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whxtedreams · 1 month

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Chapter One: The Arrival

The Depths we Devour, a gothic horror detective!joel fic

Summary

Detective Miller arrives at the manor and learns that this case is a lot more complicated that he first thought. A father gone mad, the daughter stuck on the detectives mind.

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: Joel POV, smoking, alcohol, joel miller is scared of rats, reader is referred to as the girl and she/her, reader has hair that can be braided and reaches her back, reader wears dresses, author! reader, joel miller has inappropriate thoughts about reader, jealous!joel (weak), protective!joel, joel calls reader sweetheart, soft touches. - as always, if i miss any let me know

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The Detective

Day One

3:26pm

The afternoon sky glistens on the wet road, rain pelting on every surface the storm sees beneath it. Poor unfortunate animals scurry through the rattling grass desperate to find shelter from the harsh wind that gusts through the forest floors and the rain that forms small flowing rivers in the mud.

The swift and nimble fox dashes across the road, its feet almost silent upon the hard pavement. The beam of light from oncoming traffic catches its eyes, causing the animal to pause in its erratic travels. It watches in terror as the death-machine races towards it, growing closer with each passing second. The car swerves, tires screeching as they slide on the wet, slick surface.

The fox's movement is sudden and brief, finally spurred into action only as the blaring horn of the car breaks its daze. Within mere seconds, it's back once again hidden from danger, as it sprints into the bushes.

The storm rages on, unrelenting in its intensity. Lightning flashes in the sky, brightening the world for a fraction of a second before fading once again. Thunder rolls across the sky, rumbling through the ground with each booming clap.

And yet, the car keeps moving.

The driver has somewhere to be. Someone to meet. Someone to find.

A crossroad lies ahead, the water having already claimed and devoured a large portion of the path to the left. The detective glances down at his car's navigation system, exhaling in relief as it directs him to take a right-hand turn instead.

He sits hunched over the wheel, a deep frown on his face as he focuses on the road ahead. The rain lashes at the windshield of his car, the windshield wipers working in overdrive to try and clear his line of vision.

The radio sputters, the crackle of static filling his ears. He flinches as his ears are subjected to the harsh sounds, grunting in annoyance at the abuse he's being forced to listen to. He takes a few attempts before managing to find the volume knob, fumbling for it as he continues to focus on the road. Once located, he turns it to zero, taking an audible sigh of relief as the silence returns.

He turns into a driveway, his car following the paved road as it slowly rolls to a stop outside an old manor. The imposing structure stands before him, the ancient architecture a stark contrast to the modern vehicle now resting beside it.

The detective half expects a vampire to turn into a bat and fly into the sky before his eyes. Or an old pipe organ, the deep sound to announce his arrival, like out of one of those old horror movies his daughter liked to watch.

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters under his breath as the building comes into focus. The structure shines even in the dim light, the rain coating the exterior in a thin film of water. The dark grey concrete bricks stand out against the vibrant green surrounding foliage as the water runs down the exterior, dripping from the gutters onto the ground below.

He rummages through the paperwork on the passenger seat, his flask slipping from its spot and hitting the floor with a quiet thunk. He stops in his actions, his hands freezing on the paper as he stares down at the flask. Before he has a chance to reach for it, a loud rumble of thunder shakes the ground beneath the car, a flash of lightning illuminating the interior for just a split second.

He shakes his head, dismissing any thoughts of taking a sip of alcohol from his mind. Taking the printed-out email for the job, he reads over the details once again before exiting the car.

Dear Detective Miller.

I found myself reading an article about you in the paper the other week, the case you solved involving a missing child. The author wrote praises for your efforts, and I unfortunately need your expertise in the dire matter.

My father is a Mycologist, researching and experimenting with all sorts of fungi that peeks his interests. He’s been obsessing over a new discovery in the woods surrounding our manor, gone for days at a time but I’m afraid this is different. No one has heard from him in over a week as I write to you, and I am afraid something has happened to him.

I have contacted the local authorities, but they turned their back on my father, stating he’s just busy at work and he will turn up soon. But I know that not to be true. If he’s lost in his work, he always checks in with either myself or our staff as the woods around can be dangerous.

It’s been almost two weeks and it’s been radio silence.

Please, if you could find my father, I would be forever in your debt.

Joel lifts his eyes from the crumpled paper in his hands, staring up at the manor once more. "All this from just looking at mold and mushrooms?" he mutters to himself, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. With a sigh, he tosses the paper back onto the pile beside him and hunts for his lighter in his jacket pocket. Balancing a cigarette between his lips, he sparks the flame and takes a long drag of the nicotine before exhaling a puff of smoke into the car. “I’m in the wrong damn profession.”

