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pretentious-blonde · 4 months ago

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jealous much?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve may not be the jealous type, but when he sees someone else eyeing his girl, he’s more than happy to remind you exactly who takes care of you the best

warnings: 18+ this is smut, filth with feelings, depictions of sex, p in v, fingering, manhandling, steve being a cocky little shit, lots and lots of aftercare because how could i not???

a/n: to the anon(s) that told me they wanted steve to be a bit harsher, i gotchu <3 pt. 6 but can be read as a standalone!!

series masterlist

Steve’s bedroom was always comfortably cluttered—movie tickets scattered on the nightstand, a lone shirt draped over the desk chair, and a rumpled blanket that smelled faintly of his cologne. You loved it here. Loved being with him here. The two of you were sprawled across his bed, legs tangled, currently discussing the goings-on with the people in Hawkins.

He always had a soft spot for scandal, unable to shake his love for idle gossip. He kept up with every whisper in the school hallways—a habit that only worsened once he gained access to the town’s personal archive of movie choices.

Dangerous information for him to have, truly.

“You should’ve seen what Keith has been checking out lately,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow, eyes bright. “Nothing but straight rom-coms. He thinks we don’t notice—‘cause, y’know, he does it on his own time—but Rob went snooping through the store’s computer system.”

“No way. Keith?” You snorted. “I thought he was into those art-house horror flicks or those silent German ones.”

“Right?” Steve agreed with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “We’re putting money on him having a girlfriend. That would explain why he’s been giving us both more hours lately—guy’s gotta prioritise his love-life, you know?”

“Huh,” you mused, nudging his knee with yours. “So he finally snagged a girl?”

“That’s the theory,” he affirmed, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Now we just gotta figure out who it is. Or corner him into telling us.”

You giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Well, I’m sure that won’t take long. Keith has never been good at subtlety.”

“Kinda jealous he’s the one who arranges the schedule, though.” He hummed, shifting closer until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your hair. “Means I gotta argue with him if I want a full weekend off.”

“You poor thing,” you teased, tapping his chest. “I can always come hang out if you get stuck working. Keep you company.”

He brightened. “Yeah?”

“Totally,” you said smiling. “I don’t mind. I'm very entertaining.”

“Well, does that mean when I get a weekday off, I can come crash your work?” he asked, waggling his brows. “I look great in a tie.”

You eyed him skeptically, but there was no denying he’d look downright mouthwatering in a suit. All done up, weaving through your office like he owned the place—it made your insides curl.

He’d probably climb the ladder faster than you, effortlessly charming his way to the top. It was unfair how charismatic he could be, even without trying.

“I wish you could.” You groan, getting your mind out of the gutter. “It’d make the day go so much faster.”

"I’d be the perfect intern," he agreed, "I could grab the coffee for a change—plus,” a playful smile tugs at his lips as he gazes down at you, “I already know exactly how you like it."

You laughed, then shrugged. “Actually, you wouldn’t have to run for coffee now. We got a new hire last week—Ryan, I think his name is? He’s younger, maybe by a year or so, but super eager. I’ve been showing him around, finally getting some of the stress off my plate.”

His expression changed with a touch of curiosity or perhaps just a pang of protectiveness—but it settled quickly into genuine affection. He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“You looking out for him, angel?”

“Yeah—well, I mean—” A flush crept up your cheeks. “I would’ve liked if someone had done that for me when I started, you know? Don’t want him to feel overwhelmed by everything.”

He almost melted as those words left your lips, loving the flustered look on your face when he praised you.

God, you’re too sweet for your own good sometimes.

You snuggled closer and let out a yawn, feeling his arm tighten around you in a gentle hug as you hid your face in his chest.

“Alright,” he said, clearing his throat as he glanced at the clock on his desk. “Come on sleepyhead. You’ve got an early morning, gotta get some rest."

You groaned dramatically. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Hey,” he offered with a warm smile, “want me to drive you? I’ve got tomorrow off so it’s really no trouble.”

“Honestly, it’s fine.” You shook your head tiredly. “Have a lie-in for once, you deserve it. Besides, you’re picking me up after work anyway, right?”

A lazy, content grin spread across his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you—slow and sweet. “Come on, sweetheart. Bedtime.”

Steve insisted on seeing you off that morning, even when you tried to do the nice thing and let him sleep in.

He woke up with you anyway. It baffled you how he could sleep through his own alarm but miraculously rise at the first buzz of yours. Even when you tried to turn it off and sneakily creep around his room without rousing him, your efforts were futile.

He followed you downstairs and sipped the coffee he brewed for you both at the kitchen counter, watching while you tugged on your office blazer, making sure your hair was just right in the reflection of the hall mirror.

It made him grin stupidly, watching you hustle around in your formal attire—his career girl.

He couldn’t help himself. He’d pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead at his doorstep before you left, telling you to “knock ‘em dead.” Which earned him a huff from you.

He was far too corny in the morning for your liking.

Only when your car was out of sight did he head back inside, now all glum that he had to entertain himself for the rest of the day.

He spent his time alone doing errands—laundry, a quick trip to the grocery store, all while counting down the hours till he could swing by your office.

It wasn’t pathetic, but he’d be the first to admit he was maybe a little too eager. Then again, he’d found his person, and he figured it wasn’t a crime to want every spare minute with you.

When the time finally came, he pulled up outside the Hawkins Post, scanning the pavement for your familiar silhouette.

He spotted you laughing with someone—the new hire, must be, he deduced as he took in the guy’s slightly younger appearance and the way he stood just a bit too close to you for his liking. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he examined him further.

Great. Of course he’s hot.

You glanced up just then, beaming at the sight of the familiar BMW. After a quick word to your coworker—who, he noted—looked decidedly unhappy as he caught Steve’s eye.

You bounded over to the passenger seat as he gave the guy a little wave, more smug than polite, and felt a twist of satisfaction when the guy’s scowl deepened.

You slid into the seat, barely getting the door shut before he leaned in over the console to kiss you—deep and warm, with a hint of urgency that made your pulse skip. You let out a surprised hum but quickly relaxed into it, hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

“What was that for?” You pulled back, blinking at him.

He shrugged, eyes flicking past you to the figure still hovering on the pavement.

“Nothing,” he said, casual as can be. “Just missed you, that’s all.”

He caught your colleague staring and resisted the urge to smirk openly.

Gotcha.

You huffed a playful laugh, still a little breathless. “Well, I’m not complaining.”

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, turning the key in the ignition. You nodded, and he eased the car into the street. “Oh—there are M&Ms in the glove box. Grabbed 'em for you.” He added, remembering picking them up at the store earlier. Knowing you’d appreciate it.

“Ugh, you’re the best, you know that?” you said, popping open the compartment and grabbing the bag, eagerly tearing through the plastic.

He glanced sideways, a small, satisfied grin tugging at his lips. Holding out his hand, he waited as you handed him a few—only fair, after all.

Because, yeah, he is the best.

Damn right.

And he’s glad you think so too.

Dinner had wrapped up at your flat, the remnants of takeaway containers still on the coffee table, but neither of you paid them much mind. You were curled up with him on the couch, your legs draped over his lap as you recounted every last detail of your day—he hung onto each word like it was the most important news in the world.

Well, more important to him than the news you printed, anyway.

“And,” you said, voice cracking with excitement, “they’re finally letting me write my own story! The whole thing, just me.”

His grin was instant, radiant enough to outshine the lamp in the corner. Pure happiness poured from him as he watched you speak, your joy lighting up the room.

There wasn’t a trace of resentment—just pride, just excitement, just you.

He was every bit as thrilled as you were, because he knew how hard you’d worked to get here. And now, seeing it all finally pay off, he couldn’t have been prouder of you.

“That’s incredible, honey,” he said truthfully. “Seriously, can’t wait to read it. What’s it gonna be about?”

You shrugged, flustered and thrilled all at once. “I have so many ideas—I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, whatever you choose, I’m first in line for a sneak peek.” He draped an arm behind you on the couch, giving you a playful nudge. “You gonna let me see the first draft?”

“Nope.” You snorted. “You have to wait until it’s printed, just like everyone else. No boyfriend privileges here.”

“What?” He let out a mock-offended huff. “I’m supposed to wait for the issue like the rest of town? Come on you gotta give me, like, a preview or something.”

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, stifling a laugh at his dramatic pout. “Let me get changed first, and then maybe we can brainstorm together, okay?”

He leaned back, playful grin returning. “But I like the corporate look.”

“Yeah, well, now you get the pajama look,” you countered, sticking your tongue out as you got up.

He watched you walk off, fondness swelling in his chest. He’d never get tired of that view—hair done up from a day at the office, blouse slightly rumpled from a long day’s work.

You disappeared into your bedroom, leaving him alone on the couch. He let out a contented sigh, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

With a lazy flick of the remote, he turned up the volume on the TV, barely sparing it a glance. What you wore didn’t matter to him—truth be told, he loved you just as much in cosy attire as in your best dressed-up look.

Comfort suited you, and therefore suited him just fine.

Not even a minute after your departure, the phone rang—a jarring, tinny sound that made him glance over his shoulder. It only rang twice before he heard your cheerful voice answer in the bedroom.

His ears perked up. He couldn’t help it—he was nosey.

Sue him.

Muting the TV, he angled his head to listen, as your muffled giggle drifted through the space.

“No, seriously, don’t worry about it,” you said. “He doesn’t need it until Monday—promise.”

He rose from the couch, moving quietly toward your slightly ajar door. He caught a glimpse of you standing by your chest of drawers, one hand on your hip, the other clutching the receiver. He couldn’t quite make out every expression with your back turned, but your tone was friendly, warm, comfortable.

An unwelcome pang of jealousy flared in his chest, though he quickly reminded himself that you love him, you’ve talked about this, he trusts you.

Still, he couldn’t resist sidling closer.

“Yeah, don’t listen to what he said,” you continued, your tone soothing. “He’s all talk, trust me.”

He inched into the room, sliding his arms around your waist from behind and nuzzling his face against your neck. Your skin was still warm and you let out a tiny squeak of surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him.

He inched down to whisper in your free ear, low and soft.

“Who is it?”

Turning to him, you quickly covered the receiver with your palm. “Ryan,” you mouthed.

Ryan. Right. Great.

He rolled his eyes a little, then brushed a slow kiss on the side of your neck.

“Call him tomorrow, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice playful but filled with an undercurrent of impatience.

You already spent the whole day with the guy, and now he's calling you? Even when he saw him pick you up? It didn’t take a genius to figure out you had other plans, and the thought nudged at him uncomfortably.

You shook your head in exasperation, though you were smiling. He continued to nuzzle you, pressing you gently forward until your back arched at the contact.

“Leave work at the door,” he teased, fingers pressing slightly into your waist.

You exhaled a soft laugh and brought the phone back to your ear. “Hey, Ryan? I’ll, uh, I’ll just swing by the office a bit earlier tomorrow if you need anything else, okay? … Yeah, no worries, meet you outside. Bye.”

You placed the handset back in the cradle and turned fully to face your boyfriend, still in your work clothes, not yet changed.

Crossing your arms, you fixed him with a look, and he couldn’t help but smirk, already anticipating the playful scolding coming his way. But all he could focus on was you—standing there in your blouse and slacks, looking far too damn sweet for him to take even the slightest bit seriously.

“Feeling needy, huh?” you asked, tilting your head.

He let out an incredulous huff, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“What? Couldn’t he have waited till tomorrow? I mean… come on. He could have talked to you anytime today.”

You shrugged. “I did tell him he could call if he had any questions.”

He snorted, stepping closer, fingers trailing gently along your waist.

“Questions, huh?”

“Questions,” you confirmed, heart skipping a beat at the intent look in his eyes.

