#jonathan pine fic

[occudo]

So... There is this Beauty and the Beast jmart fic by the wonderful @cirrus-grey called Not quite a tale as old as time 👀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Time for Cheer

Warnings: non/dubcon, dysfunctional family, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: After your Christmas is ruined, you find an unlikely saviour.

Character: Jonathan Pine

Day Eight of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - finding your home away from home

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It wasn’t the transmission, it was the fuel line,” your father snarls. 

“Then why did replacing the transmission fix the problem,” Aiden spits back. 

They’re having another of their pointless arguments. It’s more of a weighing of the egos. It’s not entirely unusual for them to spend hours trying to one up the other or prove the other wrong, but you thought Christmas might be a respite. That assumption seems foolish the more you think about it. There’s never been a good enough excuse to just stop. 

Your family has never been like other families. There are no cute matching sweaters or festive photos. The only tradition is to see who you can make feel the worst. You know better than to tell either of them to cut it out, otherwise you’ll just be drawn into their race to the bottom. 

Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Dinner. Every year you fight to make the perfect spread and every year, something ruins it. Usually, your family. 

Last year, your dad couldn’t get over the ‘watery’ gravy and the year before that, your brother whined because someone put beans on his plate and he hates green beans. For an adult, he sure does act like the same seven-year-old brat that used to scream about bathing. 

You feel just as stagnant. The holidays are just the stamp on the year, sealing your lack of progress. Year after year and you’re still here. Still filling the hole your mother left all those years ago. You can’t even blame her. You can only blame yourself for not following her lead and running for the hills. 

Vivien arrives just as you baste the turkey and check the temperature. It’s only noon and there’s some hours to go. Your father and brother don’t stop arguing even as the churlish voices of children rise in the entryway. Your sister’s children are another obstacle to your endeavour. 

“Hey, Viv,” you say as your sister appears in the doorway. 

“Any wine?” She asks. 

“There’s beer,” you shrug. You don’t drink, she knows that. 

“Beer?” She mutters. 

“I don’t know. Dad could have some whiskey hidden in the garage--” 

“Whatever,” she huffs. 

“You can put the pies on the counter.” 

“Pies?” She echoes, “what pies?” 

You brace yourself and take a deep breath. You face her, “you said you were bringing pies.” 

“No, I said they had the pumpkin pies at the grocery, I never said I’d bring them,” she shakes her head. 

“No, you said--” 

“Why would I bring the pies? I have three brats to take care of a husband. I got enough to spend my hard-earned money on,” she sneers. 

You flinch. Hard-earned? You don’t remember the last time she worked. She calls you about every other week to complain that Chuck’s overtime still didn’t break even. 

“It’s fine,” you go to the cupboard and take out your emergency can of apples. “No pumpkin but I’ll figure something out. Maybe crisp?” 

“See, you got this,” she says as she goes to the fridge and steals one of your father’s Molsons. 

“Viv,” her husband calls from the other room as something crashes. 

“Ugh, he can never do anything by himself,” she mutters as she cracks the tab. 

You shake your head. Your father’s holler joins the chaos of voices. The kids whine as one of them cries, and your dad yells about whatever’s broken. 

You won’t be lured into the storm. Vivien couldn’t offer to help you in the kitchen. This is her chance to get drunk and let her husband wallow in the destruction. Your father never lifts a finger in the kitchen past opening the fridge and your brother would only get in your way. 

As you forge on, you can’t help but wonder why you bother. What do you ever get in return? Not even a thanks and you only end up cleaning the mess after. Well, what other choice do you have? You’ve been pushing the same boulder uphill for almost twenty years and you still haven’t gotten over the apex. 

You manage to scrounge enough together to fill a pan with the impromptu crisp. You have everything prepped and ready to cook in intervals; bean casserole, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, corn, and carrots. Even if everything else is a mess, dinner should be good. 

You open the stove and slide apple crisp in next to the turkey. It won’t be your best work. As you shut the oven door, there’s a sudden clatter behind you. You spin as the bowls hit the floor and their contents scatter with the shards of broken glass. Viv’s oldest, Cameron, swings around his hockey stick, stomping over the mess. 

You stand stunned and paralysed. You blink as tears burn behind your eyes and your hands shake in horror and rage slowly builds from your stomach to throat. You can only stare at the clueless child as he wiggles the stick proudly.  

“See what I got for Christmas?” 

You sway. He’s eleven years old. He knows better. Or he should. 

“What the hell is all that nonsense?” Your father yells as he clamours into the doorway. “Now whatcha gone and done--” 

As he turns the blame on you, you wince as if you’ve been slapped. Cameron once more swings around his stick, playing with a sliced carrot like a puck. Your father’s voice fades into the back of your mind as your vision narrows. 

“You fix it. I’m done.” You shake your head as you swallow down your devastation. “I’m done.” 

“Done? What d’ya mean done?” He snarls as you brush past him. He follows you down the hall to the front door. 

“It’s over. I’m not doing it again. I’m not cooking for you animals anymore,” you rip your jacket off the hooks and shove your feet into your well-worn boots. “You want a Christmas dinner, figure it out yourself.” 

“You can’t just walk out.” He slurs. 

“I’m going.” 

“Where? Huh? Going to find your mother?” 

You stop and face him. He knows it’s low but he doesn’t care. He always throws her in your face, like you ever had a say in what she did. You scowl. Before you can explode with the fury boiling in your chest, a knock comes at the door. Great, now you have witness to the storm. You don’t need another police report. Better deal with the neighbour. 

“Well, maybe she’s nicer than you,” you retort and spin around. 

You pull open the door and swiftly flit out, swinging it shut to muffle the bluster of shouting and smashing. Worse than Paula coming to complain about the noise, it’s the landlord. Of course. 

“Oh, Mr. Pine,” you greet in a fragile tone. 

“Hello, I see Christmas is in full effect,” he remarks kindly on the rabble behind the walls. 

“Sure is,” you utter. You look him over as he holds a wrapped basket. You don’t expect him. Especially on the holiday. “Um, what are you doing here?” 

“I bring holiday tidings. I hate to disturb you and your family but I’ve been making the rounds of my tenants and it’s been a bit more taxing than I would expect.” 

“Oh?” You furrow your brow. 

“This is for you. And your family,” he pushes the basket toward you. “Just a little gesture.” 

“Uh, wow, you...” you slowly take it, admiring the ribbon tied around the red plastic wrap, “that’s very generous but... I don’t have anything to give you.” 

“It is not given in the spirit of reciprocity,” he assures. “You know, I sadly could not make it home for the holiday but I’ve got many to share it with here so I thought I would.” 

“Well, that’s lovely,” you say. “I’m uh... on my way out actually so I’ll just leave it here.” 

You turn and put the basket on the wicker chair near the window. You feel Pine watching you. You turn back to his pensive gaze. He wears a nice grey coat and a deep blue scarf with silver edging. He is a perfect contrast to the disaster of your appearance. 

You zip up your coat to hide the food smear across your sweatshirt. You pull your hat from your pocket and tug it down over your hair. You near him and force a smile. 

“Thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy unwrapping all that later.” 

“Well, where are you off to then?” He sidles to the end of the steps, making way for you. 

“Um. Just going for a walk.” To be honest, you don’t know where you’re going. You didn’t make a plan. You just need to get out. 

“Would it be terribly rude to invite myself? It isn’t often I get to stroll through the neighbourhood.” He dips his chin down as the bitterness turns the tip of his nose pink. His blue eyes are pale but bright in the snowy atmosphere. 

“Uh, sure. Not much to see around here,” you shrug and descend the stairs. Your anger subsides for the roiling embarrassment nipping at your nape. 

He follows you down and you drag your treads along the walkway heavily. You turn down the street and he comes up next to you. You’re quiet as you wallow in agitation and humiliation. 

“Sounded like a very hectic affair,” he muses through the whistling winds. 

You snort. You can’t help yourself. “Yeah.” 

He hums as you carry on in a lull. You can appreciate that he doesn’t push it and yet the silence, welcomes your annoyance. You sigh. 

“It’s awful,” you breathe. 

He chuckles, “family can be a lot.” 