He tucks the lighter back in his pocket as he kills the ignition, stuffing the keys into their rightful spot alongside the lighter. The nicotine surges through his body, the soothing sensation seemingly relaxing his bones as he leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh. He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of peace before he has to get to work.

He rolls his head to the side, taking in the sight of the fat raindrops smashing against the car's passenger window. The trees sway violently in the wind nearby, the weather conditions worsening with every passing second. He leans over the console, tugging on the glove box until it opens, ignoring the second fallen flask as he continues to dig through the paperwork. His fingers slip past the scattered pages and documents, ultimately gripping onto the handle of his gun.

The gun fits snugly into his shoulder holster, the weight of the weapon a constant and familiar sensation. He adjusts his jacket to cover the weapon once more, the holster hidden from view as he smooths his fingers through his hair. An attempt to fix his appearance that's ultimately hopeless in the face of the terrible weather outside.

Before exiting, he picks up his flash from the floor. Just in case, he tells himself.

He opens the car door with a soft, annoyed hiss, taking in the frosty wind that whooshes into the car. He tosses the cigarette from his mouth and into the mud, stomping on it for extra measure despite the fact the rain had already killed the heat the moment he opened the door.

Uncaring of the rain, the detective quickly jogs up the stairs and reaches the door. He knocks once, then waits patiently before knocking again. This time, he knocks with a bit more volume, hoping that their attention would be drawn to the fact that he had arrived.

The rain covers any sound coming from beyond the door, making listening in difficult. The detective grunts in annoyance, trying to wiggle the handle only to find out that the door is locked.

“Fucking great.” He mutters as he looks up at the sky, as if the storm will help him.

Joel jogs back down the stairs, his eyes catching sight of another set of dark green doors to his left. With a quick motion, he pushes the large, wooden doors open with his hands. A sound of wood against the concrete floor screeches as he manages to force the heavy doors open.

Joel's voice echoes through the darkened room as he steps inside, the sound of his footsteps crunching bits of the hay that coats the floor. "Hello?" he yells out into the empty space, hoping that someone else would respond. His hand continues to explore the area nearest to him, his search for a light switch failing. In a last attempt before completely giving up, he removes the flashlight attached to his holster and repeatedly hits it against the palm of his hand until it finally turns on. The beam of light illuminates the barn in front of him.

Joel startles at the loud, sudden noise of the door slamming behind him. "Fuuuuck me," he lets out a small huff of air, placing a hand over his heart as his breathing becomes quick and agitated.

He’s getting too old for this shit.

The light shines across empty stalls, the once-organized buckets having been knocked over and the scattered hay now covering the floor. Joel frowns at the sight of this mess, using his booted foot to push a large barrel to the side. The sudden movement of the barrel causes a mouse to squeal, dashing across the room after its hiding spot had been compromised.

Joel stumbles back, his yelp filling the room much louder than the small creature's. With a quick glance around, he sighs in relief as he thanks whatever gods there may be that his embarrassing moment was left unnoticed.

“Damn rats” he mutters.

The detective regains his composure, quickly exiting the room before he makes another embarrassing, albeit vocal, expression of his fright.

The flashlight flickers before eventually dying out as he steps into the hallway. Joel scolds himself for his oversight in forgetting to change the batteries, making a disgusted noise as he tosses the useless, flickering flashlight back onto the strap of his holster.

In the absence of any proper lighting, his hands guide him instead as he moves down the dark, eerie hallway. Flashes of lightning illuminate the area through dusty windows, giving brief glimpses of his surroundings as he passes. He reaches the end of the hallway, pushing open a door into a brightly lit room - a conservatory.

The plants here seem to have a mind of their own, growing wherever they may wish and creeping over the garden beds. The various plants spread out in untamed, wild ways, almost as if they were crawling along the ground. They have completely overtaken the statues within the area, their vines and leaves wrapping around the cracked statues, like a python sucking the life out of its prey.

He hears the faint, humming sound coming from deep in the room. His feet carry him across the vine-covered bricks with each step, the stems of the plants snapping under the pressure of his boots as he moves through the room. The rain continues to pelt down on the glass roof above, the constant sound of raindrops hitting the surface of the glass echoing through the room.

He should probably call out, announce his presence to whoever or whatever it is that is humming. But, despite the fact he knows it is most likely the safest course of action, he finds himself entranced by the sound.

The massive tree dominates the corner of the conservatory, its thick trunk taking up the majority of the space as if it were demanding it. Its roots are thick, having already done their fair share of damage to the concrete path that surrounds it, tearing into the surface with reckless abandon. Joel carefully steps over a particularly large root as soon as he spots the end of a dress peeking out from around the side of the tree.

