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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 8 all chapters

-Your birthday falls on a beautiful spring day, and of course, you have to work. When a new customer growls into the parking lot on a shiny black motorcycle everyone crowds behind the counter to see who it could be.

It takes so little to entertain all of you, sometimes.

The boys titter excitedly about the sweet bike and torque and ccs, whatever that means.

When the rider takes off his helmet there’s a fall of fabulous dark hair, and something inside you utterly purrs at the sight.

It’s Mr. Wick.

Maybe you should have known. His padded motorcycle jacket makes his shoulders seem impossibly broad, and as he crosses the parking lot on long legs you hear Cassie sigh behind you.

Same, girl, same.

Cassie had made you a little birthday crown to wear out of a to go cup, a la Princess Peach. You forget about the silly adornment clipped to your head, until Mr. Wick approaches the counter to make his order.

“One coffee…your Highness?” He lifts one of those dark brows with a small smirk, and fuck if it doesn't make you blush.

“It's my birthday,” you sheepishly tell him. His expression actually softens.

“Happy Birthday, then.”

“Thanks.”

“Not fair you have to work today.”

You shrug. “No rest for the wicked.”

This makes him smile a little wider, and you feel that’s a good present for today.

“Hopefully you have something fun planned for later?”

Is he fishing, or just making conversation? You can never tell with this man.

“Not really,” you admit with a shrug.

Your parents are divorced and remarried, living far away from you in their new lives, with their new families. You know they’ll call you later, when they remember you. You’ll have an awkward little conversation that will only serve to grind up your heart into smaller pieces, rather than lift your spirits like its meant to.

Your friends are busy too. One, with her new baby who never has time for you anymore, and you totally understand (and endorse) her priorities, even if it still hurts. The other’s work schedule is exactly the opposite of yours, and you never manage to hang out anymore.

Maybe you’ll go to the thrift store after you get off work, or treat yourself to an ice cream. Nothing too extravagant. You’re saving every penny you can for your upcoming trip.

“Well, maybe something will come up.”

It’s a nice thought.

You make him his usual coffee order, and don’t think much about it the rest of the day. This warm spring day has everyone out and about, stir crazy after the thaw, and you were running full speed from open to the end of your shift. For some incongruous reason, people were extra rude too, and as the clock strikes 2 you are at the end of your rope, your smile more closely resembling a baring of teeth.

Your whole body hurts, and you think you are too exhausted to do anything fun for yourself, until you go to your car in the lot behind the brick building to find Mr. Wick—and his motorcycle—parked next to your old Rav4. He looks utterly scrumptious, if you’re being honest, those legs going on forever as he leans against the seat of his bike. His hair is waving down around his face as he browses something on his phone to pass the time.

Good on you, for only pausing for a moment to ogle him.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You look between him and the bike with your lip between your teeth, wondering what he’s doing, your treacherous heart fluttering in your chest.

“I thought…it might be fun to go for a ride? If you want.”

You cannot suppress a wide smile, touched to the marrow that he thought of you on your special day. “That does sound like fun,” you admit, and not just because the thought of sitting behind him on a bike makes you a little weak in the knees. The sunshine that day truly feels like a gift from the gods after such a harsh winter. “But…”

He tilts his head inquisitively.

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

He shakes his head, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, and your fingers physically ache to brush it away. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he assures you, and damn if that isn’t enough to convince you.

“Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been on a bike before?”

His smile is nothing less than gentle, and he could have pushed you over with a feather.

“All you have to do is hold on to me,” he assures you, and you think you lose your mind a little at that.

There is slightly more to it, he instructs you as you put on a helmet and he helps you clamber on behind him. He tells you to lean slightly with him into the turns, but not too much. The bike grumbles like a fire-breathing beast beneath you as he starts it up.

The feeling of his slim hips and taut backside between your thighs crosses some wires in your brain.

He takes you to the winding backroads of the countryside and up the mountain. You feel like you’re flying, snaking through the curves on this powerful machine, with a man you find you trust implicitly at the controls.

