was leaving my room, I caught a glimpse of something strange in her pocket—a small, folded piece of paper that she quickly tucked away when she saw me looking. Intrigued, I waited for my next opportunity to sneak a peek. When she stepped out for what she said was an important call, I reached over to her abandoned clipboard, my heart racing. The paper was there, sticking out just enough for me to pull it free.

It was a detailed schedule, not of hospital rounds, but of my life. Times of my meals, my medications, my physical therapy sessions, and the exact moments she'd come to sit with me. But what sent a chill down my spine was the note scribbled at the bottom: "Ensure no outside contact. Monitor Y/N's emotional state. No distractions." It was clear now. Dr. Valerie wasn't just a dedicated doctor. She's sick in the head.

My mind raced as I tucked the paper back into her pocket. I had to get out of here. I couldn't let her control me anymore. The pain in my leg was a constant reminder of her manipulation, her obsession. With newfound determination, I began to formulate a plan. I had to be careful; any misstep would only fuel her insanity. I needed to act normal, to not arouse her suspicion.

Each day, I pretended to get stronger, pushing through the physical therapy with a smile plastered on my face. Meanwhile, my thoughts were elsewhere, planning my escape. I studied the hospital layout, the timing of the nurse's checks, and the moments when Valerie was most preoccupied. I knew I couldn't do it alone; I had to convince someone to help me. The nurses were too scared of her, so I turned to the only person left: a janitor named Mark who had shown me kindness when no one else was around.

One night, when Valerie was unusually late for her visit, I called out to Mark. He looked surprised but quickly stepped into the room. "I need your help," I whispered urgently. "I think Dr. Valerie isn't what she seems." I showed him the schedule and the sinister note. His eyes widened in horror, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I'll help you," he murmured. "But we need to be careful."

We plotted my escape meticulously. Mark would disable the security cameras outside my room during his next shift, and I would use the crutches to make my way to the service exit. It had to be done at night when most of the staff had gone home. The plan was risky, but the alternative was too terrifying to consider.

The day of the escape arrived, and my heart pounded in anticipation. Each time the clock ticked closer to midnight, I grew more nervous. Finally, the moment came. I slipped the crumpled piece of paper into the pocket of my hospital gown, took a deep breath, and called for Mark. He entered the room, his eyes darting around nervously before he nodded to indicate the coast was clear. With trembling hands, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gripped the crutches, wincing as I put weight on my injured leg.

We moved swiftly through the shadowy hallways, the echo of our footsteps bouncing off the cold, empty walls. The hospital had never felt so vast and eerie. The silence was pierced only by the occasional distant hum of the air conditioning. My heart raced as we approached the service exit, and I glanced back at Mark, his face etched with determination. He had risked his job, perhaps even his life, for me, and I knew I couldn't let him down.

As we reached the door, I heard the faint sound of footsteps growing closer. Panic surged through me, and I clutched the crutches tighter. It was her—Dr. Valerie. Her eyes grew wide when she saw us, the mask of calmness slipping from her face, revealing the madness beneath. "Y/N," she called, her voice strained. "Where are you going?"

I didn't bother to answer, knowing that any words would only fuel her obsession. I pushed forward with Mark at my side, adrenaline masking the pain in my leg. We reached the exit, and he fumbled with the lock. The footsteps grew louder, and I knew she was almost upon us. "Hurry," I whispered, my voice tight with fear.

But it was too late. Dr. Valerie rounded the corner, her eyes wild and desperate. "You can't leave me," she said, her voice a mix of anger and despair. Mark stepped in front of me, his body tense. He tried to reason with her, but her eyes never left me. "Please, Dr. Valerie, just let her go," he pleaded.

Without warning, she lunged at us. The sound of her fist connecting with Mark's face was like a gunshot in the silence. He staggered back, and she pounced again, her hands clawing at his neck. His eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe, his grip on the crutches slipping away. I watched in horror as she squeezed tighter, her face a mask of rage. The crutches clattered to the floor, and the echo seemed to bounce through the corridor forever.

I tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat. She was too strong, too determined. Mark's body went limp, and she dropped him to the ground, her eyes never leaving me. "You can't have her," she growled, her voice thick with malice. "You never deserved her."

Valerie's grip on my arm tightened as she dragged me back towards my room. The pain in my leg was forgotten as fear took over. I could feel her mental state unraveling, the warmth of her hand turning cold and vice-like. She was no longer the calm, caring doctor I had once trusted; she was a woman on the edge, her emotions a tumultuous storm that could sweep me away at any moment. The way she spoke, her voice rising and falling with the ferocity of a tornado, was chilling.

"You don't know how much I care for you," she whispered in my ear, her breath hot against my neck. "How much I need you to stay with me."

Her hand slid up my arm, her grip loosening slightly as she pulled me closer. I felt a shiver of revulsion, but also something else. A strange, dark thrill that I hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that I knew was wrong but couldn't help but acknowledge. She leaned in, her eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I saw the woman she had once been—kind, gentle, caring. But the madness had taken her, and there was no going back.

Her breath was sweet, tinged with the faint scent of antiseptic. She whispered, "I know you feel it too," her voice a seductive purr. "The connection between us." Her thumb traced a line along my jaw, and despite myself, I felt a flutter in my chest. "Let me take care of you," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. "I'll make sure you never feel pain again."

Her hand slid down to my neck, her fingers tracing the pulse point that hammered in time with my racing heart. The heat from her body was suffocating, but I couldn't pull away. It was as if she had some sort of hold on me, a power that I didn't fully understand. "You need me, Y/N," she breathed, her eyes searching mine. "And I need you."

The air grew thick with an unspoken tension as she leaned closer, her lips brushing against my cheek. The line between comfort and fear blurred, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I felt a strange warmth spread through me, a reaction I didn't anticipate. Was this what she wanted? To control not just my body but my very thoughts and feelings? The realization was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Her hand slid from my neck to the collar of my hospital gown, her eyes dark with an intensity that was difficult to resist. Her gaze searched mine, looking for any hint of permission, any glimmer of willingness. I could feel her breath against my skin, and for a moment, I was torn between the urge to push her away and the curiosity that whispered, "What if?" Her thumb grazed my collarbone, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. The pain in my leg was a distant memory, replaced by the heat of her touch.

"Don't fight it," she murmured, her voice a sweet seduction. "Let me heal you, inside and out."

Her hand traveled lower, tracing the line of my collarbone to the hollow of my throat. My breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of a blush spreading across my cheeks. The rational part of me screamed to resist, but the part that craved the pain to end was drawn to her touch. She leaned closer, her lips hovering just above mine. "You know you want this," she whispered, her eyes a dark pool that I was dangerously close to drowning in.

Her thumb caressed my bottom lip, and she leaned in to kiss me, her mouth pressing against mine with a desperation that sent a shockwave through my body. Her kiss was demanding, possessive, and I could feel her hunger for me in every stroke of her tongue. I tried to push her away, but my arms felt like lead, trapped by the crutches and the haze of the pain medication.

As our kiss deepened, Valerie's hand traveled down my body, her fingers dancing along my side, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. She pulled away briefly, her eyes searching mine for any sign of protest. When she found none, she took it as encouragement, her hand moving to the waistband of my hospital gown. She gently tugged it down, exposing my chest to the cool air of the room.

Her touch grew bolder as she cupped my breast, her thumb circling my nipple. I gasped, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through me. The shock of the intimacy washed away the last of my fear, and I found myself responding to her touch, my body betraying the screams of my mind. Her kiss grew more insistent, and she pushed me back onto the bed, her weight pressing down on me.

Her hand slid down to my thigh, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. She whispered sweet nothings into my ear, calling me her "good girl," her "perfect patient." It was as if she had become my mother, my lover, and my captor all rolled into one. The realization was jarring, but the warmth of her hand against my skin was undeniable. The pain in my leg was forgotten, replaced by the ache between my thighs that grew with every passing second.

Her hand moved further, brushing against the fabric of my underwear. I should have felt violated, but instead, a strange warmth spread through me. Her eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of resistance, but all she found was a mix of confusion and need. My body was responding to her touch despite the horror of the situation, and it was like watching a train wreck—I couldn't look away, even though I knew it was wrong.

Valerie's voice grew softer, more tender. "You're mine," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "Mine to heal, mine to love, mine to keep." It was like a twisted lullaby, and my body seemed to melt under the weight of her words. Her hand slid under the fabric, her fingers finding their way to the sensitive folds of my sex. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my mind racing with the wrongness of it all, but my body arching into her touch.

Her eyes searched my face for any sign of protest, and when she found none, she grew bolder, her fingers moving with more purpose. She stroked me slowly, almost gently, whispering sweet nothings about how much she cared for me, how she'd always be there to protect me. It was a strange, twisted form of comfort, and I found myself responding, my hips moving in time with her touch. Her thumb brushed over my clit, and a bolt of pleasure shot through me, making me gasp.

Her hand grew more insistent, her strokes more confident as she played my body like a finely tuned instrument. "Good girl," she murmured, her eyes dark with a mix of lust and something that looked eerily like love. "You're doing so well for mommy." The words sent a shiver down my spine, but the sensation was too intense to push away. She leaned down to kiss me again, her tongue delving into my mouth as her hand worked its magic. It was wrong, so wrong, but the pleasure was too intense to deny.

Her other hand slid up my thigh, pushing the fabric of my underwear aside. The coolness of her fingers against my skin was a stark contrast to the heat that was building within me. She slid a finger inside, and I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips. She smirked, knowing she had me in her thrall. "You like that, don't you?" she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "You're going to come for mommy, aren't you?"

I tried to shake my head, to find the strength to push her away, but my body had other ideas. It was as if I was under a spell, unable to resist the dark allure of her touch. My hips bucked against her hand, and she chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Look at you, so eager," she murmured, her voice a sweet, twisted symphony of madness. "You need this, don't you?"

Her fingers worked me expertly, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. I felt like I was drowning, but instead of fighting for air, I was fighting for release. The orgasm built within me, a crescendo of pleasure that was laced with fear. I couldn't help the whimpers that escaped my lips as she brought me closer and closer to the brink. "That's it," she cooed, her eyes gleaming. "Come for me, baby."

And just like that, I did. The world around us shattered into a million pieces as I climaxed under her touch, my body arching off the bed. She watched me with a hungry expression, her eyes never leaving mine as I rode out the waves of pleasure. When it was over, she pulled her hand away, her eyes never leaving mine. She leaned down and kissed me softly, her tongue tracing the seam of my lips. "Mine," she murmured, her voice a possessive growl that sent a thrill through me.

But then, just as quickly as it had come, the pleasure was replaced by horror. I saw the madness in her eyes, the reality of what was happening crashing down around me. "You can't have me," I whispered, pushing her away with all the strength I could muster. "Please, stop."

Valerie's expression twisted into something unrecognizable, a mix of anger and despair. "You don't understand," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're mine. I can't lose you."

Her grip on my arm tightened as she leaned closer, her eyes searching mine. But instead of finding the love and devotion she craved, she saw only fear and horror. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and for a moment, I almost felt pity for her. But then she did something that would change everything.

With a sudden jerk, she pulled a scalpel from her pocket. The cold metal glinted under the harsh hospital lights, and I realized that she had been holding onto it the entire time. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice a desperate whisper. "Always mine."

Panic surged through me as I tried to scramble away, but my legs, weak from disuse, wouldn't cooperate. Her grip was like iron, keeping me in place. She brought the scalpel to her own neck, her eyes never leaving mine. "You don't understand," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "If I can't have you, no one can."

The world moved in slow motion as she pressed the blade to her skin. I could see the tremor in her hand, the doubt in her eyes. "Valerie, no," I whispered, my voice barely audible. But she didn't listen. She was lost in her own delusions, her mind consumed by the madness that had been festering for so long.

With one swift motion, she drew the scalpel across her neck, the sound of tearing flesh echoing through the room. I screamed, my eyes wide with horror as blood spurted from the gaping wound. Her eyes never left mine, a look of pained acceptance crossing her features as she crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stand still as the crimson pool grew around her, the smell of copper thick in the air.

The sound of pounding footsteps grew louder, and suddenly, the door burst open. Cops flooded the room, their eyes wide with shock at the sight before them. They rushed to Valerie, but it was too late. They looked to me, and I could see the questions in their eyes, but all I could do was shake my head, tears streaming down my face. I couldn't tell them the truth, not like this. Not now.

They secured the area, checking for any other threats, but there were none. It was just me, the lifeless body of Dr. Valerie, and the weight of what had just happened. The room spun as they helped me off the bed, the pain in my leg forgotten in the face of the horror. The crutches lay discarded on the floor, a symbol of the escape I had so desperately sought.

The cops led me through the hospital, their expressions a mix of shock and concern. The quietness was now pierced by the sirens outside, a stark reminder of the reality that was crashing down around me. Mark lay unconscious in the hallway, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for involving him. But he had chosen to stand up to Valerie, to help me. He was a hero, even if he didn't make it out unscathed.

As we reached the exit, the cool night air hit me like a slap in the face. The world outside was alive, oblivious to the horror that had unfolded within the hospital walls. The cops helped me into the back of an ambulance, their gentle touches a stark contrast to Valerie's possessive grip. I watched as they tried to revive Mark, their faces grim as they worked.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with every second that passed. The hospital had become a crime scene, a place of nightmares rather than healing. I could see the flashing lights through the window, a chaotic dance of blue and red that painted the night sky. My heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of the escape, but from the fear of what was to come. Would they believe me? Would they understand the depths of Valerie's obsession?

The cops ushered me into the ambulance, their faces a blur of concern and confusion. They asked me questions, but I could only murmur responses, my mind reeling from the events of the night. The doors slammed shut, and we sped away from the hospital, leaving the horror behind. The cold night air was a stark contrast to the stifling warmth of the hospital, and it brought with it a sense of relief and a newfound hope for freedom.

As the sirens grew faint in the distance, the reality of what had happened began to settle over me like a heavy blanket. Valerie was gone, but the memory of her touch lingered on my skin, a ghostly reminder of the twisted love she had claimed. I watched the hospital shrink in the rearview mirror, feeling a mix of grief and relief. She had taken her own life rather than let me go, a final act of desperation that cemented her madness in my mind.

As the ambulance pulled away, I watched the hospital grow smaller and smaller in the distance, the sirens a mournful wail that seemed to carry the weight of the world. I was safe, but the cost had been too high. Mark was still back there, fighting for his life because of me, and Valerie... Valerie was gone, lost to the madness she couldn't control. The thought of her lying in a pool of her own blood was almost too much to bear, but I knew it was what she had wanted. She had chosen this path, and there was no turning back.

The cops had asked me questions, but I had given them only the bare minimum. I couldn't bring myself to tell them everything, not yet. The words felt like bile in my throat, a confession that would only serve to tarnish her memory further. They had found the note, the one that had started it all, the one that had led to this twisted dance of obsession and fear. It was a confession of her love, a declaration of her madness, and now it was evidence of a crime. But what crime had she really committed? The act of loving too much? The desperation that had driven her to this?

The news reports were already rolling in, a constant barrage of speculation and half-truths. They talked of Dr. Valerie, the dedicated doctor who had taken her own life in the abandoned hospital. They spoke of her as a tragic figure, a woman who had been pushed to the brink by the weight of the world. They didn't mention me, the girl she had tried to keep, the girl who had ultimately been the catalyst for her downfall. It was a small mercy, but it didn't change the fact that she was gone.

Days passed in a blur of pain and medication as I lay in my own bed, surrounded by the warmth and safety of my family. The TV in the corner of the room was a constant reminder of the world outside, the news playing on a loop. Dr. Valerie's face, twisted in agony, haunted the screens. The reporters painted her as a tragic hero, a doctor who had lost her mind trying to save her patients. They talked of her dedication, her kindness, and her gentle touch. But they didn't know the truth, the darkness that had lurked behind her smile.

My mother held my hand, her eyes filled with worry and love as she watched me struggle to come to terms with what had happened. She didn't know the extent of Valerie's obsession, the lengths she had gone to keep me within her grasp. I couldn't bring myself to tell her, not yet. The words felt heavy, a burden I wasn't ready to share. Instead, I listened as they spoke of the hospital's closure and the subsequent investigation. The whispers of foul play had been silenced by the narrative of a doctor who had simply snapped under pressure.

