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darling-zain · 11 months

Text

✮ ↳ The Show Must Go On ↰

♡ yandere! actor x gn reader♡

tw/cw: slight obsession, nothing too detailed

authors notes: first work and i wrote this in one sitting...it's okay we're fine ♥ also i may have based him off of myself and i will probably do that with a lot of my ocs! my bad i'm just a theater kid who likes to write

➼ yandere! Actor who first only knew you as one of the stagehands, always flitting back and forth behind the curtains.

�� yandere! Actor who didn't even know your name until you got promoted to prop manager.

➼ yandere! Actor who never knew how every character that he played fell in love with someone at first glance, but as soon as you walked onto the stage and started giving out your orders, it was like the heavens had shone their light upon you and you only.

➼ yandere! Actor who was infatuated with everything about you. Your responsibility, your assured nature, the way you'd sternly correct him when he messed up his lines because he "should be reading off his script, not off my face".

➼ yandere! Actor who was always on top of his game, one of the best actors in his region, yet when you looked at him with your concentrated eyes it was like he was a rookie again.

➼ yandere! Actor who would be stuttering and tripping over his words on purpose just to get you to come up and read it with him, your warm body so close to his that he could almost taste the perfume you were wearing.

➼ yandere! Actor whose heart raced whenever you praised him, even a simple "good work today" would give him butterflies.

➼ yandere! Actor who knew that opening night was approaching, so he worked day and night to memorize his lines. The excited smile on your face when he was able to perform the whole dress rehearsal without flaw was something he'd never forget.

➼ yandere! Actor who, standing behind the curtain on the first day of their showing, suddenly started to shake. He's been in the industry so long that he forgot what it's like to have pre-show anxiety, and he doesn't even know how to deal with it. Suddenly, a warm hand is put on his shoulder.

"You're shaking." You point out, turning him around to face you. "Why? Are you feeling alright?" You place the back of your hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. "You're not warm, so you're not sick..." You think about it for a second, looking him in the eyes with a warm smile. "Are you...nervous?"

Aurelian doesn't speak, instead, he just nods. He's ashamed of you having to see him like this, the Aurelian Yavuz, getting jitters right before the opening night of one of his most popular shows.

"Hey, look at me." Your voice is soft, yet commanding, forcing him to look into your assuring eyes. You place both your hands on his shoulders, gripping them firmly to help ground him.

"You've done this show countless times before, and we've read the script together so many times that it should be burned into your brain by now." He laughs slightly, a sign that your motivation is working.

"You're one of the best actors I've ever worked with, and one of the most dedicated as well. You've spent so many hours reading, fixing, and editing this performance so that it's just right and absolutely nothing could go wrong. Am I correct?"

He nods again, making you click your tongue.

"Use your words. Am I correct, yes or no?" Your firm tone makes it hard for him to disobey, especially when you look at him with those fierce eyes.

He gulps, taking a deep breath before responding.

"Yes, you're correct. I've done so much to make sure that this show is perfect, so I have no reason to be nervous." He stands up straighter and walks backstage, adjusting his costume in the mirror. "Plus, I know that you'll be watching, so everything will be okay~." He winks at you from the mirror, making you chuckle.

"Exactly. We behind the curtain will be making sure that everything goes smoothly, so all you have to do is go out there and do what you do best." The lights start to dim as the audience applauds. You pat him on the back and adjust his collar for him.

"The stage is yours, Auri." you nod at him as he takes a deep breath, walking out onto the large wooden stage to loud cheering. His voice booms through the stage, and soon enough, the show is over. The cast takes their final standing bow and walks back to their dressing rooms. Aurelius makes a beeline for the lighting booth where you are usually sitting; he bursts through the door backstage, only to find your seat empty.

"What...?" he looks around for any trace of you, but it's like you've disappeared. He takes a seat in your chair and waits for what seemed like hours to him because of how tired he was. 15 minutes after the show ends, he hears your voice from outside the door. he gets up to open the door, but as soon as he does, the door opens with a creak. There you are, standing in the doorway with a coffee in one hand and your bag in the other, looking up at him surprised.