You laugh out loud more than once.

At a straightaway he asks through the helmet mic, “Want to see what she can do?”

“Sure,” you answer, even though you can’t imagine what more this beautiful bike could offer.

“Lean into me, and hold on.” You obey, looping arms around his trim waist, plastered to his backside as he hunkers down for aerodynamics. You were already going fast, but when he shifts a gear you take off like a shot.

A sane person would have screamed, but all you can do is laugh.

This is the purest joy you’ve felt in longer than you can remember.

John pulls over at a scenic overlook, parking the bike so you can have a little break. You sit together on a picnic table, looking over the valley below. A stream snakes through it like a silver ribbon, shimmering in the sunlight. You sigh and lean back on your arms, lifting your face to the sun.

This has turned out to be a perfect day. John smiles a little as he looks over at you, but says nothing, just lets you soak it in.

“Thank you for this,” you finally say. “I was having such a shitty day.”

“You’re welcome.”

You sit up and rub at your neck. You have an unrelenting ache in the muscle over your left shoulder blade. It never really goes away, but its definitely worse after a long day on your feet bending over coffee.

John looks worried, bless him. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. I just…have this thing. I think there’s a demon living in my shoulder.”

After a pensive moment he lifts his hands in offering, moving very slowly as though he might spook you. His hands are…beautiful. Large, long fingered, calloused too. You wonder what he does, when he’s not sitting in the coffee shop or binding books. The thought of them on your body gives you a forbidden little thrill.

You do not even consider the missing digit, until he looks at his left hand and frowns, closing it to hide it at his side. “Sorry. I still forget…”

But you take his hand in yours, inspecting it closely for the first time. He allows it, though there is something vulnerable in his eyes as you do. The healed skin almost looks jagged, like it wasn’t severed with a clean cut or a surgical blade. You feel the urge to press your lips to it, as though you could kiss it better, but you just rub your thumb over the fine dark hairs there.

“What happened?”

“Someone…” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sound. “I had an accident.”

You sense there’s much more to the story, but you don’t press him yet.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes, I get the phantom aches. Mostly it’s fine though.”

You nod and angle your back to him, placing his hand on your shoulder as you shoot him a pointed look, granting him permission to touch you. His sigh is almost imperceptible, but you sit up a little straighter as he squeezes your shoulder lightly. You get the slightest taste of the strength in those hands, yet you know he could rip you to pieces if he chose to.

He slays you in a different way, knowing exactly how to use them on your sore muscles, and you can’t help but moan as he squeezes the kinks out of your shoulders. For a second he freezes at the sound, before continuing to work his magic.

“God…that feels so good.” You’ve been in pain for so long that it’s damn near better than sex.

Maybe it’s been too long for that too, though.

“You are a mess.” You know him well enough now to know he’s frowning as he says this. He kills a knot with the well-placed blade of his thumb. You feel it release and you jump a little. Though it doesn’t really hurt you, you’re not sure why there is suddenly moisture in your eyes.

It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of you like this, you suppose.

“Job hazard,” you sigh.

“Do you ever do yoga?”

You laugh a little at that for some reason. “I used to practice, when I was younger.” It kind of fell by the wayside. You’re always so tired when you get home.

“Well, stretching is good for you, as you age. Take it from an old man. It helps.”

“You’re not old,” you immediately protest.

“Nice to know I still have some curb appeal.” His words are laden with sarcasm, and yet you can tell he is pleased.

He finishes the massage with a lighter touch, to stimulate blood flow, that gives you delicious chills all over. Your shoulders are your kryptonite, and you are putty in his hands. You look back at him from beneath your lashes, curious what exactly it is the two of you are doing here. Does he like you, or is he just being impossibly nice?

He doesn’t avoid your gaze, but you find you can’t read him, not one bit.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asks.

It is almost dinner time. “Okay.”

