#jonathan pine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

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.”

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #december daze #the night manager #navy and roo's sleepover

174 notes · View notes

shadyfestivalperfection · 3 months ago

Note

Request for Love, Lies And Loki:

Y/N and Loki meet Loki’s Doppelganger, Jonathan Pine. Y/N tells Loki how much Jonathan looks like him. Loki denies it. The couple goes on an adventure to help Jonathan defeat a villain.

Love, Lies And Loki~16

Summery: Y/N and Loki meet Loki’s Doppelgänger, Jonathan Pine (From ‘The Night Manager’) during their vacation in Italy. Y/N tells Loki how much Jonathan looks like him. Loki denies it. The couple goes on an adventure to help Jonathan defeat a villain.

Characters: Loki x wife!reader

Note: All characters except Loki are mine!

||Master List||

18. Domestic(ish) Bliss

💚Doppelgänger💛

Amalfi Coast, Italy - Present Day

The soft hush of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline filled the morning air as sunlight danced across the Mediterranean, casting golden flecks over the calm, blue sea. A gentle breeze rustled through the white linen curtains of the cozy villa perched on the cliffs above. Inside, all was peaceful—until it wasn’t.

“I told you I packed the sunscreen,” Loki’s voice echoed from the open terrace.

Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, sipping her morning coffee, clad in one of Loki’s oversized black t-shirts. “You packed illusionary sunscreen,” she called back. “That doesn’t count.”

He entered the room in his loose green sleep shirt, hair tousled and smug grin plastered across his face. “It counts if I believe it does.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My sunburn yesterday would like a word.”

Loki snorted, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. “We could just stay inside. I’ll cast a spell to make the room feel like the beach. No exposure to solar radiation, and I still get to admire you in that swimsuit.”

She elbowed him gently in the ribs, grinning. “You promised me breakfast by the sea, not illusions.”

“Very well,” he sighed dramatically. “To the real sun we go.”

⸻

After brunch at a tiny seaside café—where Loki amused himself by charming a seagull into pirouetting for crumbs—they walked along the marina. The vacation had been her idea. They both needed a break after their last diplomatic “incident” with a certain prickly Wakandan official who hadn’t been thrilled to see Loki at the UN Gala.

Y/N tugged at Loki’s hand, pausing by a vendor cart selling beaded jewelry and postcards. She picked up a tiny postcard of a sunset.

“Pretty,” she murmured.

“Not as much as you,” Loki replied smoothly, glancing sideways. She rolled her eyes but smiled.

And that was when she saw him.

Across the square, a man in a tan blazer stood near a fountain, looking over his shoulder. Something about him caught her attention—his posture, the way he furrowed his brows. Then he turned fully.

“Loki,” she said, blinking. “That man looks exactly like you.”

He glanced in the direction she indicated. “Him?”

“Yes. It’s like… you with a different wardrobe and slightly less smugness.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “He doesn’t look like me.”

“He really does,” she insisted. “It’s uncanny.”

The man—Jonathan Pine—had now noticed them too. For a moment, the three simply stared at each other across the plaza. Then Pine began walking toward them.

Loki instinctively stepped in front of her. “That’s not unsettling at all.”

Y/N peeked around him. “Loki, he’s not even holding a weapon. Chill.”

“I don’t trust familiar faces on unfamiliar bodies.”

Jonathan reached them and gave a polite, if slightly puzzled, smile. “Apologies. You two looked… oddly familiar.”

Y/N offered her hand. “I could say the same. I’m Y/N. And this is—”

“Loki,” Jonathan finished, slowly. “I thought so. I’ve seen your face before, just not… here.”

Loki tilted his head. “Have you now? And who are you, precisely?”

“Jonathan Pine,” he replied. “I work with MI6. Or used to. Now I freelance in intelligence contracts. Weapons trafficking, arms dealers, that sort of thing.”

Loki crossed his arms. “Sounds charming.”

Y/N, ever the diplomat between her husband and… well, anyone, stepped in. “Are you in trouble?”

Jonathan gave her a small smile. “A bit. Someone I’m tracking has recognized me. And they mistook me for him.” He gestured to Loki. “Which I thought was odd, until now.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Someone is confusing us? I demand to see this imposter.”

Y/N sighed. “Babe. He means you.”