“Yeah, well, mine is just... we don’t even like each other.” You rub your cheeks as you speak. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not your problem.” 

“Well, as you can see, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. You are my last stop.” 

“Hm,” you sniff. You mull your temper and consider going back. The thought just sparks another flare in you. You shake your head at the idea. “They ruined dinner. Again. Every year--” you stop and click your tongue. “I can’t go back. Not today. So, I guess I’ll figure something else out.” 

“No? But surely, they would miss you.” 

“No, only what I do for them,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said, we’re enemies more than we are family. Not that it’s your problem.” You get to the end of the street, where the dead-end sign stands. “Look, you’re really nice bringing that by but you should go enjoy your Christmas somewhere warm. Alone. In peace.” 

“Ha, it seems we envy each other for what the other has,” he remarks. “You romanticize my solace and I can’t help but covet your lack of.” 

“Yeah, sure. Well, I should get the car cleared off. I’ll probably drive it down to the train station and sleep there.” 

He tilts his head. You realise what you’ve said as his forehead creases, “you say it as if it common.” 

“Won’t be the first or last time,” you say. “Look, you’ve heard enough of my problems. Really, I’m already embarrassed so please, just go.” 

He clicks his tongue, “and yet I fear I cannot.” He insists, “you see, I was raised to be a gentleman and that includes never leaving a woman in despair so, I cannot allow you to spend your Christmas behind the tracks. So, either I stay and we shiver together,” he gives a moment to quake in the frigid air, “or you come with me, gather your wits, and maybe a bit of warmth.” 

You scoff louder than ever, “and why would you do that?” 

“Well, it is Christmas,” he suggests, “and I am your landlord so is it not my onus to house you?” 

You laugh sardonically. He grins. 

“Come on, I have to confess, I don’t do well in the cold and I cannot feel my hands,” he drawls. 

You drop your chin and turn your hands out, “alright. Twist my arm.” 

“I would if I could bend my fingers,” he jibes. 

🎄

Pine lives further than you expect. You suppose you never thought much about it. Where he’s concerned, you only ever worried about making rent. Yet, subconsciously, you built up a man in his sophisticated condo, like a king in a tower. 

Instead, he drives past the city limits into the sparse rural lands where houses are set far apart around thickets of trees. It’s not entirely without sense. Out here, the wealthy can build without the confines of a city lot. 

He turns off toward a countryhouse with brown and white siding with black trims. The Tudor-style stands out amid the more farmhouse style facades. He pulls into the plowed lot as you stare up at the immaculate structure. The property he lets to you stands in a lowly contrast. You can’t help another twinge of insecurity. 

“Um, thanks... for this. I really appreciate it.” You wring your hands as he shuts off the engine. “I feel a bit stupid now.” 

“I wouldn’t. Sounds like you’ve a lot to be unhappy about. To think you’ve put up with so much for so long, a weaker person could not. Myself included,” he assures. 

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. You mirror him in all your movements, taking his lead as you step onto unfamiliar ground. You come up the front steps of the house and he unlocks the broad wooden door. 

He lets you inside and you take your time slipping free of your boots. He leaves his salt-stained leather shoes on the mat and hangs his jacket on the rack in the corner. He takes your coat and puts it next to his. You pinch your thumbs between your knuckles anxiously as you look around the spacious and finely curated interior. 

“I’ve tea. Or hot cocoa. My mother sent me a specialty frother as a token of her absence,” he offers. 

“Oh, I'm okay,” you twist around as you examine the walls. “It’s a very nice house.” 

“A very nice but empty house,” he agrees. “I spent so long with the design and construction, I hardly thought of filling it up with more than things. Far too much for only one person.” 

“I guess everyone has different problems we don’t think of,” you say. “Like you said before, I’m whining about my family yet yours is so far away.” 

“Ah, yes, funny how we rarely get what we so desire,” he slithers. “So we covet what others have so much we cannot see any possible flaw.” 

“Right.” 

He waves you further inside. You’re quiet as he takes you on a brief tour; a front room, dining room, a large kitchen you could die for, a den, a back office, and that’s just the first floor. He brings you upstairs and shows you a guest room. 

“You might stay in here. I’ll find some clean sheets.” 

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” You insist. “Thanks, again. Uh...” 

“I’m not much of a cook, but I could put together something. Cheese toasties and soup always do me well.” 

“Sure, that sounds great. I could help,” you suggest. 

“Only if you truly wish to,” he says. “But I don’t mind.” 

“I’d rather stay busy.” You reply. 

He nods and takes you back down to the kitchen. The meal isn’t very hard to put together. Melted cheese on toast and a jar of the gourmet soup they sell at the more expensive shops. It’s tasty too, warm and comforting even.  

Yet, you can’t help the glimmer of guilt in the back of your head. Your sister is probably throwing a fit, your father too. They’re ranting and raving about you walking out. Comparing you to your mother, as they always do to the worst people they know. It’s that dagger they keep sheathed until they’re ready to cut deep. 

Pine jars you from your worry as he takes your empty bowl and plate. You sit up at the table and thank him. He gestures you to stay before you can get up. 

You wait in the dining room. You put your hand in your hands and yawn. You feel like you did when you were a kid. When one of your friends invited you over and you realised how much better their house and their life was. 

“Tired,” Pine muses, “well, I will make up your bed then.” 

“Really, you don’t have to do all that,” you lift your head and bat away the fatigue. 

“I do,” he counters. “Shouldn’t take me very long. Feel free to explore. Or if you are so inclined, I've left a bottle and glass on the counter.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet of you.” 

He goes and you stay just as you are. You feel like you could taint this place if you stray too far. When he returns, you feel sluggish. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A book to read?” 

“No, I think I’ll just lay down,” you get up and push the chair in. “I’ve already taken so much.” 

“Taken, you say, as if I’ve not given freely,” he smiles. “I’ve left you something to sleep in as well. I’m afraid my selection is limited.” 

“Thanks, uh, again,” you rub your neck. At this point, it’s becoming a chant. Thanking him for everything. 

You go upstairs and gently close the door of the guest room. He’s right, the house feels sonorously empty. It’s so big, that it’s almost desolate. You replace your clothes with the button-up he left over the duvet and climb into the lush bed. Even that makes your own seem like little more than a wooden pallet. 

It doesn’t take you long to sink into a sleep full of violent illusions. You’re back at home, your father yelling as you try to pick up the spilled potatoes, only for the glass to cut your fingers and stick in your flesh. No matter what you do, you can’t do more than slice yourself up, the blood smearing your skin and dripping onto the cracked tile. 

You wake with a start. Your heart races as you’re startled at the unfamiliar surroundings. It sets in that you’re not at your father’s house anymore and you calm. You languish beneath the fluffy duvet and dread climbing out from beneath it, but your bladder demands it. 

You finally get up and near the door. It has to be late. You inch open the door and listen to the hallway. You creep out, expecting the floor to creak like the boards at home, but your feet only pad lightly on the polished hardwood. 

You find the bathroom down the other end of the hall and swiftly pop in and out. On your way back, you stop near the side table where a small boxy clock stands. The digital face shines the time. It’s just after midnight. 

You squint as the background changes behind the numbers. Fancy. You tap the screen curiously and the time disappears. It’s one of the smart devices you’ve seen in the Black Friday ads. But the next image, startles you. It’s all too familiar. 

You blink at the sight of your family’s living room. Your father’s passed out in his old recliner and the corner of the rug is bent over. There’s wrapping paper strewn across the floor and Chinese food containers littered over the table. Cameron is sleeping on the couch as your brother continues to drink in the armchair and stares at the television. 

But why is there a camera in your house? You shakily bring your hand up to touch the screen again. A menu comes up; Favourites. You tap the first option ‘bedroom’. The next image nearly makes you scream. It’s your bedroom. Your sister’s taken over the bed with her husband. The moonlight shines on them through the window as the camera’s night vision limns their slumbering figures. 

Your heart hammers. How could this be real? You pinch your thigh and squeak. You’re not waking up. 

“Restless?” Pine’s voice has you stalk straight. You lurch on your feet and face his shadow as it looms at the other end of the hallway. 

“Mr. Pine,” you greet. 