The news reports painted Valerie as a martyr, a tragic hero who had given her all to her patients and lost herself in the process. They talked of her tireless work ethic, her dedication to her craft, and the lives she had saved. The public had latched onto the story, weaving it into a tapestry of sorrow and loss that didn't quite fit the reality of her madness. In their eyes, she was a saint who had made a terrible mistake, not the monster that had held me captive and tried to take my innocence.

[theywereafairy]

party 4 u

⋆˚࿔ Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Wordcount: 7.9k Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

Had to keep writing this mess of a love story after part one, oops. Charli XCX continues to haunt this fic 💋 This is Part two so read Part 1 if you wanna know wth is going on here

⋆˚࿔ Summary: It’s been a week since your birthday, and since Joel Miller kissed you breathless, swore it was the last time, and then showed up anyway. Now you're texting daily, sneaking touches and looks you shouldn’t want as badly as you do. But when your dad throws a summer garden party and asks Joel to help set up, the tension becomes unbearable. Between stolen moments, nosy friends, and the fear of being found out, something has to give. And maybe… something real begins.

⋆˚࿔ Warnings: Age gap (reader mid-late 20s / Joel 50s) • established secret relationship • mutual pining • teasing • dirty talk (suggestive, soft dom) • sexual tension • kitchen counter sex (light detail) • soft!possessive!Joel • "daddy" nickname (light) • emotionally attached idiots • friends getting suspicious • fluff and filth in equal measure • kissing that ruins lives • baking innuendo • afterglow talks • making it official(?? 👀)

⋆˚࿔ Author’s Note: So I was only supposed to write two parts of this fic… but um. Yeah. There's definitely a part three in the work now because I love these two dumb idiots too much to stop. Thank you so much for the love on part one. Your reblogs, comments, and hearts truly made me emotional 🥹💘 If you’re screaming, crying, or throwing up over this one too, feel free to tell me in the tags or drop by my ask box. I’d love to hear what you think!!

It had grown warmer lately. Not quite the kind of warmth that made you reach for the thinner, silky duvet tucked at the back of your closet, but just enough to leave the window open at night, letting in the soft rustle of spring air and the faint scent of blooming grass from the yard below. The chill wasn’t gone, it still nipped at your toes when you kicked a leg free from under the covers, but it had softened, mellowed into something bearable.

From the headboard of your bed, you had a perfect view of the sky. The stars were clear tonight, scattered across the dark like spilled glitter. You used to love lying there on nights like this, staring up at them, letting the silence wrap around you like something holy. But for the past week, you hadn’t looked at the sky once.

Instead, your gaze was always tilted the other way, toward the nightstand, to the screen of your phone that rested there face-up, dimmed but never silent, like it was holding its breath, waiting for him. And god, the way you smiled when you saw his name. It was almost embarrassing. Your cheeks ached with it sometimes, muscles sore from curling upward all day long, the kind of grin you caught yourself wearing in mirrors or shop windows, like some teenager in love for the first time.

Joel had been texting you. A lot. Every morning, every night. His messages weren’t long, just a few words, usually, but they stayed with you. Hung in the air.

“Wish you were here.” “Show me what you’re wearing, baby.”“Miss you.”

You answered with the same kind of warmth and short replies. Little jokes. Blurry pictures from bed. The kind of casual intimacy that didn’t feel casual at all. And every time his name lit up your phone, something in your chest tugged tight, sweet and aching.

You knew words weren’t Joel’s strong suit. He wasn’t one for long paragraphs or flowery declarations. But he tried. You could feel it. In the way he checked in. The way he said goodnight. The way he called you baby more often than your name.

And sometimes, when you felt particularly soft, or particularly lonely, you’d sit in front of your mirror, legs bare, t-shirt hitched up just high enough to tease, your fingers trembling slightly as you angled your phone. Your body. His jacket in the background, still hanging from your door. You’d send him the photo and pretend it didn’t make your pulse race while waiting for the reply.

The first time he sent a voice message, you’d thought it was a mistake, just static, the low hum of his truck, a distant mutter. You were about to make fun at him for not knowing how to handle a phone when a second one came in. 

This time with his voice. Low. Quiet. Still rough from sleep or work or, you hoped, the weight of missing you.

“Hey, darlin’. Just figured out you can talk into that thing. Hope you know you’re mine. And you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You’d thrown your phone across the bed, face hot, heart thudding like he’d whispered it into your ear. There was something about it, about him, that felt dangerous and soft all at once. Like a secret you wanted to keep and scream at the same time. It wasn’t official. It wasn’t defined. But the word relationship still floated into your mind sometimes, uninvited but impossible to ignore. 

It lingered there. In the curve of a smile. In the pause before a voice message. In the quiet between stars outside your window and the glow of your phone screen that never quite let you sleep.

On Monday evening, the sky held that soft, bruised pink color that only appeared in late spring, when the air was just beginning to forget winter. The streets were quiet, fading gold light streaking across sidewalks and car hoods, and the last stubborn patches of snow had finally melted into memory.

Riley and Nico had invited you out, insisting you owed them “a full-bodied catch-up” and “at least two rounds of drinks.” You hadn’t hesitated to say yes, but you hadn’t realized until you were halfway there where exactly they’d suggested meeting.

The bar. That bar.

The one where Joel had fucked you into the backseat of his truck like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you in his mouth. Like he was trying to replace every thought in your brain with the sound of his name. You didn’t even have to step inside to feel it. Just walking past the parking lot made your skin prickle, heat blooming in your cheeks as if your body remembered more vividly than your mind allowed. 

Inside, everything was exactly the same. Warm, low light. The clink of ice against glass. That same vaguely sticky table by the window, where Riley was already waving at you like she hadn’t just sent three “where are you bitch” texts. You slid into the booth with a practiced smile and ordered your usual, familiar words falling from your lips like you hadn’t been completely somewhere else in your mind.

Riley and Nico were mid-story, something about a coworker who wore crocs with toe rings, their laughter effortless and overlapping. You let yourself settle into it. Let their voices carry you. You needed that, something easy. To take your mind off him.

Time passed like it always did with them: quietly chaotic, a little off-key, and sweet in the way only long friendships can be. Drinks were ordered, stories got sloppier, and before long the three of you were leaning into each other across the table, tipsy and tangled in laughter.

Eventually, you slipped away to the bathroom. Your hands found the cold porcelain of the sink before your mind caught up, your reflection already waiting. It startled you how different you looked. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet shift of someone who had been kissed like a promise.

Your eyes looked… soft. Your mouth, a little fuller than usual, as if it hadn’t quite recovered from being claimed. There were no smudges tonight. No mascara trails. No red-rimmed confessions buried in tissue. Just you, looking back at yourself. A little happier.

When you returned to the booth, something had changed..

Riley and Nico went still, just for a beat. One of those silence-cracks-open moments. Then they looked at each other, and whatever passed between them was immediate and loaded. You didn’t sit so much as slide into place, your pulse picking up as they turned their attention toward you with synchronized smirks.

“So,” Riley said, stretching the word like taffy. Her voice was too casual to be casual. “Anything new in the romance department, lately?”

You froze for half a breath,long enough for Nico to snort.

“She’s been glued to her phone all night,” he said, lifting his glass. “That shit-eating grin is practically trademarked by now. Someone’s been texting you. A lot.”

Your face betrayed you immediately. The heat crept up your neck, uninvited and obvious, your smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you could stop it. You reached for your drink.

“Nothing’s going on.” You said it too quickly. Too practiced.

Liar. And they both knew it.

Riley raised an eyebrow, leaning in like a lion scenting something delicious. “Mhm. Sure. You just randomly decided to radiate that freshly in love and smitten energy ?”

You laughed, too high and too nervous. “I’ve just been in a good mood, okay?”

Nico leaned back, swirling the last of his drink. “Sure you have. Good moods don’t make people blush when they walk past a parking lot.”

That pulled your eyes up fast. He smiled sweetly. Gotcha.

Riley gasped. “Oh my god. Wait, is it someone here? Like here in town?”

You rolled your eyes. “There’s, like, fifteen people in this town, Riley.”

“Exactly!” she shot back. “That narrows it down. Give us a hint. Do we know him?”

“Her?” Nico added, raising a brow.

You shook your head, laughing, warm and cornered. “No. No one. I swear.”

“You’re glowing,” Riley said, drawing the word out with a sing-song lilt. “You don’t just wake up one day looking freshly fucked and emotionally fed.”

You nearly choked on your drink. They laughed like demons. Nice demons.  And still, you didn’t tell them. Not because you didn’t trust them. But because this thing between you and Joel? It was still new. Still vulnerable. Like a candle flickering under too much wind. You didn’t want to blow it out by naming it too soon. So instead, you laughed with them. Let them tease. Let your smile curl soft and secret around the truth sitting in your chest like a precious little fire.

By midnight, the bar had filled out.

Clusters of teenagers, clearly underage, but no one really checked in towns like this, lined the walls, sloshing cheap beer into half-laughs. The air was louder now, more golden, humid with bodies and too many voices competing for space.

The door swung open again, a sharp gust of night air cutting through the warmth, and you glanced up out of habit. Your father walked in first, his presence as familiar as ever. Broad frame, easy smile, nodding to the bartender like they’d known each other for thirty years. And they probably have.  But it was the man behind him who made your lungs forget how to work.

Joel.

You spotted him instantly. Those eyes—dark, slow-burning, always searching. The weight of his gaze settled on you like gravity.

And just like that, your spine straightened. Shoulders lifted. Smile pulling at your lips, blooming before you could stop it.

“Hi, daddyyy,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables in a tone far too flirtatious for the word, your drunk self tipping just past decency. It was directed towards your dad, your father. Still the irony wasn’t lost on you. 

Riley snorted into her glass. Behind your father, Joel lingered in the doorway for a second longer, scanning the crowd before his eyes landed on yours again. He looked… devastating. The soft bar light slid across his salt-and-pepper hair, caught the edges of his jaw, his cheekbones. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, strong forearms on display, broad chest beneath layers you already knew the shape of.

Your heart thudded. Your thighs clenched. And in your slightly hazy, alcohol-warmed state, he looked like something you might’ve dreamed up if you were alone.

He lifted a hand in greeting. Just a small wave, fingers barely twitching. But the softness in it? The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? You were a fucking goner. You didn’t see your friends staring until it was too late. Didn’t notice the way their heads whipped between you and Joel like spectators at a tennis match.

“You’re fucking joking,” Nico whispered, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“Oh my god,” Riley giggled, her chin propped on her hand, gaze sharp as a blade. “You slut.”

You blinked. Slowly. Smiled into your glass. Too late to deny it now. 

Your face had already betrayed you, the way your eyes sparkled, the curve of your lips. You probably looked like a lovestruck cartoon character, heart-shaped stars beaming from your sockets. They had been your friends for too long, not to notice. 

Nico leaned closer, voice lowered to a hiss, eyes gleaming. “You’re not fucking Joel Miller.”

You cleared your throat. Shrugged. Stared deeply into the last inch of your drink like it could swallow the room whole.

They burst into laughter. Unhinged, tipsy, delighted laughter, like they’d just uncovered the town’s juiciest secret. Which, okay, maybe they had.

“Holy shit,” Nico said between giggles. “That guy is like, what, twice your age?”

“And your dad’s friend,” Riley added gleefully, her mouth curling into a devil’s grin. “Jesus Christ. That’s so hot.”

Your face was on fire. You could feel the blush blooming from your chest to your ears.

“Okay,” you said, cutting them off before your body spontaneously combusted. “Yes. We’ve been… seeing each other. It’s not official. Yet. I don’t know. But it’s going well. He’s…he’s a good guy.”

You glanced up, instinctively, and there he was again. Still watching you from across the room, only half-listening to whatever your father was saying. 

“And before either of you give me some moral lecture,” you added, narrowing your eyes, “there’s nothing you could say that he hasn’t already said to me himself. So keep it.”

There was a pause. 

“Oh, babe,” Nico said, practically beaming. “No lectures here. When I lived in New York, I slept with a dude who was, like, pushing sixty. Honestly? Phenomenal. So no judgment.”

“But holy shit,” Riley murmured, eyes now fixed on Joel like she could see through his shirt. “He’s so fucking hot. Bet he just talks you through it. Doesn’t he? Like, filthy and soft?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Stop thirsting after my man.” You groaned, laughing despite yourself.

“Oh my god,” Nico whispered, fanning himself. “I bet he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for every year between you.”

You could feel the blood rushing to your face now. Your head might actually explode. Your brain, definitely melting.

“He…he’s very good,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. They screamed..

Your dad was now on his way over.  That easy, loping step you’d known your whole life, the slight sway in his hips that always appeared after his second beer. The warm weight of his presence cut through the haze of low lights and crowd chatter as he approached, voice carrying easily above the noise.

“Evenin’, kids,” he drawled, that deep Southern tone still sticky even after all these years. “Just wanted to make sure y’all’re gettin’ home alright. I’m headin’ out, but Joel’s still here if you need a ride.”

You blinked at him. Your drink froze halfway to your mouth.

Riley bit down a grin that was far too sharp for her glossed lips.

“Oh, I bet he’d love to give her a ride.”

You didn’t even think, your elbow shot out, hard and fast, slamming into her ribs. She gasped, wheezing like someone had taken the air right out of her lungs. “Jesus!”

Your dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it. Just pulled out his battered old wallet, creased leather and frayed stitching, slapping a fifty-dollar bill on the table.

“You kids be careful,” he said, tapping it once with two fingers. Then he tipped his chin in a lazy goodbye and turned, weaving his way toward the exit.

The second the door shut behind him, Riley sprang to her feet, drunk on power and tequila.

“Well,” she announced, eyes glinting. “Time to get your other daddy over here.”

You reached for her instantly, one hand flying to her shoulder. “No. Sit. Down.”

But it was too late.

“Mr. Miller!” she called, loud and unbothered, voice slicing across the room like a siren. “Can you come here for a sec?”

You nearly died. Like-actually. You could feel your soul begin to evaporate from your body. You were seconds away from melting through the floorboards and dissolving into the tile.

Joel looked up from across the room, his expression unreadable, though the slight pinch between his brows made it clear he knew something was up. His gaze flicked to Riley, then slid to you. Suspicious. But intrigued.He stood slowly, jaw tightening just enough to make your stomach twist. Then, eyes never leaving yours, he began to make his way toward you. Your pulse thudded in your ears. This was so not good.

The man  made his way toward your table with the kind of pace that felt deliberate, unhurried, but not casual either. Controlled. Like every step was calculated. His brows were slightly furrowed, jaw tense, the kind of look he wore when something didn’t sit quite right.

You kept your gaze fixed on your drink as if it could offer protection, your fingers wrapped tight around the glass like it was the only thing anchoring you to this plane of existence. He reached the table. Stopped. Didn’t say anything. He stood there like a question mark, his height suddenly more intimidating in the dim bar light, shadow cutting across the side of his face.

“You called, ma’am?” he said dryly, his voice dipped in Southern gravel, eyes flicking toward Riley with just enough amusement to pass as polite.

Nico took control. Without saying a word, he reached toward a nearby table, grabbed an empty chair, and dragged it over with a loud scrape that made you flinch. He gestured to it with the flair of someone offering a throne.

“Please. Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, easing into the chair with a familiar kind of weight, his broad shoulder brushing yours as he settled in. Warm. Solid. So close you could smell the cologne he always wore.

You stared at your drink. He stared straight ahead.

And then, his hand found your thigh under the table.

Your breath hitched, heart skittering into your throat. His palm was warm, fingers wide and deliberate as they curled around the meat of your thigh, squeezing once, firm, grounding—and then rubbing slow, tight circles like he had every right to touch you like that here, now, in front of everyone.

Your back straightened instinctively. No one said anything for a beat too long.

“So, Joel,” Nico said casually, swirling the melting ice in his drink. “How’s the… furniture business?”

You blinked. Furniture business? What was this man up to? Joel’s fingers didn’t stop. He answered smoothly, voice low and even. “Busy. Still backed up on custom work.” His thumb pressed just a little harder into your skin. “Hard to keep up with demand.”