The humming is louder as he walks closer to the gigantic tree, the sound becoming even more beautiful as it mixes with the rain. He stops on the path, pausing to listen for several moments as he enjoys the melody and the ambiance that surrounds him.

He takes another step, a branch crunching under his boot.

The humming suddenly stops, interrupted by a startled gasp as the girl scrambles to her feet. She looks at the detective with wide, terrified eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The book she had been holding falls unceremoniously to the ground beside her, forgotten in her haste and fear. She stares at the detective, wide eyed like the fox he almost killed earlier.

They stare at each other, both wide eyed and frozen.

"Sorry, miss," he begins, his voice gentle as he attempts to puts her at ease. "Didn't mean to scare you," he assures her, shaking his head in genuine regret. He offers his hand for a handshake. "I'm Detective Miller," he introduces himself with a simple, respectful smile.

She relaxes at his reassurance, a warm smile settling on her face as she takes his hand into hers. Their hands fit together well, her hands being soft and delicate in his as he gives them a gentle shake.

“I’m awfully sorry sir, I guess the staff didn’t hear you. The storm is dreadfully loud.” As if to prove her point, thunder erupts through the room, shaking the ground beneath them slightly.

They both look up at the sky through the glass roof, a soft smile on her face.

He quickly lets go of her hand, allowing her to retrieve the book that she had dropped in fright. As she rises to her feet once more, her eyes move across his body, taking note of every little detail. He raises an eyebrow in response to her action, a curious and amused expression lighting his face as he watches her take him in.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re absolutely drenched. We’ll have to get you dry before I let you in the main house. Eliza will have your neck if you dirty her precious floors.”

He takes a moment to look down at his clothes as well, taking note of the way that the damp fabric drips onto the bricks beneath him, a small puddle slowly forming and slowly oozing its way through the cracks.

“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry.”

"Follow me," she says with a wave of her hand, causing him to trail behind her as he follows her closely. Her braided hair flows softly down her back, the delicate bow sitting unevenly at the end. It calls out to him, his hand twitching with an urge to reach out and straighten the ribbon. But, he refrains from doing so, realising the action would indeed be weird. He knows that.

She leads the detective through a door, stepping into a room that is completely void of any source of light until she pulls on a string that's dangling from the ceiling, a single bulb that dangles above. She chuckles at his expression of annoyance as he eyes the old light, frowning at the way it flickers as it sways.

Was there a string light in the stables?

"It's a rather old house," she says with just the smallest hint of amusement, gesturing around the room to make her point. "You're going to find it operates like one," she continues, her words proving to be true. She turns around gracefully, her dress swirls and his eyes follow the movement of her figure as she walks away.

He liked the way she called him detective.

He's been referred to as a detective countless time over decades on the job, however, something about the way she said it, the tone she used, and the slight glimpse of amusement that danced upon her features when she said it made him feel almost...flustered.

He follows her through the room and into the kitchen, his nostrils immediately assaulted by the aroma of home-cooked food as he walks through the doorway. The smell causes his stomach to rumble slightly, a reminder that he hasn't had a home-cooked meal in a while. Having lived off greasy fast food and diner meals for far too long, he finds it hard to recall the last time he has had a meal that wasn’t drenched in oil or salt.

Freshly baked bread and pastries lay unattended on the island in the middle of the room, their scent wafting through the air as the large room fills with the aroma of baked goods. A pot full of what he assumes to be pumpkin soup sits on the stove top, the heat from the pot making the liquid simmer softly as an appetizing smell wafts forth.

He was just about to reach for a croissant, his fingers just about to pluck it from its plate when her words stop him in his tracks. "Alexander is a wonderful cook, but I wouldn't touch his pastry if I were you," she says with a light chuckle, making him freeze. He then clenches his hand into a fist and lowers it back down to his side, his fingers curling against his palm.

She pushes the door open, guiding him inside a dark, dirty hallway. A thick veil of cobwebs has taken over the space between the ceiling and the wall, blanketing the area in a spidery web of filth. The girl pauses at the entrance to the laundry room, quickly ushering him in with a brief gesture.

The room features a mixture of modern and old forms of laundry, the contrast between the two creating a unique atmosphere. She pulls out a stool for him to sit upon in front of the lit fire, which provides a welcome warmth to the chilly air. He doesn't hesitate to do as he's directed, shrugging off the water-soaked jacket before she quickly drapes it over a rack beside the fire.

He takes his sodden shoes off as the water sloshes around inside. She grabs the boots from his hands, quickly emptying the accumulated water out into the sink before placing them in front of the fire to dry them out.

He settles in front of the warm flames, adjusting the way his damp socks are positioned to soak in the heat. However, he doesn't linger on that activity for too long. "So, your father is missing?" he asks, falling into his typical line of questioning.