"Auri, why haven't you changed? Everyone's already leaving, you should go too-"

"You weren't watching." He cuts you off, looking at you with cold, dead eyes.

You look at him confused, setting your bag down on the floor. "What are you-"

"Why weren't you watching?"

#zain>>works #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere blog #yandere #yandere x you #soft yandere #oc x reader #god i think i blanked out writing this #it's now half past one in the morning #i can't remember how i got here #all i remember is having an idea and needing to write it immediately #it's fine it's okay #we ball #anyway this is my first work i hope yall weren't expecting much

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chilschuck · 19 days

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ok ridiculously specific request: reader with laios party + namari, namari and reader are talking in dwarvish about reader’s crush on chilchuck within earshot of him… then reader and chil are alone later when he reveals he speaks a few languages (from union stuff?) including dwarvish… hehehe

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ ANON THIS WAS SUCH A PRECIOUS IDEA. i’ve been looking so forward to getting to it, and now i’m finally able to give you something for it!!! hopefully it’s okay!!! <333

— HELPFUL: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none! sfw + short but sweet! mutual pining???

꒰ wc: ꒱ 792

✦ so sorry if this didn’t turn out how you had envisioned it!!! i might’ve??? made them a lil ooc, but i just started going and couldn’t stop hgdjhdkdjdk. this was so so cute so i really hope you enjoy!!! <333

You and Namari had always been close, chatting with each other every chance you got. It was always nice to be able to speak with her in a language you were pretty confident not many others in the party knew, so tonight was no different.

Taking a sip of her drink, Namari let out a chuckle at your words. Knowing she didn’t have to quiet her own too much for this, she asked the question you’d been hoping to avoid. Little did you know, the conversation in Dwarvish between the two of you was being taken in by someone you didn’t expect.

“So, how’s that crush going? Still pining after you-know-who?” Namari asked with a big smile, her gaze locked on yours as she spoke. You let out a sigh, replying in kind.

“I feel like it’s gotten worse. Not like he’ll ever acknowledge it if he’s realized, though. All I can do is hope he hasn’t yet.” Your voice was laced with a tone of displeasure, having convinced yourself this was all one sided. Namari gave a reassuring pat to your back, that smile not leaving her features.

“Hey, you never know. What I know, though, is he’s a bit emotionally constipated. Do with that what you will.” Her own bark of laughter caused you to laugh in reply, taking a moment to take a drink.

Chilchuck frowned, furrowing his brow while taking a sip from his own cup. Yet, this revelation had him feeling… hopeful? You thought of him in that way? The half-foot continued to listen in, waiting to hear what you had to say next.

“I really like him, Namari… He’s so helpful, resourceful, handsome… I feel like we all can really count on him. I just wish I wasn’t such a coward.” A sigh left you, burrowing your face in your hands. The dwarf next to you tutted, waving off your shyness.

“Yeah, well, don’t forget how helpful you are, too.”

Namari was right, and even Chilchuck nodded to himself at that. After the fact he had to recover from the fact you thought he was handsome. He coughed quietly into his drink.

“Helpful enough to make him notice me?” Your voice was so meek in this language, he realized. It was so different than how you usually were, which only made his mind reel a bit at listening in to such a private conversation. The tips of his ears were still a little red from hearing your pining, which certainly wasn’t one-sided.

“If he’s smart, he’s already noticed how helpful you are.” She smirked, elbowing you in the side lightly. You couldn’t help but snort at that, noticing Senshi getting ready to put the dishes from dinner up. “Sure, sure… Let me go help put things away for the night. I’ll be back.”

Chilchuck watched as you took your plates to be washed, walking past his spot to carry everything to the water. Pausing for a moment, he took his own plate to follow you.

As you began finishing up the last few plates you had, soon moving on to the cups, you heard Chilchuck clear his throat behind you.

“Hey, need me to take care of that?” You motioned to his plate, watching as he reached for the rag next to you. Chilchuck shook his head, beginning to help you. “Nah, I came to help you, actually.”

You smiled and gave a thanks in reply, the silence comfortable between the two of you. A few beats of quiet passed before he cleared his throat.

“So, haven’t heard you speak Dwarvish in a while.” He muses, setting aside a plate after drying it. “It’s nice to see you and Namari chat again.”