Jonathan slipped a file from his jacket and handed it to them. Inside were surveillance photos: grainy black-and-whites, a few colored ones. And in the center, a clear image of Loki—in his full Asgardian glory—during the New York incident.

“This… got into the wrong hands,” Jonathan explained. “And now they think I’m part of something intergalactic. I’ve already had one attempt on my life.”

Y/N frowned, flipping through the photos. “This is bad.”

“Why come to us?” Loki asked sharply. “You could’ve stayed far away.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. You’re the key to proving I’m not the man they think I am. And maybe the key to stopping them.”

Loki looked down at Y/N, who returned the glance with a little nod. “Looks like vacation’s over,” she murmured.

He sighed theatrically. “Of course it is. The moment we decide to relax, the multiverse hands me a British twin with a spy complex.”

Y/N looked between them with a slight smirk. “This is going to be fun.”

⸻

The cozy Italian villa had turned into something between a strategy room and a crime drama set. Maps covered the dining table, alongside photographs, scribbled notes, and the occasional pastry that Y/N had insisted they still enjoy, vacation or not.

Loki, unimpressed by the mortal clutter, leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed and his signature expression of distaste painted clearly across his face.

“I was promised sunshine, wine, and perhaps a scandalous dip in the sea,” he grumbled. “Instead, I’m handed conspiracy boards and a man who shares my face.”

Jonathan Pine, sipping espresso, lifted his eyebrows. “If it helps, I find the situation just as awkward. I didn’t intend to drag you two into this.”

Y/N gave a soft laugh as she moved around the table, placing a plate of croissants between the two men like some kind of peace offering. “And yet, here we are. Can’t resist a good mystery, especially one involving magical relics and mistaken identities.”

Loki narrowed his eyes. “She’s enjoying this far too much.”

“I am,” Y/N admitted, grinning. “But only because I know you’ll find a way to outshine even your doppelgänger.”

Jonathan smirked over his cup. “She’s not wrong. You’re annoyingly good at stealing the spotlight.”

Loki rolled his eyes and muttered, “God of Mischief, not modesty.”

Y/N settled beside Loki, threading her fingers through his. “So,” she said, her voice softening, “tell us about this Serpent’s Core.”

Jonathan placed a photograph in front of them. It showed a long, black crate with strange golden markings on the sides, snapped during a transfer operation in Norway. “It’s a relic. Some kind of ancient Asgardian artifact—or so they believe. It’s said to pulse with pure energy. They call it the Serpent’s Core, and if the legends are true, it has enough power to tear open realms.”

Loki frowned and moved to study the photo more closely. “This shouldn’t be here. Not on Earth. The Core was buried deep beneath the Temple of Niðavellir. It wasn’t meant to be found.”

Y/N glanced at him. “You know it?”

“I’ve read about it in the All-Father’s forbidden tomes. It’s not merely a power source. It’s a beacon. A tool to summon something… worse.”

Jonathan’s voice dropped. “Then we need to stop them.”

“Indeed,” Loki muttered. “Or Earth will become nothing more than a stepping stone for chaos.”

⸻

(Later That Night…)

The hotel they’d moved to in Rome was modest by Loki’s standards, but charming enough. Y/N sat at the edge of the bed, her laptop open, scanning blueprints of a warehouse in Milan—the supposed location of the Core’s next transfer.

Loki stepped out of the shower, his hair wet, draped in a black silk robe. “You’re still working?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Y/N looked up. “Jonathan said the Core might be moved in two days. We don’t have time to be lazy.”

“Lazy?” Loki scoffed. “Darling, I was battling frost giants before you learned to tie your shoes.”

Y/N tilted her head and grinned. “Which makes this a walk in the park, right?”

Loki walked over and sank beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You still worry.”

“Of course I do. You’re about to walk into a dangerous facility pretending to be someone you don’t even like.”

“I can manage,” he said quietly. “But I’ll keep the comms open. One whisper from you and I’ll vanish.”

She leaned into him. “Please don’t vanish. Just come back.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Always.”

⸻

(The Next Morning: Meeting the Informant)

Jonathan led them to a café nestled in a quiet Roman alley, where a man waited under a green canopy, nervously tapping his fingers.

“That’s Rami,” Jonathan murmured. “Former Midas Network. He’s the one who confirmed the shipment details.”