She sighs and nods her head, the sudden movement causing her shoulders to slump. Sitting on the back of her heels, her pale-yellow dress falls to the dirty floor, collecting on the grungy tiles as she settles down in front of the fire herself.

The detective watches the dirt from the grimy floors of the laundry room begin to pollute the pristine pale yellow of her dress, his frowning expression growing deeper at the sight. He stands from the stool and offers his hand to her. She tilts her head at him, a soft frown filling her features as she seemingly questions his actions. She does, however, take his hand without verbal questioning, allowing him to effortlessly lift her from the ground and gently guide her onto the stool. He then presses gently against her shoulders to encourage her to sit.

Joel doesn’t mind the dirty floor; he’s accustomed to it. But the girl? No, she deserves better.

He lowers himself to the ground, grunting as his knees crack from the act. He would have missed her giggle or smile; had he not been paying attention. It's this small noise that catches his attention, forcing him to look up at her with a faint, amused smile filling his expression.

Too sweet, too innocent.

He rolls his sleeves up before leaning back on his hands, his knees bent as he looks up at her. "You mentioned in your email that your father isn't known for disappearing without any contact," he repeats, referring to the words she had used when requesting his assistance. "How sure are you that he's not just out of range or just busy?"

Her smile disappears and the detective finds himself mourning the loss, an upset frown replacing it. “He wouldn’t just leave me for this long, detective. Somethings not right. He’s been so obsessed with this place since we moved here not that long ago.”

She continues to fiddle with the hem of her dress as she keeps her gaze firmly down at the ground, her fingers playing with and gently twirling the fabric around her fingers. He catches himself, noticing his eyes trailing down her bare legs to her white frilly socks, and promptly scolds himself for such an action.

Too soft, too innocent.

Her voice becomes softer as she continues to speak, a hint of sorrow permeating throughout her tone. "I've been dishonest with you detective," she says, expressing her shame and her apology. "And I’m sorry, I truly am,” she adds on with an emphasis on her sincerity, making it clear that the words she speaks are a genuine admission of fault. He finds himself wanting to reach out to her, to run his hands down her arms and let her know that whatever it is she may be ashamed of, he can assure her he's done worse. Much worse.

"That's alright, sweetheart," he reassures her in a calm and honest tone, his voice oozing with a mixture of comfort and confidence as he speaks to her. "As long as you're honest with me now, I need to know everything if I'm going to bring your daddy home safe," he continues, making it clear that he needs all the information he can get if he's going to succeed in locating her missing father.

She looks down at him, wide eyed and he feels as if he’s said something wrong.

“My father,” She corrects him before looking back down at her hands. “He hasn’t been the same since coming here. I’m afraid he’s gone mad, detective.”

“Mad?”

“He’s delusional, erratic almost. He talks about some big science company wanting to take his research away. How he won’t let them. He talks about how people have tried to kill him and how he’s created monsters in the woods that shouldn’t be alive. It’s insane sir, there hasn’t been anyone on our land since we got here. Besides you, of course.”

The detective listens to her statement intently, rubbing his hand over his stubble and scratching it against his chin as he does so. A brief thought crosses his mind that perhaps he should have trimmed the stubble before traveling the four hours to reach this isolated location, but he quickly shoves that line of thought to the side as he focuses on the task at hand - locating the girl's, insane sounding father.

“So, you think he’s running around in the forest naked, yelling at things that aren’t there?”

“No, of course not. He’s certainty clothed.” She stops, a wave of disgust covering her face. “Well, I hope so at least.”

A surprised chuckle escapes from him, the noise sounding more foreign to him than he realises as he's momentarily stunned by his own behaviour. The laugh seems to come from someplace deep within him, a forgotten aspect of his personality that seems to have disappeared along with most of his joy in life.

It's an unexpected, bittersweet surprise.

5:15pm

The manor is indeed far bigger than he would have suspected, as its winding, brightly lit corridors stretch on for what seems like miles, leading into rooms of various lengths and sizes. The lower, underground levels bear a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion, the lack of use evident in the dirty walls and the dust that has accumulated over time. The change in the appearance and level of cleanliness from one floor to the next hints at the lesser use the lower levels receive when compared to the upstairs.

His boots echo loudly on the clean tiles, each step he takes filling the space with the sound of his footsteps. His jacket is draped over his arm as he holds it tightly to his chest, keeping it closely to his body as he walks through the manor.

The girl leads him up the stairs and to her father's study, where she stops dead in her tracks upon entering. A surprised gasp escapes from her mouth as she covers it with her hand, shock, and surprise evident in her expression as she takes in the sight before her.