He slowly struts out of the shadows. You wince and lean back on your heel. He clucks as you try to cover the screen with your hand. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. In the dim, you can see the outline of his naked torso above a short pair of boxers. You gulp. 

“It isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he says quietly. “I meant to woo you a little...” 

“What... Why...” 

“Why... what? Darling? Why would I want to give you a proper home? Why would I keep a close eye on such a sad soul?” He hums, “well, as I said, I was raised to be a gentleman, and this house is dreadfully empty, don’t you agree?” 

You gape at him, horrified and confused. What he says cannot be true. It cannot be real. Why? Why you? Has it all been a ploy? Was he just waiting and watching for the moment you cracked? 

“Mr. Pine,” you utter. 

“Please, darling, call me Jonathan,” he comes closer and swipes your hand before you can allude him. “It only feels right, doesn’t it?” 

You writhe in his grasp but cannot escape him. You look around at the walls and the isolation of that place sets in. No, it didn’t make sense, after all. A man like him should be in a condo, in the city, not out here where the trees hide him from civilization. Where the roads are endless and treacherous. It doesn’t make sense, not unless he means to go undisturbed. Unless he means you to go undiscovered. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he purrs as he brings his hand up to cradle your head, “I give to you the greatest gift at all. A true home, a true family. We will build it together.” 

[muddyorbsblr]

forever & always

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Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @silverfire475 | View request here

Summary: On the way home after his shift at the hotel, Jonathan stumbles upon a coffee shop that might have just given your lives a turn for the better

Pairing: Jonathan Pine x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning/s: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, do not try me); unprotected p in v; shower sex; implied oral sex (f receiving); scenes mentioning terminal illness; scenes implying consideration of assisted death; potentially inaccurate depiction of mythical drinks; language [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: magical coffee shop au

Dick-tionary: » smut scene starts at "What are you up to, sweetheart?" and ends at "I love you so much." » fade to black oral smut scene starts at "You grasped the collar" and ends at next story divider

The lack of your presence in bed when Jonathan woke this morning was no cause for concern. In fact, hope bloomed in his heart that today would be the start of events taking a turn for the better.

It had been far too long since the two of you had one of those days.

He made quick work to pull a shirt over his head and run a hand through his hair, excited to fix you a decadent breakfast before he left for his shift at the hotel.

What was a cause for concern, however, was how he found you in the living room the moment he stepped out of your shared bedroom. Your mouth pressed into a grim line as you hung up the phone, a notepad and a pamphlet on the coffee table in front of you. The logo and the name on the front had his heart pounding away in his ears.

Dignitas

"Sweetheart." His throat closed up, almost unable to form any words. "We still have time. And there's no need to make a reservation, I don't think they stay occupied for long."

You gave him a somber smile at his dry attempt of a joke. "I…I know, babe. I know. I just…I wanna make sure of all the details so you don't have to worry as much after--"

"Y/N, stop." He crouched in front of you, tears welling in his eyes. It pained him beyond belief that you even had to think of details like this considering what you were already dealing with. The only thing that should be occupying your mind was building your strength. Hoping that whatever medication the doctors try out will finally start turning things around for the better.

But he also knew you were both steadily running out of time. And your words from around nine months ago began to echo in his mind, his heart feeling hollow at the memory.

We'll give it a year of our best effort. But if things don't look great at the end of it, I don't want to let this thing get the satisfaction of withering me into a shell of myself. I wanna go out on my own terms, while I'm still strong enough to make those choices.

"We still have time," he said again desperately. Three more months. You promised me at least that. "Maybe this round will have better results."

Your tearful expression nearly mirrored his perfectly, reaching over to frame his face in your comparatively smaller hands before pressing a kiss to his lips. "Jonathan, we have to come to terms with the possibility that things won't get better. That…there might be no beating this."

"Please no," he was barely able to choke out., fighting back the sobs that wracked his chest. "We've only just found each other, we haven't had enough time."

"I know, I know, sweetie. And it's not fair that we don't get to have more time." Hot tears began to stream down your face as your thumbs traced his features, and it broke his heart realizing what you were doing. You were memorizing his face. "But this is the hand we were dealt. And it's a shitty hand but there's no changing it."

He placed his hands over yours, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "All I ask is that we don't make any plans to go to Switzerland before the year's up," he murmured against your skin. "I want all the time I can get with you. I don't want to lose you a moment sooner than I absolutely have to."

When you nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, he pulled you into his arms, laying your head on his shoulders as your body began to shake with your suppressed sobs. "I'm sorry," you told him, your words muffled by his shirt. "I love you."

"And I love you." He gently lifted you back onto the couch, making sure to take the pamphlet far away from you. "We'll revisit this together if the time comes. Until then I'm keeping this far away from you." He placed the offensive piece of paper into his back pocket before grabbing his phone and his keys before crouching down in front of you again. "Now…what would my beautiful fiance want for me to bring her home tonight?"

You gave him a smile that couldn't reach those somber eyes, and that cracked away at his heart even more. Those eyes that used to be so full of life, so excited to face the day ahead and go on new adventures hand in hand with him…now that light barely flickered, just enough to show that there was still someone in there. But whether they were fighting or simply waiting was anyone's guess. "Surprise me," was all you said.

The first thing he did when he got to the hotel was make a beeline for the back office facilities and put the Dignitas pamphlet through the shredder. He didn't even want to know that it was still in one piece, let alone within your reach, for at least the next three months.

He'd gone through the next nine hours essentially on autopilot, coordinating anything that the hotel guests may need, delegating where needed, and brushing off any advances from those that were far too forward by flashing a prop wedding band around his left ring finger and informing them that he was "a happily married man". It was a half-truth, but one he had every intention of turning into your reality before you decided that your time together had reached its end.

Jonathan would marry you. He'd marry you tomorrow in the chapel down the block if you were up to it.

He only began to perk up once he'd changed out of his hotel suit and was on his way back to you, stopping by at the new coffeeshop that had just opened a few doors down. Maybe he could bring you home a nice little pastry. Or a sweet drink.

The barista gave him a bright smile as he walked in, the establishment only housing two other patrons, one that was sketching away on a pad, and the other that had their nose buried in a giant tome of a book. "Hi there! I'm Eva, what can I get started for you?"

"Oh erm…I'm not really all that adept when it comes to ordering these kinds of drinks, that's usually my partner. What would you recommend?"

"I see…how about this, then, Mister…?"

"Pine."

"Right then. Mr Pine…why don't you tell me about your partner and I'll make something that I think would suit both her and you?"

A pressure seemed to lift from his shoulders. This…this I can do. "For one, she loves books. Completely loses herself in a good story. She used to love spending the day outdoors just happily flipping away at the pages of her latest paperback or breezing through her Kindle."

"Used to?" the girl caught on quick. "What happened?"

His shoulders slumped again, the weight on them returning. "She got sick. And it spread faster than we could get a handle on it." His heart constricted in his chest as he found the words tumbling out without much difficulty. "She has three months."

Eva became misty eyed over his story, and seeing how it was tearing him apart to even talk about what was in your tragically near future. "I'm so sorry," she said softly before turning to face the bar, fixing together two drinks that seemed to have a generous helping of a milk and honey mixture. Then after she placed the drinks on the counter, she placed a rather delectable looking slice of apple pie in a box. "Best with a heaping scoop of vanilla ice cream," she said while she rung up his bill. "She'll get much better after a really good dessert."

Jonathan gave her a sad smile as he paid his bill, brushing off her comment about getting better. The sentiment was sweet, but sadly he knew better.

The chances that there would be a light at the end of this tunnel…were slim to none.

He found you sitting at the exact same spot where he left you when he walked through the doors of your home. You perked up a touch when you looked up at him, seeing the drinks and the bags in his hands. And then you sniffed the air. "Apple pie?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, placing a kiss to the tip of your nose before placing the box down, as well as a pint of vanilla ice cream next to it. "That nose of yours is truly a marvel."

You took your drink from him with both hands, taking another sniff. "Smells like honey. Expensive honey."

He nodded. "It looked like honey, but I didn't ask what it was." You tapped your cup to his before you both took a sip, the rich and creamy sweetness coating your tongues upon contact.