His touch lingered, a tiny spark of possessiveness flickering behind his eyes. Then the realisation seemed to strike. You saw it—the slight tightening of his jaw, the faint furrow between his brows. It made you bite your cheek to stop from letting a giggle slip.

“Wait a second,” you said, holding back a smile. “Steve, are you… are you jealous?”

“What? No.” He shifted, clearing his throat. “Absolutely not.”

“You so are,” you pressed, delighting in the way his nose scrunched ever so slightly.

“Sweetheart,” he warned, voice dipping lower, “I’m not.”

You only giggled, emboldened by the rosy flush creeping into his cheeks, wanting to push his buttons just a little.

“Aw, you think I’d ever pick him over you?”

Something sparked in his eyes, a confident glint that made your stomach flutter.

“Oh, honey,” he purred, “I know you wouldn’t pick him over me.”

You couldn’t resist teasing him one step further.

“Oh, well…” you sighed, letting the words trail with a mischievous lilt, “I’m not quite sure. I mean, he knows my coffee order too, you know.”

The air shifted—his hand slid up your torso in one smooth motion, fingertips barely brushing the exposed skin of your collarbone before settling at the base of your throat.

His palm rested there, thumb gently grazing your quickening heartbeat as he angled your chin up to face him.

“You wanna finish that thought, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low enough to send a tremor through you.

You swallowed, a sudden dryness in your throat. He smirked, clearly relishing your hesitation.

“Didn’t think so,” he whispered, brushing his lips fleetingly against the corner of your mouth before pulling back.

Your heart pounded, body already hyper-aware of each place he touched you. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse had sped up beneath his hand—because from the triumphant gleam in his eye, it was clear he knew precisely what kind of effect he had on you.

When his fingers trailed beneath your collar again, you shivered, and the reaction only seemed to spur him on.

“Think I’m jealous, baby?” His mouth hovered just above yours, teasing, refusing to close the distance.

When you leaned in, he pushed back just enough to make you wait, to make you listen.

"Need me to show you how well I take care of you?” His other palm slid against your lower back, holding you flush against him. “Can’t have you forgetting, can we?"

The way he was looking at you, like he dared you to argue.

His eyes were locked on yours, hungry and unapologetically smug, as he backed you against the counter. Waiting for the subtle nod of your head to tell him to continue.

His fingers fiddled with the button of your trousers, and you could practically feel his heart racing in sync with your own.

“H-haven’t forgotten,” you managed to stutter out, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He cocked a brow as he paused his motions, leaning in until his breath fanned over your lips.

“You sure? The way you were talking—almost like you need a reminder.” A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his mouth. “And you know how much I love proving my point.”

You swallowed hard. You did know—Steve was stubborn as hell, and once he made up his mind, there was no talking him down.

You’d learned that the very first time you hung out with him—he spent a whole hour building you that damned bookshelf that was wedged in the corner of your living room, refusing to even let you help him carry it up the stairs. All in an effort to prove himself to you.

And by the way he was acting, he was determined to prove himself again.

“Say the word, baby, and I’ll stop.” He tells you earnestly, as his brown eyes search your face.

He would stop in an instant if you told him to, but the way you're looking at him tells him you won’t. Something tells him that you want him to show you how good he can make you feel.

And Steve?

Well, Steve never backed down from a challenge.

You let out a shaky exhale, no response forming except the pleading expression you're giving him. A small, triumphant noise rumbled in his throat. Your slacks and underwear hit the floor, and in one swift motion, he coaxed you against the side of the counter, broad hands splaying over your hips.

He brushed his hand against you slowly, cautiously, fingers gliding against your core and making your knees threaten to buckle.

“Already?” His tone was low, teasing, right at your ear as his fingers entered you with a lewd, wet sound. “You’re shaking, baby. Maybe I have been neglecting you.”

“Please,” you whimpered after a moment, overwhelmed by how slow and teasing he was moving—he wasn’t normally quite so unhurried with the foreplay.

Steve usually never made you beg for anything.

He let out a soft chuckle, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to the side of your neck. Clearly, he was enjoying this—relishing the way your hands pawed at his shoulders, desperate, pleading for more. For him to stop playing and just give in.

“Shhh, I’ll take care of you, alright?” His fingers moved with agonising precision. “So sensitive—so sweet for me”

Your breathing stuttered; the sensations bloomed hot and electric with every brush of his fingers. But his mouth kept going, sliding into that cocky territory he owned so well.

“Bet he wouldn’t even know where to start with you,” he murmured, voice laced with pride. "Wouldn’t even know how fucking beautiful you sound when you—" his thumb pressed hard against your clit, dragging a desperate, wrecked moan from your lips, “—fuck yourself on my fingers.”

You could tell he was on a roll, completely caught up in the moment, but you mustered the courage to speak anyway.

Feeling bold, you forced a small smirk, even as your body threatened to betray you. You’d never seen him this pent up before—this utterly consumed—and the sheer thrill of it sent a sharp, electric spark through you.

Curiosity burned—just how far could you push him?

“O-oh, I don’t know—” you managed to choke out, stepping on dangerous territory. “He’s a keen learner…”

So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?

Everything stopped—his fingers, his breath, the push of his body against yours. He stilled, letting a harsh exhale flare his nostrils.

Then a dark, knowing laugh bubbled out of him as he lifted his head to look at you—really look at you. You caught a glimpse of his determined face, before all composure snapped.

Now he really had something to prove.

“Fuck, angel,” he groaned, voice taking on a frustrated edge. “You just don’t know when to stop—do you?”

Before you could react, he flipped you around and pushed your hips down against the dresser with a firm grip. The wood pressed into your stomach, your palms splayed on either side as he molded himself to your back.

He cupped your jaw from behind and you gasped at the harshness of his grip, every nerve alive. His teeth found your shoulder, biting just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain.

You let out a sharp cry, and he swallowed it with a low groan. Running his tongue against the dull ache as a gentle apology.

“One of these days," he muttered, "that smart mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble—” you could feel his breath, hot and ragged, “—lucky for you, I’m the one who gets to teach it a lesson.”

His words send shivers across your skin and you tried to twist in his grip.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he chided as you tried to squirm, pressing against you back as he stilled your movements. “Stay.”

He placed one strong palm between your shoulder blades, guiding you lower, til your chest made contact with the wooden surface. Keeping you where he wanted you.

He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t forcing—just holding you there, making sure you felt him, making sure you knew exactly how this was going to go.

Your legs stumbled as you adjusted to the position, and he just laughed, sliding his fingers inside you once more, coaxing the most desperate little noises from your lips.

“Say my name, angel,” he demanded, that infuriating confidence dripping from every syllable.

“S-Steve,” you whimpered, voice barely recognisable to your own ears.

“Good,” he praised, dipping his head to kiss along your shoulder, fingers hitting that sweet spot inside that he knew drives you wild. “Want it to be the only thing in your head, okay?”

You moaned out his name once more, and he hummed with approval.

“That’s right." He cooed. "You're a fast learner, baby.”

He pulled away momentarily and you whined at the loss of contact, until you heard the metallic rasp of his zipper. He was right back against you, pressing his length along you with a low moan.

"You feel that?" he murmured, voice thick with need as he pressed against you, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind. The friction sent sparks through your core, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. His grip tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make you shiver. "You're soaked, sweetheart."

He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t wait. He needed to prove it to you, needed you to understand just how much he could give you. Just how much he deserved you.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out ragged. Then, mercifully, he pushed inside—slow enough to let you feel every inch. The stretch pulled a drawn-out, trembling whine from your chest.

“Ah, fuck—.” His own voice cracked, hips snapping forward as though he couldn’t possibly wait another second. “That’s it—see how good that feels?—pussy was made for me. Ain't that right, angel?”

You only mewled in response as he settled into a driving rhythm, each thrust pushing you into the surface, bullying his cock deeper and deeper inside.

He wrapped a hand against the back of your neck, keeping you pinned where he could use you, pressing hot kisses along your shoulders when you cried out. It was music to his ears as he continued his relentless pace.

Normally he was gentler, but now, he was done holding back. The litany pouring from his mouth was shameless, full of desire and unfiltered possessiveness.

“Should’ve kept him on that damn phone—” he rasped against your neck, each word punctuated by a thrust. “Should’ve made him listen to how you sound—‘cause that’s the closest he’s ever gonna get to having you like this—”

Your walls tightened around him as his words poured over you, and he noticed—of course he noticed. He drank in every tremor, every flutter of your pussy, letting out a breathless laugh tinged with disbelief as he felt you squeeze him deeper at his teasing remarks.

"You like that?—really?" He let out an amused chuckle at the new information. “Shit—never knew how filthy you were, baby.”

The way you gripped his length, pulling him deeper, the sinful sounds spilling from your lips—he knew he was giving you both. Worship and destruction.

And fuck, you loved it.

You dragged your nails across the dresser’s surface, searching for an anchor in the storm of sensation. His hand slid over yours, fingers lacing as he drove into you, relentless.

“Too fucking bad he’s never gonna see how pretty you look when you're fucked dumb,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "That's just for me."

You felt your composure slipping, your body teetering on the edge. Your head rolled to the side, a broken string of words escaping.

“Steve, please—” spilled from your lips, but you weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you upright just enough so he could whisper directly into your ear. The pain was delicious as you arched against him, lungs gasping for air as he continued to spill every dirty thought he had.

"It's alright sweetheart—I’ll give you what you need. Just look at you—can’t even think straight." A soft, desperate moan tore from your throat as his mouth continued to run. "Just falling apart on my cock, letting me fuck every last thought out of that pretty head of yours."

His pace quickened, your body overwhelmed with the slide of him inside your walls, the heat of his skin, the possessive timbre in every word he rasped into your ear.

"But you know what you will remember?" he purred, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Every time you see him, you’ll remember how I had you bent in half, screaming my name—not his." He let you fall back onto the dresser, firm grip returning to your shoulder. "I want this burned into you, baby. So every fucking time you even look at him, all you can think about is me stretching you open—ruining you for anyone else."

Fuck, you knew Steve was loose-lipped in bed, but this was something else entirely.

He wasn’t making love to you—he was fucking you. Hard. Rough. Saying whatever filthy thing came to mind without a second thought.

You wished you could throw back a sly quip, but at this pace? You could barely breathe, let alone speak.

Not that it would matter—he wouldn’t give you the chance.

Your moans rose in pitch, matching the mounting tension in your core, and he groaned, voice unraveling into something so heady it almost vibrated through you.

"I—fuck—I want you feeling me tomorrow, sweetheart—want every step you take to remind you exactly what’s waiting for you when you come home." He thrust sharply, greeted with the cry that tore from your lips. "‘Cause, baby, I’ve got no problem bending you over like this again and again—’til the lesson sticks—"

That final promise was all you needed—you came hard, a wave of ecstasy rolling through you as your body clenched around him. Your cry echoed in the small space, and you felt his grip falter as he groaned your name, riding the crest of your climax.

“Fuck, baby—that’s it,” he choked out, thrusts turning erratic. “So good for me, taking me so—”

Then he followed you over the edge, hips snapping one last time before his body seized. You felt his breath come in ragged pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back. Every muscle in him went taut, then slack, as he let out a deep, guttural moan of satisfaction.

Your name fell from his lips in a trembling exhale, and for a moment, neither of you moved—both lost in the aftermath, hearts hammering in sync.

He held you for a beat longer, both of you still catching your breath. Your body trembled against the wood, and as he finally pulled out, he stayed close—almost reluctant to let you go.

But as he pulled away brushing a knuckle over your spine, guilt crept into his eyes the moment he took in your shaky form.