You’re a little sad as you ride back down the mountain towards town. But he pulls up to the local diner, and you have sinfully greasy cheeseburgers and shakes. Despite your protests he pays, because: “No one should have to pay for their birthday dinner.”

You know he’s fucking loaded, so you let him have his way.

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” you admit, munching on a fry. “Thank you, Mr. Wick.”

You know he’s told you to call him John before, but fuck if you haven’t noticed how his eyes darken just a little when you call him Mr. Wick, or even just Sir at the coffeeshop. You feel like you stumbled onto something you don’t entirely understand, but it fills you with a forbidden warmth all the same.

He gives you a hooded look from across the table, and you fancy he knows that you know what you’re doing.

“My pleasure, y/n.”

He doesn’t insist that you call him John again.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick fic #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine #i miss my bike lol

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klainegifs · 3 months

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#these scene is so bittersweet #i have a lot of season 3 baggage from being super active (and annoyed at the writers) in the fandom at this time LOL #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #klaine #s3 #s3e3 #klaine s3 #klaine s3e3 #~

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kim-woonhak · 11 days

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HANGYUL BAE173 ✧ 240402 ‘Fifty-Fifty’

bonus:

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brawlmetaknight · 26 days

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#my gif #meta knight #why was brawl's classic mode trophy fall so bittersweet lol #i'm just a littol trophee...thatse it..i cannot change this #/lh

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ezdotjpg · 7 months

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Supply Run

Hello here's a fic I wrote about Loft taking a trip back to Skyloft, pre the plot of bonus links. 1381 words!

Link’s favorite errand, head and shoulders above the competition, is making the trek up to Skyloft for a supply refresh. It’s why Zelda continues to ask him to do it, despite the fact that he always takes roughly 6 hours longer than he’s strictly meant to, and forgets at least one item on the list more than half the time. He should remind her, for the millionth time, that he loves her very much.

“Thanks again, Luv!” he calls behind him as he makes to leave her stall, satchel full of all the necessary elixir ingredients they’ve been running low on. He double checked the list this time. Triple checked it, even.

“Fly safe, now!” Luv shouts back, and even with his back turned he can imagine her shaking her comically large ladle after him. “I see you out there pulling stunts, you’ll give us all a heart attack one day!”

Link thinks he flies perfectly safe, thank you very much, but he promises to be very careful, and makes his escape from the Bazaar. Sunshine warming his face against the chill, he continues down the ramp, over the bridge, and into the residential quarter of the island. Few of the island’s older adults have agreed to make the move down to the surface yet, so while the area’s quiet, there’s still life in the buildings. He makes his rounds, popping in to each home to say hello and listen to the latest news, often several times over.

“You’re looking thin again,” Henya frets, giving him a once over with a shrewd eye. “Are you sure you kids are growing enough food down there?”

He assures her that this year’s harvest was the best one yet, but she sends him off with several flasks of soup anyway, enough that he has to wedge them haphazardly in the satchel to make it all fit.

“You look tired,” Batreaux tells him. He’d been overjoyed by the somewhat wonkily carved Keese Link had made to dress up the windowsill of his new home on Skyloft proper. Now, his brow is furrowed as he putters through his kitchen cabinets. “I’ve got a tea that might help, where in the world did it run off to?”

The packet of tea takes the Keese figure’s place in Link’s pocket, and as the door closes behind him, he tries to remember how many minutes Batreaux told him to steep it for. He never gets it quite right.

With all his visits finished, he lingers in the village square, pointedly not looking at the docks. He walks back to the neighborhood and checks on the island’s pumpkin crop, which looks fine. He catches a few sky stag beetles, and then lets most of them go. He sits by the waterfall and munches on a stamina fruit, kicking his legs over the side and getting his boots all wet.

He’s half finished formulating a plan to break into his old academy room for no reason in particular before he finally, painfully decides that actually, it’s probably better to return home. Before the sun sets, and Crimson won’t fly anymore, and he’s forced to spend the night. Again. What a tragedy that would be.