It had to have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn you became a touch less pale after a few sips. Even more so when you took a bite of the apple pie with the ice cream, letting out a soft moan at the taste of the decadent buttery crust and the perfectly thick apple filling. "You really know how to spoil a girl, Mr Pine."

He reached over, swiping his thumb at the corner of your mouth as he gave you a bittersweet smile. "Anything for the future Mrs Pine."

You woke the next morning with a strange newfound strength. A kind that you hadn't felt since getting that curse of a diagnosis. Maybe even before then.

You tentatively stood up from the bed, shocked to your core to find that no part of you felt weak or straining. Rather your muscles simply just felt the way they did when you had spent far too long being sedentary, and they itched to be used again, wanting more than anything to go on a jog. Or perhaps show up to a dance class.

What had you even more shocked was discovering you could stretch without your insides threatening to make you double over in pain. You didn't just not feel weak, you felt strong. Brimming with energy that begged to be expended.

The sound of the shower had you deciding in no time just how you wanted to spend this newfound strength. You made quick, fumbling work to divest yourself of your sweats before joining your fiance in the shower.

"What are you up to, sweetheart?" You could practically hear how he smirked as he asked you.

Instead of answering him, you stepped closer behind him, taking a prolonged moment to appreciate how the hot water droplets traveled down his perfectly sculpted back muscles. You wrapped your arms around his midsection, your hands roaming the well-cut defined lines of his abdomen before traveling up to roam his chest.

"You're playing quite the dangerous game, my love," he rasped, placing his hands over yours. His muscles shivered, a shaky breath escaping him at your touch. When you pressed your lips to his back, softly humming against his skin, that seemed to break him, your fiance letting out a guttural groan before turning to face you. "My sweet Y/N, if you keep this up I may not be able to control myself."

You threw your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively splaying over your back as you rose to your tiptoes to pull him into an impassioned kiss. "I woke up today feeling good. Really good. Best I've felt in a while," you told him, moaning into his mouth when he pulled you even closer before kissing you again, his hand moving lower to grasp your thigh before hooking your leg over his hip. "And all I can think of right now is how to feel…even better."

Your hand moved down, softly caressing his chest and abdominal muscles again before moving even lower, your fingers tentatively wrapping around his hardening length. There was a thrill that shot through you, seeing how your touch affected him, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure washed over him. He moaned your name, moving to press you against the wall. "Hold on to me, sweetheart."

You bit your lip as you followed his instructions, holding on to his water-slickened shoulders while he adjusted his hold on you. He lined your hips together before reaching between you and positioned the tip of his length at your entrance, his shuddering exhale warming your face as he moved it up and down your slick folds.

"If you start feeling faint, you need to tell me right away, am I clear, Y/N?" You managed to nod before you threw your head back, arching into him when he started to enter you in shallow thrusts, each taking him in deeper and deeper. Once he bottomed out he buried his face in the crook of your neck, letting out an obscene moan. "Fuck, sweetheart you feel divine." He kissed along your collarbone, nipping and sucking a bruise onto the base of your throat. "It's been too long, my love, I don't think--"

You knew exactly what he meant. "I know, I know--Oh f-fuck!" Your joint moans filled the bathroom as his fingers found your clit and started rubbing in tight circles. It was like your entire body came alive like a live wire as your orgasm washed over you, your walls clenching and milking his cock as he filled you with his release.

His thrusts slowed, and he pressed his forehead to your temple, kissing your cheek. "I love you so much."

It warmed your heart how gently he handled you afterwards, finishing up your now joint shower and wrapping a towel around you before stepping out of the bathroom hand in hand.

Once he was dressed for work he pulled you into his arms one more time, kissing your temple before whispering in your ear, "That was an incredible start to the day, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight."

Jonathan couldn't seem to wipe off the smile that spread across his face through the first hours of his shift, his mind constantly drifting back to his time in the shower with you. To say that it caught him by surprise would be an understatement, but the surprise was more than welcome. The last few months, you could barely stand up and walk to the other side of the apartment without getting winded. And as far as he was concerned, the newfound strength was the best sign he could ask for that maybe things were finally taking a turn for the better.

Even the sight of the hotel guests that were starkly different from what he had grown accustomed to didn't seem to faze him. He gave the creatures with the near translucent wings, the vibrantly colored skin, and pointed ears the same bright smile, looking them in the eye which seemed to brighten their days as well.

Most humans still couldn't seem to adjust to the new reality of living with creatures they'd only read about in books, but ever since a battle took place someplace in Northern Europe, certain barriers between worlds had been taken down and hoards of mystical creatures now roamed the Earth freely. Some had even begun to put up establishments of their own, the last time he checked the news on their acclimation.

So when a woman with lilac skin and pink freckles approached his desk, he initially thought nothing of it and proceeded with his usual script of welcoming them to the hotel. "I'm not here for a room, Mr. Pine. I'm here to speak with you," she spoke with a frantic tone. "My name is Astraea, I own the coffee shop you went to last night. I believe my employee Eva worked on your order?"

"Ah yes, I remember. I was going to drop by after my shift to thank you all, it seems whatever drink Eva made for us put my fiance in a much better state this morning." Once again he couldn't fight back the smile; it didn't take much for his mind to wander back to the shower.

"That's actually what I came to speak with you about," the coffeeshop owner told him in a near apologetic tone. "You see, Eva thinks herself something of a problem solver, so when someone walks into the cafe with teary eyes talking about how he's about to lose the love of his life, she just…can't help herself."

"I'm sorry I'm not quite sure I follow--"

"Your drinks, yours and your fiance's, contained ambrosia, Mr. Pine. And while its short term effects will very much work to your favor, it's your life in the long term that I came here to discuss with you. The drink not only cured your wife of her illness, but it granted both her and yourself a prolonged lifespan."

Jonathan couldn't find it in him to focus on most of what she was saying. All he heard was cured. "She's not sick anymore?" Just saying the words nearly brought him to his knees, he had to hold on to the hard surface of the front desk to keep himself upright.

"Well, yes. Both you and her are now immune to any earthly sickness, but it's the other part that I've come here to discuss with and apologize for. The drink has prolonged your lifespan by an…indefinite amount. Possibly centuries…at the least. We don't know yet how this drink is to affect someone with a mortal composition. Mr. Pine I sincerely apologize for my employee's rashness--"

"There's no need," he cut her off, raising his hand in front of him. "You've done nothing but give me the best possible news I could ever ask for. The woman I love is healed, and I get to quite possibly spend centuries with her." He held his hand out to shake, and he cafe owner seemed relieved with his reaction. "Thank you. Please send my regards to Eva as well."

It wasn't long after Astraea left the hotel that a new worry began to take root within Jonathan. How would you react to this turn of events? Of course, he was certain that you would be ecstatic over the news that the days of hospital visits and experimental treatments were over, but it was the latter half of this new reality that he was unsure of your reaction to.

The vision that greeted him when he opened the doors to your home had his heart soaring. Soft music was playing and you'd just emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream in hand. You were wearing a cotton dress instead of the sweats that had become a bit of a staple over the last few months.

And God you were radiant, the spark in your eyes that once lit up the entire room had returned full force. You looked over to him standing at the door, a wide grin stretching across your face and reaching your eyes as you put the bowl down on the coffee table and walked over to him. "Welcome home."

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to him so he could capture your lips in a tender kiss. You sighed contentedly, pressing your body against him as his lips moved with yours, a muffled squeal escaping you when he lifted you with a single arm and carried you across the living room, sitting you down on the couch. "I need to talk to you about something, Y/N."

"Uh-oh," you blurted out. "No good conversation ever started with that." You turned your attention to the flowers in his hand. "Jonathan, what's wrong?"

He took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles before pressing a much longer kiss on your engagement ring. "Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. Well…hopefully after this conversation that will still be the case but if it isn't then I'm sure we'll find a way--"

"What happened?" Your question cut him off. "Did my doctor go to see you? Ohh God it's bad, isn't it? That explains the flowers and the--"

"Y/N, slow down." He placed the small bouquet down so he could frame your face, the rest of your words muffled by his kiss. "It's nothing bad, I promise you that much. It's just…" He let out a sigh, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn't be able to explain this without looking like he grew a second head. "You know those reports we've been seeing on TV? With the barriers between worlds coming down and all these new kinds of people settling down and setting up shop around us?"