“Ah—shit” he murmured, voice low. “Hey, sweetheart, you with me?”

You nodded weakly, turning your head and giving him the smallest smile of reassurance, but he still frowned in concern. Maybe he'd gone overboard.

“Yeah… all right. Can you stand?”

“I—I think so,” you managed breathily.

“Okay,” he whispered, guiding you upright with one gentle arm around your waist. Once he was sure you weren’t going to topple over, he bent down to scoop up your trousers and set them aside. You’d probably complain if they got creased—more creased than they were. Though, that wasn’t his number one priority right now.

You noticed the way his forehead furrowed in worry as he led you to the bed, helping you settle against the duvet. He slid in behind you, propping himself against the headboard so you could rest in his lap.

Your hands trembled a bit from aftershocks—adrenaline still coursing through your veins. He felt it, too, and his anxious expression only deepened.

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey, angel?” His voice was gentle, coaxing, as he sought your eyes. “Can you look at me for a sec?”

You tilted your head back to meet his worried gaze, your cheeks still flushed and eyes glazed with the rush of it all. His own eyes flickered over your messy hair, the light smudges of your makeup, and your rumpled work shirt. Guilt pinched at his features.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m sorry if I got carried away. I just—just got caught up in everything, and you—”

You let out a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to cover his mouth gently.

God, he’s adorable when he’s fussing over you.

“Steve,” you said softly, watching him go silent. “You didn’t hurt me. I promise.”

He still looked unconvinced. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I'm not,” you replied, smoothing your thumb over the swell of his bottom lip. “I’m really, really good. Better than good.”

He cupped your face gently, thumb brushing soft circles into your cheek, eyes flicking between yours as if searching for any sign of discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to be so rough,” he murmured, voice laced with concern. "Should've been more gentle with you, angel."

You were still quivering in his lap, body still sensitive. He was torn between holding you tighter against him, or letting you breathe.

You leaned forward after sensing his hesitation, brushing a soft kiss to his jaw, you make the decision for him.

“I loved it." You tell him truthfully. "I love you.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, hands finding your hips and holding you there. His warmth seeped into you through the fabric of your rumpled work shirt.

You loved him.

No matter how many times the words left your lips, it still made his chest ache.

"Love you too," he murmurs, eyes avoiding yours as they dart to his lap. "Just... don't want you thinking I, like, lost control or something." He looks up at you sheepishly. "Never want to hurt you."

“I know that.” You rested your palm against his jaw, the intimacy of the moment made your heart flutter. “I trust you. And if it was too much, I’d tell you.”

He stared at you for a moment, brow furrowed in uncertainty. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

A long exhale left him, relief slumping his shoulders.

“Thank God.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead gently against yours.

“But… you’re probably right.” You managed a playful smile as his eyes snapped to yours. “I’m definitely going to feel it tomorrow.”

A rosy flush bloomed across his face, and he buried it against your neck with a half-embarrassed groan. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You gave a teasing shrug, ignoring the dull ache that made itself known the second you moved your hips. “You might’ve had a point, too.”

“Yeah?” he asked, lifting his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

A teasing grin curled your lips. “You are kinda hot when you’re jealous.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” He winced exaggeratedly, making you laugh. “You’ll give me a complex or something.”

You laughed again, and he couldn’t help smiling back, brushing his nose against your cheek in a moment of affection.

“But, I mean, are you feeling jealous?” You asked him with full seriousness. “Because if you are, you can talk to me about it.”

He swallowed, his grip loosening slightly as his eyes softened, realisation settling deep in his chest.

You cared. So much. He thought about it for a brief moment—was he really jealous?

But then he looked at you, all concerned in his arms. The way you gazed at him, unwavering and sure, the way you had trusted him completely not five minutes ago, letting him take control, letting him have you.

It was all the answer he needed.

There was no room for doubt, no reason for insecurity. You were his—entirely his—and he knew it.

“No,” he finally said, voice gentle. “’M not jealous. Not really. I just—I don't know—wanted to make my girl feel good.” His lips quirked up in a small, sheepish grin. “And I guess I wanted to remind you who you’ve got waiting when you clock out.”

You leaned up to plant a reassuring kiss on his jaw. “Well, message received,” you teased, drawing a chuckle from him.

Steve glanced down at your blouse, still haphazardly half-done-up, and your bare legs still shaking.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? I kinda distracted you from changing.”

“You definitely did.” You smile softly as he gets up, offering you his hand to stand.

“C’mon, let’s get a bath running.” He tells you as he cocks his head towards the door.

He guides you to the bathroom, flicking on the light and starting the taps. As water rushed into the tub, he helped you out of your disheveled work shirt, eyes flicking appreciatively across your skin. Gently, he traced a thumb over a reddening mark on your neck where he’d bitten down. A pang of guilt made his eyes tighten.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss over the mark. “Got carried away.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a grin. “Hey, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Everyone to know I’m yours?”

“Yeah,” a bashful smile tugged at his lips. “I did.”

Once the bath was ready, you both climbed in. The warm water soothed the lingering tension in your muscles, and you leaned back against his chest with a contented sigh. His arms draped loosely around your middle, fingers stroking lazy shapes over your skin.

“So,” he spoke up after a moment, lips brushing your ear. “you wanna brainstorm those ideas for your article now, Miss Journalist?”

You chuckled, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. “Oh, now you’re interested in my writing process?”

“Course I am.” He gave a soft laugh, tightening his hold on you. “I’m always interested in whatever you’ve got going on. You know that.”

“Alright,” you teased, “I have a few pitches… maybe a feature on that new charity coffee place that’s opening up on Maple Street? Or this local teacher doing after-school science programs? I’m torn—so many good leads.”

Steve made an encouraging noise. “I like the teacher one,” he mused, brow furrowing in real consideration. “I mean, c’mon, that sounds like it’d be really feel-good for the paper. Everyone loves seeing that kinda community stuff.”

“You think so?” You felt a wave of affection swell through you at how genuine he was.

“Yeah. It’s definitely the kind of story that’ll get people talking in a good way.” He paused, a grin curling his lips. “But I gotta say… I also love coffee.”

“We’ll see which one the editor likes.” You giggle.

He helped you out of the tub once the water began to cool, wrapping a towel around his waist before carefully bundling you in another. He pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, then led you back to the bedroom, flicking off the overhead light so you were left in a peaceful glow from the bedside lamp.

You slipped into a soft tee and lounge shorts as he grabbed his own pyjamas from your chest of drawers, blushing at what transpired on it previously. He would never look at it the same way again.

You curled up against him in the bed—his arms around you made everything feel warm and safe.

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” you mumbled against his chest.

“Not ’til afternoon,” he said, carding his fingers through your hair.

A content sigh escaped you, eyes fluttering shut. “Nice for some, I guess.”

“But,” he continued, clearing his throat pointedly, “I’m definitely dropping you off tomorrow.”

Your brow creased, and you glanced up at him with a sleepy frown.

“Why?”

He smirked, his hand coming to rest gently on your hip. “Because… you said you were meeting him earlier, right? The new guy?” He leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “I wanna see the look on your face when you see him—see if you remember exactly what we did tonight.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you smacked his chest lightly. “Steve!”

“What?” He chuckled, utterly delighted, pressing a mischievous kiss to your forehead. “I’m curious.”

You huffed in mock-annoyance but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

His chest rumbled with laughter, and he buried his nose in your hair. “That’s me,” he murmured, voice going soft again as he held you closer.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #stranger things smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic

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kiwi-backup · 6 months ago

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Backseat

Pairing: (modern, bad-boy) Ryomen Sukuna x reader

Warnings: mdni, step-brother Sukuna, tipsy reader, oral, penetration, no protection, fem reader.

wc: 3.7k

Am I using the 'I'm stuck step-bro' trope? Yes...absolutely...

a/n: my ask box is open if you have any jjk requests! <3

Ryomen sighs and puffs on his cigarette while waiting for you to emerge from the club.

Standing on that street, leaning against the black car he'd rather trade for his motorcycle (but your mom insisted he pick you up in it instead, to his dismay) is the last place he wants to be.

He's not exactly 'big brother' material, nor did he feel like one anyway. His dad and your mom somehow met after two messy divorces, decided they were the ones for each other, packed their lives up, and forced the two of you to become siblings—step-siblings.

That differentiation is critically important to him, especially during times like these while watching you waltz out of the club wearing a dress that's sickeningly short, visibly buzzed while you say goodnight to your girlfriends.

Jesus Christ...could you have picked anything shorter?

He shakes his head and pulls in a long drag of his cigarette before dropping it in the gutter and wedging it into the concrete with his boot. The vapor seeps from his lips while his eyes subtly run down and then back up the length of you.

Fuck.

Riding on the high of having a good night out with friends, you grin while approaching the car.

"Surprised you actually showed up to get me..."

He can already feel the restraint slipping in the back of his mind at the sound of your voice...at the vague tease in your words. Usually you're more reserved around him, but thanks to whatever you drank, you seem a lot more open. A lot braver.

Ryomen scoffs as he watches you pull the car door open, giggling while you slide into the passenger seat. "What, you thought I wouldn't come get you?"

"Shouldn't I be surprised? Normally you'd tell me to fuck off or something."

Despite himself, a faint smirk pulls on his lips, well aware of the truth in your words. He closes his door, puts his seatbelt on, and starts the car. "Yeah, well...I'm not a complete jackass. Besides, your mom made me."

Amused by his reluctance, you hum as he pulls away from the curb and begins through the small town. With your eyes out the window, you don't notice each time he glances at you from his peripheral, taking in how stupidly perfect that dress looks on you.

In this moment, he's more than glad your parents didn't meet any sooner. While gaining a step-sister wasn't on his list of ideal outcomes, at least you were both adults when it happened, meaning that sibling connection never snapped into place for you two.

Instead, it feels more like being roommates while he dicks around living at home while working at a garage, hitting the gym, and tuning up his Harley whenever he has the chance. You, on the other hand, are busy finishing up at a local college.

You see each other in passing, forced to be cordial during family events despite how you both get under the other's skin as easily as breathing.

It's agonizing, especially since he's forced to be so near you at times...pretending like he hasn't wanted you since the day you met.

"No? That's reassuring at least," you return, breaking his concentration.

He snickers, not wanting to admit he actually finds you somewhat amusing at times. "I have my moments."

"At least you've learned some humility over the years."

Ryomen cocks a brow as he glances between you and the road while he turns onto a familiar street. "You're sharp sometimes, you know that?"

You grin, leaning against the backrest while the streetlights move overhead. "Yeah, I know."

"Just don't cut me, yeah?"

Emboldened by the drinks in your system, you sneak a look at him in return. "Why do I have the feeling you'd like that?"

Both brows go up at that, and he can't deny how that sparks his interest. "Easy now...don't go getting all lewd on me."

"Lewd? I'd never..." you return, grin saying otherwise.

Ryomen's surprised by this, but he'll be the first to admit your teasing sarcasm is arousing. He scoffs and shakes his head to try and stay focused on the road, mumbling under his breath, "Always the smartass..."

"You like it, though."

A part of him hates how right you are, but he masks it with a snort. "Oh shut up."

Chuckling, you glance over into the backseat, searching for something to help soothe your dry throat. "Got any water in here?"

Keeping his eyes on the changing light in front of him, he hums. "You tell me. Why?"

"I'm thirsty."

He sighs. "Can't you wait? We're almost home."

"No," you mumble, noticing the faint glimmer of water reflecting the streetlights as it rolls from under the backseat. Your face brightens as you reach for it. "Bingo..."

Ryomen rolls his eyes, watching for half a second as you bend around the seat and reach for the bottle. His pulse quickens at the sight before correcting himself. "You're not gonna reach it."