Loki, already annoyed by the lack of dramatics, adjusted his cuffs. “He looks like a weasel.”

Y/N shushed him gently and approached with a calm, practiced air. She introduced herself as a liaison for “discreet foreign interests,” and gestured between the two men beside her.

Rami’s eyes locked onto Loki. “You… you’re not—?”

“He’s the real Loki,” Jonathan cut in. “Not the imposter they’ve been dealing with.”

Rami blinked. “You mean there are two of you?!”

Loki’s smile turned predatory. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”

Rami’s hands trembled slightly. “The warehouse in Milan—it’s a hub. They plan to ship the Core through a hidden channel into Eastern Europe. There’s a black market auction being set up. Invitation-only.”

“And they’re expecting ‘Loki’ to deliver the Core?” Y/N asked.

“Yes. You… him. Whoever.”

Jonathan leaned forward. “Then we play along. Let them think I’m showing up with the Core. The real Loki will walk in as me.”

Loki sighed. “Do I at least get better clothes for the disguise?”

Y/N smirked. “You’ll survive.”

⸻

(Night Before the Infiltration)

The plan was simple: Loki would use an illusion to appear as Jonathan and infiltrate the handoff. Jonathan would stay back, monitoring from a van outside. Y/N would serve as magical backup, ready to open a portal or hex their enemies if anything went sideways.

Back in the hotel suite, Loki sat at the edge of the bed, his expression uncharacteristically solemn as he laced up black boots.

“You’re quiet,” Y/N said gently from behind him.

He glanced up, eyes meeting hers. “Because if this goes wrong, it could mean far more than a ruined vacation.”

She crossed the room and knelt before him, her fingers brushing against his. “It won’t go wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

She smiled. “No, I don’t. But I trust you. You always come back to me.”

He touched her cheek, fingers cold but steady. “I always will.”

⸻

The city pulsed beneath overcast skies as Loki, glamoured in Jonathan Pine’s visage, walked alone into the lion’s den.

You stood by the window of the safehouse, white-knuckling the edge of the wooden frame, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. The tension in the room was palpable, electric almost. Jonathan, pacing nearby, hadn’t spoken much since Loki left. He glanced at his watch again, the fifth time in as many minutes.

“He should’ve checked in by now,” you whispered, your voice laced with nerves.

Jonathan stopped, expression unreadable. “If he’s playing me, it’ll backfire,” he muttered.

You turned sharply toward him. “He’s not playing you. He’s risking everything to help you stop this maniac.”

Jonathan’s jaw flexed. “He’s reckless.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, more to keep yourself steady than in defiance. “He’s Loki. He’s a god. But even gods can bleed.”

Jonathan’s gaze softened. “And you love him.”

“I do,” you said quietly.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly. A storm was brewing, the kind that matched the turbulence boiling inside your chest. You stared down at your phone again. Nothing. No text. No call. Not even a damn heartbeat shared through the faint magical bond he’d placed on you before he left.

“It’s quiet. Too quiet,” Jonathan said, breaking the silence.

“Should we go after him?” you asked.

“No,” he replied, but not firmly enough to convince either of you.

You stared out at the skyline, then pressed your fingers against the faint green rune on your wrist — a subtle tether Loki had placed, just in case. You focused on it, but it pulsed faintly, erratically.

Something was wrong.

Inside the compound, Loki moved with the confidence only a man in control could display. He wore Jonathan’s face but carried himself with the weight of centuries. Guards let him pass without hesitation.

But it didn’t take long for the illusion to fracture.

“You’re walking differently, Mr. Pine,” a voice said behind him.

Loki turned, keeping Jonathan’s smirk in place. “Yoga,” he quipped.

The man didn’t laugh.

Two others stepped out of the shadows. Loki recognized the leader — Vaughn Keller. Ruthless, cold-eyed, and known for torturing his enemies before disposing of them. Jonathan’s old enemy. And now, his.

“Cut the act,” Keller growled.

Loki sighed. “And here I thought I was doing such a good impression.”

He dropped the illusion in a shimmer of green, standing tall in his Asgardian form, his voice calm and dangerous. “You were expecting Jonathan. You got something far worse.”

Keller raised his gun, but it was laughable. Loki didn’t flinch. “That pea-shooter won’t work on me,” he said coldly.

Still, Keller wasn’t aiming to kill. He was stalling.