You nodded your answer and listened as he recounted his conversation with the coffeeshop owner Astraea. About how the drink he brought home last night might have just brought about the miracle you'd been hoping for for the last year of your life.

"Are…are you telling me I'm not sick anymore?" the words came out of you in a heavy exhale, as if they tasted foreign on your tongue. "No more doctors, no more needles, no more ingesting God knows what in the name of an experimental drug for a trial headed by a doctor with a dream?"

This time all he could do was nod, tears in his eyes as he pulled you into his arms and lifted you up, your feet dangling inches off the floor. "No more, sweetheart. It's over, the nightmare's over."

"What did she put in that drink anyway?"

He took another breath before answering you. "Ambrosia."

Jonathan could practically see the wheels turning in your head, recalling the countless books you've read and your knowledge of mythology pieced together from both textbooks and novels. "The Olympians consumed that for immortality…" You looked up at him with panicked, and yet curious, eyes. "What happens to us?"

"I don't have the answer to that, my love," he said truthfully. "Astraea's best guess is that it prolonged our lifespans by a few centuries…at the least. I'm so sorry if I knew--"

"Hang on." You placed a finger over his lips, putting a stop to the rest of his apology. "What're you sorry for? I told you way before this nightmare began that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jonathan Pine. And last night, I thought that that was just three months." Tears welled in your eyes as a face-splitting grin lit up your face. "Now you're telling me that that's…more. So much more. You have nothing to apologize for."

You grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled him to you for a kiss that he more than happily returned, his hands grabbing the backs of your thighs to lift you up again and back you up against the nearest wall. When he pulled away all the worry had gone from his face, replaced by a darkened, lustful gaze. He shifted his hold on you, a sinful groan slipping from his lips when your hips aligned and your core brushed against his hardening length over your layers of clothing.

"Ohh…" you sighed, your eyes fluttering closed as he rolled his hips again. And again. "Oh fuck, sweetie, what are you doing to me?"

"We get to spend the rest of our lives together," he said simply, carrying you into the bedroom and setting you down on the bed. "And I know exactly what we should do first." He rid you of your panties, throwing the little scrap of fabric haphazardly behind him somewhere, before running his hands up your thighs, inching the skirt of your dress upwards as he sank to his knees. "It's been too long since I've tasted you, my love."

Three months later

You walked through the doors of the Langham, taking a moment to pause in the opulence of the lobby before making your way further into the hotel to seek out the front desk. There was an extravagant bouquet on display right as you entered with vibrant colors. The lighting made them look almost like jewels.

It took you a minute, but you eventually found the front desk through the throng of people, mortal and mystical alike, that filled the lobby. The manager seemed to be fending off the attentions of one of the guests, her tits practically spilling out of her two sizes too small bathing suit.

"It seems you've had a bit too much to drink, Mrs Davies. Perhaps it would be best for security to bring you up to your room."

The woman pouted as a six-foot-seven security personnel began to escort her towards the elevator. Meanwhile the manager locked eyes with you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, making him even more devilishly handsome if that was even possible, as his eyes greedily roamed your figure. Suddenly you were even more appreciative of the way you'd begun to fill your clothes again the last few months.

"May I help you, madam?"

You flashed him your brightest smile, fighting back a blush as he held your gaze. "Yes, I'd like a room for the night."

He didn't type anything down into the system. Instead he just grabbed a keycard from inside a drawer and made his way around the front desk, jerking his head towards the elevator. "Very well, then. Follow me." He led you to a private elevator to the top floor before walking down a long hall that only contained a handful of doors. "I hope this…will be to your liking," he said, his voice taking on a huskier tone as his breath hitched when you brushed past him as you walked through the doors.

Everything about the suite exuded luxury…with a touch of sensuality. There was a large heart-shaped box of truffles situated on the coffee table, a soft piano melody filled the space, and a trail of rose petals led to the open door of the bedroom, where even more rose petals laid atop the sheets in the shape of a heart.

"A honeymoon suite…" you said slowly, your breath hitching when you felt Jonathan's hands on your waist, his breath warming your neck. "You really know how to spoil a girl, Mr. Pine."

You let out a squeal as he turned you to face him, your faces now mere inches apart. "Only the best for you, Mrs. Pine."

A/N: Okay, so I stitched together two requests back when I was planning out the stories for the 500 follower celebration, but I can't for the life of me find the first request that covered the bit about Reader being sick 🙃 Anyways, I'm so happy to finish this one and cross out another request! Now I'm off to jump straight into the next, which is a fluffy lil comfort piece with our favorite god 🥹👀

'everything taglist': @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog

[hyperfluffed-scribbles]

recently read this fic by @bifrostworms and i think it altered my brain chemistry. I want to make a full scale drawing at some point but here are some quick doodles for now.

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse Masterlist

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Status: In Progress

Character Guide

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[trans-jon-rights]

Hm. New Idea. I'm putting this one out there because the Discord buddies said it was good.

Gravity Falls and TMA crossover, but Jon and Martin arrive at different times.

Martin arrives a few years before Jon. He meets Ford, becoming buddies with him. He distrusts Bill a lot, being sometimes reminded of Jonah before he revealed what he was. But Ford is a grown ass adult, and Bill doesn't try to bother him much, so he lets him be.

Jon arrives the day Ford fell into the portal. He tumbles from that exact same portal right before shit hits the fans, and both Martin and Ford end up lost.

He has almost no Eye powers, no knowledge of this strange new place he ended up into, and has to work with Stan to repair the portal and get both Ford and Martin back.

Talk about a Situation to end into.

(I need Martin to become a ruthless killer with Ford and Jon to have to make scams with Stan even though he hates it)

The timeline stays about the same. It takes thirty years for Jon and Stan's combined efforts to bring the other two back. In the meantime, neither Jon nor Martin are ageing due to the Entities still being present.

Just imagine.

The anxiety of Stan seeing himself age during those thirty, long years, unsure if he will manage to bring his brother back or not. Making Jon promise to do it for him if he couldn't go on because, despite himself, he'd learned to appreciate and trust this odd, prickly British guy.

Jon never certain if, when Martin will come back, he will be the same, or if he would have aged like every other person around him, being robbed of this opportunity to grow old together. Martin had never been an Avatar, right ? Jon didn't grow old because he was already dead, in a sense, but what about Martin ?

(Crossing between dimensions was a good metaphor for death and an excuse for Martin's Becoming, but Jon doesn't know that :3)

When twins arrive in Gravity Falls, Jon works at the shop (Stan used his "weird British narrator voice" to make him a tourist guide. For some reason, tourists like his voice).

Also this AU works well with my general idea of Jmart, both of them clinging to that ideal of the other and of what their relationship would be in a non apocalyptic context, making them confront the reality of things when they are reunited again.

Had it truly been their love for each other that had pushed them to work towards being reunited, or had it been the idea that once it would be over, being together would automatically mean they would be guaranteed happiness ?

Also, maybe give them each a period of time during which they were really happy and almost forgot their guilt for the other, and maybe give them some rough time when they're back together. Then, they look back at that and rethink their relationship and their quest, wondering if it really was worth it.

Happy ending for both is expected, of course, just lots of talking things through before. Making them healthy.

And as a bonus, I'm giving them a "Tim" and "Sasha". Not in the sense that they are actual alternate version of Tim or Sasha, in the sense that they are different characters who behave very similarly to Tim and Sasha. Sometimes, they mix up their names, and their face have the biggest grief for some reason.

Bonus point if "Tim" dies in an explosion caused by Martin and Ford and if "Sasha" dies to a shapeshifter. And after that, Jon just guiltily thinks, "At least it didn't take her face this time".

[alicedopey]

Sending a snuggly sweater for the cooler season

Soft to the touch

A/N: So errr... I did a thing. It has haunted me since I got the ask. I hope you are proud of yourself, Roo :)

No warning under the cut, just some bad written stuff.

You softly knocked on the mahogany door of your CEO and opened it after hearing his prompt and professional, “Come in.”