Biting your tongue, you gave a light laugh at his words. “Yeah, it’s nice to have another common language like that.” Another beat of silence, before he gives a light grin.

“You know, I happen to speak a few languages myself. With working in the union, and all.” Your blood ran cold, nearly dropping the plate in your hands. Before you could reply, he brought his gaze to your own.

“By the way… I guess I must be pretty smart. Since I’ve noticed how helpful you are and all. Her words, not mine.” Chilchuck gave a playful smirk, taking the plate from your hands to dry. “Oh, and maybe you shouldn’t assume how I feel. Even if I’m ’emotionally constipated.’”

Your mouth was dry, trying to form the thoughts bouncing around in your head into words to say. As he dried the final dish, he turned to walk off, not before saying one final thing to you in Dwarvish.

“You’re cute when you act all shy.”

You’ll have to get him back for that.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <333

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿#I HOPE THIS IS OKAY ;;;#i wanted to get this out for you!!!!#time to work on other requests hehehe #nervous about this one but i need to post!!#i shall not reread it in fear hgdjdhkdhdkjd #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims x reader #dunmeshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #dungeon meshi x reader

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lightseoul · 11 months

Text

you're losing me

synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.

cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing

word count. 2.5k words

“Where is everybody?”

You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”

You merely hum in response.

A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.

“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”

At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”

You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”

You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”

“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.

“Okay.”

You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.

It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.

“You alright?” you ask.

He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”

Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.

“What is it?”

At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.

And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N.”

At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.

He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.

He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”

That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.

You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.

You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”

Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”

And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.

“Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”

You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.

Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.

“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.

He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.

You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”

“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”

“Okay.”

You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.

He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.

Since when did he get so hesitant with you?

“I’ll go then,” he announces.

And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.

Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.

The days after are unremarkably the same.

He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.

On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.

Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.

You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.

And so you rarely see him.

But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.

Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.

Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.

Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.

“Nightmare,” he croaks.

At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”

The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—

“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”

Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.

He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.

“Okay.”

The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.

Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:

Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.

Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.

Still, maybe he needs this night out.

You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.

With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.

Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.

You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.

You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.

Huh.

You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”

“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”

Your Katsuki? Drunk?

For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.

“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”

“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”

When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”

Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.

“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”

“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.

Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.

You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.

“We’re here, Kats.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.

Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.

“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”

You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“My mom made me do it, you know.”

You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”

“Propose to you.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”

You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”

He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.

“It was stupid of me, though.”

Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”

He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.

“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”

“Katsuki.”

“You can do way be—”

“Katsuki!”

He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.

You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.

“Look at me.”

He does so.

“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.

“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He thinks you don’t want to marry him.

Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.

You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.

And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.

You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.

Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.

You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.

He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”

At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”

He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.

A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”

Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.

You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”

He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”

“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”

At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”

At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.

“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”

Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”

At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”

You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.

“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”

Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.

“Not if I propose to you first.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3

#as you can probably tell i did not proofread this at all #god this was a lot of work lmao #i hope you guys enjoy it <3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #whatever!!! it was fun okay!!!!

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deimcs · 3 months

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WYLL approves of valiant acts of defending the innocent or the defenceless, and appreciates kindness towards children. Peaceful, but decisive actions resonate with him, and those that take a genuine interest in him and the struggles he faces are also well-liked by him.

#bg3edit #gamingedit #baldursgateedit #baldur's gate #bg3 #wyll ravengard #wylledit #userewbie #(hope it's okay if i'm tagging you ♥)#edits #this came out terrible cause i had to go to work mid making it #and i lost my flow #but i couldn't give up posting his sweet face so have it anyway :(#he says this to tav during the party but have you considered this is basically the core of who he is as a character #if only half the world would choose empathy and resilience and selflessness every single time!#if only baby girl!#anyway i'm kissing him on the forehead and wishing him sweet dreams as we speak #also i had to fight for my life trying to find art and models that didn't have mizora in it i'm--