Without pause to consider his actions, his hand instinctively grasps her arm and tugs her behind him, his body reacting to the possibility of danger as his hand quickly reaches for his weapon. A deep scowl forms on his face as he swiftly surveys the room with his eyes in search of any potential threat. However, he finds the room to be completely devoid of danger, yet with a clear sight of destruction as it seems as if a tornado had swept through the room. The books and papers are scattered throughout, the furniture overturned as if someone were carelessly searching for something.

He steps over an overturned chair, his gun forgotten once more in his holster as he takes in the state of the room. The girl cautiously follows him through the room.

He watches with interest as she picks up a small statue and places it carefully back on the shelf. “I was in here yesterday; nothing was out of place.” She utters as she adjusts the statue on the shelf, stepping away once she’s satisfied.

Joel quickly turns his head to face the direction of a booming voice, the papers gripped tightly in his hands. He finds himself locked in a gaze with an older woman in her late sixties, her head topped with greying blond hair tied into a tight bun. She is clad in an apron tied around her waist, the fingers of one hand pointed directly at him as she points with disdain in her expression. "What do you think you're doing?" she questions loudly, her tone demanding as she expresses her dissatisfaction with the presence of a man she's unfamiliar with within the confines of the study.

The girl steps into view of the doorway, and for a moment, the woman's expression settles upon seeing her, seemingly softening her demeanour temporarily. However, her gaze settles back onto Joel in a moment, her glare quickly returning as her eyes study him.

"Did you do this?" she questions, her tone sharp as she places the blame on Joel without a hint of doubt in her voice. He lets out a quick scoff in response, shaking his head before returning his gaze to the desk and the small remnants that remain of the once elegant and put-together study.

"No, of course not, Eliza," the girl says, her voice softer and more subdued compared to the older woman. She attempts to take on a calming and reassuring demeanour in hopes of alleviating the older woman's clear anger at the situation.

Joel watches the scene play out in the corner of his eye as he flicks through papers on the desk, almost enjoying it.

"Why is this man here, what have you done?" Eliza's hushed, stern voice is aimed directly at the girl, who gazes upward at the older woman with a look of frustration and bewilderment in her eyes.

“I hired him.”

"Hired him?" the older woman scoffs, her tone dripping with a mixture of amusement and condescension as she regards the girl as if she were a child. "Why on earth would you hire him?" she questions, her voice carrying on that same attitude of dismissing the girl as if she were making a foolish decision.

“He’s been gone too long, something is wrong.”

“Oh, you foolish girl. Your father is just working, this isn’t one of your stupid little stories in your books. You can’t go hiring some lowlife detective because your father hasn’t talked to you in a few days.”

Her face drops as the words fall from the older woman's lips, her head lowering to the ground as the woman scolds her with a dismissive tone. Joel feels a brief flash of anger flare up within him as he watches the interaction and realises how the older woman is treating the girl. Without hesitation, he casts aside the papers he's holding and quickly traverses the distance between them, placing himself at the younger girl's side.

“Now, I might be some lowlife detective,” Joel grits as he approaches Eliza, unpleased by her tone. “But she has every right to be worried about her father. And from the state of this room alone, I think I’m right to believe her concern. And if you don’t believe her, I ought to believe you had something to do with his disappearance.”

His arm brushes against the girl's shoulder as he stands beside her and makes no move to step away from her. A soft smile forms on her face as she glances downward, her eyes locked on the clean tiles beneath their feet. With a loud scoff, Eliza shows her displeasure at the detective's words, the older woman evidently offended by his words.

"How dare you accuse me of such things!" she counters angrily, her hand rising to her heart with a sudden huff of air.

"Well then, I guess you'll leave us alone then as I look for her father, your boss' whereabouts then?" Joel interjects as he raises his eyebrows, almost daring the older woman to object or to protest his presence within the manor.

Eliza shoots a final hateful gaze at the girl before shaking her head with a hmph! as she leaves, refusing to engage further with the situation. Joel's irritation grows within him, but he manages to tamp down the urge to roll his eyes or to confront the older woman further, restraining himself.

He glances down at the girl as she stands beside him, her head still lowered to the ground. His heart clenches and he stops himself from chasing the women and yelling at her, releasing his temper on her for treating her like that.

Instead, he reaches up with his hand, gently placing it beneath the girl's chin and lifting her head. Her watery eyes lock on his, their gazes becoming locked together as she meets his gaze, and he grits his teeth at the sight.

protectprotectprotectprotectprotect.

"Don't let her talk to you like that," he whispers softly, his voice barely audible as an urge to comfort the girl grows within him. His hand moves slowly as he cups the side of her face, his touch gentle and comforting as he caresses the girl's cheek with his thumb. The girl's breathing grows more laboured as a tear rolls down her face, her eyes closing as the emotional floodgate begins to give way.