You opened the door and entered the room. The sight that greeted you almost took your breath away. Jonathan Pine was standing in the middle of the room in all his glory and you thanked whoever had decided to create this “casual Friday” tradition. Your boss had replaced his traditional suit for a pair of jeans and what looked to be the softest and comfiest sweater you had ever seen. The blue grey shades were mirroring his kind eyes that matched his so soft and charming smile. His hair had grown since the first day he had been introduced to the staff six months ago. He had let his curls loose and you fought against yourself to not raise your hand and let it run through them. 

He cleared his throat and you startled, suddenly realizing you had been staring for too long.

“is there something wrong, Miss Y/L/N?” He asked and you swore you could feel the smile in his voice.

“No, Sir.” You also cleared your throat to try to regain some composure and chased an invisible dust on your blouse. “I was just admiring your sweater. It seems very…comfy.” So very tempting to the touch too.

As if reading your mind, he casually slid a hand down his sweater. “It is and it is also perfectly warm for the season.” 

Perfect for snuggles too, you could bet. But there was no way you would say it out loud. “It looks like it. You wished to see me, Sir?” You asked to change the subject and rescue you from your own humiliation. 

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry for making you wait so much, especially on a Friday night, but I wanted to finish my few corrections on your different accounting reports.” 

“Is there something wrong?” If there was one thing you were sure of, it was your team. You knew they were working well and you always knew you were not often inclined to make any mistake. 

He handed you the files you had given him earlier this afternoon and threw another one of his ever-charming smiles your way. “Not at all. They are absolutely perfect. It seems your team is one to be trusted.”

“Thank you, sir”. You smiled back and hugged the precious files against your chest. 

“I must apologize again for keeping you so long here.”

“It’s quite alright, Sir. Work has to be done. It will make me enjoy my weekend a bit more.”

He chuckled and you felt yourself shiver at the sound. “Good thinking.” He took a few steps towards you. “I hope you will have a nice one.”

“You too, sir” You gave him a nod as goodbye and walked to the door. You were about to reach the handle when his voice startled you. 

“Would it be very unprofessional of me to ask you to have dinner with me tonight?”

You spun around so fast, you let go of the files and lost your balance. Luckily for you, Jonathan was just a few feet away and instantly circled your waist. “Are you alright? I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that. I don’t want you to feel any pressure…”

“No!” You almost shouted, resisting the urge to touch him again so that he would not let go. “I mean, I don’t feel any pressure at all. As unprofessional as it may be, I would gladly accept your dinner offer.”

His arm tightened a bit around your waist. “Wonderful. Do you have any preference?”

“No, as long as I’m with you.” You instantly felt mortified and let out a squeak. Why on earth would you say such a thing out loud? You were so going to get fired. 

To your surprise, your boss chuckled again. “It’s quite alright. I also like your company, Darling. Let us enjoy this very unprofessional evening. Who knows what it has in store for us?”

Your belly did a tiny somersault at the term of endearment. This evening was not turning out as you had planned but you were certainly not going to complain. A nice dinner with your boss sounded way more exciting than your usual Friday nights with your salad and an old sitcom to watch on Netflix. Who knew indeed what the night had in store for you? But the way Jonathan Pine was looking at you gave you the tiniest hope that he could maybe feel the same attraction towards you. Maybe you would not sleep alone tonight either after all. 

Your hands finally found their way on his sweater and you almost purred at the softness you met. It was as good as you had imagined. Softest to the touch, perfect for snuggles and…more.

“Promise me, one thing Mr. Pine.” You looked up at him, your hands still running on his sweater dreamily. “Whatever happens, do not take off your sweater.”

Your boss smiled and leaned down until his lips were almost touching yours. “A lady’s wish is my command.”

Tagging: @thezombieprostitute @naaladareia

[spookycreeture]

Dipper and the Archivist

Hi all! Here's my art from part two of The Pines and the Archivist, Know the Being With Many Eyes. I really like tall monster Jon tbh, he's neat like that.

[jonathanbyersphd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler Characters: Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Canon Compliant, POV Jonathan Byers, Exes, Pining, Idiots in Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Divorce Era Summary: Jonathan and Nancy share a tense car ride on the way to the hospital.

Can I interest you in pining exes during this trying time?

[lokidbadguy]

the intro 🤭

jonathan pine x bathroom = perfection

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV. See this post.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

You yank the man's hair from behind, that rooster cut with the shaved sides. Just as tacky as shoes with no socks. You recognise the designer loafers. It's the pizza guy. Or whoever he is.

He roars as he keeps hold of Polly and throws his elbow back. His arm cracks against your ribs and you gasp but latch on. You reach around and dig your nails into his cheek again. He snarls and lurches back, sending you stumbling into the railing. You bounce off and hit the floor as Polly whimpers.

"God fuck," The man growls. "Stop doing that." He shoves Polly to her stomach and plants his knee on her back, "Hey, fuckheads," he hollers, "a little fucking help."

You push yourself up and launch at the menace. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark and you see his silhouette clearly. As your ready your manicure for another slashing attack, You're hauled back by your waist. A larger man takes you off your feet and you thrash.

"Listen, asshole," you bark. "You better let me the fuck go!" Your reach up and scratch at his thick neck. He hisses and brings his other arm around your neck, squeezing enough for you to rasp.

"Shh," he hushes you. "You do not want to antagonize us any further."

You know his voice. It's that same large man who'd been lurking all day. The one with the square jaw and glasses. Steve, he called himself. You knew there was something going on...

"Fuck off!" You kick your feet in an attempt to crush his. "Fuck off of me!"

"Oh, that pretty mouth certainly is filthy," he growls. "I can't wait to see how dirty it gets."

You sneer and flail around. He walks you to the wall and pins you with his elbow. He unhooks his other arm and grips the nape of your neck. He grabs your wrist and twists it up behind your back. You hiss, pulling even as it hurts, trying to resist his overwhelming strength.

He loops something thick around your wrist and shifts. He lets go of your neck as he brings your other arm up to secure the cuffs around both. You sneer and try to push off the wall.

He tuts, "sweetheart, don't be uncivilized."

He pushes your hands further up and your shoulders strain. You hiss and bit down on another growl. Polly's cries deter you. You look over to her on the floor, face down beneath the shadow straddling her. She's sobbing as he cuffs her too.

"This is sick," you rasp.

"Oh, you don't even know the half of it," Steve jerks you away from the wall. "Though I wonder, would it be worse to make an example of you, or to have you watch your friends?"

"Sicko," you resist as he marches you down the hall.

You hear others. Molly gulping, Ann grunting, the men looming and whispering. You're brought into the only lit room in the house. Ann and Molly are on their knees, similarly bound, and Lulu is on the floor, unconscious. You try to yank away from Steve.

"What happened to her?"

"It wasn't our handiwork," the slithering voice makes you recoil.

Jonathan steps forward, sleeves rolled above his elbows, hair as tidy as ever. Only a slightly reddened splotch on his cheekbones suggests a struggle.

"You--" You bark. "You fucking freak--"

"Ah, such a repugnant mouth. We should clean it out with soap," he snips and points to the floor. Steve forces you down on your knees. "And the other?"

"Hansen--"

"She's here," the man with the mustache and pointed loafers struts in with Polly over his shoulder. He puts her next to Ann, pointedly away from you.

"Right, well, good effort," Jonathan praises. "Minimal obstacles."

"Minimal?" That man they refered to as Hansen touches his cheek, crisscrossed with your claw marks. "I should pry her nails off. The real ones too."

"They are scared," Jonathan intones smoothly. "Let them calm."

"Calm? Fucking calm?" Ann croaks. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah,ah," Jonathan comes in front of the line of women. Your eyes stray to the other man in the room. That big bearded brute looming in silence, arms crossed over his burly chest. His eyes are set on Lulu. "I do hate to repeat myself but please refrain from such language. It is uncouth."

"Uncouth?" You sneer.

"Yes, darling, unbecoming. Unattractive--"

"Take a look in the mirror," you retort.

He chuckles and the bearded man growls. Hansen snickers too and Steve lets out a sigh. You grit your teeth and shake your head.

"Alright then, we are missing one," Jonathan glances at Steve.

"He's sweeping the house." The other explains.