Back at the docks, he makes sure the satchel is buckled securely, briefly laments the ache in his knees, and takes off at run. At the last second, he twists his body around, launching off the edge with his arms out and his back to the land below.

Link closes his eyes against the glare of the sun, and lets himself enjoy the freefall. His stomach swoops, his body weightless. Crisp air fills his lungs, the same air that tugs at his clothes and tickles his face with his hair. Falling on the surface is never quite this peaceful. Over the course of his quest, he learned what it meant to truly hit the ground, to feel flesh bruise and bones crunch. He made enough wrong footed steps, took tumbles off edges so high he thought they’d be the end of him, scrambling for the sailcloth.

Down below, there’s no failsafe, no guarantee that someone will catch you. The ground rushes up to meet you so fast. But here in the sky, he knows no one will ever let him fall too far.

Speaking of, the couple of knights that still circle the island are probably getting antsy by now. He gives himself two more counts, taking them slow in his head, before bringing his fingers to his mouth. He whistles one sharp, clear note, and flips himself over into the proper position. It’s only a few seconds more before a familiar call answers.

He grabs onto Crimson’s harness easily, though the rapid change in speed as she pulls up sends a painful zap up his bad arm. Crimson clicks her beak in apology, like she knows. He pets the soft fur of her back to soothe her. It’s his own fault, really.

It’s getting late. Batraeux was right about one thing: he is tired. He really shouldn’t do much besides simply flying home.

But he sees Crimson so rarely these days, and her joy is a warm flare in the back of his mind. They circle around the islands scattered around Skyloft, making twirls and loops until he’s breathless from a combination of laughter and exertion, and the sun is beginning to hang dangerously low. Crimson begins her reluctant descent.

As she hovers high above his front yard, Link gives her a hug around her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard.

“Thank you,” he says. “See you next time.”

The jolt that runs through him as the sailcloth catches his weight certainly doesn’t help his arm, and he grits his teeth against it. Like always, Crimson stays in sight until his feet touch the ground. He stays rooted to the spot as well, waving after her until her form disappears over the treetops.

It’s like a spell has broken. He lets his left hand drop, and all of a sudden, his limbs feel so heavy. It’s possible he’s overdone it a little. Every muscle in his body has a complaint it would very much like to lodge. The altitude change sticks in his lungs, makes the air feel thick enough he almost wants to cough. But he’d still call it the good kind of exhausted, the satisfied kind. With any luck, he’ll sleep so well tonight he won’t even dream. Dead on his feet, he shuffles his way onto the porch and inside the house.

He kicks his boots off by the door, dropping the satchel as gently as he can manage it. Zelda looks up from where she’d been writing in a notebook on the couch, eyes crinkling as soon as she spots him. The house is full of warm, spiced smells and sizzling sounds, which implies that Groose is busy making dinner in the kitchen. If Link listens close, he can almost hear Groose humming.

“Welcome home, love,” Zelda says, setting her notebook aside. She doesn’t comment on his lateness, her smile knowing. He thinks, maybe, that it looks a little sad, too. That he misses it so much, that he lingers so long every time he gets the chance. Everyone on the surface misses Skyloft, but it’s different for him, isn’t it? It’s different. He can’t hide anything from her.

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he makes a beeline over to the couch with the last of his energy, and flops over to join her. His head lands in her lap, and he can feel her body shake as she laughs at him.

“That good, huh?” she teases. He makes a vaguely affirmative noise, curling up comfortably as her hand comes to rest on his head. He feels every ache and pain acutely now that he’s no longer standing, but it’s easy to ignore with Zelda’s fingers combing through his hair.

“Did you get everything on the list?”

“Mhm.”

“Double checked?”

“Mhm.”

“Hey, was that Link just now?” That one is Groose’s voice. It sounds closer when he speaks next, like he’s poked his head around the corner. “Babe, no sleeping yet! Dinner’s gonna be ready soon!”