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b4kuch1n · 4 months

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wizard of both ways

#pokemon #swsh #champion leon #wizard leon! Ive messed arounf with this piece for literal months #and like yesterday my brain was like okay either you finish this or you explode and die #so. been finishing this up #now I can return to work in peace....#this is! also a revision of an old design #which was kinda made up as I was goin so it wasnt the most coherent thing. but I was like well. its a wizard design #cowboy wizard... sword and pen..... being in two places at the same time..... this is what this wizard is about now #the number of wizard leons Ive got is still at a round ten rn I think. into this new year I'd like to shore up and make a zine for em #got a big to do list this year... hope I get to everything #but for now. we return to the good work. we live n we see #have a good day guys! I get a snack now. a botato jacket. I wish u the opportunity for the same

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cuubism · 2 months

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some canon-verse trans Hob for the lovely @five-and-dimes who recently got top surgery! 🥳🥰 congratulations, I'm truly so happy for you, my friend. please accept this humble offering

“So, it actually started on a dare,” Hob says, on the day he tells Dream the story of him. Or of this part of him, anyway.

Normally, Hob gets a bit guarded the first time he tells someone he’s trans. It’s hard to predict with absolute certainty how people will react, especially ones he’s just become romantically involved with. He’s had it go poorly, to say the least, in the past.

He doesn’t feel that way with Dream. It’s not because there’s so much trust between them—they’re still new, after all. No, it’s something about Dream himself. For all his prickly and standoffish nature, being close to him feels like sinking into a warm lake, into a dark sleep where secrets and hidden wishes float up like glowing reeds to the surface. Deep, personal feelings feel safe with Dream; he cradles them in his hands and soothes them. Or that’s how it feels, when Hob is touching him.

Personification of dreams, indeed.

“A dare?” Dream echoes.

“Sort of," Hob says. "Got frustrated with people saying women should or shouldn’t do this or that or the other thing, so I decided if they felt so strongly about it I’d just be a man. Moved somewhere no one knew me, dressed differently, got stronger, practiced the sword—and that was that. No one seemed to care much, once you were at war. So long as you could swing a sword and not get yourself killed.”

“A choice, then,” Dream says. He’s listening very intently, hands folded on his knees, untouched tea on the coffee table before him.

“At first. Was only after I’d been living that way for a few decades—before and after we met—that I realized while there might be a handful of women out there living as men for the freedom of it, that they didn’t all like it. Given the choice they’d rather just be women in a more equal world. You know?”

Dream hums in understanding.

“But I didn’t want to go back,” Hob continues. “I felt like... who I'd become was the truth of me all along.”

“Identity, while not wholly immutable, is resilient against adversity and circumstance,” says Dream. “You found what your heart wanted you to be, if in a circuitous manner.”

“You seem very unbothered by it,” Hob observes, sipping his tea.

Dream frowns. “Why would I be bothered by it?”

“Dunno.” Apparently he can’t fully shake that this’ll put a wedge in us feeling. “People sometimes are. Feel deceived, or something like that. So they say.”

“If they are deceived, it is by their own assumptions,” Dream says, with disdain. “You should be as you dream yourself, Hob. No more nor less. Put aside these petty physical trappings.”

“I do actually have to live in these ‘physical trappings’ even if you don’t, you silly thing.” He can’t help laughing. “Besides, I rather like being some kind of living creature in the world, rather than what? A ghost? Best I can do is make this body as close to how it should be as possible.”

Hob’s come to like his body, for the most part, in the form that he’s made it. He didn’t always. But he needs a body of some kind to be alive, and he likes being alive. So what he couldn’t change, he made peace with.

Besides, they have hormone treatments nowadays. Brilliant stuff. Makes it so much better.

“Anyway, now you know. I wanted you to. Since we’re together.” It’s still a marvel. Together.

“Thank you,” says Dream, with evident sincerity. “It is a privilege to be gifted your secrets.”

“Not really a secret, but I get what you mean.” He takes Dream’s hand, just to touch him, and admits, “Telling it to you is like… I don’t know. Feels like when I was younger and first admitted out loud, ‘I’m a man. I want to stay like this.’”

It hasn’t been a proper secret in a very long time. But giving it to Dream is like the freedom of releasing a held breath, even so.