His hand twitches slightly where it rests upon her cheek, and he frowns at the lone tear rolling down her cheek. Without warning, he pulls her into a small, comforting embrace, her cheek pressing against his chest as he gently massages the back of her head with one hand and rests the other upon her shoulder blades.

protectprotectprotectprotectprotect.

"I don't like people being upset with me," the young girl mumbles, her voice small and strained as her fingers grip firmly onto his shirt beside her face.

"Nahhhhh," he responds with a teasing tone, dragging it out as he smiles slightly. "Don't listen to her, she seems like a stuck-up bitch," His teasing words elicit a soft, quiet laugh from her. He watches her reaction with a smile, satisfied with her response. However, her mood dampens quickly, and a frown settles back onto her face as she pushes herself away from him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," she quickly apologizes, gesturing towards Joel with a somewhat embarrassed and apologetic look. She quickly pulls her arms around her own body, closing herself off once more and practically clutching onto herself.

He scolds himself, mentally kicking himself. He shouldn't have touched her, shouldn’t have hugged her. She’s a client, a much younger client at that. But he can't help himself. There is something about her, something that draws him in and calls to him, a need to hold her close and protect her, a desire to never let go.

“No, No. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He raises his hands in defence before he sighs and lowers his hands to his hips. “I shouldn’t have done that. You were upset, I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry.”

If he knew what was good for him, he would get right back in his car and drive as far away as he possibly could, get away from this house and this girl and all the strange and unusual events which seemed bound to revolve around the house. And yet...the detective never did what was good for him.

So when she offers to show him the room he would be staying in with a kind gesture, he should have declined and given her a card for a detective much more qualified than him. He would have been better off finding another job, leaving her in better hands.

He follows her to his room.

6pm

Creamy pumpkin soup is placed in front of him, the thick and hearty, delicious-smelling bowl of soup setting his stomach rumbling. Thick, freshly sliced baked bread are stacked on a plate in the middle of the large dining room table. The smell alone causes him to practically drool as he takes in the sight before him.

Candles are lit along the sconces on the walls, providing a soft, dim light throughout the room, the atmosphere made more comforting as the storm rages outside.

He utters a quick thank you, giving a grateful nod towards the man who is pouring a glass of ice-cold water for him. He’s younger, maybe in his early thirties. His thick black curls dance on his head, his beard neatly trimmed as his dark green eyes shine in the candlelight. He’s wearing a dark blue apron, flour dusted on the material. The ice clanks lightly in the glass as he fills it, his movements efficient and precise as he places it in front of the detective before stepping away.

“I hope this is okay. If I had known we were having company, I would have asked for your preferences or any allergies.” The man moves swiftly to a cart at the end of the table, picking up a small plate littered with small slices of - what Joel assumes - different types of freshly made butter.

“This is more than okay, and no, no allergies.”

“Well, in that case detective, I’ll leave tomorrows menu in the kitchen in the adjacent room. If you have any requests, there’s a requests pad on the bench in there and I check that every morning. Little miss over here has requested French Toast for breakfast tomorrow, otherwise I normally tend to have free reign with the menu.” The man warmly smiles at the girl, his hand placing warmly upon her shoulder as she happily smiles back up at him. Joel feels a faint twinge of jealousy course through his veins as he watches the two of them, the girl's smile as genuine as the man’s.

Little miss.

When Joel notices the exchange between the man and the girl, he grinds his teeth slightly, trying to stave off the urge to say anything that he would regret in the heat of the moment. He does, however, glare into the man's head as he leans down to whisper in the girl's ear, his mouth moving too close to her ear for Joel's liking. The girl rolls her eyes with a small giggle, pushing him away with a smile, much to Joel's frustration.

Joel huffs, speaking up as he watches the two of them exchange another look. “I didn’t catch your name,” he says in a harsh, terse tone, and while his voice might have reflected a hint of annoyance, no one in their right mind could mistake that the detective was anything but annoyed in the situation.

“Alexander.” He nods back, his back straightening as he does so and his stance becoming more formal and proper. The detective notes the change in tone.

“And where can I find you, Alexander, If I have any questions?” The detective questions him, the man’s name like poison on his tongue.

“Either in the downstairs kitchen or the gardens, sir.”

Joel nods, his hand smoothing over the napkin on the table before him, a slight fidget of annoyance from the exchange. He is attempting to regain his composure, if only to maintain the image of a proper detective and not the jealous and irritated man he had been moments before.