Riley nodded, her chin in her hand, elbow on the table like she was interviewing a celebrity. “Mmm. I bet you keep… busy.” Her tone was definitely not something you had ever heard before. “You always seem like a hands-on kind of guy.”

Joel didn’t so much as flinch. Your friends were drunk. Too drunk to play it cool, but not drunk enough to shut up.

“I try,” he said, deadpan. “Comes with the territory.”

His hand inched higher on your thigh. You crossed your legs to stop yourself from making a sound.

“What about… evenings?” Nico chimed in, slouched low in his seat, a grin twitching at his lips. “You more of a homebody or… do you get out much?”

Joel smirked. You wanted to throw your drink at him. And then yourself.

“Depends,” he said, not looking at you. “If there’s good company.”

Riley’s gaze snapped to yours for a millisecond, then back to him. You lifted your glass to your mouth, more for cover than thirst.

Joel’s thumb dipped beneath the hem of your skirt, fingers dragging against bare skin now, the touch maddeningly slow. You stared straight ahead, refusing to react, heat blooming in your cheeks. This was torture. This was delicious. This was going to get you both killed.

Joel leaned back in his chair a little, relaxed, easy. You could feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves, like he was watching a show only he could understand.

“Anything else you two wanted to ask?” he said, so calm, so composed. “Or was this just a pop quiz?”

“Oh,” Nico answered, voice syrup-thick with suspicion. “Plenty more questions. We’re just warming up.”

You were already on fire. Every nerve was tuned to Joel’s touch, the slow drag of his fingers along your inner thigh, the way his thumb kept tracing tight, infuriating circles just above your knee. Close. Teasing. Possessive. And yet, from the outside? He looked perfectly calm. Unbothered. What a sly little bastard. 

“Mr. Miller,” Nico said again, too high pitched to be anything but suspicious. “Joel, remind me, how long have you known her dad?”

Joel tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hmm…. Since I moved here 5 years ago?”

“Wow,” Riley said. “That’s a long time. And you know her pretty well too?” She pointed at you. 

His fingers pushed up further, stroking the sensitive skin at the top of your thigh, so close to where you wanted him, you nearly gasped. You forced your jaw to stay clenched, took a slow sip from your drink, hoping it masked the shiver that ran down your spine.

Joel’s voice came low and lazy: „Mhm. Sometimes I think I know her better than her dad.” He turned slightly toward you then, finally, and under the table, slow, patient, he slipped his hand between your thighs.

You nearly knocked your glass over.

“Everything alright?” he murmured, just loud enough for only you to hear, like the smirk was embedded in his voice. You nodded, didn’t trust yourself to speak.

His fingers brushed up against the damp heat between your legs, finding the thin barrier of your panties. And then, slowly, like he had all the time in the world, he began to stroke you through the fabric. Confident and Steady.

Riley was still going, her drunk curiosity only growing. “You’re not dating anyone, are you, Mr Miller? A guy like you? I feel like you’d be married or something.”

His fingers pressed a little harder. You could feel the slickness already there, the ache building. And still, he didn’t let up. Kept a rhythm, like it was nothing.

“Nope,” he said simply, eyes on Riley now. “Not married. Not seein’ anyone, officially.”

You bit your lip so hard it stung.

Nico leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Not officially, huh? So… seeing someone unofficially?” Gaze flicking towards you.  Joel tilted his head, like he was actually thinking about it. Meanwhile, his fingers slipped under your panties. A soft exhale caught in your throat.

“Could say I’ve been… keepin’ company,” he drawled, rubbing slow, devastating circles over your clit with the pad of his finger. You twitched beside him, body tightening like a bowstring.

“Who?” Riley demanded, grinning. “Come on, don’t be shy. Someone local?” She knew the answer, that didn’t stop her from forcing it out of him. Daring him to say your name. 

Joel finally turned his head, looked right at you. And god, those eyes. The intensity. The knowledge. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice just a touch quieter. “Someone local.”

Your whole body pulsed at that. And then, he slid one finger into you. You clamped your thighs together on instinct, your hand flying to grip the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white.

“Jesus, you alright?” Nico asked, brow furrowed.

You nodded too quickly. “I’m ugh fine. Just… warm.”

Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. He was so composed, so fucking casual while his fingers moved inside you, slow and deep, curling just right like he knew every inch of you already. Which he did.

“Y’all got the heat on too high in here,” Joel added, looking around like this was just another evening with old friends. You almost laughed. Almost. If you weren’t seconds from making a sound that would get you both in trouble for something very indecent.

“Oh, I know who it is,” Riley said suddenly, pointing a dramatic finger at Joel. “It’s the bartender. Has to be. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Riley glared at you, sipping from the straw. 

Joel chuckled softly, thumb circling your clit again, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“She’s sweet,” he said mildly. “But not quite my type.” The man had the audacity to stare you down, let his eyes wander over your body.  You squeezed your eyes shut. You were so close. You could feel it coming on fast, that telltale pressure building low and hot and unrelenting.

Joel leaned toward you, his mouth brushing your ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Be good, baby. Cum nice and quiet for me.”

And so you did. Silently. Clenching around his fingers, your breath caught so deep in your chest it felt like falling. Heat rushed to your cheeks, your whole body trembling from restraint as you held back a sound that would’ve given you away instantly.

Joel let his fingers linger a moment longer. Then pulled back, slow and sweet, like he hadn’t just fingered you in a booth beside your clueless friends.

You kept your eyes on your glass, blinking hard, jaw clenched. Your legs were still shaking.

Casually, like he had just eaten something warm and delicious he lifted his finger to his mouth. In the right angle one could see the glistening on it. Eyes steady on yours he put it in his mouth, licked it, like there was  chocolate cream from a croissant left on it. You thought you could reach your height again, just from him doing so. If you were alone, not in a room full of people , your friends, you would’ve climbed him like a tree right now. God he was sexy. 

Nico tilted his head, looking at you closely.

“You look kinda… flushed.”

Joel smiled. “Think the tequila’s hitting her.”

You could have killed him. And married him. 

Joel sat back with the kind of ease that came from a man who’d just gotten away with something. One arm hooked lazily over the back of your chair, fingers ghosting along your shoulder like it was second nature. One still a bit damp from his spit. 

Riley’s gaze drifted from his hand to your flushed cheeks and back again, a slow smirk unfurling on her lips like a blooming flower in dangerous weather.

“Well,” she said, sipping her drink with exaggerated poise. “I must say, it’s nice when a man sticks around after flirting.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That right?”

Nico leaned in over the table, eyes glinting. “Oh, absolutely. Most men disappear after five minutes of banter.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You got something to say to me, Nico?”

“I’m saying,” Nico replied, lips curling upward, “you’ve clearly made yourself comfortable.”

His gaze flicked briefly to your knee, where Joel’s hand had rested not long ago, then met Joel’s again, unflinching. Joel met it head-on, his smirk softening into something quieter. Less smug. Almost fond.

“Comfort’s important,” he said simply. “Especially with the right crowd.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, then toward Riley, whose grin had lost its bite and settled into something sweeter. Protective, even. She reached across the table, tapping her fingers gently against yours.

“Just so you know,” she said, tone softer now, “if anyone gives you shit, we’ve got a shovel and alibis.”

Joel let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled more in his chest than in his throat. “Good to know.”

Nico tilted his glass in a mock-toast. “To mutual understanding. And, uh…whatever this is.” his hand waving between the two of you like he was shewing away a fly. 

You groaned, pressing your forehead to the table. “Can we not bring that up again?”

“Who said anything?” Riley teased, grinning wickedly. “We’re just impressed with his nice manners for such a…handsome guy, that’s all.”

Joel shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I like a hands-on project.”

Your head snapped up. “Joel.”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the twitch in his lip betrayed him.

There was laughter again. Easier this time. More full-bodied. It rippled through the group like the tension had finally exhaled.

No one said it out loud. No one needed to. They knew. He knew they knew. And they knew he knew they knew.

Joel met Riley’s gaze. Then Nico’s. His face serious for just a beat. “Thanks for… being decent about all this.”

“Hey,” Nico said, raising his brows, “she’s one of ours. You treat her like she deserves, then so far, so good.”

“She deserves a lot more than good,” Joel said, voice quiet but firm.

That shut everyone up for a moment. Riley looked at you. Nico smiled. And maybe your heart grew three sizes in the quiet between their smirks.

The ride home was the kind of chaos that only came after too much tequila, too many whispered confessions, and the unmistakable giddiness of something unraveled but somehow still intact.

Joel had slid behind the wheel without protest, hands steady on the steering wheel, his expression unreadable except for the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

“Your parents’d kill me, then hang me in the town square if I didn’t get y’all home safe,” he muttered as he adjusted the mirrors. His thumb hovered over the radio dial, turning up a soft hum of old rock that filled the silence without demanding anything from it.

In the backseat, Riley and Nico were a mess of limbs and laughter, swapping stories and half-hearted insults like they hadn’t just spent an hour flirting with the man now driving them home. You glanced into the rearview mirror once, catching Riley looking at you with a knowing smirk before dissolving into giggles at something Nico said.

He dropped Nico off first, who, despite being half-asleep, still gave Joel a dramatic salute and thanked him with the exaggerated. Then Riley, who took her sweet time opening the truck door, only to lean forward and whisper, just loud enough for you to hear:

“Night, Mr. Miller.”

You could practically hear the wink in her voice.

Joel watched her walk up the path, arms crossed lightly over the steering wheel, headlights catching her silhouette as she disappeared through the front door and closed it behind her.

“She’s a riot,” he said, still watching.

A beat of silence passed. Then, finally, he spoke to you again.

“They’re nice kids.”

You frowned, something about the word catching you sideways. “They’re not kids.”

A pause. “They’re my age.”

That made him smile. Small. Almost guilty. “You’re right,” he said, nodding as he pulled the truck back into gear. “Nice adults, then.”

Your dads house came into view a moment later, the headlights throwing long shadows across the front steps, illuminating the familiar shapes of your porch, your door, your little piece of the world. The truck idled at the curb, humming beneath you both.

Neither of you moved. Joel reached over. Slowly. Carefully. His hand, big and warm and rough from years of use, cupped your cheek like it was something delicate, something worth holding. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasn’t hurried or possessive. It was slow. Sweet. Full of restraint and promise, like he was saying something he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured against your mouth. “Sleep tight.”

You smiled, cheeks hot and glowing, eyes suddenly too full. It was ridiculous how giddy you felt, like a schoolgirl with a secret scribbled heart on her notebook, like a girl kissed for the very first time.

Your fingers lifted instinctively, carding through his hair once, just enough to feel the soft give of it beneath your palm.

“Night, Joel,” you whispered. Then added, a little breathless, “This… was nice. Is nice.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that unreadable expression as you opened the door and stepped out into the night. From the porch, you turned back once, and he was still there. Hands resting on the wheel, eyes steady on you.

The first truly hot day of the year arrived like a dare, bold and bright, stretching itself across the sky with no intention of being polite. Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows in wide golden strokes, warming the tiled floor beneath your bare feet. The house smelled like sugar and lemon zest, like heat and childhood, like something good was about to happen even if you didn’t quite believe it yet.

Your hair was pulled up loosely, little strands clinging to the sweat gathering at your nape as you leaned over the counter, fingers dusted in flour, cheeks pink with the kind of effort that made you feel useful Grounded. Not at all like a girl who’d been letting her father’s best friend ruin her in increasingly inventive ways.

Your dad came in from the yard with a huff, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt. “That patio’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, moving toward the fridge like he was mid-monologue in some invisible sitcom. “Can’t keep the damn boards level with this heat warping everything.”

You glanced over your shoulder, flicking a bit of flour at him playfully. “You said the same thing last summer.”

“And I’ll say it again next summer too, unless I finally break a hip out there,” he grumbled, though the smile on his face gave him away. “I should’ve replaced it years ago. The whole damn thing’s more crooked than a politician.”

You laughed softly and returned to smoothing out the pie dough you’d been working on, peach and raspberry, thick brown sugar crumbles waiting in a bowl nearby. “Want me to help when I’m done?”

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “Called Joel. He owes me a favor, anyway. Figured the two of us could knock it out before the party tomorrow.”

Your hands stilled. Your heart didn’t. He said it so casually, like Joel Miller wasn’t the man you’d just sent a very explicit picture to two nights ago. Like he hadn’t once muttered your name into your shoulder while gripping your hips like you were salvation.

“Right,” you said, dusting your hands off a little too briskly. “Good idea.”

The door creaked open fifteen minutes later, heavy boots stepping onto the wooden floor, and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

Joel’s presence always came in waves. First the scent, sawdust and soap and a hint of sun-warmed cotton. Then the weight of his gaze, always anchored, always aware. Like even when he wasn’t touching you, he was holding something.

“Where’s the patient?” he asked casually, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them onto his collar.

“Backyard,” your dad replied, grabbing a pair of gloves from the drawer. “She’s looking worse than ever.”

Joel didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“Didn’t realize you had a baker in the house,” he said, stepping closer, voice laced with easy amusement. “Smells like summer in here.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt the corners of your mouth curve. “Peach raspberry. Don’t even think about stealing any.”

“Oh, I’m not thinking about it,” Joel murmured, already reaching out.

Your dad slapped his wrist, laughing. “Get your hands off her pie, Miller. You’re not that charming.”

Joel grinned, feigned innocence, and held his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll earn it first.”

He moved toward the back door, but not before passing close behind you, fingers grazing the small of your back in a touch so light it could’ve been imagined. But it wasn’t. You knew his touch like you knew the sound of your name. That one little stroke sent your stomach into knots. You caught his smirk just as he stepped outside.

From the window above the sink, you watched them work, your dad kneeling by the warped boards, Joel crouched beside him in a grey t-shirt gone almost translucent with sweat. His shoulders stretched the fabric taut, veins in his forearms flexing as he braced a beam and held it in place. Every now and then, he’d wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, eyes squinting against the sun. You leaned into the counter, lips parted slightly, and let yourself stare.

When your dad went inside to grab a new drill bit, Joel glanced up at the window, straight at you. You didn’t move. Neither did he. Then he winked. By the time your dad returned to the yard, you were already pretending to rinse off mixing bowls.

“I’m gonna run into town real quick,” your dad called through the open door. “Outta beer and the grill won’t start without a goddamn lighter. You good here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, careful to keep your tone even. “We’re good.”

The front door clicked shut behind him.

Outside, Joel straightened slowly. Turned. And headed for the house. The silence that followed was thick. Heavy with heat. With possibility. With the kind of tension that only ever led to one thing.

Your heart beat faster. Your hands were still sticky with dough. And Joel Miller was coming inside. The screen door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn right away, just stirred the glaze in the small saucepan on the stove, slow and lazy, like you hadn’t been watching him like a woman possessed for the past hour.

When you did glance back, Joel was already halfway into the kitchen, shirt sticking to his chest, hair damp from sweat, forearms streaked with dirt and effort. His eyes landed on you with purpose.

“Hi,” he said, voice low, curling sweet around the word like syrup. You smiled, just a little wicked.

“Hi, sexy stranger.”

He huffed out a laugh, closing the door behind him with his boot. “Stranger, huh?”

You tilted your head, licking a smear of sugar off your thumb. “Haven’t seen you in, what, thirty minutes? Felt like a lifetime.”

“Mm,” he drawled, stepping closer, hands hooking into his back pockets like he was trying not to touch you. “Could’ve sworn I caught you starin’ at me through the window.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe I was just admiring your carpentry skills.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean the way I hold a drill or the way my shirt stuck to my back?”

Your eyes flicked over him, slowly, deliberately. “Both. Very educational.”

Joel shook his head, smirking like he didn’t stand a chance and knew it.

“Don’t you have a cake to bake or somethin’?” he said, nodding to the half-assembled dish beside you.

“Still gotta put it in the oven,” you said, licking your lower lip unconsciously. “But I’ve got time.”

Joel stepped closer, his hand brushing against the back of your waist, warm and rough and grounding.