"Yes I will," you say stubbornly, voice muffled from behind his seat. Annoyed by the seatbelt restricting your movements, you unbuckle it and shuffle forward a bit until you're folded over the center console.

Ryomen's brows furrow when he hears your straining sounds, glancing back to see your ass lifted in the air, seemingly unaware of your bare thighs from your dress riding up. His eyes widen slightly, and he clears his throat. "Cut it out, brat...just wait a minute."

"No," you bark back, straining still as your fingers barely brush against the bottle. "Damn it."

The more you stretch, the higher your hem moves up, baring more of your smooth thighs and allowing the light-blue lace of your panties to peek out beneath. The sight alone makes his breath catch.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ..." he mutters under his breath, feeling his cock stir within the confines of his jeans. It takes everything in his power to not reach over like he wants to.

Oblivious while the blood rushes to your head, you murmur, "What—"

Then, your breath catches the moment Ryomen hits the breaks, and the force sends you further between the seats until your hips are wedged in the middle. From this position, stuck between the seats, your ass is completely in the air, straddling the center console. You hear as he puts the car in park.

"...Ryomen?" You ask, voice still muffled, unable to wriggle free on your own. "Why'd you stop?"

"We're...home..." he manages to get out, eyes locked on your almost bare ass sticking out right next to his head, given a complete show of your panties and the soft curves that have him stumbling internally.

"Oh..." you murmur, trying to move to no avail. "Can you help me then?"

"Yeah..." Ryomen says with a faint rasp, unable to look away while he sits there in the parked car, nestled in the mostly dark garage. "I can...help."

With a sigh, you wait in place, feeling as he brushes a hand against the back of your thigh, slowly moving up. His fingers grip the one while the other seems to wander slightly.

After a moment, aware of the very languid pace he moves at, your brows furrow slightly. "Ry?"

He clears his throat, croaking as his fingers brush against your inner thigh. "Y-yeah...just a minute."

Unsure of what he could possibly be doing, you shiver at the light touch of his hand moving higher before squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. A spark of sensation rushes through you at once, unable to ignore how intense that simple action feels.

"Ry—"

"Just try to relax...I'll get you out in a sec..." he mumbles, mostly to himself.

He's so fucked.

Being mere breaths away from your arched ass, feeling your soft skin under his palms, and knowing there couldn't possibly be a more perfect moment is enough for Ryomen to harden in his jeans.

Unable to resist, he leans in, pulse thudding beneath his skin from the temptation. Almost like he's caught in a trance, Ryomen brushes his lips against the junction between your upper thigh and beneath the roundness of your ass.

Your breath hitches as you register the faint touch, becoming more aware of it as he presses more light affections against your skin. At the same time, his opposite hand cradles your ass, giving it a faint squeeze.

Cheeks burning, you try to look back at him, but can't see from the seat. "Ryomen..."

"Shh..." he utters, getting lost in the wet kisses he leaves while moving closer to your core. "Just...shut up for a minute."

You bristle at this, but the feeling of him drifting closer to your core is enough to make you shiver, along with his tongue tasting your skin. Despite yourself, something in you doesn't want to move.

"Jesus..." he murmurs, reaching your panties and seeing how they squish against your curves. He brings a finger forward, teasing at the fabric before running it up and down the length of you.

Ryomen hums as you shudder, pressing a bit more until he can feel your slick beginning to soak the fabric. A darker, hungrier look glazes his eyes.

"Look at you, doll...already dripping, hm?"

Cheeks flaming by now, unable to fully comprehend that this is actually happening, you pant quietly from your position.

Wordlessly, he nudges the material to the side, able to see your arousal glistening against your skin, wetting your folds.

"You've gotta be kidding me..." he rasps, feeling more of his restraint crumbling.

He shouldn't be doing this. He should help you out of the car and make sure you get inside all right...not looking at you like a meal, running his fingertips through your heat. Not feeling tempted to just cut that space...

He knows all of this, but the moment he hears your breathless sound in response, Ryomen can't help himself.

Leaning forward, he sticks his tongue out and drags it through your pussy from behind, lapping at your slick. His eyes shut immediately at the feeling and taste, humming somewhere deep in his throat.

Your thighs clench immediately as a shudder moves through you, unable to swallow back the surprised gasp that escapes without resistance.

"Ryomen!"

"I know...god, I know..." He mumbles, licking his lips while he looks you over hungrily, gripping your ass to spread it while he dives back in, licking at your heat more thoroughly. "Fucking hell..."

Your eyes roll back at the sensations that tear through you, gripping the back seat while he ravishes you, eagerly devouring every inch of you. His hums and groans only make you shake more, gasping and panting.

Ryomen growls into your pussy while his tongue maps out every inch of it, seeming like a starved man. He buries it as far as he can, bringing his thumb up to blindly fumble with your clit.

The sharp breath that comes from you, paired with the trembling of your thighs, is enough to make him so hard he can't think about anything else. He can't even consider the consequences of what he's doing...or what could happen if one of your parents were to find out.

Instead, he laps at you greedily, spreading your addictive slick around his lips and cheeks.

God, he's never tasted anything so sweet—so painfully sinful and arousing.

He shouldn't be dirtying you like this, but consequences be damned. He wants this...needs this.

He needs to make you cum and he needs to know it was him who accomplished it.

"Fuck..." Ryomen whispers against your soaked core, dragging his fingers through your pretty little folds, feeling just how worked up you are for him. "I didn't think you felt this way about me, little sis."

Stuttering over the onslaught of pleasure he feeds you, along with his words, you gasp, thighs clenching around his hand. "D-don't say that..."

He can't help but grin as he kisses your ass, letting his tongue drag across your skin for a moment. At the same time, he slowly eases two fingers into you, setting a slow, languid pace within those constrictive, plushy walls. He swears this'll be the death of him.

"What, you don't want me to call you 'sis'?"

The taunting words only cause you to shiver more, whimpering at the torturous pumping of his fingers while you clench around them, skin on fire.

"S-stop...we're not siblings," you mumble, trying to convince both of you at once. "Siblings don't—hnngh...they don't do this."

Ryomen chuckles and gently sinks his teeth into the fat of your ass, groaning at the feeling before leaving another kiss there. "I guess you're right. I'd rather take you as my girl...my pretty, needy girl."

Something about it has more shivers running through you while gripping the back seat, hips moving involuntarily. "Please, Ry..."

"Please what, doll?" He returns with a knowing lilt as he just barely brushes against your clit.

More whines escape your plump lips while you catch yourself grinding against the console, backing up against his fingers for more. He's right...you're needier than all hell.

"Don't tease me."

"No?" He questions, cocking a brow while he curls his fingers.

A gasp escapes you before it melts into a needy groan. "P-please... I wan' it..."

A shiver rips through him at your breathless words, and he's well aware no part of him will be able to resist.

He's feeling just as eager as you are, if not worse.

Growling to himself, Ryomen kisses your skin again before carefully withdrawing his fingers, making you clench around nothing with a soft whimper.

That sound alone makes his cock twitch while he works his belt undone, followed by his button and zipper. His voice comes out as a harsh mutter roughened with need. "You sure about this? Once you say yes, there's no going back...there's no coming back from this."

You're well aware that he's completely right, but in this moment, with you spread out for him and feeling worked up thanks to his touch, there's no way in hell you're not following through with this.

"I'm sure...please. Please, Ry..."

There's something so innocent yet lewd about the way that nickname falls from your lips, making him shuffle his jeans down even faster.

"You can't say anything about this...neither of us can," he mumbles, pushing his briefs down until his raging cock is in his hands and his eyes flutter shut from the vague friction of his fingers wrapped around himself. "This stays between us, baby. Promise?"

Biting your lip and moving back impatiently, you shudder the moment his cockhead brushes against your soaked heat. "Y-yes...I promise. Just...give it to me."

Ryomen groans at your insistence and the delicious sound of his pearling tip gliding through your slick. He huffs out a breath and teasingly begins to part your pussy as he slowly pushes forward.

The rush of sensations that come with easing inside your cunt are enough to make his hips stutter and his breath catch. That paired with your gasp has him squeezing his eyes shut.

He can't even be bothered to push you through to the backseat to fuck you properly...he can't wait. He has to have you here, right now...wedged between the seats and perfectly open for him.

"Fucking hell..." Ryomen spills, finally feeling every inch of himself wrapped up by your hot walls while they squeeze him almost affectionately. At least, that's how he wants to see it.

His hands situate on your hips while he stills, pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts, soaking in the blinding sensations until he feels seconds away from imploding.

He's had his fair share of lays, but goddamn...there's something different about being nestled inside you...the one pussy he shouldn't be in. But that only makes it all the more addicting.

When he finally pulls back and rolls his hips forward again, hearing the muffled jingle of his belt with the movement, a deep shiver travels down his spine, and he bites back the moans bubbling up inside him.

"Fuuuck..." he mumbles, voice rough with absolute desperation. He grips your ass and hip tighter as he gradually picks up the pace, listening to the way your moans pitch higher.

Ryomen watches through heavily-lidded eyes all the while your back arches even deeper and your fingers pinch into the fabric seats. He watches how your pussy swallows him up eagerly with every slow thrust, ringing him with your arousal.

It has an endless drip of lust flooding his system, and while he's only just getting started, he feels so pussy drunk he can hardly think.

Instead, he's reduced to a primal version of himself—an addict getting a tiny bump with every flick of his hips...with every time your cunt clenches around him.

"Please..." you whimper, jaw slack. "F-faster..."

Whether its a plea or a demand, he doesn't care. Working on instinct, Ryomen grips your hip hard, reaches up for your hair with the other hand, winds it around his fist, and pulls.

The soft gasp that dribbles from your lips as your back is forced to arch deeper, half suspended in the air pulls a growl from Ryomen's lips.

"This what you want?" He utters, jaw clenching as he fucks you harder, ramming his hips against your ass. The previous care and gentleness once in his touch seeps away as his need gets the better of him.

A string of incoherent babbling leaves your mouth as you moan louder, skin getting hotter by the second.

Ryomen smirks at this, amused and aroused by how he already has you fucked completely stupid. God, you're so perfect. So needy, so slutty, so...completely his.

He hums, keeping up that mean pace while he bullies his way in and out of your pussy. "That's right...you've been begging for your step brother to fuck you, hm? I bet you think about it all the time."

A whimper, eclipsed by several sharper moans is all you can manage while the brutal ramming against your cervix has you seeing stars.

Almost like your useless panting and trembling is fueling him, Ryomen grins and huffs, thrusting with everything he has. "I bet you've been dreaming about this moment...fingers playing with this pretty pussy before bed, thinking about me and what I'd do to you. Close enough?"

You groan, eyes rolling back while he releases your hair and drops his hand to toy with your clit. The strangled sounds escape you all the while you clutch the back seat again, taking every hard thrust. "Y-yes..."

Satisfied by your breathless answer, Ryomen sinks even deeper, leaning over you while he flicks your clit still. "So honest, hm? You're being so good for me, letting me fuck you dumb. You wanna cum, don't you?"

Throat beginning to ache from how often the moans are torn from it, you weakly nod, feeling as your whole body tenses. "P-please...please, Ry..."

He loves the way those desperate pleas leave your mouth, and while he'd love to push you further to make you beg, he knows he can't hold out.

Everything about this forbidden moment and the way you clamp around him so tightly has him bordering the edge, barely holding back the need to let go.

"Do it then, pretty girl...cum for me," he utters, snapping his hips harder into you, feeling the heat getting the better of him. Every muscle in his body strains from the force of his movements, but he doesn't care. He can only think about pushing you both over the edge. "Fucking cum for me...show me how much you love t-this..."