Alexander excuses himself and leaves the room, leaving Joel alone with the girl, who sits across from him. The two of them sit in the silence that follows for a few moments, the air and tension heavy.

“Alex is a wonderful chef,” she says with a cheerful smile, and Joel makes quick note of just how oblivious she is to his soured mood. He forces his expression to soften somewhat as he nods and offers a faint, polite smile in response.

She leans across the table, picking up a slice of bread from the pile that rests on the center of the table, and he follows her example, taking a slice of bread himself. As he feels the soft, fluffy texture of the bread, he pauses for a moment, he hasn’t had bread this fresh in years.

“Where is everyone? The staff? They don’t eat with you?” He asks as she spreads the flavoured butter on her bread.

She shrugs, dunking the slice of bread into her bowl of soup and taking a bite, the soft crunch of the bite sounding delicious and mouth-watering. She smiles as she chews, her lips curling into a faint, happy smile, her eyes closing as she seems to take enjoyment in the flavours of the meal before her. He watches her, his hand lingering just above the plate of delicious and perfectly made butter as he freezes in place, transfixed by the sight of her across the table, his gaze lingering upon her as he tries not to lose himself completely.

He blinks, shakes his head as he slides his knife through a thick, soft portion of the butter and spreads it on his bread, ignoring her completely. He does not wish to get distracted by her, does not wish to allow himself to get caught up in the moment and get lost in watching her.

As he takes his first bite, his eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a curse, sitting back in his chair as he lets out a soft, expletive-laced murmur in amazement. "Fucking hell," he mutters, his gaze glued to the bowl of soup in front of him as his mouth waters from the delicious creamy texture, trying to understand how something could taste so damn good, how he had been missing out on something as amazing as this.

She laughs, across the table and he looks back up at her. “I told you he’s an amazing chef.”

“You eat like this every day?”

She nods, taking a sip of her water.

“Damn, sweetheart.”

He watches as her eyes widen before she relaxes, her reaction all but confirming his suspicion that the simple term of endearment flusters her. He watches her sink into her chair as she puts her cup down, and then picks up her spoon and resumes eating.

Sweetheart.

8:48pm

He spends the night in the study of Dr. Lewis, taking in his surroundings as he moves through the space, taking note of the countless papers and artifacts filling the room. However, upon searching the area, he comes up empty-handed, realising that whatever might have held the clue to her father’s mysterious disappearance was long gone, most likely alongside the individual who broke into the study.

What he does find, he should have put back and not read. The locks on the filing cabinets are broken, so he feels better about not breaking into the files. Although if he thinks about it, he still is.

Her name is at the top of the document he's holding, and he pauses, his curiosity overcoming any reservation he might have held. He glances behind him and sees that the room is empty, that he is alone with no risk of getting caught. With that reassurance, he begins to read, feeling as if he is delving into forbidden knowledge.

He learns her age, a young twenty-two that makes his old forty-four bones ache. He skims past her brief description and head-shot photo, realising quickly what he’s reading is a copy of her own authors blurb he would find at a back of a novel.

She’s an author?

“Your silly little stories” echoes in his head and he grits his teeth in anger, realising the woman was scrutinizing her own books she’s written, and he shakes his head as he puts the paper back and slams the drawer.

10:04pm

The detective grumbles as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, settling into the armchair in his room. A glass of dark whiskey sits on the small side table before him, and a lit cigarette sits pinched between his fingers. He takes a slow, deep drag of the cigarette, pulling the smoke into his lungs, exhaling slowly through his nostrils as he lets his mind wander, trying to sort out all the conflicting and confusing thoughts that were running through his mind right now.

The window is cracked open, letting fresh air into the room as he exhales smoke into the room, the rain still falling from the night sky in a steady downpour. He takes another drag from his cigarette and settles back in his chair, his mind wandering as he watches the curtains flow in the breeze, raindrops sliding down the windowpane to hit the concrete outside.

His shoulder holster is hung on the back of the desk chair, the gun secured in the bedside table next to the bed. His white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaving the forearms exposed as he takes a drag from his cigarette and his gaze drifts back out to the window. His shoes are placed neatly by the door, his knees spread as he sinks into the chair.

The girl. The damn girl, she's all he can think about. She keeps entering his mind every time he tries to focus on the case, the thought of her distracting him from his duties. He knows he's here for a reason, he's aware that he has something he has to do- someone to find. But he can't stop thinking about her, keep getting lost in the thought of her. He's supposed to keep his mind on the job here, but she keeps slipping in, forcing her way into his train of thought, and distracting him from his purpose.

He closes his eyes, doing his best to think about her father instead, the case.

Last seen? Tuesday morning two weeks ago at the breakfast table. Happy, normal self.