“That so?” he murmured. “Cause from where I’m standin’, that cake can wait.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but didn’t get the chance. He leaned in and kissed you. It started soft, tentative, like he was still pretending to behave, but it melted fast. His lips parted yours with an easy, aching hunger, fingers pressing into your waist like he couldn’t bear the distance anymore. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

You gasped when his hands gripped your thighs, strong and purposeful, and he lifted you onto the counter in one smooth motion, like you weighed nothing. The cool marble kissed the back of your legs; the heat between you made everything else irrelevant.

“Joel” you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just an inch, breath brushing your cheek.

“Joel” you breathed again, hands curling around the edge of the counter, “what if…what if my dad comes back?”

Your voice was shaky, not quite convincing even to yourself. He was already kissing down the side of your neck, lips dragging slow and hot against your pulse, and your thighs were trembling from how he stood between them, broad, solid, unbothered.

“He won’t,” Joel murmured, barely lifting his mouth. The words came like a hum against your skin. “And if he does…”

He kissed under your jaw. Bit there. Licked the sting away. “Let him.”

You gasped. The words hit low, coiling between your legs like they’d been custom-designed to make you ache. Joel pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, that signature half-smirk ghosting across his face, pupils dark and fixed on you like he was watching you come undone molecule by molecule. His hands, calloused and warm, slid slowly up your thighs, over the flour-dusted hem of your sundress, fingers spreading you apart like instinct.

“You think I haven’t been dreaming about this?” he muttered, voice thick, Southern and filthy. “This pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs while you bake for me? Like you knew what it’d do to me?”

You swallowed hard. Your chest rose and fell faster now. He didn’t wait. His hands pushed the fabric higher, bunching it around your hips, the heat of his palms branding your skin as he pressed between your legs, the grind of his jeans against your panties making your back arch. 

“Should’ve known you’d be soaked for me the second I walked in,” he rasped, eyes dragging down to where your thighs were parted around him. “Knew you were watchin’. Knew you wanted me.”

You whimpered, hips instinctively chasing his rhythm. The pressure, the friction, the way he was still fully clothed while you were unraveling, it was maddening.

He kissed you again, deeper now, tongue pushing past your lips like he had something to claim, and he did. His hands slid up, fingers brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders, exposing you slowly, reverently, like unwrapping a gift he’d waited too damn long to touch.

“You still worried about your dad?” he murmured against your mouth, voice gone to gravel.

You shook your head. He grinned, one hand teasing over your chest, thumb flicking against your nipple through the lace of your bra.

“Didn’t think so.”

His fingers slid slow and deliberate beneath the hem of your dress, rough palms pressing your thighs apart with a quiet command that stole the breath right from your lungs.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low and unhurried. His lips brushed your ear, warm and wicked. “That mouth of yours usually has so much to say.”

You shivered, hands gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. He rocked forward just enough for you to feel the heavy pressure of his cock, still clothed, pressing against the soft heat between your legs. Your head tipped back with a shaky gasp.

“Joel” you breathed, needy, lost in the friction.

He chuckled. God, he sounded smug. Dark. Controlled. “That ain’t what you usually call me, baby.”

You blinked, dazed, lips parted.

“What is it you like to call me, hmm?” He grazed his nose along your cheek. “Use your words.”

Your thighs tightened around his hips.

“…Daddy.”

The word left your mouth like a confession. 

Joel growled low in his throat, hands gripping your waist, grounding you to him. “That’s more like it,” he whispered, hips rolling in a slow, devastating rhythm. “My good girl.”

He undressed you like he was unwrapping something precious, like time didn’t matter, like the world outside the walls could wait. Every inch of fabric he pulled away was followed by a kiss, a touch, the scrape of stubble across soft skin. When you were bare beneath him, panting, trembling, he paused to look at you.

And that look—hungry and reverent, like you were something he’d built with his own hands and meant to worship—burned hotter than the sun outside.

“You want me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes locked on yours. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you whispered, breathless. “I want you to, Joel, please…”

He kissed you before you could finish, one hand sliding behind your back, the other guiding your hips toward him, aligning every aching part of you until you gasped his name like a prayer.

The moment he pushed forward, slow, thick, deep, you broke. Not loud. Not obscene. Just a soft, cracked moan that curled around his name like it was the only word you knew.

He moved slowly at first, savoring it. Savoring you. His hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, your foreheads pressed together, breath shared, the heat between you messy and unrelenting.

“Goddamn,” he groaned against your skin. “You feel like heaven, baby. Like home.”

You wrapped your arms around him, legs tightening around his waist, meeting every thrust with desperate need. It wasn’t frantic, it was aching. Deep. Raw. Like he was trying to remind you of every second you’d been apart.

And when you finally came, shaking, clinging to him, biting back a scream into the crook of his neck, he followed with a broken groan, holding you still as he gave in, buried deep, heart racing against yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, as the room settled around you, and your breath returned in small, sweet gasps, you looked down between your bodies, the evidence of him spilling out of you in slow, glistening trails.

Joel followed your gaze and smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch.

“You look good with glaze on you, darlin’,” he murmured. “Understand now why you’re making that for the cake too.”

You laughed, hoarse, warm, glowing.

“I’ll add it to the recipe.”

You were still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, Joel leaning against you, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his breath slowed. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft ticking of the oven timer and the birdsong bleeding through the open window. The scent of sugar and sweat hung in the air, sticky and heady..

You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers through his damp curls. “We could’ve actually been caught, you know.”

Joel huffed against your skin, mouth brushing the space just beneath your collarbone. “Would’ve been worth it.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes hooded but soft. “Still worth it.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you.

“We’re gonna have to be careful tomorrow,” you murmured, smoothing your dress back down over your thighs. “I mean… if my dad saw us like that…”

Joel leaned back enough to let your legs drop from around him, his fingers idly brushing the inside of your knee as he looked at you. “You want to keep sneakin’ around forever?”

The question hit like a pebble tossed in still water, quiet but echoing.

Your brows lifted slightly. “Joel…”

He tilted his head, searching your expression. “What if we told him? Not like right this second…but soon.”

You bit your lip. “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “Would you say yes if it is?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I would.”

“Good.” His hand slid up to cup your jaw. “Then yeah. I guess I’m askin’. Be my girl.”

You leaned into his palm, a stupid grin tugging at your cheeks. “You’re lucky you’re hot and can build things.”

“And you’re lucky I’m bad at saying no to you,” he teased.

There was a pause then. A beat of stillness where you both just looked at each other.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” you asked, quieter now.

Joel exhaled slowly. “Yeah. At first. Probably say some shit I’ll deserve. But he’ll come around. He loves you. Wants you happy.”

You nodded. “Still gonna be awkward.”

Joel smirked, stepping back and adjusting his jeans. “Everything with me’s a little awkward, sweetheart.”

You hopped down from the counter, legs still shaky, and turned toward the oven, brushing your fingers along the edge of the counter where things had just gone very, very sideways.

“Still think you like me better with your version of glaze on me,” you murmured over your shoulder.

Joel groaned like a man on the edge of his last nerve. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You winked. “You’d go out smiling.”

Taglist: @fallout-girl219 @glitterspark @thegirlthatsfalling @ashleyfilm

[rediimere]

"nil?!" ▶ Horizon Zero Dawn Remastered (2024) | Horizon Forbidden West (2022) (original)

[burningcheese-merchant]

It's so cool to see CRK getting popular again, it feels so refreshing like so much new quality fan content dropping that we couldn't even DREAM about a couple of months ago, but it hurts my very soul seeing new players being interested in beast x ancient ships, in their dynamics, asking is it okay to ship it and getting slapped in the face with another "IT'S ABUSER X VICTIM IT'S A PROSHIP IT'S A DARKSHIP" (which is just not true) killing off all the fun, bc apparently enemies to lovers, AUs and what-ifs doesn't exist anymore and everything that isn't pure fluff is illegal now. "IT'S NOT ENEMIES TO LOVERS, BEASTS ABUSED AND TORTURED THEM" yeah THAT'S WHAT ENEMIES DO??? What else do you expect from a villain honestly??? Like in ANY media??? Beasts still got their ass beat in the end as they totally deserve BECAUSE ANCIENTS ARE NOT SOFT INNOCENT SMALL BABIES THAT NEED TO BE PROTECTED, they're grown ass IMMORTAL ADULTS with huge responsibilities, they rule kingdoms, they hold a huge power in their hands, they're imperfect and not innocent. They can stand for themselves, they can fight, they can destroy, they can lie and they WILL if they need to.

I can SMELL that a shit tonne of people in this fandom secretly enjoys beast x ancient as a guilty pleasure, a forbidden fruit, but they will never admit it just because they're afraid of being harassed and bullied and it's just sad how normalized it is to hurt actual people over shipping some mobile game characters, who are adults, doesn't have power imbalance between them and aren't related.

And allat coming from ME, who doesn't ship a single beast x ancient ship

It's sad lol. Sad for the Beast x Ancient community and honestly kind of pathetic for ardent detractors at this point. I've seen sooooo many Beast x Ancient fans get harassed and even sent death threats, it's not even funny (not that it ever was in the first place). Don't you have better things to do than get this mad about video games lol. Like a job or school or a hobby or something

You're right, the Ancients are not helpless widdle babies and I'm kind of sick of how often they're infantilized, in general and just for the sake of tearing down BxA. They're grown adults who are thousands of years old. Two of them are parents, whose children are grown adults themselves. 4 of 5 founded entire nations. 1 is an active ruler still (Cacao), one seeks to rule again (Golden). Let's not kid ourselves, they've probably all got blood on their hands (not to the degree the Beasts do, but still. You don't live that life without having to make tough choices). Stop treating them like porcelain dolls lol. Yes, the Beasts attacked them, but they're villains. That's what villains do. Go play Animal Crossing if you can't handle heroes and villains fighting each other lol

And then I get a laugh whenever those same people who screech about toxicity and abuse and yadda yadda turn around and ship H*llyt*ya or Sh*dowSp*ce. The former is BxA in a different costume. The latter... Man. You know. Because TWO deranged maniacs, who are fundamentally incompatible in every way and do not make sense at all and absolutely would hurt each other and bring each other down I hate that ship so damn much. Do not ask me abt it I WILL ramble and nobody needs that. Zero beef with fans though, we're coolio! Just a difference of opinion!, is such a better option, isn't it lol. Hypocrisy.

I'm sure you noticed that ep 7 + 8 brought out a whole lot of new ShadowVanilla fans. I agree w/ you, I can feel that there are a fuckton of BxA fans lurking in the darkness, waiting for an excuse to poke their heads out (like 7 + 8 lol), only hiding because they don't want to attract lunatics. Even YOU sent this ask anonymously. Most of my inbox is stuff from anons, and I look at them all and wonder, "how many of you are just afraid of backlash for expressing any joy in BurningCheese or any of the other BxA pairs?" It's ok, guys. Don't listen to them. Be you. I'm being me right now, as cringy as I am. I am Extremely Normal about BurningCheese and I'm not ashamed :) they're video game characters at the end of the day, just have fun. Why can't we all just be bros, man, what does any of this matter

[divaofmads]

ME and the DEVIL

Chapter I: Not Yet

Pairing Dr. Crane x Female Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: When you're caught between the man who steals your heart and the one who dissects your mind... even you might forget who you are.

Wayne’s smile might feel safe. But Crane’s silence... is slowly consuming you. And by the end of the night, whose eyes will haunt you?

Warnings!: Slow-Burn Tension, Dark Romance Elements, Mild Stalking Elements, Step Daddy Bruce, Subtle Erotic Undertones (Non-explicit), Jealousy / Envy, Obsessive Behavior, Age Gap, Yandere Themes / Possessiveness, Angst, Emotional trauma and guilt, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional.

Word Count: 9k

Divirder by @sisterlucifergraphics @cafekitsune

Darkness seeps slowly through the cracked walls. A clock ticks in the room, not counting time... but the end.

You open your eyes, but your body won’t move. You’re lying in a child’s bed, under a torn blanket pulled up to your neck. The nightlight on the bedside table is broken; a dim yellow light flickers faintly, then blinks and disappears into darkness.

A wooden creak.

At the foot of the bed... something is there. It’s not moving, but it’s there. A puppet. It looks like a grotesque marionette, but its eyes... its eyes are human. Old. Wet. Glowing in the dark.

It laughs.

“Y/N... Do you remember me?” The voice... it’s your father's.

You want to scream, but no sound comes out. Like a knot has been tied in your throat. The puppet slowly turns its head, the hinge in its jaw creaking.

Then... other puppets enter the room. Walking by themselves. Wooden feet scraping against the crackling floor.

And each one carries a piece of your father's voice.

“Puppets see everything, Y/N. They never blink at night.”

“I never left you, I’m still with you. Inside you.”

“They don’t love you. Because I didn’t either. You were never my puppet. You didn’t obey.”

One of them climbs onto the edge of the bed. Its fingers are cracked, nails missing. It touches your cheek. Cold. Like a frozen, dead hand.

And then something stirs in the corner of the room. A shadow. Not human. Its posture is off, its head crooked. No face. But in its hand... are the strings of the puppets. Each one is connected to it by invisible threads. It’s the Puppeteer. Speaking in your father's voice, but the words belong to something else.

“You were a little girl... I never loved you... but then you grew up. You should have been a mute puppet, Y/N. You shouldn’t have spoken in your own voice. You shouldn’t have turned your head. You shouldn’t have resisted. Now we’ll remake you.”

The puppets suddenly leap into the air. Strings tighten. One comes so close its wooden teeth are just inches from your nose. It tilts its head and whispers: “You will be carved. We’ll hollow you out. Fill you again... You’ll love me... This time, you’ll look like me.”

You thrash, but your hands are tied.

The Puppeteer pulls out a long, rusty needle from the shadows. He threads a string through it. A new puppet will be born tonight.

And then...

As the Puppeteer approaches, all the puppets scream in unison: “Don’t close your eyes, Y/N! Because in the dark, WE have the eyes!”

“You are no longer flesh. You are now WOOD.”

You try to scream, but you feel something in your throat. A string. A voice whispers: “Don’t move. You’re a puppet now.”

09:47 AM - Internal Security Zone, D-Block

The lab was filled not with the chill of a sterile chemistry room, but with the unease of a dark experimentation chamber. Pale yellow lights cast a sinister hue over the white tiles; every footstep echoed through the windowless walls, imprinting itself into the concrete.

Dr. Jonathan Crane pulled a black-covered notebook from the pocket of his white coat. His long, thin fingers carefully flipped through the pages. Among them were handwritten notes, brainwave maps, cortisol measurements, and several chemical formulas corrected in red ink.

“The controllability of subjective fear response through artificial stimulants...” he murmured. “...the unconscious mind can only be explained by the suppression of fear. Fear... is the shape of freedom.”

Behind the transparent wall stood Subject 27, chained to a chair. A large, bald man with tattoos on his chest, whose eyes held more emptiness than sharpness. According to the file, his name was Marcus Till. Severe dissociative episodes, delusional paranoia, and daytime visual hallucinations. His criminal record included three executions and one case of abandonment leading to death.

But for Jonathan, the past wasn’t what mattered only the response to fear.

The door opened.

The sound was soft, but Jonathan recognized it immediately.

You. Y/N Wayne. Attentive, cheerful, yet not afraid to appear a little “silly.” A young intern.

In Dr. Crane’s eyes, someone who “talked too much, smiled too much, and reeked too much of Bruce Wayne.”

Jonathan didn’t look up from the file. He hadn’t expected you to be punctual; no one with the Wayne surname ever is. Punctuality is a small courtesy for ordinary people trying to prove themselves. The Waynes had no need for that.

There was hesitation in your steps.

You didn’t stumble, but you didn’t walk with confidence either.

He noticed that. But didn’t care.

“Those who get their internship here through their surname usually don’t last more than two weeks,” he said with clear disdain. “I was surprised you managed to survive a whole month.”

He spoke without looking directly at you. As if he were addressing a piece of furniture. His eyes were still focused on Marcus Till’s EEG results.

“Come closer. We’re going to prep the patient.”