Like the break of a dam, you come completely undone, crying out his name in a sharp bid of absolute pleasure, clenching around him and milking his cock so completely, you're both seeing white.

The wrecked sounds that escape you, along with the fluttering of your cunt around him sends Ryomen over the edge, and he locks up completely against your ass, bursting with wave after wave of his seed.

Thick ropes get buried deep inside you as he grips your hips hard and lets that blinding euphoria hold him so tightly, he forgets to breathe until he's sucking in air again.

He shouldn't have spilled inside you like that...he knows this, but something about that knowledge makes him shiver with every harsh rise and fall of his chest.

Filling you too full, Ryomen can feel as the excess spills out of you, dripping onto the center console. Its a mess and he knows the car reeks of sex, but in the moment, he doesn't care.

He can only slump over you while catching your breath, pressing the occasional kiss against the back of your neck, feeling your rapid heartbeats against his chest.

"Fuck sakes..." Ryomen whispers, pressing his cheek against your clothed back. He slowly regains his bearings, but is far too blissed to move. "What have you done to me..."

He really did fuck you brainless and boneless while you remain slumped there, oblivious to the reality of what just happened for the time being. Your skin feels slick and sticky from your combined release, your body is still hot, and the blood has rushed to your head through it all.

While your hips aren't wedged anymore, you're still pinned, and after a moment, your ragged voice breaks Ryomen from his sated stupor.

"Ry? Think I can move now?"

At the realization, he pulls up, chest and abs glistening from the exertion as he pulls at his shirt for a breeze. While he loves the sight of you perfectly wrecked beneath him, he relents, then a dark grin pulls on his lips.

"On second thought...get in the back."

Your eyes widen slightly at his words. "Huh?"

"You heard me..." Ryomen murmurs, gliding his hand over the swell of your ass while his mind starts spinning with the ideas running rampant.

"I'm not done with you yet, sis..."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 1 year ago

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Love is Stored in the Cat: A Nepeta Leijon Character Study

I guess these are a series now! I also have a request for Feferi in my inbox that I'll get around to eventually.

SO! Dear, sweet Nepeta.

Nepeta is the troll that is most against the existence of the hemocaste.

I believe the Ultimate Self speech was originally going to be from her, not Davepetasprite^2.

She's bad at shipping.

These all make her extremely impurrtant!!!

So furst of all, I'm going to start with the same disclaimer as my Eridan essay (go read that first!!! It sets up a lot of ideas that I'm expanding on here), which is that the things Hussie says are going to be lowered in value, because he likes to play coy about plot stuff. I'm also not counting anything but the actual text as canon, and even with in that text, I'm counting everything after GAME OVER as soft canon - a suggestion of what would have been, often truncated for time, often a deliberate middle finger to the shitty fandom.

Okay, so with that squared away!

Nepeta Says Fuck The Hemocaste

I'm not going to bother doing a deep dive on Nepeta's characterization, because fur the most part, I think the fandom more or less gets her right - she wears her heart (h33h33) on her sl33ve, after all! She's a very sweet little catgirl who loves roleplay and shipping, who is also a vicious hunter of wild beasts and lives in a cave. She's very nice and friendly, but has a tough streak and a spine.

She also says fuck the hemocaste, why does that even exist:

CT: D --> Your fraternization with the base classes have 100sened your morals, can't you see this AC: :33 < no! i dont care, they are fun AC: :33 < and i dont know anything about classes or bases or blood color, it doesn't matter! AC: :33 < what does gr33n blood even mean! it doesnt mean anything to me and it shouldnt mean anything to anyone else!

This is a radical stance not outright shared by any of the other trolls. Aradia calls highbloods "hateful sn0bs" that she and Tavros shouldn't have "ever had anything t0 d0 with", the highbloods are, of course, all casteist to varying degrees, and even Karkat seems fairly accepting of the class divide, at one point taunting Vriska that her rejection from the blue team is "ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY". Not to mention his long-held dream of becoming a threshecutioner.

Even Feferi, despite saying to Eridan that "W-E AR-E NOT B-ETT-ER T)(AN ANYBODY!!!!!", is actually perfectly comfortable with the caste system's existence, comparing having to stop using her royal typing quirk to "peasant-IFICATING" herself - and let's not forget that a Beforus under her rule had its caste system 100% intact.

This means that Nepeta is the ONLY troll who has said, in no uncertain terms, that the caste system should not exist. It's stupid, it's bad, and it doesn't meowtter!

AND SHE'S RIGHT.

But she's never able to fully express this opinion, which brings us to:

A COMPLICKATED RELATIONSHIP WITH EQUIUS

Now, before I say anything, I must insist that I do believe these two work as good moirails. That does not, however, stop them from being 13, and therefore, being poor to each other the way 13-year-olds sometimes are. I don't think they should break up; I think they should re-examine certain dynamics, and I think they need some space to breathe apart from each other.

Equius has a lot of problems, which I won't get into overmuch here, because... that's a whole essay on its own (are you people seeing a trend yet). But with regards to Nepeta specifically, he's extremely controlling and protective, to the point where she's a little scared of him before the game begins:

AC: :33 < well it does sound like it will be a lot of fun but i think i should get purrmission first GC: BL4R!!!!! GC: TH4TS SO STUP1D GC: H3S NOT TH3 BOSS OF YOU AC: :33 < i know! AC: :33 < but still im kind of scared of him and i think purrhaps its best to just run it by him first so there isnt a kerfuffle about it or anything

She's also afraid to tell him about her crush on Karkat, since she knows he doesn't like Karkat:

AC: :33 < well AC: :33 < i have never told anybody this not even my moirail AC: :33 < heh, actually hes the LAST guy i might tell, he so wouldnt appurrve X33 AC: :33 < but yes i have liked somebody for quite some time, but alas he doesnt know it

By the time they end their game, she's gotten over this fear, seeing as she spends many hours curled up with Equius in a pile of robotics parts, but it still must be noted that they have some issues in their relationship that were never resolved, primarily on Equius's end. What this means for Nepeta, however, is that in addition to setting her up as the most outright anti-classism troll, the comic sets her up to be socially isolated due to her moirail's paranoia about letting her associate with both lowbloods (seeing them as bad influences) OR other highbloods, seeing them as dangerous.

He's not entirely wrong - his refusal to allow her to participate in FLARP kept her from winding up entangled in the horrible chain of revenge, as Tavros alludes:

AT: iT'S PROBABLY FOR THE BEST, AT: tHAT YOU LISTEN TO HIM, AC: :33 < i dont know AC: :33 < you think so? AT: wELL, AT: iF YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO HIM BEFORE, AT: yOU MIGHT HAVE PLAYED GAMES WITH US BEFORE, AT: aND SOMETHING BAD MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU, AC: :33 < hmm purrhaps

But he's still wrong. And it's probably an uncontrolled manifestation of his Heir of Void abilities - he's both consciously and unconsciously hiding her from other people.

This isn't to say she doesn't stand up for herself! Many of her discussions with Equius are pseudo-arguments, and she does get her way often enough, managing to get him to roleplay with her, and managing to get him back in the roboti% pile to talk about his feelings about Aradia. She also talks to the humans explicitly against Equius's orders, although she's keeping it a sneakret from him:

NEPETA: :33 < but equius already furbid me from doing that :(( NEPETA: :33 < not that i am listening to him, but shhhhh! :33 KARKAT: WAIT, HE DID? KARKAT: OK, THEN AS YOUR LEADER I ORDER YOU TO RP WITH THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. BE AS OBNOXIOUS ABOUT IT AS YOU CAN. NEPETA: :33 < yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

But the fact that she has to tiptoe around him like this speaks to them having issues in their relationship that go unexamined and unresolved, especially since it's clear that Nepeta really would like to be friends with more people, were Equius not getting in her way. So, even though I do think they are good moirails for each other - they clearly genuinely, deeply care about one another. But they could use some relationship counselling.

In fact, Jasprosesprite^2 outright calls her lonely:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: Or the girl who likes ships! Cause they made her less lonely. ;3

So, she's anti-hemocaste and lonely, two character traits that were set up and never resolved. And beclaws this is Nepeta, in her honor, I'm going to talk about a third:

Her Unrequited Crush On Karcat

She has the BIGGEST flushed crush on Karkat. It's seen on her shipping wall twice, once with the word OTP on it.

And, despite never discussing it with her moirail, Nepeta mentions it once to Jaspersprite, and once to Jasprosesprite^2.

Now, I'm not really here to debate on the validity of KatNep - I think it's fine, even if I don't personally ship it, and don't personally think it would work out (there are lots of indications that they wouldn't work out, including Jasprosesprite^2 outright saying so). However, her crush on Karkat is both complicated and creates some interesting setups for her character. I am going to discuss it fairly critically either way, so KatNep shippers have been warned.

A lot of her feelings about Karkat - and about shipping in general - wind up being heavily interlinked with her status as a Hero of Heart, so I'm going to expand on it more there. But what I will note in this section is the fact that, despite Nepeta insisting twice that she doesn't think Karkat knows about her crush on her:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < it was karkat NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but i never told him and im pretty sure he never found out how i felt!

He tooootally did:

KARKAT: OK, BUT TO BE FAIR, I'M PRETTY SURE SHE'S STILL OBSESSED WITH ME. KARKAT: IT'S A VERY UNFORTUNATE, VERY RED AND VERY UNREQUITED SITUATION I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TIPTOE AROUND FOR A LONG TIME, OK?

Interpret that how you will for shipping purposes, but I want to propose that this is a reflection of their statuses as Heart and Blood players. Heart, despite its players' obsessions with romance, is not the romance aspect, Blood is. Karkat displays this very same romantic acumen when he tells Dave that he's known Terezi and Gamzee were a thing for a long time, despite everyone else on the meteor trying to keep it a secret from him. Heart is, instead, about identity, feelings, motivations, souls, and self. In other words:

Nepeta Is Kind Of Bad At Shipping

Let's take a look at those shipping walls.

Let's break this down a little. Nepeta's ships are not entirely wrong, but even the successful ones are kind of wrong. Here's what I mean. We've already discussed how Equius and Nepeta's moirallegiance has some... issues in it. If we go down her list of ships that actually do happen, most of them have some issues in them!

Aradia expresses her regret for getting together with Equius in the Ministrife. Kanaya and Rose suffer some major relationship problems when Rose starts drinking, to the point Karkat feels a need to step in as an auspice. Karkat and Gamzee fail, as Karkat is not calmed by Gamzee, and Gamzee stops listening to Karkat. And while Sollux and Feferi seem to be fairly healthy, after they both wind up in the Furthest Ring, he's pretty much always next to Aradia - he and Feferi don't even get to exchange words with each other once they're in the Furthest Ring. Purrsonally, I think he and Feferi are meant to end up as moirails, but shhhh.

So what's happening here? Well, this goes back to her identity as a Heart player. Heart is concerned with feelings and motivations.

They simply want to understand the one thing we all are stuck with for our entire lives, i.e. our own minds. Forging an identity is extremely important to the Heart-bound, and every decision and action goes toward building a coherent narrative of their own story. That isn't to say Heart-bound don't care deeply for their friends and allies; they just have a tendency to assume that everyone is as concerned with identity as they are.

Nepeta's shipping has also been associated with her isolation and loneliness. When you put this together, it implies that Nepeta's shipping is about her desire to understand others, and much of her ships are based on one of the parties having feelings, regardless of compatibility, feasibility, or broader implications. After all, despite the fact that she has pretty terrible romantic acumen, she IS able to instinctively identify that Eridan's advances toward her were insincere:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well ok i guess eridan hit on me a few times NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but his advances always struck me as cr33py and insincere

And that Karkat secretly LOVES and RESPECTS his friends:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: On the contrary Nepeta. You deserve someone who will RESPECT and ADORE you. NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well... yes NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i always hoped to find someone like that some day NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i dunno maybe youre right but in spite of whatever problems he might have i always felt like i saw something in him that made me think he could be that purrson!