You furrow your brow. There's one more... you look at the other women then your heart pumps hotly. You look up as you hear steps coming down the staircase. Peter enters with a smile and a bin in his arms.

"All devices collected," her proclaims.

You lunge without thinking. "You asshole!"

Steve catches you as you kick your legs. You snarl and snap, helpless in his thick arms. You don't stop. You can't. Your vision is white hot in rage and shock. You knew that little shit was up to something.

The man has you on your stomach. You lift your head as tears stream down your cheeks. More than the danger, it's the futility that has you crying. You tried. You fought. You did what you could and you still lost. Worse, you let Barbie down.

You see her through the glazed wall of tears, fighting too. Another man. You snivel and flick your lashes. It's that same big blond that greeted you on your arrival. No...

The man tightens the leather cuffs until they bite your wrists. You whine and he chuckles, his hands trailing down your hips, tracing your shape beneath your silk pajamas. You wriggle as you try to shake him off.

"You got style, girlie," he pulls you up to your knees. "But you got a body that could do with something a bit more... slutty."

He hauls you onto his shoulder. Barbie is gone. There's voices from down the hall. He drags a hand up your leg and gropes your ass. You yelp.

He laughs again as he enters the lit front room. "She's here," he declares. He puts you down next to Ann. You look around as your head feels ready to roll off your shoulders. The other girls are there too, Lulu on the floor, eyes closed and body limp. Is she okay?

"Right, well, good effort," The satiny purr draws your attention. Jonathan? "Minimal obstacles."

"Minimal," the man who brought you in mutters. "I should pry her nails off. The real ones too."

Barbie bares her teeth. Jonathan shows his palm, "they are scared. Let them calm."

"Calm? Fucking calm? Why are you doing this?" Ann spits.

"Ah, ah," Jonathan turns to face you all. "I do hate to repeat myself but please refrain from such language. It is uncouth."

Polly shivers as she looks at the man; Jonathan, Steve, the one with the mustache, another with a beard and a buzzed head. Everyone as fearsome as the next.

"Uncouth?" Barbie snarls. She's always been so bold.

"Yes, darling, unbecoming. Unattractive," Jonathan explains.

"Take a look in the mirror," she snaps.

Jonathan laughs and the bearded man lets out a rumble. The one with the mustache chortles and Steve sighs as he watches you. You gulp and look away.

"Alright, then, we are missing one," Jonathan declares.

"He's sweeping the house," Steve responds.

You squint and look at Ann. She seems just as confused as her forehead lines. Barbie scowls and footfalls sound from just outside the room. Peter appears with a bin and grins.

"All devices collected," he announces proudly.

Barbie launches to her feet, "you asshole!" Her anger reflects the fire burning in your stomach. You didn't trust him but you never could have expected this. This is deranged.

Steve catches Barbie easily. She kicks and wriggles, like a rabid animal, but she is no match to the man who holds her. You sink down in defeat. It's all a trap.

This house is perfect. Too perfect. You should've known. You should've thought about the good price, the men lurking, and the whole strange setup. Yet, who in all their life would do something like this.

"Fucking Christ, get the feral cat outta here," the man with the mustache dodges away from Barbie as her foot nearly hits his crotch.

"Hansen," Jonathan chides, "language."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Hoity Toity," the man returns a sarcastic salute.

"Steve," Jonathan signals. Steve takes Barbies out of the room, all the while she screams, curses, and thrashes.

"You can't--" Ann stands and is shoved back down by the mustached man.

"We are," he taunts and gives her a wink. "So, we drawing straws or do we get our pick. I kinda wanted the mean one."

"Hush," Jonathan bids. The other man bristles.

"Mr. Bossy Pants," Hansen sneers.

"We must be patient. First, they will go to their rooms and when they can behave, they can come out and we might begin," Jonathan explains.

"You're all fucked--" Ann starts to speak.

Jonathan moves so fast, you're stunned. He grabs the front of her tee shirt and forces her to her feet. He snaps his fingers at the man with the beard.

"Captain, bring me the soap." The blond man bids the other.

You look up helplessly as Ann stands on her toes. She leans away from Jonathan but she's just a helpless as the rest of them. Polly wants desperately to stand up and tell him to get off but she's too afraid. She's not strong enough for this.

"You're all fucked!" You snarl.

In an instant, you're wrenched up from your knees. Jonathan twists your tee shirt around his fist and tilts his head. His eyes are piercing even as his face remains stoic.

"Captain, get the soap," he commands. The bearded man leaves the room. The one you heard them call Sy.

You grimace, "I'm not a child," you stand on your toes as he keeps you close.

Molly whimpers and Polly sniffs. You're aware of the others as much as yourself. You're afraid but you've been through too much to just let these men take over.

"Oh, surely not. You're a lady and you should speak as such." He intones.

You squirm and lift your chin defiantly. The other man returns and Jonathan reaches out without looking. A bar of soap is placed in his hand. You can smell the jasmine as he brings it in front of you.

"Do try to take it with some grace," he presses the bar to your mouth.

You flare your nose and bite down. He tisks and bites down. He inhales, "Hansen."

The man with the mustache comes forward and grabs your chin and your nose. He plugs your nostrils and you let your lips part. Jonathan pushes the soap against your teeth.

You resist until your feel the pressure in the roots of your teeth. You open and he rams the bar inside until you gag. He pulls you and turns you to face the others.

He holds his hand across your mouth as you try not to choke. Your saliva foams and cough, biting into the bar unintentionally. He grips the bar and moves it in and out.

"We must clean thoroughly so such nasty words do not stain," he drawls. "Ladies, do pay heed. I would hate to have to teach this lesson a second time."

He rips the soap out of your mouth and pushes you away. You stumble down to your knees, barely keeping from landing on your face. Polly gasps and Molly babbles.

"We're sorry," Molly snivels. "Please, please," she leans forward. "Lulu, wake up. Lu!"

"Right, men, it's late. They require beauty sleep." Jonathan stands before you.

He points from Peter to Molly; he pulls her up and takes her out of the room. He points to Sy then Lulu's limp body. The large man picks her up, cradling her like a kitten. Then the other man, he's directed to take Polly. She leans away but he jerks her up and chuckles.

"Don't try me," he warns. "Your friend did enough."

Jonathan turns back to you as the room clears. He bends to look you in the eye. You want to spit in his face. Your sense restrains you.

"Ann, you are the eldest of the bunch, the most mature," he says, "you need to set a good example for the younger ones so let us not be so undisciplined." His blues eyes linger on you. "I know your mother would be disappointed to see such behav--"

You spit. The soap lathered saliva lands on his cheek. He closes his eyes and stands straight. He wipes his face and sighs.

"Don't talk about my mother," you growl.

He hums, "yes, I understand we all grieve in our own ways. So I will not punish you for that one." He grabs your arm and hauls you up once more. "Perhaps a night's sleep will help you see clearly. I would hate for anything to happen to any of you girls."

His threat is clear even if he's vague. It isn't just about you. If you act out, the others could suffer for it. You have to be practical, but that doesn't mean you need to surrender.

[somewhat-daily-journal]

[130]Gravity falls season 2 spoilers!

“Gravity falls”

Case # 0171609

[click]

[Archivist] Statement of Dr. Stanford Pines, PhD regarding a self contained apocalypse that occurred in August of 2012 in Gravity Falls, Oregon, USA. Statement taken direct from subject September 16, 2017. Statement Begins

[Stanford] To give a bit of context, about 5 weeks before, I had just returned from about 30 years of hopping dimensions and I was still getting acclimated to everyone and everything around me.

When I returned, a small inter-dimensional rift, which in the wrong hands could spell the end of our world, had formed. I was sitting in my lab, researching hotspots of unusual activity as I tended to do, when a deafening Bang rang out. I ran upstairs to find my great nephew outside, looking at the sky.

A great rift had been ripped into the sky. I had lent him the rift for safe keeping, but he and his twin sister had a disagreement and she probably had run off with his bag and broken the rift.

An apocalypse had started, and creatures of pure horror just streamed out of the rift in the sky like an oozing blood. The creature that started this, an interdimensional dream demon known as Bill Cipher, had opened a gateway from his world to ours. Only thing was, Gravity falls had such a strong pull of weird things to it, everything stayed inside the town.

