#heyyyy it happened!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind. 

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.  

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.  

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

[donttellunclesam]

and they were (Platonic) roommates

(close ups under the cut)

[pseudophan]

i think maybe we shouldn't get too hung up on march specifically cause i feel like dan may have just meant At Some Point After Tour and knowing them that will be two months later than initially thought

[teehee-vibes]

Drey Ferin NOOOO don’t get lost in the sauce!!!!1!!

[static-radio-ao3]

James walks the street. Alone.

He's always alone these days.

His friends wrapped up in each other, in their jobs, in their lives. James endlessly wrapped up in them. Sometimes he can't tell apart the end and the beginning. The tips of his fingers seamlessly bleed into his best friends'.

The leaves are shades of copper these days. He swears they were green two days ago. The air smells of autumn and it's so cold sometimes that it hurts to breathe too deeply.

There is a lamp at the end of the street that flickers. Uneven beats of on and off again.

He watches traffic while he stands underneath that lamp. A funny sort of halo. A guardian angel in reverse.

He rubs his hands together, the cold biting at his skin. Friction, he remembers Lily telling him. A rock and some sticks and you can make fire. A magic of its own, isn't it?

He watches cars pass by for a few more minutes. Counts all the red ones. Nine, so far. One of the cars honks. Or well, the people inside do. Make a crude gesture that James doesn't quite understand.

He sighs and shakes his head and steps out of his malfunctioning spotlight. Crosses the road. It's quiet in town. Just after dusk and all the stores are closed.

Yellow light, warm and tender, spills onto the street from windows. James wants to step inside, let the light warm him. Let the love warm him. But he keeps walking.

Leaves crunch underneath his shoes. He tries to find the crispiest ones to step on. His eyes are trained on the ground in front of him, so doesn't see the man approaching him.

Then again, the man doesn't seem to notice him either. Their shoulders knock together, unbalancing them both.

The man's hair is tousled and windswept. Cheeks pink and lips bitten. Their eyes meet. Brown and gray across empty space. A spark. Recognition.

A magic of its own, isn't it?

[rinchdressing]

klapollo week day 7: aa4 sequel

[chalkeater]

HI EVERYONE THANK YOU FOR 2K ON THIS BLOG O MINE!!

such a sweet thing to reach before the end of the year HEHEHE guess who forgot to hit post

[little-doggy-girl-kisser]

need a falin to my marcille </3

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

for some reason im really feeling the Queer Euphoria in this chilis tonight, specifically: being so ambiguous its hilarious. there is No label to describe my orientation/gender. like yeah i use nonbinary bc technically it fits but also bc the flag Fucks. if asked, my only correct answer would be "Wildcard, Motherfucker!"

[madame-mongoose]

Anyway I'm really bad at playing New Vegas I am scared literally all of the time people keep shooting at me meanwhile I am just a little guy. So unfair

[0rphiichaze]

vibrating really hard me when i wanna be friends with every bdhs/homestuck ask blog ever and interact with them and be silly but also im so anxious when making friends on tumblr and talking to them in general HDOSOS help me. hel;p m e. How do you guys do it. What’s the SECRET I’ve made two-three friends on here ever WHAT THE FUCK. Literally if you think I’m cool throw ur discord my way I’m crying. Please. I’m like a pathetic wet dog over here pleaseeee talk to me pelaseeeeee

[apuff-comics]

this is called restless leg syndrome apparently

[starlit-fawn]

What an inconvenient person to duet with (it's me, I tried to duet with my own shared memory)

Songs are:

• Servant of Evil (piano)

• Daughter of Evil (flute)

[applesaucesea]

Don’t talk to me when I’m sleepy because I overshare and get embarrassed later (it’s also for your own sanity)

[wewontbesleeping]

officially on vacation (don't leave until wednesday, but no more work!) and i'm happy happy happy BUT it's also like. there is some stuff happening at work that i'm soooo nosy about and i don't want to have to wait until i come back to hear about it lmfao.

[triforce-of-mischief]

cowabunga, my dudes! 💙❤️💜🧡