Or knowing that Equius loves to play games, and still feels sad about Aradia exploding:

AC: :33 < i s33 right through your stupid act, who are you trying to kid! AC: :33 < look how you go out of your way to use words that have x's in them so that you can use your silly purrcent signs AC: :33 < or use these absurd words that you can shoehorn a '100' into, even if its not strictly replacing 'loo'!!! AC: :33 < you are so transpurrent AC: :33 < i can tell you like to play games, d33p down you are a guy who likes to play games! AC: :33 < i can smell a guy who likes to play games from so fur away with this nose, you have no idea X33

NEPETA: :33 < she was so happy, just like she used to be, and she said she would s33 you soon! EQUIUS: D --> That's a nice thought, and thank you for sharing it EQUIUS: D --> But it was only a dream, and will surely have no consequence in reality NEPETA: :33 < equius? NEPETA: :33 < are those f33lings i an detecting with my wiggly whiskery nose? EQUIUS: D --> Maybe

Because feelings, and not relationships, are her actual domain.

And speaking of Heart powers...

Nepeta and the Ultimate Self

So from this point forward, I'm going to assume you're more or less agreeing with my take that at some point after Game Over, Hussie - for whatever reason - gave up on his original ending, and wound up truncating his ideas so he could finish the comic faster. I go more into detail about that here.

So, in this hypothetical original ending, I firmly believe that the speech about the Ultimate Self would have come from Nepeta. First, let's take a look at what the "Ultimate Self" entails, as it appears within the comic:

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < everything that ever happens to every version of you is an important part of your ultimate self... like a superceding bodyless and timeless persona that crosses the boundaries of paradox space and unlike god tiers or bubble ghosts or whatever, it really IS immortal DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < but in your physical form there are all these partitions in your mind that prevent you from remembering any of that which makes your existence f33l totally linear DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < which is probably for the best! DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < in a regular body s33ing all that would be too overwhelming ... DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < and after it sinks in for a while you start coming to this understanding of a greater self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < maybe i "got it" quicker though because of the two people i was and their aspects DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < understanding heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < nepeta never got to make much headway with her aspect but shes finally gettin the chance DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < the time aspect is all about running into different versions of yourself so you kinda get confronted with it in a really literal way that can be disturbing DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < obviously davesprite stuggled with that too, but now its fine DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < hes fr33 from worrying about it all and what it means for his place in reality DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < because he can s33 now all his selves have relevance in painting the full picture of who he truly is DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < im not COMPLETELY sure because im not like some sort of ASPECT MASTER but DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < my avian slash feline intuition tells me that all roads will lead you here eventually DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < gaining the d33pest possible understanding of any aspect will bring you to the same final conclusion about your ultimate self

Now, I believe - and I hope you'll agree - that it's kind of lame, narratively, for Davesprite to have been set up with so much angst about not being the "real Dave," and for Nepeta to have all her issues with loneliness and shyness, and for these two specific iterations of each other to have never interacted, but suddenly getting double-prototyped fixes all of their problems, and they achieve Ultimate Selfhood despite being two total strangers to each other. So let's instead break down the more salient points about what Ultimate Selfhood entails, divorced from the fact that it's Davepetasprite^2 doing the narrating:

Every player in the game possesses an "Ultimate Self," an ultimate culmination of all their experiences and memories, specifically referred to as a "persona"

Normally, people are not aware of this, because it would be too overwhelming to deal with so many memories and iterations of each other.

Everyone will achieve Ultimate Selfhood eventually as the final culmination of their understanding of their aspect.

Heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self.

Let's talk about that last one some more, and by that I mean, let's see what Calliope has to say about it:

TT: I don't know why it had to be this way for me. Juggling these two waking selves at once. TT: I guess I'm used to it, but it still makes for a pretty intense existence. TT: Do you even know what the deal with that is? Like is there any precedent in your readings? UU: i don't know aboUt precedent, bUt it makes plenty of sense to me as the type of path one might expect for a hero of heart. UU: a path rUled by the heart aspect can be a joUrney of splintered self. UU: that is, the player's being may exhibit the same kind of fragmentation which certain classes coUld caUse in others. UU: i think this is what has triggered yoUr dUal-awareness between waking and dream selves, thoUgh it woUld not sUrprise me if the symptoms manifested in even more ways than this.

Now, Dirk has a clawmplicated relationship with his alternate selves, given that he's a Prince, but Nepeta wouldn't have the same struggles, or at least, not to the same degree. The problem is, hampered by Equius and her own shyness about discussing her thoughts and feelings with others:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i get so shy and worried what people might think of me if i say how i f33l NEPETASPRITE: :33 < im always so scared that they wont f33l the same way or just think im stupid or pathetic or something

She never actually gets to explore this part of herself.

But What If... She Did?

The way I imagine the original ending going is that each troll that gets saved by John's interference in the timeline then asks John to help them fix their own mistakes, thereby saving somebody else. Each successive trip through the meteor brings new character development, and also riddles the comic with progressively more password pages, which I think would be really funny. And throughout all this the Game Over team is searching for Vriska, Meenah, and the treasure, and resolving their arcs that way, so it's not like they would be replaced - they're the ones who get to kill LE. The process, in my mind, goes like this:

Terezi asks John to save Vriska, and prevent her from getting too spades with Gamzee, as these are her two greatest regrets.

Vriska obviously had great regrets about killing Tavros, both pre- and post-retcon, so she asks for his death to be prevented.

Tavros staying alive means that he and Gamzee wind up hashing out some stuff - Gamzee mentions that he feels "So aT ChIlL WiTh yOu" while talking to Tavros, and Tavros reciprocates the friendship and also - interestingly - acknowledges Gamzee's religion, calling it beautiful even if he doesn't necessarily believe in it. This is interesting because Karkat's inability to do so is explicitly one of the reasons their moirallegiance broke down. So having Tavros back, alive, means that he and Gamzee would likely end up in some sort of relationship, probably pale despite flushed leanings, and would bring Gamzee back into the fold.

Gamzee would then be like, yeah, wow, that time I killed Nepeta and Equius was pretty bad, huh? Especially since his decision to hang onto his friends' bodies and prototype them is often interpreted as him genuinely feeling bad about his dead friends (he tells Kurloz to shut up when Kurloz mentions all the dead friends, and his religion seems to be about a paradise he wants to share with his friends anyway). So he'd ask John to prevent him from killing them, resulting in the two of them getting to live.

Things get much more hypothetical from here, since so much of the character dynamics would have changed, but I think by this point, Equius might command ask John to let him say goodbye to Aradiabot before she explodes, which he expresses feeling very sad about. However, in doing so, John and Aradiabot end up in the same room, and when she realizes that he has the ability to change the timeline without repercussions, she'd seize him by the arm and demand that he take her back in time, to before she died. After all, she expresses regrets about her reckless actions, and how she always felt like it was all one big setup.

She would take Aradia's place in the Vriska revenge chain, being once more freed of her robot chassis, and from there, would trick Doc Scratch and the Handmaiden into thinking everything was still going according to their designs. Meanwhile, Alive!Aradia would be hanging out at Equius's place, borrowing his void powers to avoid notice, coordinating a new timeline that keeps the beats of the original (too much deviation causes unpredictability, and an paradox'd timeline offshoot without John's direct interference would still become doomed), but allows them greater freedom and the ability to overcome the machinations of Doc Scratch and associates.

This would also prevent Sollux from becoming so self-loathing, since it's no longer "his fault" that Aradia dies, although he winds up in that hole again after Feferi gets killed. Now that his Aradia is alive, he wouldn't feel like he might as well stay in the bubbles because his closest companions are there, so he'd make it to the end, and would ask John to prevent Feferi's death.

Eridan still dies; he's so disconnected and isolated from all his friends that his course of actions is largely unaffected even by everybody else's timeline tweaks. But before Feferi can suggest bringing him back, Karkat would butt in.

The Friendship Troll should be the one to demand that ALL of their friends be revived, especially if they had everyone except only one guy, and Karkat and Eridan are heavily implied to be moirails anyway. The course of Karkat's fixes are so comprehensive, and primarily romance-based, that the end result of this final loop is everybody not only being alive, but god-tiered, with appropriate character development.

Now, where Nepeta's Heart powers would play into all of this is that she would start to notice something going on. After all, Heart players are sensitive to their splintered selves, and (Nepeta) is probably much closer to Nepeta than regular doomed timeline offshoots. As the loops continue, and Nepeta has more and more time to talk to people, and meets her dead alternate selves, and even meets (Nepeta), she starts to awaken to her Ultimate Self - to come into possession of alternate memories.

And if the Ultimate Self is a very soul-y kind of concept, such that Heart players have a natural advantage in coming to understand it, then isn't it a natural fit that a Rogue of Heart - one who steals from Heart or steals Heart for others - would be naturally inclined to share the wisdom of her alternate selves, and even the very concept of the Ultimate Self, with her friends?

Because the Ultimate Self is actually, in my opinion, a pretty good narrative device. It turns the sadness of the dead and doomed timelines into something littersweet instead, and makes it so any weirdness regarding time travel and not really knowing your friends anymore will eventually be resolved, even if off-screen.

It's not really narratively satisfying when Davepetasprite^2 suddenly comes into being and reaches enlightenment, but imagine if instead it's a post-character development Nepeta comforting Davesprite on his relevance, or Jade on her loneliness, or John on not really knowing these new post-retcon versions of his friends? It would feel a lot better, since in this hypothetical, she would have reached that point after on-screen character development. Being able to share her true self with her friends on the meteor - by necessity, since what else are they going to be doing for three years - leads to her finally being able to fulfill her role as a Rogue of Heart.

Also, at some point during these repeated meteor trips, she dates Karkat (whether that's successful or not, I'll leave to reader interpretation - you already know where I stand), fulfilling Jaspersprite's musing that she might only be able to date Karkat after she dies.

So that's two out of thr33 of her outstanding plot hooks resolved... okay. So, I try not to make these essays into ship propaganda, but hear me out:

Hate Is Stored In The FefNep

Okay, so, remember that thing about how Feferi is actually a huge casteist hypocrite? Well, let's also note that the comic, post-Murderstuck, seems to put Nepeta and Feferi together a lot - they're a Commodore and Rear Admiral in the ghost pirate army, respectively, and they also wind up as Fefetasprite. So I think it's not entirely out of left field to say that these two were implied to have SOMETHING going on.

And that something... is a difference in political views.

I mean, let's be real, there's a reason Fefetasprite is the most explode-prone after Tavrisprite. Miss "The Hemocaste is Stupid and Shouldn't Matter" vs. Miss "I Love Being A Princess And Call Jade Hornless and Finless (Derogatory)"? Come on, tell me you don't see it.

Without getting too much into Feferi, this hypocrisy, and unwillingness to check her privilege (so glad I found an excuse to use that term unironically), are probably her greatest character flaws - ie, the things you would expect the story to address about her. Meanwhile, one of Nepeta's flaws, which she laments to Jasproseprite^2, is that she feels too shy to talk about her feelings to other people, leading to her having never expressed her views on the hemocaste to anyone but Equius.

I think that they initially think they'd be friends. Each one of them would go "oh man, this other girl is soooo cute, I wish I could talk to her more often!"

And then, once they do, they realize they fucking hate each other. Nepeta would go "X00 < you are such a hypocrite who f33ls like youre better than all of us!!!" and Feferi would go "You're suc)( an uneducated glubbing P-EASANT! 3X0" and then they'd claw each others' eyes out. It would be so funny, and if a homestuck ship isn't extremely fucking funny, then why are we even here.

