Bitterblue 1
Warnings:Â this fic will include dark content such as 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: Your new landlord can fix anything, even you.
Characters: Jonathan Pine
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Do one kind thing for yourself today and take care.đ
Itâs the days you want to forget that never end. You clutch your forehead as you drop your work bag by the mat. Can it just be over?
You pinch your nose and take a deep breath. This isnât good. Very bad, actually. Extremely, entirely, fucked.
You go outside and pull the branch through the window. You hear a few more shards scatter on the floor. You drag it out onto the lawn and leave it there. Youâll figure out what to do with that later.
You go inside as the wind whistles through the broken window. Thereâs a few ragged pieces still clinging to the frame. As much as youâd love to take your shoes off, you canât.
You hurry through the house in search of anything to keep the chill out. You break down a box and grab the packing tape. The roll is almost done. You used most of it when you boxed up what was left of your previous life.
You do your best. Somehow, thatâs never enough. You seal the edges of the cardboard along the frame and set to cleaning up the hazard on the hardwood. You gather up the remnants of the window into the dustpan and dump it in another box.Â
You set that aside as you hear the wind about to tear through the cardboard and tape. It wonât last the night. Youâll be lucky if the landlord answers and why should they. Itâs after dinner time. Youâre not in much of a mood to do anything.
Life doesnât always give you a choice.
You find the contact in your phone. You so kindly labelled it âLandlordâ. Things have been a bit much. You donât have the brain space for names.
You dial out and put the phone to your ear. You cross one arm across your chest and stare at the cardboard as it strains with the wind. The line rings and rings and rings. Youâre ready to give up. You learned the hard way that sometimes, you just should.
âHello?â The voice on the other end surprises you. âHello?â You werenât expecting an answer. âAh, missed itââ
âHello.â You blurt out. âUh, hi. Is thisâŠâ you search your mind. The name at the top of your rent statement flashes. âMr. Pine?â
âMr. Pine?â He echoes. âJonathanâs just fine. You sound familiar. Oh, yes, Creighton Boulevard.â
âThatâs the one. Um⊠I donât suppose youâre busy?â
âWell, not painfully. I was hoping to pop by the chippie but⊠it seems you might have something more pressing for me.â
âUh huh, you could say that.â You bring your hand up to the side of your neck. âItâs breezy today.â
âIt is rather windy,â he agrees.
âMmhm. Well, half a treeâs blown through the window.â You say.
âOh my,â he intones. âI suppose it is a bit of a maelstrom out here.â
âYeah, I just got in. Itâs just in the front. The one beside the door.â
âThe one I only just replaced before you moved in. Of course. Thatâs how those things go.â He tuts. âIâll be there shortly.â
âWhen you can. I donât mean to spoil your supper.â You say.
âNot much of one. Should probably eat at home more often,â he chuckles. âWell then, on my way. Hold tight.â
âThanks, Mr. Pine.âÂ
âJonathan,â he corrects once more and the line clicks.
You feel bad already. You tell yourself itâs just conditioning. When you ask for something, even if genuinely, itâs so often treated as a burden. You suppose you couldâve insulated a blanket and waited until morning. Yes, probably. You just have to be a bother, donât you?
Itâs as if your mother could sense her own voice in your head. Your phone rings. You stare at the caller ID, debating whatâs more worth it? Her rebuke on the voicemail or her passive aggressive questions about what youâve been doing at work and how things are going since you decided to make a change. Yes, never say anything forthright; it canât hurt as much when the dagger thrust from behind the curtain.
âHello, mother,â you answer.
âOh, dear, I was afraid you stayed late again.â She chimes. âI always said to my employees, if you have to stay late, you arenât working hard enough. Yes, you should be able to fit into eight hours if youâre doing it right.â
You suppress a growl. You know sheâs always said that; sheâs repeated in anon.
âNo, Iâm home.â
âHome? You mean that rental?:
âYes, the rental,â you confirm. âItâs a roof and four walls.â
âI suppose better than nothing,â she chides. âWell, darling, I know youâve much to do so let me not waste your precious free time. Your sisterâs coming with her children. Your brother too. I think we should have a proper family thing. Itâs been some time.â
You nod. âOh, when?â
âEnd of next week. I know youâve not much of a heart for young onesââ
âMother, I never said so. I only decided I donât want any. It doesnât meanââ You stop yourself and stretch your fingers wide as you snarl at the wall. âI can bear them. For you. So, Iâll be there. Donât fret.â
âYouâre the only one that makes me fret,â she hums. âIâm sure youâll get it together one day, though, you are running out of time.â
âYes, mother, you remind me. All the time.â
âIâm only looking out for you.â
âUh huh. Thanks for that. I do have to let you go. Dinnerâs in the oven and Iâve a date for one.â
âYou know, Darla, she has a nephewâŠâ
âLove you, mum. Goodbye.â
She harrumphs. âLove you, dear.â
You hang up. That was just the boost you needed. You are assured things could certainly be worse. You could be in the same room as your mother.