Last contacted? Wednesday night, supposedly five miles west of the manor in a small underground cave he’s been working out of. Short tempered, not his normal self.

His study? Ransacked. Did someone break in? Was it one of the staff? Was it Dr. Lewis himself? The girl mentioned she had been in there the day prior, nothing amiss. They would have been loud from the state of the furniture tossed around. How did no one hear it happen?

The housekeeper seemed very opposed to him being here, he’ll have to keep an eye on her. For the case of course, not to make sure she’s treating the girl right. For the case.

The chef, as much as he wants to throw the man out, cooking seems to take up most of his time. Still, he’ll be keeping a very close eye on him. For the case.

She had also mentioned a grounds keeper that also lives in the manor, yet the detective had seen so signs of the woman she had mentioned. He’ll have to track her down tomorrow.

He hears a soft knock on his door and, with a quick glance towards the door, he calls out, "Come in." The door opens slowly as he watches it, his head tilting slightly to the side with curiosity when the door begins to creep open, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room.

He takes the cigarette still between his lips, extinguishing it in the ashtray on the table beside him, his body tensing as he does so, the small moment of relief he got from inhaling the smoke gone now, replaced with a sense of restlessness.

His hands grip onto the arms of the chair as he watches her enter the room. She’s dressed in a pale blue set of pyjamas with small rabbits, the long pants and button-up shirt making her look quite adorable. Her once braided hair was now loose and untidy, the strands falling against her face and her neck. It takes everything in him to not stand from the chair and throw her on his bed-

"Thought you might like some cookies, they're fresh out of the oven." Her voice is faint, almost shy, and her smile follows suit, causing his eyes to drift downward to the plate of thick chocolate chip cookies she is clutching close to her chest. His gaze moves beyond the cookies to the glass of milk she is holding in one of her hands, his throat growing tight.

“Alexander make them?” He asks and she shakes her head.

“You then?”

She shrugs, a bashful look on her face, as she avoids his gaze and looks around the room as if she's never seen it before.

"Sure, I'll have one sweetheart," he sighs with a slight smile, lifting a hand from the chair and reaching out, motioning her to move closer. He wants her closer, wants her to sit next to him or perhaps even on his lap-

Her closeness is almost intoxicating as he takes a cookie from the plate, taking note of how warm and soft they are, of how the chocolate melts on his fingers. His eyes lock on hers as he takes a bite, his eyebrows furrowing as the sweet mix of chocolate melts on his tongue. A soft, content moan rumbles in his chest as he savours the taste, taking a larger bite from the cookie, he watches as her breath hitches.

“You really make these?” He asks.

She nods softly, her eyes glued to his.

Fuck it.

His hand is slow as it reaches out, as if he is unsure of what he is doing or if he should even do it at all. The fabric of her shirt is smooth on his fingers, soft under the feel of his hand as he places his hand on her hip and gently tugs, feeling her step closer to him and position herself between his spread legs, her shins against the chair. His eyes lock on hers as their bodies are suddenly so close.

“I…” she begins, her voice stuttering as she finds her words hard to come by. She glances down at his hand, which traces her hip slowly and delicately, his fingers lightly pressing into the soft fabric of her shirt.

"Hmm?" he hums in response, his eyes following as his thumb moves the shirt, exposing her delicate, soft skin as the tip of his fingers trail across her hip.

Softsoftsoftsoftsoft.

Her eyes widen as his fingers graze her skin, her body reacting in surprise as his fingers move over her skin. She gasps, quickly taking a step back from him, the unexpected movement sloshing the milk in her glass as she places the plate on the table beside him with the milk, their moment of intimacy cut short before he lowers his hand back to the armrest, watching as she settles herself at a distance.

"I hope you like them," she rushes her words with a faint smile, before she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The suddenness of her leaving makes his jaw clench, his body tense as he stares at the closed door, the sound of her footsteps as she walks away from him the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

He looks over at the cookies, picking one up and taking another bite.

Sweet, soft, delicate, warm - just like her.

His eyes shift from the glass of milk to the untouched whiskey as he takes in the sudden shift in the air, trying to regain his composure. His hand reaches out for the glass of whiskey, drinking it in one go, the warmth of the alcohol burning down his throat as he lets out a sigh, trying to take his mind off her.

Click here for Chapter Two

Notes

so i got this idea after playing Alone in the Dark and getting into a resi evil playthrough. So if you see any similarities or themes, that's why. Also stemed from that joel mod in resi 4 in the chain scene. if you know- you know. (im feral over it) tbh i just needed to write detective joel. also this is just chapter one, it will be a POV switch and there will also be a reader POV

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel tlou #joel fanfic #joel x reader #tlou #tlou joel #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #detective!joel #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader

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