“Don’t worry,” Zelda says. He’s already failing at Groose’s request. “I’ll wake you.”

#ficdotjpg #bonus loft #bonus links #bonuslinks #bonuslinksdotjpg #technically this is for the discord prompt but it turned out a little bittersweet lol #bonus groose #bonus skord zelda #not very well proofread forgive me for typos

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beldaroot · 9 months

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murai yakumo: using guilt to grieve

i find it so interesting how inukai-sensei implied that yakumo treating survivor's guilt like a luxury and using his classic big canvases weren't a proper way in handling the theme of guilt.

because in the later chapters we learn that yakumo himself has survivor's guilt over sanada's death. and while he claims sanada's death was "likely an accident" he probably feels like he had a hand in it since he didn't go shopping with her that night because he was annoyed at how effortlessly good she was at art so he wanted to paint instead. he's had to live with the guilt of surviving as well as the guilt of possibly being able to have prevented her death plus the guilt of resenting her for her artistic talent. that's why he always refers to sanada being "killed" as if he played a role in killing her.

but then momo says that sanada wasn't killed. sure, there are multiple "what-ifs" that could be said like "what if that man didn't call out to sanada and shock her into falling in the sea?" or "what if yakumo did go shopping with sanada that night?" or "what if the ledge wasn't so icy and the water so cold?" or "what if sanada wasn't so curious?" - but it's all a guessing game because the reality of it is that in the end, sanada still ended up dead and they all have to live with that. i think momo is reflecting inukai-sensei's previous argument against yakumo that guilt isn't something fortunate. that's why she calls yakumo a "brat" about sanada's death because he's treating it like some luxury of being alive instead of properly coping.

it's been three years since sanada's death but yakumo is still in the denial stage of grief. he's been in arguments with hacchan about how he moved on too fast after sanada's death and he hasn't even talked with momo about it at all. he's likely just scared that those feelings of guilt that he had when she died are slowly fading. yakumo knows that he's childish and he has been trying to grow-up and move on, but i like that he also uses his naiveté as a source of inspiration and drive to complete his art of japan piece. through his art, i think he can finally say his goodbye to sanada. and i'm curious if this piece will allow him to let go of notion that survivor's guilt is something luxurious.

#blue period #bp #blue period spoilers #murai yakumo #i do hope this made sense LOL #i was just rereading previous arcs and i completely forgot about yakumo's grief piece... yamaguchi is so good at foreshadowing lol #i'm so excited to see yakumo's aoj piece i think it will be something v bittersweet and i hope yatora's piece can also help him cope too <3 #also i don't like any of the uni professors esp inukai but i do find his critique fascinating and how it plays w both guilt and grief

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bull-shit-suji · 1 year

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not to like wax poetic about the literary nuances of Black Fucking Butler but i feel i need to point out how insanely campy it is. oh okay cool the butler is throwing butter knives at people with guns and winning. we're battling undertaker's zombie army by starting a boy band (we actually got the idea from the ZOMBIES' boy band). theres a curry making competition and its so important it needs an entire volume and a continuing motif dedicated to it. the Grim Reaper Death Gods are all cornballs with gardening sheers. the contradiction. the unintended irony.

i think the manga is like. toeing the line of camp. like its silly yet takes itself so seriously but its not too silly. my immersion is not broken by the silliness. but the anime is uncharted levels of camp. what the Hell was going on with pluto. you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me the phantomhives own a fifty foot dog thing and no one has noticed. simply one hell of a deer. ice skating. theres opium in funtom candy. the queen of england is maybe a little girl. speaking of which, the city of london just burned down. yeah the whole thing. the fifty foot dog was there too.

it's so ridiculously out of left field and the fact that none of the characters seem to notice or care feels like being gaslit. camp so visceral it's causing psychic damage. i am constantly begging the narrative to break character just once and acknowledge its silliness but doing so would negate the lack of awareness that makes it camp. its dated and timeless. an absolute milestone in camp history.