But more importantly, this would further them along into resolving each others' arcs - Feferi would be forced to grapple with the greater implications of classism, and Nepeta - who is shown having a spine the most in defiance of somebody else - would grow more aggressive about being open about her feelings in defiance of Feferi. Even Equius would get roped into it in a positive way - you can just imagine him going "D --> Can I really believe my auricular sponge clots D --> Nepeta, you are finally taking interest in politi%" and be 100% on board with teaching her so Feferi won't be able to call her uneducated.

And then for flushed, I dunno! Karkat's an option, and Jade and Jake also both love the fuck out of furries, and Tavros seems nice. But yeah I'll die on the fefnep hate ship. Guys it would be so funny.

Thank you as always for reading! Let me know if there's a troll you want to hear me ramble about next.

#homestuck #nepeta leijon #feferi peixes #equius zahhak

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thekirammanjinx · 5 months ago

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Whenever i see antis yapping about how Caitlyn has no right to be angry and grieving over her mother’s death, it reminds me why so many societal issues go unsolved. It’s ironic that those very same people act like they are the pinnacle of social justice and progression; especially with it comes to class warfare. But their complete lack of empathy speaks volumes. And it shows their poor understanding of human psychology and the actual roots of many societal issues

I didn’t realize that wealth protects you from trauma (*rolls eyes*). It’s like they think that the only solution is to wipe out all of Piltover and its equivalents in the “name of Zaun”.

As much as some of the elite deserve to have their asses handed to them, the type of “justice” they are seeking will just continue the cycle. Hypothetically speaking, if Zaun took out all of Piltover, a new hierarchy would form - you know like it did under Silco. It’s like these idiots only watched 10% of the show

Oh because they truly do think the only solution is to wipe out piltover... and for Caitlyn to have ended up in some gutter begging at vi feet.

Caitlyn will say "innocents will be caught in the crossfire"

Caitlyn haters will say "all of piltover is guilty", like yall do see how your ideology doesn't even make sense?

Caitlyn is the innocent that got caught in jinx bullshit and we see what happened. Continuing the cycle of violence because you(jinx) want to blindly PUNISH everyone. For these people it never was about accountability for those at fault or a system at fault.

Jinx should be held just as accountable for her part she played as those in piltover.

They only watched 10% of the show and only have like 1% of real world knowledge when it comes to this kind of stuff, and it shows.

People cannot begin to talk about class warfare because they genuinely believe no one in zaun should face the consequences of their actions, even when their actions are equal to and worse than those of people in piltover.

Those people who constantly try and argue that the chembarons were not a harmful thing for zaun. Try and argue that they're innocent and shouldn't face consequences... like what??

#arcane season 2 #caitlyn kiramman

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roofsnpaves · 5 months ago

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Keeping Your Home's Exterior in Top Shape: A Guide to Chimney Repair, UPVC, Gutters, Fascias, and Soffits

Hey roofers peeps! Let's talk about the often-overlooked, yet super important, elements of your home's exterior: chimneys, UPVC, gutters, fascias, and soffits. These components play a vital role in protecting your home from the elements and maintaining its curb appeal. Neglecting their upkeep can lead to costly repairs down the line.

Chimney Repair: Your chimney is your home's primary ventilation system. Regular inspections are crucial to identify cracks, leaks, or blockages that could lead to chimney fires or water damage. Look for signs of crumbling mortar, missing bricks, or staining on the interior walls. Professional chimney repair can prevent these issues from becoming major problems.

UPVC (Unplasticized Polyvinyl Chloride): UPVC is a popular choice for fascias, soffits, and guttering due to its durability, low maintenance, and weather resistance. However, even UPVC needs occasional attention. Check for cracks, loose fittings, or discoloration. Repairing or replacing damaged UPVC components can prevent water damage and maintain the aesthetic appeal of your home.

Gutters, Fascias, and Soffits: These three work together to protect your home's exterior walls from water damage. Gutters collect rainwater, directing it away from your foundation. Fascias and soffits provide support for the roof and protect the eaves from the elements. Regular cleaning and maintenance are essential to prevent blockages and ensure proper water drainage. Look for signs of rot, damage, or leaks.

Why Regular Maintenance Matters:

Ignoring these areas can lead to:

Water damage: Leading to costly repairs to walls, ceilings, and even the structure of your home.

Pest infestations: Damaged areas can attract pests like rodents and insects.

Reduced curb appeal: A neglected exterior can significantly impact your home's aesthetic value.

Need help with any of these areas? Check out Aztec Roofing's expertise in these essential exterior maintenance services! https://www.aztecroofing.co.uk/other-roofing-services

#homemaintenance #homeimprovement #DIY #roofing #chimneyrepair #upvc #gutters #fascias #soffits #exteriormaintenance #hometips #aztecroofing

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cognitivejustice · 11 months ago

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What is Green Infrastructure?

Runoff from stormwater continues to be a major cause of water pollution in urban areas. It carries trash, bacteria, heavy metals, and other pollutants through storm sewers into local waterways. Heavy rainstorms can cause flooding that damages property and infrastructure.

Historically, communities have used gray infrastructure—systems of gutters, pipes, and tunnels—to move stormwater away from where we live to treatment plants or straight to local water bodies. The gray infrastructure in many areas is aging, and its existing capacity to manage large volumes of stormwater is decreasing in areas across the country. To meet this challenge, many communities are installing green infrastructure systems to bolster their capacity to manage stormwater. By doing so, communities are becoming more resilient and achieving environmental, social and economic benefits.

Basically, green infrastructure filters and absorbs stormwater where it falls. In 2019, Congress enacted the Water Infrastructure Improvement Act, which defines green infrastructure as "the range of measures that use plant or soil systems, permeable pavement or other permeable surfaces or substrates, stormwater harvest and reuse, or landscaping to store, infiltrate, or evapotranspirate stormwater and reduce flows to sewer systems or to surface waters."

Green infrastructure elements can be woven into a community at several scales. Examples at the urban scale could include a rain barrel up against a house, a row of trees along a major city street, or greening an alleyway. Neighborhood scale green infrastructure could include acres of open park space outside a city center, planting rain gardens or constructing a wetland near a residential housing complex. At the landscape or watershed scale, examples could include protecting large open natural spaces, riparian areas, wetlands or greening steep hillsides. When green infrastructure systems are installed throughout a community, city or across a regional watershed, they can provide cleaner air and water as well as significant value for the community with flood protection, diverse habitat, and beautiful green spaces.

#solarpunk #solar punk #rain gardens #green infrastructure #DIY

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jomamaofficial · 1 year ago

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A Hero's Burden (Midoriya x GN!Reader Angst No Comfort Oneshot)

A/N: FIRST OF ALL, SPECIAL THANKS TO @caramello07, BECAUSE THIS ABSOLUTE LEGEND HAS BEEN HELPING ME CREATE THE PLOT AND BETAREADING MY WORK. LITERALLY, BESTIE, YOU'RE A REAL ONE 🫶🫶.

Hello hello my lovely readers! Thank you for being patient with me. My exams are around the corner so I have been so, so busy with that. But I always pop in to see you guys leave the most beautiful feedback and comments, it makes my day <3. I hope you enjoy this just as much as I did. I really put my heart and soul into this one.

Please let me know whether I should lowkey create a YouTube channel where I read out my work the way I intended to.

As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. I absolutely adore all of you, and I want to take this time to thank you guys for your support. Seeing your comments and messages motivates me to write :) <3. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :).

TW: Death and bleeding, SUICIDAL themes.

CW: SPOILER: Season 6, Izuku’s Vigilante arc, swearing, difficult friendship dynamics.

Masterlist

Word Count: 3242.

Summary: Heroes always win. Every folktale, every comic, everything in our life tells us the same thing: good reigns over evil. But the harsh truth comes crashing down in a dark warehouse, where the facade of invincibility crumbles. Amidst the shadows, surrounded by those who once vowed to protect, you can only helplessly watch as your best friend, Midoriya Izuku destroys himself under the weight of this flawed, and broken system. With the entire hero society relying on him, how can he stop giving everything he has? In a world where heroes are human and kindness is a liability. You try to help him, yet even the strongest bonds can shatter under the weight of despair.

——————————————————————————————————

How does it feel?

When everything in front of you disintegrates into pieces, whilst you can only sit there and watch?

It feels like a dark warehouse. Cold and wet.

Sunken in, casting a dark shadow, impersonating the night sky, your eyelids were heavy, succumbing to the shared lethargy that lurked in the heavy air. Your brain did not allow you to rest however, listening only to your palpitating heart, because what if the villains found you whilst you were fast asleep?

Heroes were there to protect you.

But why were you still so afraid? The nation's best heroes had congregated together, sharing the same space as you, breathing the same air as you.

They would never let harm come your way– it was their duty to protect you.

So why were they hiding from that harm, sitting with their knees held close to their chest?

Heroes were there to protect you, but that claim was voiceless in the presence of reality: heroes were hidden– whispering and begging the ground to stay silent as they shuffled in the shadows. Villains ran loose– mocking the hopeless souls that they trampled on, with every free, and unabashed step they took.

Death had not only taken multiple heroes on the battlefield; it had also snatched their facade.

They were not invincible. They were not untouchable.

The world had just forgotten that their heroes were only human after all.

A phone rang.

Roaming eyes halted. They could not speak.

“It’s mine”, Hawks said.

Breaths were held.

“It’s from All Might”.

You leaned in closer.

“Midoriya-kun came into contact with the second hired gun.”

Your chest ceased to move.

“...and he won instantly.”

“Young man-”

“He didn’t have any information.”

The sky wept.

The moon and stars had masked themselves under the darkness that shrouded the city. If they could not see you, they could not harm you.

Toshinori Yagi had just watched the last remains of Midoriya Izuku’s innocence drain into the gutters of Musutafu.

“He might explode too. Be careful.��

He felt the impact of his student’s departure faster than he could comprehend. Therefore he took the chance to call after Midoriya, summoning the scarce energy he had left, ignoring the rising threat in his weak chest, which was ready to surrender to the bloody phlegm building inside of him.

“Wait a minute!” Toshinori ran after him– though Midoriya had only moved for a second.

“Food!” he gasped, his hands lifting a box wrapped in a blue cloth. ““Please, my son, you haven’t eaten…”

His hands tightly grasped around the soft, crisp fabric that was decorated with orange carrots, and white bunnies with pink noses. When he first saw it, Toshinori chuckled to himself before deciding to buy it– this was made for Midoriya, his rising hero, the purest of hearts.

“All Might.” Midoriya did not look back. “I’m fine now. You don’t have to follow me.”

Toshinori’s shoulders slumped down and his brows lowered, pulling closer together. Midoriya was walking away from him without a second glance.

Midoriya had not met his eyes once today.

“I am fine now.” The wind howled louder than his voice, unconvinced.

“Young Midoriya, please...”

The energy around Midoriya had increased, visible power– venomous and hostile– overflowing from his tense body that was moments away from breaking.

Toshinori had to stop him. Or history would repeat itself.

“Midoriya, please, don’t d-”

“I can move at the same level as your 100%...” Midoriya whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “You don’t have to worry…”

His tattered clothes soaked in the rain, his sound of his heavy steps getting quieter and quieter.

“Please”, Toshinori begged, “wait a minute…”

But before he could finish his heart’s plea, the one who it was meant for had already left, pushing everything away, leaving everyone he had burdened in the dust.

The lunch that his mentor had lovingly made for him now belonged to the sidewalk and the merciless rain. Soon, it would also flow into the gutters of Musutafu.

The warehouse door crashed open.