You check the time. No use in wasting any more time. It will likely be a while before Jonathan arrives.
You move your work bag from beside the door and hang your coat. You trade your shoes for slippers and mop up the mess you left down the hall.
You set to cooking. You could probably skip the meal that night but you need leftovers for your lunch. That batch of berries you were so excited for were moldy when you went to add them to your parfait. It really does feel like the universe is really out for you.
The scent of sauteed garlic and onion fills the air. That alone stirs your appetite from the depths. The noodles boil and you add cream and butter, adding seasoning to cap off the quick alfredo sauce. As you stir the pan, the doorbell rings.
Itâs one of those fancy ones thatâs supposed to hook to your phone. Just another thing that isnât as it should be. You turn down the heat and shuffle in your slippers to the front door.
Jonathan greets you with a breathless smile. His nose is kissed red from the cold, his ears too. His blonde hair is windswept.
âHi.â You greet awkwardly.
âEvening,â he rocks on his heels. âMay I?â
âOh, yeah, erm.â You back up. âItâs this windowâŠâ
You point then cringe He can see. Duh.
He enters and gently shuts the door. He steps up to the window and examines it. The tape blows loose on one side and the wind squeals through. He presses the adhesive down to quiet it.
âMuch too cold for that,â he clucks. He turns to you and rubs his ears. âI should know.â
âHa, yeah, itâs⊠freezing.â
âI stopped at the hardware shop. Got a board that should fit.â He explains. âHope you donât mind a bit of noise.â
âItâs⊠I really appreciate you coming. Really sorry that you had to.â You say.
âEh? Unless you put the branch through the window yourself, donât be,â he waves you off and pauses. He lifts his chin and inhales. âSomething smells delectable.â
âOh, uh, yeah, Iâm just cooking dinner,â you say.
âMm, youâve a very lucky family.â
You stop from rolling your eyes. âJust me.â
He tilts his head, âeven better. You can thoroughly indulge.â
He turns and pulls open the door. You stare after him for a moment. It would be rude not to offer, wouldnât it?
You go back to the kitchen and contemplate. Youâre not sure why just the thought of being polite makes you anxious. Thatâs the thing about you. You can turn anything into an impossible feat.
You hear him come back in. You busy yourself by draining the noodles and checking that the sauce hasnât burned. For once, all is perfect.
You linger in the kitchen. You slowly venture back down the hall. Jonathan secures the board into place with insulating tape.
âShould do,â he says as he slides his fingers down the length. âIâll have a window in tomorrow. Iâll have it done during the day.â
âIâll be at work.â You say.
âWould it be trouble to have it done while you are?â He asks.
You shake your head. âActually, itâd be nice to come home to a window.â You scratch the back of your neck. âUm, if⊠you like linguine, Iâve got some extra. For your trouble.â
âAlfredo?â He wonders. You nod. âIâd love to. Might I wash my hands?â
âSure. Itâs just right down here. Which⊠you would know since you own this place.â You purse your lips. âIâll get you a plate.â
He unbuttons his jacket as you spin and head down the hall. You enter the kitchen and pull out two plates. You serve up the noodles and sauce. He comes out and flips on the faucet. As he rinses his hands, you set the dishes on the square island.
âAnything to drink?â You offer. âIâve got water and grapefruit juice.â
âWater will do. Thank you kindly.â
He dries his hands and goes to the island. You fill two glasses. You put one by his plate as he sits and you claim the seat across from him. You usually eat standing at the island, fork in hand, eyes on a book.
You twirl noodles around your fork. He leans forward to take a bite. You taste it. Not bad for a lazy meal.
âMm, wonderful,â he praises. âYouâre a masterful cook.â
âNot really. Itâs a really simple recipe.â
âFor some,â he grins. âIâm afraid if it isnât steak or mash, Iâm hopeless.â
âIâm sure it doesnât help when your tenants have you running all over.â You scoff.
âI bought the property. I leased it. I knew what I was getting into.â He rebuffs. âAlbeit, I didnât expect such tasty alfredo.â
You give a wry smile. âYouâre too kind.â
âOnly honest. Though I confess, Iâve only had chips as late so Iâve not much to compare it to.â
âNow that sounds good.â You say. âChips. Bit of gravy.â
âAh, maybe next time.â
âHopefully not.â You say. âI mean, hopefully not a next time. I really donât intend on doing much more damage to this place.â
âAct of nature.â He shrugs. âOnly a window. Most fortunate no one was on the other side of it.â
âI guess youâre right.â
âWell, itâs in how you look at it, isnât it?â He twists more noodles around his fork. âYou see a hassle coming across town to fix a window; I see a lovely meal for a very simple task.â He scoops up the forkful. âIâd say Iâve won this round.â
You look down and push around the pasta. Heâs right. Itâs not so bad and really it is lucky that he could come fix it so quickly. You might even have time left for a nice soak in the tub with your masala-stained novella.