#it's 2 am im not articulating my thoughts well #just like. ohhhhhhhhg death and demons and walking the line between good and evil #dark acedemia vampire victorian vibes. except theres always some stupid shit happening with no explination.#like i know the tone shifts intentionally sometimes to match the haha comedic moment #thats not what im talking about #i mean when the most ridiculous plotline ever concieved is presented as a life or death situation #and after a while you're like lol this isnt dark at all and then BAM abuse trauma ptsd manipulation cults murders #the bittersweet understanding in clawing your way to the top #knowing the moment your revenge is exacted you will be consumed by the very thing that got you here #and choosing to keep climbing anyways #then boom back on that bullshit here's these motherfuckers in wonderland #the dark tone we had for all that trauma shit will Not be changing because catgirl grelle is just as serious of a topic #okay im going to bed #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #manga #ciel phantomhive #textpost #prev rb #oh i think the point i was trying to make it that its good because its camp #would not be nearly as awesome if it werent

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002yb · 3 months

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im such a sucker for dick pining cuz he just does lovelorn so well and theres no one more worthy of longing and adoration than jason so:

for dick there is nothing better in the world than when jason is in a playful mood. popping a wheelie on his motorcycle just for the fun of it, singing along with his music blasting, training as usual with his movements loose and fluid and just a touch of uncharacteristic showiness. any form it takes dick goes crazy for it. unsure if jay knowing he was there would burst the carefree bubble but wanting so bad to be a part of the moment.

Lovelorn!Dick? Sign me up.

Because there's something so profoundly vulnerable to how Dick would love Jason: quiet and unassuming and so subtle no one would ever know for certain. Dick knows the place he keeps in Jason's life and it's at the outermost fringes. Carefully kept away because Dick is an irritant (too bright, too good, too perfect) that aggravates all Jason's insecurities.

For all the love Dick has to give, people sooner have a complex about him before they feel any of his affections. Jason so happens to have the most debilitating of complexes, too, so Dick stays where Jason wants him - even if that's far, far away.

Truth be told, Dick has never loved anyone like he loves Jason. Not to say that Jason is any sort of exception, or that Dick loves him more than anyone else he's loved, it's just - different. Dick loves Jason so differently from how he's used to loving anyone else.

Usually Dick is shameless and unabashed; loving loud and proud. Burning so hot and fast that his relationships suffer for it. There's a reason Dick is the butt of every disaster-in-love joke, why he's accused of having issues with commitment, etc.

But again, it's different with Jason. Because Dick loves him so quietly. Because Dick shows his affections in the most subtle of ways (keeping away, not pushing, not taking; just watching from his distant perch). Content to pine because his love for Jason is so devastatingly pure-hearted.

Of course Dick wants to be the one to make Jason happy. He wants to be part of Jason's life. He wants to talk and banter and joke around. He wants more than a perfunctory professionalism when circumstance dictates. What Dick wouldn't give just to be close, to be kept close.

It's fine though. Because Dick's affections aren't fragile. He can find contentment at a distance seeing Jason happy. Even from the fringes, Dick can love Jason just like that.

But also?? Also - Dick constantly, persistently pushing boundaries to try and get just a bit closer. Because even if he's content, it's not like Dick to settle. So he walks that tightrope closer, closer. Sometimes lingering in a professional capacity, sometimes making himself known with antagonizing Jason a bit (in the sense that Jason needs someone to fight and Dick can bear it, but also in a playfully teasing way, too). Until one day Jason is caught off guard because Dick, someone who Jason has always kept to the fringes of his life, becomes someone he expects to see just beside him. A partner, a confidant, a friend.

And Jason is floored because when the fuck?

And Dick is just there in Jason's space, all smug quietly content. Because yeah, he could find contentment at a distance. It's so much better being at Jason's side though. //U///

#dickjay #jaydick #bittersweet unrequited love turned slowburn romance??#of course lol

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