There was a faint shadow under your eyes. You hadn’t slept. Your skin, normally glowing with a well-kept complexion, now carried a grayish pallor. Jonathan merely filed this as an observation. He wasn’t interested. He didn’t want to be interested.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the IV set he handed you. Maybe you didn’t even notice, but Jonathan did.

And for the first time, he looked directly at you.

He slowly lifted his gaze. Cold, sharp analysis. No empathy. Only observation. “Your focus is off.” He put his pen on the desk. His voice still monotone, but the sentence was sharper. “Weren’t you trained in trauma response? Any lapse at Arkham can lead to death. Not your death. You killing someone.”

In the background, Marcus’s breathing grew heavier. Serum data streamed across the screen. You didn’t speak for a moment.

You swallowed. But then... you smiled.

Such a genuine, warm smile appeared on your face that Jonathan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re right, Dr. Crane,” you said. “Just had a rough night’s sleep. But it’s fine. I was only expected to last two weeks, wasn’t I? Making it a month is quite the achievement.”

Your tone was cheerful. But beneath your words, there was a metallic resistance.

And then, something else happened.

A corner of Jonathan Crane’s mind twitched slightly. Because he recognized that expression. The smile of those who bury fear deep within...

But he didn’t show it. He was about to say something else, but just then Marcus’s brain waves suddenly spiked.

Crane turned to the screen immediately.

“Beta frequency spike... 14.2 Hertz... Triggered.”

He adjusted his glasses. You leaned over the table, looking at the monitor. But you had to squint slightly to understand what you were seeing.

Jonathan noticed this. The effort to comprehend a subject you didn’t yet master. Not by rote, but with real curiosity.

But he still wasn’t affected.

“If this is the level you’re going to stay at,” he said calmly, “I could recommend an easier supervisor for you. Dr. Langley, for example. Less technical, but more patient. You’d bring the reports to me; no one expects perfection from you.”

The condescension this time was sharper, much more personal, and you felt a sting right at the tip of your nose. It had struck your pride.

But along with your pride, another part of you stirred: stubbornness.

“Thank you, but I’ll pass,” you said. “I believe I have a lot to learn from someone as perfect as you.”

Your eyes met Jonathan’s.

And for a moment, just a moment, your gaze trembled by a mere millimeter.

Because his eyes were searching for something else. Watching. Looking inside you.

And he hadn’t decided yet: Were you just a waste of his time—or something unnamed…?

As you stood up without taking your eyes off the monitor, Crane watched you only from the corner of his eye. Your trembling fingers moved toward your left wrist, and you subtly tugged at your sleeve to hide it. Another tremor, one you suppressed quickly. Crane noted it, even with a side glance. His mind worked like a notebook; every micro-expression, every small physical reflex was logged like a symptom.

But this time… he had trouble categorizing you.

“That kind of eye contact,” he thought, “a typical defense strategy. But not out of confidence. That’s the look of someone swallowing fear to survive.”

And then another voice in his mind spoke: “Wayne.”*

“Bruce Wayne’s daughter can’t be this fragile. Maybe she’s putting on a show. Or… is there a trauma beyond the usual life of luxury?”

He held a grudge against your family. Crane’s antipathy toward the Waynes wasn’t simple. Bruce’s authority to evaluate him as a psychological consultant had created an irreparable fracture in Crane’s ego, and now here you stood—trembling, despite bearing the Wayne name. This suggested two possibilities to him:

1. Either you were genuinely weak, sensitive, painfully fragile.

2. Or… there were traces of a much darker past being hidden from you.

Crane glanced at the EEG graphs on the monitor one last time. The results were inconclusive, but sufficient. The Marcus Till experiment could end here.

He powered down the screen and slowly stood. Closed the file, but his gaze lingered on your face.

He peered at you over his glasses.

“Tomorrow at eleven a.m., the Forensic Psychiatry Jury will convene,” he said. His voice echoed off the corners of the room. “The subject: Arnold Wesker.”

It was the first time you’d heard the name. You couldn’t help but frown.

“Arnold… Wesker?” You hadn’t meant to ask, but your tongue betrayed you.

Crane tilted his head slightly. A faint smile appeared on his lips—but it wasn’t a smile, more the expression of a clinician making a diagnosis.

“You don’t even know who you’re working with, do you?”

You didn’t respond. That only dug your grave deeper.

Crane walked to the desk, pulled out a file, placed his hand on it—but didn’t open it. This was more of a test. As if he were measuring your patience.

“Arnold Wesker,” he said, “also known as the Ventriloquist.

A case of paranoid schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder. But what makes him interesting isn’t the diagnosis—it’s the wooden puppet he owns. Scarface. The puppet is the dominant identity. Wesker is the passive host. Allegedly, the crimes are committed by the puppet. In other words… the mob boss inside his mind.”

That last phrase changed the atmosphere in the room.

Puppet. Scarface. Ventriloquist.

Each word stabbed your chest. Your heart rate subtly increased.

But your facial expression didn’t change a single millimeter.

Only your eyelids lowered slightly. Your pupils shrank by half a tone.

A trauma response of the type that shouldn’t be noticed.

But Crane noticed.

He didn’t open the file. Instead, he studied you.

And you were reliving the nightmare in your mind: Wooden joints. Clicking sounds. Puppets coming at you with fixed grins. And that dark sensation that turned you into a puppet against your will.

“Scarface…” Crane’s voice snapped you back to reality.

“Wesker fought on Joker’s side during the Joker-Riddler War. His psychotic breaks intensified afterward. Some sources claim that his puppet has evolved into a personality that no longer obeys him. Supposedly, the puppet… punishes him. A real projection of rage.”

You were silent. Very silent.

That gave you away. Not just to Jonathan—but to yourself.

Crane tilted his head slightly.

“Puppet phobia isn’t common,” he said suddenly. “But when combined with a sense of loss of control experienced during childhood… Puppets can lead to a collapse of identity perception in the unconscious. The fear here isn’t tied to the external object, but to the inner self.”

He’d hit a nerve.

Was it on purpose, or just analysis? You didn’t know.

But still, you didn’t give yourself away.

You smiled. So slight, so graceful a smile.

As if all this talk meant nothing to you. “Will you be attending the jury tomorrow, Dr. Crane?” Your voice was calm, but the tension beneath your tone laid you bare.

Crane paused briefly, then answered.

“I will. I’m an active member of the forensic psychiatry advisory board. The Wesker file is being brought with a recommendation for total isolation rather than medically assisted sentencing. And I don’t want him—or Scarface—back in Gotham.”

You nodded. “I understand,” you said. But you didn’t understand anything.

Well… you understood. But you couldn’t say anything.

Crane gave you one last look.

And in that moment… a spark.

Something about you unsettled him.

Your fear was deep. Very quiet. But real. And Crane knew how the subconscious worked better than anyone.

WAYNE MANOR – INDOOR POOL

Time: 9:27 PM

Outside, Gotham’s darkness had fallen like a gilded veil. The echo of footsteps in the wide halls of the manor had long ceased, the servants had settled into the rhythm of night. The indoor swimming pool, hidden behind the old stone walls of Wayne Manor’s west wing and rarely used, was now filled only with the sound of your breath and the soft rippling of water.

The towel left by the poolside, bearing Gotham’s crest, was damp. You moved through the water almost imperceptibly, surrendering your shoulders to the coolness with each stroke. When your fingers brushed the marble edge, the faint chime that rang out seemed to blend into the night like a melody. With every stroke, it was as if you were trying to shed the weight of the day.

Your head tilted back, hair spread out over the water. Your chest rose and fell quickly, but your face was calm. Your mind, however, was a storm.

“Swimming alone... not really your thing,” said that familiar voice, soft but carefully measured.

When you turned your head, you saw Bruce Wayne emerging from the shadows, dressed in a black t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants. With a towel slung over his shoulder and a relaxed walk, he almost looked ordinary. Almost.

“Shouldn’t you be at your computer by now, studying the city maps?” you said with a slight smirk as you turned in the water.

He smiled too.

But Bruce Wayne’s smile was more like a shadow of his past. It existed for a moment, then vanished again.

“Alfred told me,” he said as he came closer. “You haven’t talked much today. You probably mentioned Crane at dinner. You were smiling... but your eyes didn’t quite join in.”

He sat by the edge. Rested his elbows on his knees.

He didn’t look down at you, he spoke at eye level. That was his style. He didn’t corner anyone—he shared the space instead of stealing it.

You didn’t look away. But your voice was sarcastic, a little superficial.

“Oh, Dr. Jonathan Crane. The man who prides himself on terrifying everyone but whose shirt collar is soaked with sweat. I think he’ll always hate me. Actually, I’m sure. Today he frowned at the EEG monitor like it was me, probably the fifth time he couldn’t figure me out. Someone get him a coffee.”

Bruce let out a short chuckle through his nose. “Crane doesn’t like anyone. He doesn’t even consider himself. But if he’s trying to figure you out, that means he’s interested. He’s... a careful man.”

You tilted your head slightly. Your eyes seemed to shimmer, but it wasn’t joy—it was a kind of light seeping from a hollow place inside.

“Everyone who tries to figure me out ends up disappointed,” you said in a near whisper.

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. But he placed his hand on the edge of the pool, near you. Again, that silent space-sharing. Again, that “I’m here” stance.

“What happened?” His voice was slower now, lower in pitch. “Something happened today. It’s not just the Crane thing. Talk to me.”

You looked at the water for a while. You wanted to see your own reflection, but couldn’t. All that appeared were dim lights and emptiness.

“This morning... when I woke up,” you said, “it was the same nightmare again. Someone was there. Watching me. But it wasn’t me. I was like a puppet. Then... my father’s voice. Even though he’s dead…”

You paused. A knot had formed in your throat. Swallowing your pride was hard, but you didn’t fear being this vulnerable with Bruce. Because he always knew when you took off your mask.

“I know it’s stupid,” you said. “My dad’s dead. He put that gun to his own temple…” You closed your eyes. “But sometimes... I still feel like he’s going to come back from somewhere. Like... his darkness found a little place inside me. Like it’s still in my blood.”

Bruce lowered his head. Reached out his hand to the water, to you.

His palm was facing upward. He wouldn’t force you to take it. But if you did, he would offer it like a shelter.

You reached out without hesitation. When your fingers met his under the water, the touch of skin was warm and real.

“You’re not that man,” Bruce said. “And you never will be. Because I was there. That night, when they couldn’t silence you, you survived with your own scream. That shows who you are. You didn’t become a puppet to survive. You chose.”

His voice was deep enough to swallow every echo from the past. The affection he felt for you flowed silently.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Then you smiled slightly—this time, genuinely.

“Are you always going to read me this well?” you asked with a sweet reproach.

Bruce winked, then slowly stood up.

He took off his t-shirt. The old scars on his chest formed distorted shapes in the reflection of the water.

When he rolled up his pants and stepped into the pool, you tensed a little. Because with his entrance, the solitude was over. The darkness was no longer yours alone.

The water was warm. But Bruce’s presence was warmer. He came closer. He didn’t touch your face but placed a hand on your shoulder. That touch was not a father’s—it was that of a guardian, a friend, a...

...perhaps the one man you had always felt was missing.

“I’m here whenever you want,” he said in a low voice near your ear. “But unless you want it... no one can hold you.”

As you leaned into him, his warm breath echoed in your ears.

But your heart... had taken on a different rhythm.

Because he didn’t feel like a father. He shone like a fallen star. And without meaning to, you were growing more attached to him.

You were safe—and at the same time, that safety scared you. Having someone understand you this deeply... it was too much. A dangerous kind of closeness. The kind that blurred lines.

Then Bruce’s voice poured into your ear in a warm, slightly teasing tone.

“So... are you excited for the event in two days?”

You lifted your head slightly and looked at him. Your brows furrowed. He read the blankness in your eyes instantly.

“Event?” Your voice was laced with a suppressed panic, hidden behind a chuckle. “What event?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes slightly. Smiled.

That annoying smile of his—the one that told you he knew everything.

"Frankly, young lady," he said, his voice turning a little more theatrical, "for a young girl making her debut into society to forget a charity night planned months in advance... is definitely a scandal."

You put your hands over your mouth and giggled, albeit guiltily. "Bruce, I’m serious, it completely slipped my mind!" You splashed water toward him as you pulled back. "It was... because of Dr. Crane! I mean, he scolded me like, ‘the observation form is three days old but the linguistic analyses are missing,’ and I suddenly felt like a 45-year-old depressed academic writing a dissertation!"

Bruce staggered backward and fell, though he was already in the water — now he was submerged up to his shoulders.

He pushed his hair back after a wave hit his face, paused for a moment… then his gaze sharpened.

"So... you dared to threaten me with water? The one and only troublemaker of Wayne Manor... you little water creature."

You burst into laughter and tried to swim a step back, but it was too late. Bruce caught you in one swift move.

"No! No no Bruce, stop, don’t!" you said, flailing.

But he, maintaining his serious expression, wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down into the water in one motion. The sound of your fall vanished among your shared laughter.

When you emerged, your hair was falling over your eyes, and you were breathless — but in the middle of a fit of laughter.

"You... you're so cruel!" you said, wiping the water from your face as tears streamed from your eyes from laughing.

Bruce, however, still looked serious. But it was a playful seriousness.

"If you ever push me into the water again, this won't be the end of it."

Amid your laughter, you rested your face against his chest. Your breathing was still uneven, but you could feel your heartbeat.

Beating in sync with his.

"But you never really get mad at me," you said in a sweet, childlike voice. "Because I always make you smile. Isn’t that right?"

Bruce lowered his head. His eyes grew more serious, but that protective gleam was still there. He cupped your cheek, brushing away a drop of water with his thumb as he studied you carefully.

"You... you're not someone easily forgotten," he said slowly. "Your laughter, sometimes it takes me back thirty years. But then I look again and you’re right here in this moment — and I find myself forgetting everything else."

You shivered inside. Leaning on him... wasn’t just about feeling safe. It was like thirsting for a warmth that shouldn’t be touched.

"Tomorrow Dr. Crane won’t be there," you said suddenly, as if changing the subject but actually making plans. "He’s on jury duty for the Arnold Wesker case. My whole day is yours."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. His smile now carried a different meaning. It also felt like a warning.

"That’s a dangerous offer. If you give me your whole day, I might threaten you with your whole life."

You smiled. But a seriousness settled on your face.

In the water, you moved closer to him, your fingers trailing on the surface as they reached for his chest. Your voice slowed.

"You’re the only one who's ever really stood up for me in my life. Maybe... everything started the moment I met you."

Bruce lowered his head, resting his forehead against yours.

He wasn’t touching — yet the closeness meant more than any touch.

And as the water enveloped your bodies, words gave way to presence.

Yours and his.

That morning, when the Wayne limousine pulled up at your door and you saw the gleaming black leather seats, the mini bar, and the soft notes of jazz playing inside, the feeling you suddenly had wasn’t one of indulgence.

It was acceptance.

You felt like you truly belonged to Gotham now — from the very top.

Bruce sat beside you. Wearing sunglasses, a classic Patek Philippe on his wrist. The most expensive suit in Gotham, but one that never showed off its brand. Navy blue, made of silk, tailor-made.

"Remember," he had said along the way, placing a hand gently on your knee,

"In this city, money talks, but attitude commands. When you walk in, make them forget who the Wayne is — but never let them forget who the Wayne is."

You smiled. As you walked in with him, every window display seemed to change in the blink of an eye. The moment you stepped into a boutique, the store was cleared out. Customers were politely ushered outside, and the staff lined up.

Bruce had only said one word: "Wayne."

That was enough.

Then everything began for you. Haute couture consultants, off-season collections specially brought from Paris and Milan, the quiet moments when tailors took your measurements.

Classical music drifting from a corner of the room, silk fabrics brushing gently against your skin, the Louboutins you tried on one after another, followed by Roger Vivier, and then a pair of avant-garde heels from Maison Margiela...

"If you wear this dress, every eye will be on you," Bruce said, handing you a Givenchy dress adorned with a sheer back.

The look in his eyes wasn’t just that of a father seeking elegance. He was studying you closely.

But with a kind of admiration he would never say aloud.

Maybe not even to himself.

Yet in every decision he made in silence, you were always a part of it.