“Midoriya is nowhere to be found!”

All Might ran in, his hands against his knees, gasping for the still and stale air.

“He-” he huffed again, regaining his breath,” he, he left… I tried to contact him. Phone… off… he’s nowhere to be found… sent class after him… didn’t find him either”

Your eyes twitched at the blank stares that his words had harboured. No one batted an eye.

They were too busy counting the days until they would be found by the real threat.

All Might’s concern for Midoriya ran thicker than blood. And had you looked past those deep-set eyes, you would have noticed the faint veins that bordered his gaze; something was stolen from him. Midoriya had been stolen by the expectations of the world, held hostage in his own mind.

“I know where he is.”

Orudera Chūgakkō. Memories had been etched into the red brick walls. You pushed against that same black gate, its groans and creaks forming the haunting symphony that would promptly begin at eight o'clock sharp.

Lessons would start at eight-thirty, and the low murmurs of the class would subside as your sensei would come in, dropping her bags next to her desk. You would all stand up together, reciting the same monotonous ‘Good Morning Shima-Sensei’ before sitting back down. If she was in a good mood, the class would commence. But if she was (more likely than not) in a bad mood, the entire class would get a scolding.

“You cannot wish your teacher a pleasant good morning, but you can chat to your friends with double the energy?! Do that again. Now! Show me some respect.” And you would all stand for another five minutes, smirking and giggling, repeating it again.

What once felt like a tedious task now brought a smile to your face as you reminisced about the moments spent in the classroom before you.

Birds would chirp, filling the classroom with a sonorous melody. The walls would be decorated by the younger children who drew rainbows and flowers and butterflies with every colour they could get their hands on. There wasn’t a speck of grey or black found in these drawings.

It was so fun to be a child– just a few years ago, your life was filled with colour.

Everything now was grey and bare.

At ten o’clock, the bell would ring and children would scream as they ran towards their friends, ignoring the poor teachers who repeated: “children, please don’t run in the hallways, children please, you may get hurt!”

The large corridor was so full with a sea of chuckles and laughter.

Today, undisturbed dirt coated every surface on the corridor. A desolate strip led down to the most frequented stairs of your past. Its laborious steps led to a place that no student visited as much as you did. On the sixth floor, the rooftop brought you closer to the blue sky and the fluffy clouds. You and the sun would overlook the vast plains of never ending buildings, glistening under the morning glow. People would walk, cars would drive; the hustle and bustle of everyday life resided on the grounds below you. So how could anyone truly feel alone? How could anyone ignore the true beauty of your favourite spot in the whole school?

You now understood that beauty was in the eye of the beholder– the painful truth.

Sleepless nights were spent wondering, what would have happened if you did not visit the rooftop on one particular day? What would have happened to the nameless boy who had stood there, head hanging low, body quivering, feet on the ledge of railings.

Who could have guessed that this stranger would end up as the only friend you ever had?

You could recognise him in total darkness and in different bodies, for Midoriya Izuku’s pure heart could never change. It would always draw you towards him.

You ran up the swindling stairs, the steps leading up to the sixth floor seeming longer and steeper than before. Serenity only belonged to the past– this place brought nothing but a looming sense of dread, weighing you down as time ticked by.

The closer you got, the weaker your heart felt. You had read about it somewhere– our bodies always knew what would happen, so they could prepare us for the worst.

But the thought of losing him before you could see his eyes, your beacon of light and hope, would rend a part of you forever.

So you carried on walking, ignoring the foreboding pricks cultivating in your body.

Those eyes… you could not live without them. They were an open window into the bright and welcoming flame that resided within him. He would give warmth to those who needed it without asking, never expecting anything in return.

Kindness had no price.

So Midoriya Izuku would live with kindness in his heart, even if it meant that it would be vulnerable and open for everyone to use as they pleased.

Midoriya Izuku was priceless. There was no one like him in this world filled with deceit and hate. But the world did not like those who were different from the rest.

He gave and he gave. Yet what would happen when he gave every piece of himself to a world that never gave back? What would happen if he finally had nothing to give apart from his soul?

The world is cruel.

They would steal everything he had. And that is how you found him, through the already opened door, standing under the thundering sky that showed no forgiveness to the young man who would once smile at them too.

Tip tap, tip tap, your eyes were blurry, but not from the rain. They had betrayed you, yes your gaze. For the man in front of you was not the man whom your heart could recognise from afar. You were so close, yet your hearts held distances, akin to the stars. Blood wept, following the course of the pouring water, revealing wounds, neglected but vain. They cried for attention they would never get, as the man who was once a stranger, had become estranged from them.

“Deku…” you did not want him to turn around, praying for this to be a mistake. FOr him to look confused, asking you, “who’s Deku?”

This can’t be your Deku… he couldn’t be your priceless hero…

His head barely turned, but you caught a glimpse of his glowering eyes.

They donned an arcane mask of toughness. His front, unbreakable on the surface, yet unfortunately flawed. You could see right through it, uncovering the secrets that he hid in plain sight.

Immense pain had found an abode in his glassy, teal eyes; exhaustion chipped away at the shell that kept him put up to protect himself from the looming danger that would attack as soon as it smelt his foetid weakness. Midoriya let it happen once, jeopardising everyone around him.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Go away,” Midoriya cautioned.

His heart expended too much energy pushing everyone away. He could only hope that you would listen to him– he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Deku…” you pleaded, eyes misting over as you cautiously step forward, hands stretching wearily towards his shoulders, taking care not to brush past those fresh, untended marks that showed through the rips and tears in his clothes.

“Please Deku… let me help you.”

Midoriya stiffened under your touch, guilt overtaking his body.

You couldn’t be seen with him.

The eyes. They were everywhere.

They tracked his every move. And if they saw you now, he would never see you again.

You felt a strong jolt push you back into the wall, your head crashing against the stone walls, losing your grip on him completely. Your hands felt empty– he had disappeared from under your touch.

And it all happened so fast.

Midoriya stared at his hands, his blood fleeing from his extremities. The realisation slowly dawned upon him, raising his heart beat, shifting the energy around him– he was a monster. Mioriya began gasping for air, choking on his own spit and tears, his vision tunnelled in on the surface of his palms.

A monster.

That’s what he was.

Your body lay limp in the rubble of concrete and dust, you swore you felt something wet on the back of your head, but your eyes urgently searched for Midoriya, who was pale and frozen near the edge of the roof.

His feet began to sway, and his eyes began to flutter shut. You overlooked the jolts in your body for your mind could not bear this sight again. Despite the clear warnings your aching flesh had given you to rest, you still ran towards him, clutching his body before he fell onto the ground.

Only in your arms had the outer shell of this vigilante’s stone defence fallen, emerging a broken child who had just caused immense pain to his best friend.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered through his dried throat, quivering as the walls in his mind closed in on him. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry”, he repeated, again and again, trapped in a cyclical doom which served only to condemn him.

He was a monster– that depraved voice screamed.

He was a monster– that depraved voice echoed as it stalked him in the depths of his own mind, following him into his deepest, intimate fears. Clutching it, taking over.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

He was disturbingly light in your arms; you just noticed his hollowed cheeks.

Midoriya’s strained forehead loosened as he broke down in your hold, tears running down his thinning face. Your heart beat alongside his, yet you did not dare to glance into his emerald eyes, for they had been robbed of their precious shine. You placed your finger over his mouth as he opened it to say something, a silent reminder– everything will be alright.

“Give me your pain, Deku, please…” you begged, stroking his curly hair away from his eyes. “I can’t see you like this anymore”.

A singular tear dropped on his cheek, stinging him with regret.

“You don’t have to carry that burden alone, Deku… It’s too big… too big to carry alone. You give too much, you don’t know when to rest. You break yourself, for people who don’t deserve it and you take on things bigger than you can ever manage! You think you can do everything Deku, but you can’t!” you cried, unable to stop.

“You don’t need to work this hard, Deku, you don’t. You’re forgetting who you were, Deku. You’re not indestructible! You’re not untouchable, you’re not All Might! You can get hurt, you- you can bleed, you can die for god’s sake, Deku, you can die!”

Your voice began raising uncontrollably, as you held his face, shaking him.

“You’re just a kid, Deku. My Deku… the sweet boy who I love. My best friend…” you grabbed his hands, squeezing them as you took deep breaths, your throat aching.

“But you’re unrecognisable now… You’re destroying yourself thinki- thinking that you’ll survive but what if you don’t. What if you don’t survive, and all of your friends, your teachers, your mom, they’re all just waiting for you to come back.”

Your eyes solemnly scanned his wrist, eyebrows furrowed and lowered. A litany of cuts, healed and unhealed, adorned his wrists, glaring at you. Your trembling fingers gently ran over them, hovering so as to not agitate them.

“But since you wanted to prove that you’re a hero, you go around picking fights that you can’t win.”

The scars on his wrist opened wounds of the past.

Your hands that held his wrist felt empty again. Midoriya averted his eyes from yours, before pulling his sleeves down, stretching the thinning material of his hero-suit, until it covered his exposed skin.

The rain’s sobbing grew louder with every moment that passed by in dismal silence.

“What would you even know about my life, Y/N?" he asked, his voice drowning in the cacophony of the storm.

Just like that, all of the progress you made had collapsed in front of your eyes. Midoriya had rebuilt the cage around his heart

“Deku, what happened?”

Your hands, which reached out for him, were immediately shaken off.

“What would you know about my life? About my struggles?”

His legs faltered when he tried to run away, cramping as a warning: Midoriya couldn’t move, he had used up all of his energy.

“Deku plea-”

“You said what you wanted to say, Y/N. Thanks for reminding me that I can’t let my guard down, even near people I thought I could trust. I’m not ‘indestructible’, I’m not All Might, I never claimed that. But unlike you, I have the world's burden around my shoulders. If you were putting everyone around you in danger, you'd run away too Y/N. But you wouldn’t know that because you're not the one giving everything your body can give, just to find out it's never going to be enough. You’re not the reason this entire city has turned into a ghost town. But what would you know, Y/N?”

He turned around, gaze hardened into stone.

“You're quirkless".

Blood rushed into your cheeks, your heart beating fast.

You must have misheard.

“You don’t mean that…”

He didn’t. The sweet boy you had met years ago on this same rooftop would never use that against you. He didn’t mean it.

"Now, I know why I was treated the way I was when I was younger, Y/N. The quirkless really don't know anything."

You couldn't have misheard that.

You had been beside his side to see every intimate detail in Midoriya’s life– every victory, every laughter, you celebrated together. Every shove and every taunt, you endured together.

“The Quirkless Duo, aw what are you going to do now? Cry?”

“I wonder how your parents feel, only having one useless kid that can never protect them.”

“Ya’ know, if you want a quirk, there might be another way. Take a swan dive off the roof of the building, and pray for a quirk in your next life."

We are born into this world completely alone. And we die in this world completely alone.

Only fools believe that they can escape that.

‘What would you know, Y/N, you're quirkless.’

You were truly alone in every stage of your life.

"You're becoming exactly what we feared, Midoriya.”

He stopped in his tracks, swallowing the rising bile that crept up his throat.

“If I knew this is what I'd get after standing up for you those countless times where I got hurt, where I got kicked and punched and teased everytime I defended you, I would have just let you jump off that roof.”

The wind wailed through the night sky, moving everything in its path.

“You're no hero Midoriya. But you’re right about one thing. You’re the fucking reason everything around you is getting destroyed.”

It was funny to think that their first and last meeting would be on this rooftop.

Midoriya looked at the world, greyer than it had ever been.

It had lost life.

He waited until he heard the door shut behind him.

This life truly had nothing to live for.

67 notes · View notes

whxtedreams · 1 year ago

Text

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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