From behind, a dampening field activated — one powerful enough to momentarily drain Loki’s magic. A cage of shimmering violet light enveloped him, and the room closed in.

Back at the safehouse, your wrist burned. You gasped.

Jonathan rushed to your side. “What is it?”

“The bond—it flared and vanished.” You turned to him. “He’s in trouble.”

Jonathan cursed under his breath and grabbed his gun. “Let’s move.”

They had Loki bound.

The dampening field flickered erratically, more experimental than perfected, but it was holding. Loki sat chained to a chair, blood dripping from his temple where a blunt object had connected. He glared up at Keller.

“You’re not human,” Keller said, circling. “What are you?”

“I’m the nightmare that dances between stars,” Loki said coolly, “the god your pathetic myths tried to cage in ink and fear.”

Keller backhanded him. Loki tasted blood and grinned, teeth stained crimson.

Outside, thunder cracked again.

You and Jonathan were close. The building loomed ahead, a concrete fortress nestled against the cliffs. Your heart pounded in your chest as Jonathan looked through his binoculars.

“There,” he said, pointing. “That room. See the flicker? Magic suppression field.”

Your stomach twisted. “He’s inside.”

Jonathan nodded. “We go in quiet. I’ll take the south hallway.”

You nodded, already unzipping your jacket to reveal your concealed weapons — a small dagger Loki had enchanted, and a firearm Jonathan had insisted you carry.

Inside, Loki’s magic simmered just beneath the surface, clawing for release. His eyes, duller now, scanned the room for weaknesses.

Then, the door burst open.

Jonathan was the first through, gun raised. You followed, breath catching when your eyes found Loki — bloodied, bound, but grinning like hell itself.

“About time,” he croaked.

You didn’t hesitate — you rushed to him, dropped to your knees and cupped his face gently. “Loki—”

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “You’re here.”

Jonathan worked quickly, deactivating the dampening field. It fizzled, and in an instant, green light surged from Loki’s hands, snapping the chains like threads.

He stumbled, and you caught him.

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. “I could’ve handled it,” he said weakly.

“Of course you could’ve,” you whispered, brushing his hair back. “But you don’t have to do everything alone anymore.”

Keller returned with backup. Gunfire rang out, but Loki, now restored, lifted his hand. A dome of green magic flared to life, shielding you. Jonathan fired from behind the barrier, expertly taking down the guards.

Keller tried to flee.

Loki raised a hand, eyes glowing. Ropes of light curled around Keller’s limbs and dragged him to his knees.

“You harmed what is mine,” Loki said, his voice like ice. “I should reduce you to atoms.”

You placed a hand on his chest. “Don’t. Let justice handle him.”

Loki’s eyes locked on yours. The fury ebbed.

“As you wish,” he murmured, and released the spell.

Later, back at the safehouse, you helped Loki clean up. He sat shirtless on the couch, bruises littering his ribs. You dabbed ointment on a particularly nasty one.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you said softly.

“I scare myself sometimes,” he replied, quieter than usual.

You looked up. “Why did you go alone?”

“Because if anything happened to you… I couldn’t bear it.”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “We’re a team, Loki. You and me. Always.”

He caught your hand and pressed it to his chest. “When I was in that cell, all I could think about was the life we have. Your laughter in the morning. The way you hum when you cook. The way you say my name when I’ve annoyed you just enough.”

You smiled. “You’re talking like a man who had a near-death epiphany.”

“I did,” he said simply. “And it’s this — I’d walk into fire for you, but I’d rather walk beside you. Every time.”

From the kitchen, Jonathan cleared his throat loudly. “I can still hear you, you know.”

You laughed. “Then maybe it’s time you left.”

Loki smirked. “Agreed.”

Jonathan gave you a mock salute. “Glad you’re alive. Both of you.” Then, more seriously, “Thanks for helping me close this chapter.”

“You owe us dinner,” Loki said with a grin.

Jonathan sighed. “Of course I do.”

That night, curled up in bed, you watched Loki sleep, hand curled around yours, his thumb still faintly glowing with the magic of the bond he’d strengthened again.

Outside, the storm passed.

Inside, all was calm.

-the end

#marvel #fanfiction #romance #female reader #shadyfestivalperfection #loki x reader #loki x you #jonathan pine #the night manager #doppelganger

35 notes · View notes