As you tried on a dress, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. You gently grasped the thin gold necklace at your neck and said:

"Bruce, you know what? I wish the whole of Gotham wouldn’t see me or recognize me for just one night. But you... you, see me."

He paused for a moment. "I always see you," he said, slowly.

At that, you had let the dress fall, letting the silk slip away from you like it was leaving of its own will.

Then, suddenly, while your back was turned, you caught yourself watching him in the mirror.

He was sprawled on the armchair, resting his elbow on the armrest, watching you.

Not your nakedness, but you—as you were standing there.

"You’re beautiful enough to turn this city upside down," he said, as if the words slipped out without thinking. "And I love you not for that, but for being able to stay good despite yourself."

Something cracked in your heart at that moment.

You tried not to look at him, but you smiled. And taking the blame on yourself, you said,

"Unlike Dr. Crane’s gaze that tears me apart, you… you look into me without breaking me."

Bruce lowered his head, smiling. Then he stood up and took your hand.

"You have to make the final choice now," he said. "Because Alfred is already about to lose it. We had to open the third floor’s private gallery just for the shoes."

You tilted slightly, turning your hand inside his palm and narrowed your eyes.

"So if my little shopping frenzy has pissed off Alfred... we should blame Bruce Wayne’s spoiled ward. Everyone in this city has a role. Mine’s the fancy, pretty, but troublesome girl."

Bruce burst into laughter. He slowly leaned toward you, brushed your hair to the side, and whispered into your ear:

"No. Your role... is to be the woman who will change this city.

But tonight, first play the girl who will enchant it. With your eyes, your mind, your smile."

You let yourself fall into his hands.

But inside, another whisper was passing through:

"A man who blesses me this much... I must bless him in return."

And maybe that night, not just Gotham, but you too would change.

You were already on a path with no return.

And Bruce Wayne was waiting at the center of it.

Outside, Gotham’s purplish mist was pouring into the night…

The flickering reflections of yellow lights on the streets bent under the streetlamps like a kind of hopelessness.

But as you stepped into Le Pavé Noir, the city had left you at the door.

It was as if you had entered a protected zone.

As if Gotham paused at the sound of Bruce Wayne’s voice.

You and Bruce were sitting at the most isolated table inside, with a tall, thin vase between you, holding just one blue orchid.

Outside the glass, in the zen garden, tiny koi fish were circling as the ceiling slowly opened above you.

A starless Gotham night overhead… but still peaceful.

That evening, Bruce had chosen a black tuxedo. No tie, the first button left undone. A classic watch on his left wrist, his fingers resting on the stem of the glass.

And his eyes… were always on you.

You, on the other hand, were the embodiment of elegance that would make Audrey Hepburn jealous.

The Chanel dress Bruce had picked left your back completely bare, but somehow, it covered you even more.

Because it was his choice.

Even being at his boundary felt like armor.

"You look stunning," he said, as quietly as water.

You averted your gaze. Smiled. But your heart paused for a moment at those words.

"You spoil me too much," you said, trying to soften your voice.

"Just being here with you already feels like a dream."

Bruce watched you, long and carefully.

Maybe there were no lines at the corners of his eyes, but his gaze… was aged.

That night, he was not only cherishing you, but himself, too.

The waiters arrived almost invisibly and placed the food.

Thinly sliced wagyu beef sashimi, wild mushroom risotto heated on lava stone, and truffle butter brioche covered in gold dust.

But your appetite wasn’t for anything on the plate—it was for the man sitting across from you.

You watched him for a while without saying anything.

Drew circles in your food with the tip of your fork.

Then, tilting your head slightly, you lowered your voice:

"You know… as a child, my mother’s plates were always half full. My father… always finished everything.

Maybe that’s why I’m learning to feel full while working.

Like… when my mind is busy, my hunger disappears."

Bruce paused. Looked at you with that typical expression—not with pity, but trying to understand something.

"When someone can’t digest certain pains… they develop a different kind of appetite," he said.

"Yours is the hunger for work.

Some burn the city, others bury themselves.

But you… you chose to build yourself."

You didn’t want him to see the mist clouding your eyes.

You turned your head away.

But then his eyes pulled you back.

"Tomorrow," he said slowly, "if you want, you don’t have to go to your internship.

Tonight will be long. I don’t want to push you.

I can talk to Hugo Strange.

Taking a day off… wouldn’t be a problem at all."

You responded with that familiar, gentle smile.

"I have to go, Bruce. Dr. Crane wasn’t even there, and Arnold Wesker’s case kept him away from the hospital.

If he doesn’t see me tomorrow, I’ll have to deal with his annoying comments the day after." you said with a teasing tone.

Then, with a slightly somber look, you added,

"Actually… sometimes, my only way to quiet my mind is being with those people at the hospital.

And in their problems… I feel myself a little less. And I can live that way."

Bruce’s lips tightened.

He wanted to say something, but stayed silent.

Because there you were—glowing like a fragile, yet stubbornly resilient being, right in front of him.

Slowly, he reached out and took your hand.

He gently wrapped your tiny fingers in his palm.

It wasn’t a father’s tenderness—it was a man’s.

"I wish I could protect you from everything," he said.

"But that darkness you were born into… it made you different.

And that’s exactly what made you strong."

But you didn’t let go of his hand.

For a moment, you looked into his eyes.

There was another sentence inside you you tried to silence, but it slipped out anyway.

"When you look at me… sometimes I feel like someone else.

Not just the girl who carries the Wayne name.

Not just a student or an intern.

Like… actually me. Really me."

Bruce’s eyes became slightly misty, but he quickly gathered himself.

He looked away. Took a sip of his wine.

But you saw how hard it was for him to hide that.

Because just like you… he was holding himself back.

"Stay who you are," he said.

"I... I just want to be a light on your path.

Never… turn you into me."

But that sentence—“never turn you into me”—cut through you.

Because maybe… he already knew exactly who you most wanted to become.

And that night, after dinner, as he was putting you into the car, he looked at you once more before closing the door and whispered:

"Don’t forget... tomorrow night, you’ll show Gotham who you are.

But I see you today, at night, without the mask... too."

And in that moment, Bruce Wayne buried a feeling even deeper—one he would never confess.

But you?

The moment you looked into his eyes… you already understood everything.

06:12 AM

Location: Arkham Asylum – Psychiatry Wing, Dr. Crane’s Private Office

There was still over an hour left until the shift started. Gotham's heavy metal sky was cloaked in a dull gray, as if it resented the sun. The Asylum’s windows let in almost no light at this hour; outside was nothing but a world of mist drifting like sheer curtains. You had come in earlier than usual that morning. Your insides were restless, you were sleepless, but your mind was sharp like a blade. You had straightened the layout of the files on Dr. Crane’s desk and noted down a report listing the order of the cases to be reviewed that day.

No one had actually asked you to do any of that. But you wanted to prove that you were more than just a spoiled rich intern in Jonathan Crane’s eyes. Maybe an assistant. Maybe... something more.

After finishing with the files, you had moved to the leather chair tucked just behind the metal bookshelves in the corner. You took your notebook onto your lap. After biting down on the tip of your pen, you began to draw. The page filled first with a dark void; then emerged serpents eating their own tails, forked tongues, interwoven eyeballs, and eventually a humanoid figure with decayed internal organs... A woman, head bowed at the shoulder level. She had no eyes. Only sockets. And on her forehead was carved a single symbol: a “?” question mark.

Just then, the door opened. It wasn’t heavy, but you heard those signature dark footsteps Crane always walked in with—silent, composed. When you looked up, his tall silhouette had grown even larger against the faint backlight.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was wearing a dark navy suit. The collar of his cashmere coat was still up. He was cleaning the fog off his glasses when he noticed you.

He put on his glasses and tilted his head slightly, almost as if he’d seen a ghost.

“It’s rare… almost unheard of, for interns to be in my office before me.”

You smiled as you quickly closed the page you were drawing.

“Being early never hurts, right, Doctor?” you said, reaching to place the notebook on the table. “I just... wanted to prepare for today’s schedule. Thought I could be helpful.”

Crane’s eyes studied you carefully, but his gaze didn’t remain fixed. From behind his glasses, he examined you with the clinical chill of a scientist scanning data. Your clothes, how neatly your hair was arranged, whether you had washed your face that morning—he seemed to be decoding it all.

“Help... is a valuable word. Help… can save lives, if it comes from the right person.” His voice was soft. Almost hypnotic. Then he walked to his desk and reached toward the notebook you had just closed—but without letting you notice.

He paused suddenly.

“Actually… since you’re so eager, I could ask something of you. A file needs to be retrieved from Lab 3 on the lower floor. It requires my seal to open, so take this card.”

He handed you a silver-colored ID card embedded with a microchip.

“But be careful. It’s not the best place for the claustrophobic. The tunnels are... narrow. Dark. And due to the soundproof insulation, if you hear screaming, it’s not real.”

He smiled. It wasn’t warm. But it was polite. And strange.

As you stepped out, you turned slightly to glance at your notebook. Going back to get it might seem odd. You just hoped he wouldn’t look inside.

After you left, Dr. Jonathan Crane didn’t sit at his own chair. Instead, after sending you off, he walked toward the chair you had just occupied, where your body heat still lingered in the synthetic leather. He slowly removed his glasses and laid the metal frame on his knee. Your notebook was in front of him. Black cover, slightly worn corners, yet carefully used.

He stared at the cover for a few seconds. No name. No label. Only a subtle embossed phrase on the corner: “Nulla Vita Sine Arte.”

(Life without art is meaningless.)

With his long, slender fingers, he opened the cover. The first page was blank. Like a silent warning. A threshold. Crane turned the pages. One by one.

First Drawing

On the left, a female figure suspended by thin strings tied to her neck, being lifted skyward. No face. Just a flat, mask-like surface. Her abdomen was split open; a heart inside, fastened with spiderwebs. Beneath her right ribcage, a small cross mark. Her feet were chained—but the chains didn’t lead to the ground. They vanished into empty space.

Beneath it was written: “The order from above is balanced by punishment from below.”

Crane thought: “She codes herself as both victim and judge.”

“By erasing the skull’s features, she anonymizes her identity. This could either be from shame or to conceal a destructive urge. The heart is still fixed in place, that... is interesting. She retains the capacity to love. But what if she had to tear herself apart to keep those feelings alive?”

A faint smile traced his lips.

“She’s forgotten who she is, but she still remembers what she feels... how strange.”

Second Drawing

A hospital bed. A woman lying on it. Tubes connected to her veins, but instead of fluids, ink is flowing through them. The tubes link up to a massive pen-tip structure hanging above. Her eyes are blindfolded. Her face looks like it’s melted from crying. Above, a single word: “Diagnosis.”

Crane frowned.

“Ink… transformed into the venom of words. She’s attempted therapy through writing, but drowned in the text. In trying to empty her mind onto paper, she’s triggered incubation from within.”

Crane’s gaze darkened. A psychotic patient injecting herself with words through her veins. He was enthralled by the idea.

And only someone who harbors true darkness inside could draw such things, he thought. Yet his assumptions about you had always leaned another way. How could you have hidden the real “you” so well, especially next to someone like Dr. Crane?

Jonathan eagerly flipped through more pages. And there it was—the last drawing. The one you had just done.

Then he leaned back. Closed his eyes.

He inhaled the scent of your notebook. Printing ink, graphite dust, and that faint, citrusy perfume you used—sweet but bitter…

Silence.

His breath… almost stopped.

Suddenly, he stood up. He didn’t throw the notebook on the desk. He closed it gently. Then walked to the corner of the office.

Looked outside. Gotham was still drowning in mist.

“I need to understand her,” he thought. You were no longer just a subject for contemplation. This “understanding” had become something ritualistic. In Crane’s mind, you were no longer just a case… you were beginning to feel like a possession.

A subtle smile appeared at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t lustful.

It was closer to obsession.

And as Crane slowly returned to his desk, he whispered:

“I’ll enter your mind. With your own will… maybe even your desire. Because fear, Y/N... is the most powerful form of lust.”

The door handle knocked three times. Precise. Calm. Confident.

Crane slowly looked up. His voice was softer than usual. But the low-frequency vibration beneath it was something only trained ears would catch—a trace of extra attention, extra interest.

“Come in.”

There you stood at the threshold. Your left hand clutched a file tight to your chest, your right shoulder slumped slightly. Under the flickering fluorescent light, your pupils vanished in the dark for a moment, then gleamed again.

When you entered, the notebook was exactly where it had been.

As you handed him the file, Crane let his thumb brush briefly across the back of your hand. The touch stayed within professional bounds—but it was calculated. He wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Lower floor, Lab 3... I’m surprised,” he said softly, without looking at you. “Many interns manage to get lost down there.”

You laughed lightly, partly to ease the tension.

“It’s... interesting down there. A lot of old equipment, useless bottles, but organized. As if someone archived the past.”

Crane turned his gaze to you. Behind the lenses, his eyes met yours directly for the first time.

“You try to understand the spaces you enter. You believe you can’t move forward without understanding.”

You averted your eyes. For a moment, you felt naked in his gaze.

As you leaned forward to place the file down, Crane placed his hand on the edge of the desk. His fingers were level with yours. At that moment, only a hand’s width separated your bodies. And that space… seemed to shrink with every breath.

You placed the file on the desk. Just as you were about to ask what else you needed to do—

"Starting today, you’ll be present in some of the sessions with me," he said suddenly.

His words seemed to fall from the air.

No explanation given, none needed.

As if it wasn’t a task, but… a ritualistic invitation.

You didn’t understand. Your eyes widened, but your mouth stayed silent. Then, with a forced smile:

"You... weren’t very warm to the idea at first."

Crane sat in his chair and fixed his gaze on you.

"Trust should be chosen carefully. Trust doesn’t form through chemistry, but through physical proximity. Your observation skills are sharp. Besides... watching patients opens more than just them. It opens you, too. It allows me to discover you."

That last sentence. It slithered between the words like a snake. Discover... you?

You didn’t know what to say. Your lips twitched.

You turned, took a step toward the door.

"Y/N?"

It was the first time he said your name with such weight. His voice held both syllabic admiration and restrained command. You paused.

"Have you ever analyzed your own fears?"

That question… wasn’t random. He had read your notebook. He had touched your words. Maybe he had decoded your mind, line by line.

But you didn’t yet know how deep he’d delved into your psyche.

"Fears… open doors," he said in a low voice, almost like whispering to himself. "But some doors... once opened, never close."

Then he looked down. Gave you permission to leave.

But one thing had become clear: He would no longer be content just watching you. He wouldn’t just use you — he would *understand* you. He would *transform* you.

And you... you wouldn’t realize you were changing until it was far too late.

Location: Arkham Asylum – West Wing, Corridor 4

Among cold, sterile, and suffocating walls, two figures walked: Y/N and Dr. Jonathan Crane.

The flickering white of fluorescent lights reflected off the ceiling, echoing their footsteps through metal-lined marble beneath. The west corridor of Arkham… the oldest, narrowest, loneliest stretch. Hanging cables from the ceiling, soot stains casting shadows on the walls. This corridor carried the echo of souls that had long since given up on daylight — and now, another tension added itself to that echo with every step they took.

Dr. Crane walked ahead, his back straight. His coat lightly fluttered behind him, his thin fingers twitching impatiently near his pockets. You followed a step behind, but mentally you were further ahead — your mind filled with a name you were about to ask.

"Dr. Crane?" you said, your voice deliberately low and composed.

Jonathan didn’t turn his head. "Speak," he said plainly.

You bit your lip, hesitated. Then:

"Any developments about Arnold Wesker’s case? Has the court… decided?"

This time, Crane tilted his head slightly and kept walking. A smirk may have crossed his lips, or perhaps it only flashed in his eyes. Your voice had a distinct tone. A mix of fear and curiosity, a deviation, a sort of… personal pull.

"Wesker…" he said. "How long do you think someone like him would last in prison?"

You remained silent.

"He’ll most likely be admitted to Arkham. Why do you ask?"

It sounded like a jab, but there was no mockery in his tone. Only measurement. A test. An experiment. Your face flushed slightly. You looked away. You didn’t realize it, but even your lack of answer was recorded in Crane’s mind. Silence was his data. A sign of deviation, suppressed impulse, unconscious admiration.