Bill kidnapped me and brought me to his Penthouse Suite, the Fearamid. He tortured me for god knows how long, trying to get an equation to take his messed up idea of a Party worldwide. He tried electrocuting me and worse. Every time my body would give out, he would bring me right back, healing the worst of it before continuing. I couldn’t die if I wanted to.

[Archivist] this weirdness apocalypse, Armageddon if you will, what was it called, or at least what did you call it?

[Stanford] Weirdmageddon. All things weird and off and strange and unnatural thrived for possibly days in that town. My brother Stanley saved us all, though he’s suffering amnesia for it. We were up in London to investigate weird things here, and I saw your building and thought you might want to hear my story.

[Archivist] well I’m glad you did decide to come to us, you can rest assured that this is going to be safe on this tape, in the archives, for a very long time. Statement ends.

[click]

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Three Sisters for Three Misters Masterlist

Precocious (Jonathan Pine)

Summary: your family expects you to marry, but you don’t expect to be happy.

1

Precarious (Loki)

Summary: you’re forced to leave the pages of your books and face reality.

1

Pugnacious (James Conrad)

Summary: the day has come to do your duty as a noble daughter.

1

[pearlypairings]

Jonathan Byers x Chrissy Cunningham

Summary: Jonathan drives around Chrissy to sober her up and help her decompress after the party's crazy confrontations. After a little scare, she opens up about her break up and how she's been feeling lately.

Fanart for this chapter💕

Chapter preview below the break:

She giggled, tapping on his arm on the middle console to the beat. Even in his periphery, he could see her bouncing and shimmying her shoulders in the passenger seat, and he had to turn his head, her light irresistible. If there was a human embodiment to sunshine, even on a stormy day, it would be her. It was contagious.

He bobbed his head side to side, nudging her hand as he refocused on the road. For the few minutes of that song, they had a little bit of late night fun to blow off steam. Jonathan wasn’t sure if this was what The Cure had in mind for this song, but the claps and catchy beat helped her let go of the tension that boiled over. It even helped him ease into being her inexperienced escort for the night.

The night had settled, draping a thick darkness over the highway and its woods. Only his headlights and the twinkle of the autumn constellations lit up the street as he drove carefully down the last stretch before they were out of Hawkins proper. With the change of song, Chrissy propped her elbow to stare out the window at the trees rushing past.

Quiet solitude, but not awkward, just comfortable. He steered the car through several bends, one after another, in quick succession like a horizontal roller coaster. He wondered if whoever had designed this road was drunk from the way it curved graciously around the groves of trees. As if answering his unspoken question, Chrissy gripped his wrist on the wheel.

“I need to get out. Now!” The urgency in her voice scared him. She’d gone from carefree and floaty to desperately demanding in an instant.

He swerved to pull over into the patch of grass outside the treeline, realizing maybe she’d panicked when she saw they were in the outskirts of their town alone. His heart thumped against his chest. “I can take you home now. I wasn’t taking you anywhere, I swear.”

By the time he lifted his hands off the wheel and tried to look earnestly at her, Chrissy had already unlocked and flew out the door....

Read the rest on ao3 ❤️!

[breathinglifeintomyoc]

Locklyle pt. 7 (I think)

Fanfic of the Lockwood & Co. series by Jonathan Stroud. I'm back! Full chapter is on ao3! It's somewhere around 1,200 words and we'll be getting steamy (soon) (I hope)! The chapter is titled 'Foreshadowing', guess why ;) Here's a little snippet (WC: 321)

“Good luck with Mother Hen here, Luce. You won’t catch a moment without him breathing down your neck making sure you’re okay,” George said, as he brought his bag into the kitchen. “There’ll be no need, I’m practically all better now,” she replied. While her voice wasn’t quite strong enough to produce anything loud, which would be a liability in the field, she was now perfectly functional for her day to day needs and she doubted her and Lockwood would need to do much yelling or screaming over the next week. “Besides,” she continued, “After the first couple days, my only issue has been speaking. It’s not like I’m made of glass.” George scoffed, “Yeah, well try explaining that to him.”

“Explain what to me?” Lockwood said, entering the room. His usual white button-up had been exchanged for a black t-shirt and Lucy wasn’t blushing. Not one bit. Just like she wasn’t noticing the swell of his biceps or the broadness of his shoulders. “Jesus, Lockwood, cover up would you? You’ll kill the poor thing! She’s only just recovered,” George exclaimed. Lucy shot him a scowl. “Excuse me there, Cubbins, I’m in holiday-mode now. By the time you and Flo get back, Luce and I will be the image of serenity and peace,” Lockwood said, flipping the kettle on, “Luce, can I make you a cup of honey tea?” George gave her a wry grin. “I can make it myself, Lockwood, thank you,” she replied, ignoring George, and grabbing the bottle of honey from the counter. “Nonsense, I can do it for you,” he replied, moving to take the bottle from her hands. “Sounds like it’s time for me to go! See you on Sunday!” George said with a grin, snatching up his bag and steering out the door. “Bye, George!” Lockwood and Lucy replied in unison and turned back to each other. “I can make it. It’s just tea. I’m not fragile.”

“I want to help,” he responded, taking a step closer to get the honey bottle from her grip. “Thank you, but I don’t need you to help. I’m okay now.”  Her back was against the counter. The water sounded nearly boiled. “I know, but you did need help and I couldn’t do anything then, so let me help now,”

[jonathanbyersphd]

Any day can be WIP Wednesday if you're brave enough

“Sooo Claire” Nancy elongates, trying to sound as casual about his potential romance as possible even if there’s a pain in her chest where her heart’s supposed to be.  “Oh uh you heard about that” Jonathan laughs nervously. “Yea I'm pretty sure the school whole knows” she informs, hoping it doesn’t sound as harsh. “Great” he snarks wiping away some eraser shavings. “So” she presses “So what?” he ignores   “You know what” she counters, he’s being mum on the subject because of course he is but if she just pushes him a little further she’ll get what he wants. “No I really don't” Jonathan maintains, not breaking eye contact with his work. She bites her lip and focuses on her own textbook again, maybe she's gone too far. Then she thinks maybe she's finally lost it because if she didn't know better she would swear that Jonathan's beat up converse just nudged her shoe. “Are you going to go with her?” Nancy asks suddenly panicked, like Homecoming is even half as dire as monster hunting. Though if you ask Steve it is.  “I mean I don't see a reason why I shouldn't” he mumbles. She imagines the soft tap again as she tries to think of vile things to say about Claire to change his mind. He clears his throat, catching her attention. “There's no reason why I shouldn't, right?” He asks loudly, well loud for him.  She hesitates. Because no one else understands her like he does. Because she'd run away with him and ruin her life if he asks. Because the curves of his shy smile have been burned into her mind since the seventh grade. Because they're supposed to be together, she just fucked it up. Because she loves him doesn't he know that she loves him?  “No” she lies with a sniffle, bumping her foot against his under the table.  Jonathan drops his pencil and turns his attention to her. She looks into his eyes and the rest of the library falls away leaving just the two of them. Suddenly she's back on his mom's beat up sofa waiting for him to make a move.  Except this time he's waiting for her. It would be almost too easy, to reach out and get what she really wants, he's so close already. She wonders if she guides him back to the encyclopedias and slams her lips onto his pretty mouth, if Steve would even notice their rumpled sweaters.  “Nancy” Jonathan whispers, breaking her fantasy. She knows it's his way of scolding her for thinking about such things. The same way she knows he's thinking about it too. A lump forms in her throat and she thinks if there is a hell she must be in it. But really it's what she deserves, good girls don't lead their best friends to their death and bad girls don't get to kiss Jonathan Byers.  She breaks their staring contest refocusing on her reading and Jonathan clears his throat going back to his math homework. As much as she knows that this is her divine punishment, she really can't stomach the idea of Claire Fucking Donahue getting to kiss Jonathan before her.  “She said Mike looks like a frog once” she lies all at once overwhelmed with jealously Out of the corner of her eye she sees the faintest hint of a smile grow across Jonathan's perfectly kissable lips.