And you weren’t even aware of how personal that question was.

Suddenly, a scream rang out from one of the cells. Crane turned his head with a smile:

"Did you hear that? For some, therapy is just another form of torture. I hope it won’t be for you."

You didn’t say a word. You gripped the file in your hand a little tighter.

You arrived at the security checkpoint with glass walls and uniformed guards. Inside… Edward Nygma.

The door opened with a special code. The room was one of Arkham’s most sterile. It was divided in two: one side for doctors, the other for patients. A glass partition allowed light through, but distorted reflections. The patient could see the doctors, but couldn’t hide from their gaze.

Edward Nygma sat in a chair in the corner, dark circles under his eyes, hands propping up his chin as he stared at the floor. He was mumbling. The words didn’t make sense, but there were letters... unraveling into words that hadn’t yet formed.

Crane turned to you and whispered as if saying something mundane:

"Today, you're the therapist. I’ll just be watching you."

Your eyes widened. "Me? But..."

"I’m not asking for a diploma. I’m curious about your reactions, your instincts, your analytical mind. Let’s see which mask Edward wears when he looks at you."

You stepped toward Edward. Your breath caught in your throat, but your face remained neutral. Like Scarecrow without the mask. You crouched to his eye level and sat.

"Edward… do you know who I am?"

He lifted his head. His eyes were glassy. Then he flinched.

"You… you’re the one bringing the answer," he said. "You’re the answer to the riddle, aren’t you? Or don’t you know? If you don’t, I could destroy you."

You didn’t flinch. You smiled.

"Destruction would be easy, wouldn’t it? But no one kills the answer."

There was a pause.

Crane’s eyes looked as if they might burst from their sockets. Not in shock… but in delight. A twisted admiration blooming in rot. You weren’t speaking with Edward — you were *dancing* with him. With words, fear, and balance.

Edward nodded.

"You… you’re a complicated answer. But an answer, nonetheless. Beautiful…"

The session lasted forty-five minutes, though it felt like days to you. Still, you didn’t falter. Edward suddenly turned in his chair, gripped his head, and screamed. He had collapsed inward.

Dr. Crane stood up. His eyes never left you.

"That’s enough. You were brilliant. Braver than I expected. More instinctual."

You didn’t know what to say.

But what Crane thought in that moment… was silent. And terrifying.

The voices in his head had begun to form a single face.

"Untrained. But instinctual. There's something untamed in her..."

When Crane returned to his office, he washed his hands. The scent of soap lingered as he stared into the mirror.

Your face filled his mind. Eyes that gleamed even in darkness, a stillness that knew fear from the inside.

"She’s no longer Wayne’s daughter. She’s... a variable that must be rewritten. Unpredictable. Definitely… mine."

He had decided: you should never be left alone again. No session should be free from your observation. No smile, no tremble should go unrecorded.

And touch... yes, that must increase. The reaction he got when his hands brushed yours — it was a crack in the surface. He needed to watch you. Direct you.

This wasn’t just scientific obsession.

This was Crane’s darkness falling in love with its own reflection — in you.

When you entered, you noticed the room had a scent of its own.

Chloroform-like, but older… perhaps a memory seeping from a long-forgotten lab, clinging to the walls.

Dr. Crane leaned on the edge of his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

His eyes studied the girl entering from the door. Deep and tinged with red, his gaze focused on one thing only: control.

"You’re here. Good. Sit," he said.

"To my left."

You slowly sat down on the chair. You weren’t nervous, but you weren’t exactly comfortable either. Your shoulders were straight, your knees together. You traced the corner of the file with your fingers. Crane, however, didn’t move the chair. Instead… he stood right behind you.

“You’ll enter today’s session notes into the system using the CR-47 template,” he said.

“But first… you need to bypass the software password.”

As he spoke, his tone was serious yet soft. It carried a suggestion that left no room for questioning, without being overtly threatening. You nodded. Crane leaned in. Just slightly. You could barely feel his breath on your shoulder. But there was something you did feel… like a finger touching your heart from behind your ribcage—a quiet unease.

Crane didn’t place his hand on your back. But as he spoke, the shadow of his fingers danced across your shoulder blades. He inhaled through his nose. Vanilla. And… adrenaline. A hint of sweat, but mixed with a velvet shiver.

The glow of the screen washed Crane’s face pale. Yet his eyes never stopped watching you.

“CR-47 is a template used for cases of post-traumatic dissolution and projected identity change. Suitable for subjects like Edward Nygma. Check the box labeled ‘dissociative symptoms’ at the bottom. If you get stuck… ask me. Or… let me show you.”

You reached for the keyboard. Your fingers touched the keys, and Crane leaned closer, placing his hand over the keyboard—not to restrain, only to guide. Yet it lingered. The distance between you was no more than a breath. His fingers brushed your wrist ever so slightly. It could have seemed like nothing from the outside. But from within… something stirred.

A voice inside you, repressed, the kind born in childhood as a form of protection, warned you. “Be careful. This touch… isn’t ordinary.”

Still, you didn’t turn your head. You only blinked. After a moment, Crane spoke again, barely louder than a whisper.

“Sometimes, to understand a patient… empathy isn’t enough. You have to become them. Project your identity into their mind and confront it with your own darkness. Do you have the courage for that, Y/N?”

You swallowed. “I think… yes.”

There was silence. The computer fan hummed quietly. Then, Y/N gently turned in the chair.

“Dr. Crane… I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course.”

“There’s a charity event tonight. Hosted by the Wayne Foundation. I was wondering if I could get ready here and leave a little early.”

At that moment, the room’s temperature shifted. Like the instant a chemical reaction begins. Dr. Crane’s facial muscles didn’t move. But his eyes… his eyes deepened like a blade.

“Wayne Foundation?”

“Yes.”

“Bruce Wayne?”

“Yes, I’m going with him.”

Crane took a step back. He didn’t look away. But his voice, now a lower tone, came like ice—like anger with no garnish.

“Mr. Wayne… doesn’t frequent Arkham very often these days. But when he does, it’s as if he believes he can magically solve every case.”

“You don’t think his help is… genuine?”

“It may be genuine. But it’s arrogant.”

You lowered your head.

Crane walked over to the edge of his desk. He clasped his hands behind his back. He turned away, but his voice came from him like a wall. “Enjoy your evening, Y/N. But a mind that belongs to you… if it stays too long in foreign lights, it may no longer recognize its own shadow.”

That sentence… was a warning. Not a threat, but more like a vow.

“Dr. Crane?”

Crane slightly turned his head. But his eyes remained still.

“If one day… those lights don’t let me go back… will you be the voice that helps me recognize my shadow?”

Crane smiled. But it wasn’t a man’s smile… it was a shadow’s.

“I already am… that voice.”

And you stood up, walking toward the cabinet in the office. You took the dress you had hung on the hook and looked at Dr. Crane one last time before closing the door behind you. As the door shut, Crane clenched his fingers. Beneath the blanching of his skin, there was jealousy. The name Bruce Wayne had stirred something venomous in his veins.

“I won’t let him watch you,” he whispered to himself.

He slowly sat down in his chair. His fingers touched the edge of the desk, then his gaze shifted to the chair you had been sitting in.

The fabric that had touched your body still felt like you to him. The curve of your shoulders, the arch of your back… your breath, the warmth your skin radiated…

When he closed his eyes, he could still smell the vanilla on you. But to him, that scent wasn’t just an aroma; it was a call. A dangerous call.

“Bruce Wayne…”

He murmured the name like one would utter the name of a disease. The thought of him standing beside you now was slowly rotting Crane’s mind.

“He’ll watch you with his hands in his pockets. He’ll smile. Pretend to care.”

Crane constructed the image in his mind. His eyes misted over.

“But he won’t know. He can’t analyze your weak spots like I do. I feel them. Because I... will touch your mind.”

He laced his fingers together. Pressed his nails into his palms. The veins in his hands bulged.

“I could rip your mind out. Break every dream into pieces and show them back to you. And what will Bruce Wayne do? Offer you a drink and look into your eyes? Weak. He tries to keep you at the edge. I… would devour you.”

At that moment, he imagined you behind his eyelids. But this time at the benefit night, dressed elegantly… your back bare, your shoulders gracefully exposed…

And Bruce Wayne whispering something to you. Touching you.

Crane clenched his teeth. A deep rage twisted in his stomach. But it wasn’t just jealousy. It was a claim.

“I won’t give what’s mine… to anyone. You don’t know it yet. But I will shape you. Slowly, carefully. And soon, I’ll be the only one left there.”

He rose from the chair. Walked to the window. Rain was pounding against the glass now. The drops blurred the world outside. But in his mind, he saw your silhouette. Wet hair falling onto your shoulders. A smile on your lips. Bruce beside you.

And at that moment, Crane touched his darkest urge: He didn’t want to destroy him. He wanted to watch him decay in front of your eyes. Because the real punishment wasn't disappearance—it was losing what you couldn’t have, again and again.

And Crane smiled. But there was no warmth at the corner of his lips. Only a cold patience. Time was his weapon. And you… were on his clock.

When the door opened again, the first thing to fill the room was the familiar, but this time stronger, scent of your perfume. As if that smell had taken you away from yourself and made you belong to that other life outside.

Then he saw you. You entered the room.

Slowly. As if time itself obeyed the rhythm of your heels.

He saw the dress first. That fabric in which midnight competed with navy blue, leaving your shoulders exposed… you glided like a shadow. Your hair cascading down your neck looked like a mark. And in that moment, Crane’s mind filled with a void. No—this void wasn’t absence. It was hunger. Even if he devoured you with his eyes, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he said nothing. Looked at you with the corners of his eyes. Gave a slight nod. As always. Stillness was his mask. Silence his armor. But inside… inside, a forest was burning. He didn’t need to swallow���his throat was already dry. He suppressed the word that came to his tongue: Mine.

Your lips moved. “I’m ready,” you said. “I just wanted to let you know before heading to the benefit. I straightened up a bit in the office. I’m leaving now.”

Politeness… pressed down on Crane like a weight.

Every time he looked at you, the fragments of clinical knowledge in his mind began to scatter. You weren’t his patient. But in his mind, he couldn’t help turning you into a kind of diagnosis. Obsessive-compulsive transference. Beyond the classical countertransference line. The cognitive layers inside him were collapsing with a crackling sound. You made him something more than human. And at the same time… a monster.

“Of course. You may go,” he said. His voice was calm. But that calm was like lava flowing just beneath ice.

“Good evening,” you said. And turned around. A smile not born of joy but shaped by courtesy. Your footsteps joined the corridor once again.

He didn’t leave immediately. He waited. Counting. Six. Five. Four… He closed his eyes, inhaling the time your scent lingered in the room. Then he stood, slipping out of the dark office toward the door. Silently. His feet barely touched the ground, like a ghost.

He reached the end of the corridor. The dimmest part, away from the cameras. He fixed his eyes on the small window that offered a view outside.

Despite Gotham’s gray descent, a sliver of light filtered in. Wayne’s armored, sleek black car was parked at the curb. And there he was. Bruce Wayne.

Smiling as he watched you.

You walked toward him slowly, heels tapping. The car headlights cast a glow on your shoulders. Your skin trembled… maybe from the cold, maybe from excitement. And at that moment, one sentence echoed in Crane’s mind: Everything inside you trying to leave no space for me… now bears the name Bruce Wayne.

He pressed his lips together. A deep line settled between his brows. What he held down in his chest now was not just desire. It was justified fury.

Because no matter how clever Bruce Wayne was, he would never understand you. He would smile at you.

But he would never know where you break.

The hands that repaired you weren’t his. They were the eyes that watched you bleed. And those eyes… right now, were watching from that window. Like a predator that knew your every cell. Not focused on you—but on the man watching you. Bruce’s hands, his gaze, his steps. How he touched you.

A whisper rose from inside Crane: You’ll go with him. But in your mind, the mark I left will remain. At the end of the night, he may be the one unzipping your dress…

But the only one who’s solved your secrets… is me.

He didn’t take his eyes off the window. Watched as you got into the car. The door closed. And with Bruce Wayne, you slowly disappeared into the night.

And this time, Dr. Jonathan Crane… did not smile.

Beyond the city lights, in the silence of the car, soft melodies slipped between the seats. The interior of Bruce Wayne's car felt isolated from the outside world.

You stared out the window, your thoughts twisting with the curves of the road. Bruce was saying something, his voice was gentle, but you couldn’t focus.

The fabric of your dress against your shoulder merged with the stillness around you, making your body feel all too real.

When you chose that dress, a part of you knew it was for him. The way Bruce’s eyes lingered a bit too long on your shoulders, on the curve of your neck… it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You look comfortable,” Bruce said, eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “Doesn’t seem like you’re afraid to be in the same room with Gotham’s richest five hundred.”

“You’re here with me,” you replied, careful not to let your voice sound too natural.

He only nodded. He didn’t look at you for long—but when he did, you were sure he always saw more than he should.

As the car pulled up to the main entrance of the hall, flashes burst in rapid succession.

Journalists, crowds constantly tracking Wayne Enterprises, shouts... You were already blinded by the lights before the door even opened.

The door was opened for you. And Bruce extended his hand, helping you out. The moment your hand touched his, time seemed to freeze.

You were twenty-two.

But in Bruce Wayne’s eyes, you were still sixteen.

The crowd fell silent for a moment. Because they didn’t recognize the young woman who had arrived with him.

“Mr. Wayne! Is there a special reason you’ve come with your ward tonight?”

“Mr. Wayne, is it true that you claim Y/N as your ward because of the age difference between you?”

“Is it true that there’s a romantic relationship between you two?”

The questions came one after another, each one pushing a different boundary.

Bruce’s lips curled slightly. That famous, careless businessman smile was on his face.

But you could feel the other man behind that smile.

“Tonight’s guest of honor,” he said. “And no… I won’t be answering your strange questions.”

“So Mr. Wayne, are the rumors about a romance true?”

“In Gotham, Alfred might be the only one without any romance rumors,” Bruce said. “Though he was apparently quite the flirt in his youth.”

Laughter echoed. Microphones were held up to you, cameras flashed, lenses zoomed in... You were being objectified.

Part of you felt like it was all a game. But another part remembered the old, old days—when Bruce looked at you that way.

Once inside, the hall was filled with white flowers. Crystal chandeliers glittered, live music played behind velvet curtains.

Champagne flowed everywhere, along with furs and expensive jewelry... The mayor of Gotham was giving a speech on stage, but no one was listening.

They were just watching each other. Who came with whom. Who wore what. Who was holding Bruce Wayne’s arm.

You.

But then, your eyes caught her.

Charlotte Rivers. She entered in a black satin dress. As if she *belonged* to the night. Her hair was perfectly styled, her smile trained for television.

Your stomach tightened. Because you knew how she looked at Bruce. And how Bruce had once looked back.

You had seen them.

Years ago. Charlotte had been his woman—at least in Gotham’s eyes.

Charlotte’s gaze settled on you. One second. Maybe two. Then she smiled. But it wasn’t warm. It was the smile of a woman who pets her dog while tightening the leash.

Bruce stood tall beside you, a show of strength. But you noticed the way his jaw tensed. He didn’t turn to you. Nor did he move toward Charlotte.

But between the two of you, a history hung in the air. And that history was heavier than the most expensive jewel in the room.

The music kept playing. Flashes still burst now and then. But your mind turned further inward. Bruce’s hand on your shoulder—maybe it was to soothe you.

But maybe to control you.

Maybe to remind you that you were his.

Or maybe… just to remember.

“Y/N?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Want to get some air? Let’s go upstairs—the terrace is quieter there.”

The connection wasn’t broken. But it had shifted into something else.

Tension.

Something historic, buried, repressed.

Unspoken—but known by all.

The night was heavy. Tangible, almost. Even Gotham’s chaos echoing below couldn’t pierce the stillness that wrapped itself around the terrace.

The first thing you felt stepping onto the upper balcony wasn’t the cool brush of the wind against your skin.

It was the contrast.

Inside, laughter still rang over the tinkling of piano keys, light pooling from chandeliers like golden wine—warm, indulgent.

But out here…

Time hesitated.

As if this place belonged not to the masked crowd inside, but to another world.

A forgotten summer night, perhaps.

Or a future that never happened.

Your heels clicked against the stone floor as you approached the wrought iron railing.

You didn’t need to turn around to know Bruce was following.

He made no sound—he never did.

But you felt him. Every molecule of him.

The heat from his body nearing yours. The air shifting as he breathed.

His presence always quiet, yet commanding enough to change the way your heart beat.

He made you alert.

Made you softer, somehow.

Sharper.

More woman.

More exposed.

"Still nervous?"

His voice was low. Calm.

But something was caged within it.

You shook your head slowly. But you turned your face away, knowing he wouldn’t be looking into your eyes.

Because when you met his gaze, you both knew what it could become.

And one of you always looked away.

Usually him.

"Of course I’m nervous," you said, voice light with forced amusement. But your tone carried layers even he couldn’t ignore.

"Walking into a room on the arm of Gotham’s most powerful man isn’t exactly a stroll in the park. Especially when everyone knows where I came from."

Bruce turned toward you, his eyes tracing your shoulder, trying to catch your face.

"Y/N... No one cares about your past," he said softly. "They care about you. Who you are."

Something ached inside your chest.

Because when he said "you"… You didn’t know who he meant.

The child he once knew?

Or the woman standing before him now—whose curves and edges he had memorized in a single glance, but whose gaze still terrified him?

You lowered your head, hiding behind the skyline.

At night, Gotham looked like a different city.

Far in the distance, Arkham’s gothic spires loomed like a ghost in the mist.

And then you said it.

You didn’t know why.

"I had my first session."

A beat.

"Crane put me face to face with Riddler."

You felt the tension snap through Bruce’s shoulders.

But he said nothing.

"I thought he didn’t trust me at first," you continued. "But it wasn’t that. It was a test. For both of us. Me and Riddler. We were… measuring each other. It was strange. But I learned things. About myself. Even Crane looked at me differently by the end. Like he finally saw me not just as ‘the intern’… but something else."

You could feel Bruce watching you now.

Even if he hadn’t spoken yet.

"Something else," he echoed, his voice low, rough.

You turned.

And for the first time that night, he met your eyes.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

That alone gave you courage.

You stepped closer.

Like a woman realizing her power.

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Real.

The wind brushed your skin. But Bruce’s nearness was warmer. Heavier.

His gaze held the war within him.

Yours held a decision.

"You never saw me as a child, did you, Bruce?"

The question hovered in the silence.

Even Gotham’s sounds seemed to pause.

His eyes darkened.

But he didn’t step back.

Didn’t lie.

He just swallowed hard, looked down, and took in a breath like it hurt him to breathe.

"You… were never a child to me," he said. "But this—Y/N— this isn’t right."

You smiled.

Because when he said it’s not right, what he really meant was I’m trying not to fall apart.

You stepped closer again. The flicker in his pupils. The twitch in his jaw.

The way his hands no longer knew where they belonged.

You tilted your head, letting your gaze fall to the hollow at the base of his throat.

You’d imagined pressing your lips there, once.

Back when you didn’t know what that desire meant.

Now you did. Now you saw the fear in his stillness.

"I haven’t seen you as a father figure in a long time, Bruce," you said, voice soft but unyielding.

"And I know how wrong that sounds. But knowing it’s wrong… doesn’t stop me anymore."

He looked at you. And there was fire in his eyes. But also something chained behind them.

A Batman who held himself back—for you to protect you. But you didn’t need protecting anymore. You were past that.

Bruce turned. Took a step away.

His fists were clenched at his sides.

"No, Y/N," he said.

And his voice was jagged. Like he hated himself for saying it.

"Don’t. Please."

For the first time, you saw the anger. But it wasn’t just at you. It was at himself. For wanting. For needing. For losing control.

"This isn’t about how I feel," he said. "This is about protecting you."

You leaned against the cold iron rail, your heart crashing against your ribs.

But you smiled. Proud. Defiant. Because now, you knew.

You knew how much he wanted you.

And that knowledge made you powerful.

The terrace had grown a bit quieter now.

The mechanical joy from below—laughter and the clinking of crystal glasses—had been drowned out here by the whisper of the wind. The darkness that settled over the city covered everything like a heavy blanket; not just you, but the man in front of you too. The way he looked at you moments ago still lingered on your skin. The echo of the feelings you had just confessed hung in the air with a boldness that surpassed the words themselves.

You were leaning against the iron railing, trying to push back your hair whipped by the wind, and you could hear your heart not just beating, but pounding. Bruce had stepped away a little. As if he realized he had gotten too close to something growing inside you—and recoiled. His hands were in his coat pockets, his head bowed. And as you watched him pull away, you faced something you'd never had to face before: not the fear of rejection—because you knew he wanted you too—but a deliberate retreat.

Then the terrace door opened. And a silhouette as cold as the moonlight glided in.

Charlotte Rivers.

Her arrival was like stepping onto a stage—dramatic, calculated, and perfectly timed. Her satin evening gown shimmered with dark red undertones beneath black fabric, slithering like a snake, cascading in waves across her skin. The fur draped over her shoulders wasn’t vulgar—it was a statement of power. Her lips were flawlessly painted—but not like yours. Hers were made for the stage. Yours were made for truth.

Charlotte saw you. She scanned you. Not the way a woman looks at another woman—but the way a woman sizes up a girl with condescension. With a smile that seemed to recall every moment between you, she turned toward Bruce.

"Bruce," she said, her voice hitting the night like the shatter of a glass. "I didn’t expect you to leave me all alone."

Bruce’s expression softened for a brief second.

But that softness wasn’t for you. It was a defense mechanism. A wall he was building against you, his feelings for you, and the things you had just said.

And Charlotte positioned herself right in front of that wall.

"Charlotte," Bruce said. "If you can still escape the crowd, it must mean no one in there has caught your interest."

The woman smiled faintly. Stepped closer. She leaned toward Bruce’s collar—not to kiss, just to hover, barely touching. But that delicate threat had already started to slither into your veins like a slow sting.

"You always manage to distract me, don’t you?" Charlotte murmured. "But I see... tonight you’ve brought a young companion. Very young."

She turned to you. But her voice wasn’t really directed at you—it was aimed at Bruce, evaluating you as if you were a decision he hadn’t made yet.

"I’ve heard a lot about you," she said. "The young intern under Bruce’s wing. What an honor. Bruce is improving in the fatherhood department, isn’t he?"

That word—“fatherhood”—twisted in the air like a sharp blade and pierced you. You instinctively took a step back. But Bruce didn’t respond. He didn’t defend you. He said nothing.

And then it happened.

Charlotte gently touched Bruce’s arm.

Her hand rested on the inside of his wrist.

And Bruce didn’t hesitate to accept it. He even smiled.

That smile... it wasn’t for you. It didn’t belong to you.

And the moment you realized that, something inside you collapsed. A part of you dropped, like falling from a height.

Like when you're a child and jump down the stairs, knowing you’ll fall but letting yourself go anyway—that feeling.

Something didn’t break, but it cracked.

"Charlotte, would you like to go inside?" Bruce said. "There are a couple of things we should probably talk about."

That sentence. Simple. Polite. But the most graceful form of betrayal.

You were still there. At the edge of the terrace.

Just minutes earlier, you had opened your heart to him. And now, he was speaking to another woman without even turning his back on you—as if trying to forget you.

Charlotte turned to you and nodded slightly. Not with triumph. Just with a look that said: Know your place.

As they walked back inside together, Bruce turned his head one last time. Your eyes met.

Inside... maybe there was an apology. Maybe a self-defense. But mostly... there was escape.

And you stood there, leaning your back against the iron railings. The wind was tossing your hair across your face. Your eyes were burning, but you didn’t cry. Because this wasn’t something tears could fix.

This was the beginning of a war.

Bruce had hurt you. Not unintentionally. On purpose.

Because he wanted you. But he was afraid of that want.

And men who are afraid—hurt the ones they love.

The rain hadn’t fallen yet, but the city was already grey. On this night, dressed in expensive coats and adorned with expensive intentions, no one spoke the language of shadows.

Inside the car, it was silent. The engine was off, the windows fogged. Motionless. But inside the car, a storm raged in the mind. He was sitting. Back straight, hands on the steering wheel.

And behind that wheel sat one of the city’s most cold-blooded doctors, a man who knew the chemistry of the human mind by heart, yet had long lost control over his own emotions: Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Behind his glasses, his eyes gleamed with a passion that didn’t shine. Without blinking, he aimed his small binoculars at the upper terrace of the opera house. Yes, he saw you. In all your nakedness, your vulnerability, the raw state of your broken heart.

You were up there, leaning against the iron railing, slowly sipping a drink from your crystal glass. That glass in your hand was actually filled with the empty phrases that had fallen from Bruce Wayne’s lips, and as you drank it, you knew exactly what you were consuming. Betrayal. Neglect.

And most of all, the helplessness of watching his eyes turn to another woman.

Charlotte’s laughter, the small, involuntary gestures Bruce gave in response—each one chipped away at you.

Slowly, but surely.

And this was what Jonathan Crane loved watching the most.

Weak moments. Vulnerabilities. Shaken pride. Tiny cracks forming in the walls of the mind. Because through those cracks, he could seep in. He could seep into you.

He lowered the binoculars. Slowly leaned back in the seat.

As if a warmth washed over him, he exhaled deeply, but that warmth didn’t come from compassion or empathy. It was the primal satisfaction of a predator. The dark, poisonous pleasure taken in a victim’s pain.

He slowly moved his left hand into his pocket and took out his phone. The screen lit up. Your name appeared—like a trembling anticipation. When he saw your name, the corner of his lips curled into a smile. But this smile wasn’t one of affection; it was the thrill a chemist feels when the right element reacts in the perfect crack.

His thumb began to type a message. But what could he say?

How could he make you feel possessed without showing ownership… reveal he was watching without being caught… pull you in without overtly reaching out?

He wrote:

Your communication with Riddler today was more effective than I anticipated. I’ve been following your behavioral patterns with curiosity from the beginning. They don’t see it, but… I do. Everything. Your early synchronization with criminal psychology—does it stem from past observational experiences, I wonder? Let’s talk in the morning.

When he pressed send, something flickered across his face.

Not pride. Not victory. A sense of right. His right over you.

You were his student. His object of analysis. His project. His! And now, even emotionally, even with the shattered pieces of your heart that still belonged to Bruce Wayne, it was time to seep into you.

He saw you take out your phone under the dim yellow light coming from the terrace above.

You tilted your head down. Looked at the screen. Your eyes scanned that familiar message. Your face froze for a moment. One second, two seconds… You read it. Looked at the screen for a while. Slowly put the phone away, but something in your expression shifted.

As Charlotte’s laughter echoed below and Bruce’s exaggerated chivalry whispered from ear to ear, he kept watching you. You stood there, unaware you were being watched by a psychiatrist who saw you as a test tube. Broken. Exposed. Accessible.

Jonathan’s pupils dilated. His gaze, shining from behind his glasses, processed every detail like a microscope—every muscle twitch, every tiny facial expression, every flicker of emotion.

You swallowed. Blinked. Briefly turned your head toward Bruce, then back to your drink. And maybe you weren’t even aware, but that message had made you feel warm for a moment.

Like a drug injected into your cracked moment—it had left you dazed.

Crane knew the effect. He could explain it scientifically. But this time, it wasn’t about science. It was personal. He wanted to see you. In your wounded state. In your chaos. And he believed only he could pull you out of it.

And now, as Bruce continued to ignore you, that sense of ownership grew even more.

Because no mask could hide this fragility.

“Go on, Bruce,” he murmured in the dark. “Hurt her a little more… leave her a little more alone…”

Because in that loneliness, a space was opening. And Jonathan Crane was impatient to enter it.

He didn’t write the next message. Not yet.

It wasn’t time. When the time came, he would write that sentence—the one that would reach into the depths of your darkness and pull you all the way to the surface. But until then, he only watched. Watched you unravel, fall apart—

But only to be pieced back together by his hands.

[beanzabear]

told myself i wasn’t gonna drink 2nite but i’m missing horizon zero dawn like a mf :(

[aventurineswife]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Noah (OC) x Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Toxic Attraction, Power Struggles, Psychological Manipulation, Slow Burn, Angst & Tension, Violence & Blood, Forbidden Love, Obsession & Possession, Morally Grey Characters, Push & Pull Relationship.

Warnings: Violence & Gore (Blood, gunplay, injury descriptions), Psychological Manipulation & Gaslighting, Toxic & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Death & Immortality Themes, Emotional & Psychological Turmoil, Obsession & Possessiveness, Mafia/Crime Themes (Murder, power struggles, organized crime) (?), Mature Themes (Dark romance, intense emotional/physical tension).

A/N: this is just an excuse to write Sylus and my oc, Noah, because this song suits them so well 😔💔 (and because I'm not okay after watching the official mv).

The first time you hear his voice, it's a whisper in the dark—a ghost of something long buried, something that should have stayed dead. But he’s real, standing before you with a smirk playing at his lips, red eyes gleaming like molten fire.

“Miss me?”

You hate him.

And yet, when the bullet stops mid-air, when the world slows to the pull of his power, it’s his voice that anchors you. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a heartbeat too long, too dangerous. His right eye glows, and in that split second, you swear you hear it again—an echo not of his voice, but of something deeper, something threading through your very being.

Your fingers twitch, the weight of the gun he gave you heavier than it should be. The metal is cold against your palm, but his touch as he curls his hand over yours is searing. “Go on,” Sylus taunts, pressing the barrel over his own heart. His smile never wavers. “Pull the trigger. End your nightmare.”

You want to. You want to erase him, to erase the way he makes you feel—this unbearable pull, this infuriating magnetism that chains you to him. But your hands tremble, and his smirk deepens as if he already knew you wouldn’t do it.

The shot rings out.

His body jerks. A moment of stillness. Then he laughs, low and dark, as red blossoms across his chest. And right before your eyes, the wound vanishes, leaving nothing but the memory of your hesitation.

“Pathetic,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. “You say you hate me, but your hands tell me otherwise.”

Your breath is ragged, your pulse unsteady. “I do hate you.”

“Liar.”

The word coils around you like a snake, suffocating, inescapable. You should run. You should kill him. But instead, you stand there, frozen in the firestorm of his gaze.

You love him. You hate him.

It’s all the same, isn’t it?

The first time you saw him, he was a shadow at the edge of your world. A force both magnetic and terrifying. Noah—Mafia King, Arbiter of Justice, Immortal enigma.

You knew he was dangerous, yet your heart never heeded the warnings.

I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you…

The words echo in your mind like a curse. A rhythm you cannot escape. The mantra of your existence with him.

He watches you from across the room, golden light flickering against his sharp features. One brown eye locked onto you, the other forever hidden behind that damned eyepatch, concealing a truth you were never sure you wanted to see.

“I should stay away from you,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath. “You ruin everything you touch.”

A slow smirk curves his lips. “And yet, here you are.”

Your hands tremble at your sides. Your heart pounds a desperate war drum against your ribs. You should leave. Run. Forget the way his voice wraps around you like silk and steel. Forget the taste of his name on your tongue.

But you don’t.

You never do.

My best enemy is you.

He steps forward, slow, deliberate. The air between you is electric, alive with an unspoken war neither of you can win. His gloved fingers brush against your wrist, the touch barely there, yet it sends lightning through your veins.

“I hurt you,” he murmurs. It’s not an apology. It never is. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

Your breath catches, something sharp lodging itself in your throat. “Because you always find me first.”

A chuckle, dark and amused. “You like being caught.”

You swallow hard, willing your pulse to steady. “I hate you.”

He tilts his head, studying you like a predator toying with prey. “Then why do you look at me like that?”

Your nails bite into your palms. The answer is too cruel, too honest to speak aloud. Because despite the blood on his hands, despite the shadows curling around his soul—you love him.

And that is the cruelest curse of all.

His lips ghost over your ear, his voice a whisper of prophecy. “You’ll never leave me.”

You shudder. He’s right.

He’s always right.

Flee from me, the worst is you and I.

But you don’t move.

And neither does he.