“I am the harbor and cradle of dreams,” Dream says in reply. He traces his fingers over Hob’s. Does Dream’s strange form just spring from the ether? Hob wonders. Or does he have to choose it? The way Hob chose his? “Dreams of being and becoming… these are most precious for they grow from tough soil. I can only protect them, I cannot create them. You must do that. And I expect that were I to find you in the Dreaming, there would be a fantastic garden there, indeed.”

Dream himself is the most fantastical thing. “Well, darling, just know your work is appreciated.”

Dream’s lips tip up in a tiny smile. When he meets Hob’s gaze again, his eyes have gone dark and starry. He folds Hob into a hug, and—

oh, it’s like being hugged by the universe itself.

Hob feels the light breeze of a warm dark night, when he’d lain by the dying fire in a war camp in the French countryside, and looked up at a million stars and first whispered to himself what if this is really who I am? Dream is that breeze and those stars. The dying embers that had lit him as he’d run his hands over his body and felt it differently than he ever had before, and been terrified because what would it mean?—but also thrilled and alive. Dream is the night wrapping around him in that moment, the night that was listening to his dreams no matter how quietly he admitted them, Dream is that and more and the voice in his heart telling him it would be okay.

A younger, more uncertain Hob would have needed this. Hob now is older, and he already knows who he is and what he wants, but he falls into Dream’s embrace all the same. A tear slips from his eye, and Dream kisses his cheek, wiping the tear away with his tongue before leaning their heads together.

“I could craft you any body you wanted in the Dreaming,” he says lowly. “However I think the one you have made with your own hands is more remarkable.”

Oh, God, he’s going to tear up again. “Dream, you are the most beautiful, wonderful thing.”

Dream hums in pleasure at the words, and lets Hob hold him close, lets him cradle his head to his chest, a dream kept close to his heart. One that he knew as soon as he saw it walk into the White Horse. Sooner even than he truly knew himself.

Then Dream looks up at him with a hopeful expression. “With these truths revealed, are we able to be intimate?”

Hob laughs so hard he has to tip his head back against the couch. “Wow. One track mind with you, isn’t it? I spill my heart and that’s what I get?”

Dream grumbles, tucking his face in against Hob’s neck to press his lips to Hob’s throat. “I find myself impatient of late.”

“Knew all along you were only with me for my body.” He’s grinning, though. Can’t stop.

“Well. Considering it is such a lovely one.” He plucks at Hob’s shirt buttons. Lecherous little nightmare.

It feels fucking good, though, to be desired.

“C’mere, then,” he says, and drags Dream into his lap.

Dream settles there with a purr, starts playing with Hob’s hair, but says, “I would not truly derail this moment, nor distract from your feelings if you do not wish it.”

“Oh, I wish it. You’ve no idea how much I want you right now. You’re like a prize.” He cradles Dream’s beloved face between his hands. “Stick around for long enough and you’ll get the most incredible Dream at the end of it.”

“Or at the beginning,” Dream says, and Hob’s heart swells so much to hear him voice that that he has to kiss him.

When he does, Dream makes a low, pleased sound, settling deeper in his lap. Yes, this moment, this life, is certainly the prize for all of those years hanging onto those dreams:

the dream of his lover

and the one of himself.

#1389 hob: while you were busy with the gender binary i studied the blade #trans hob #dreamling #my writing #i think after this hob gets to ask his burning questions about how gender works for the endless and dream is just like [meme of marge #simpson holding a potato but it says 'trans and nonbinary people (except desire)'] 'i just think they're neat.#unrelatedly i did have to choose my gender--' and hob's just like 😐.........#[dream a known king of self awareness]#this is like sending someone a casserole when they get home from the hospital except the casserole is gay fanfic XD #a different kind of sustenance...#hope it's okay!! 🥺

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saltpepperbeard · 5 months

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so i just talked to my therapist about all of this because i have been, unsurprisingly, ✨suffering✨ lmao. and because i know that’s a very shared sentiment, i just wanted to pass her words along.

she basically said that however it is that we need to cope, we cope. whether that’s going full acceptance, or clinging on to whatever ounce of hope we can, we go ahead and do that.

and also, because i have seen people getting upset or even angry at others for having hope, i also just wanted to share that she mentioned hope is a good strategy. it’s a light in a sea of darkness. it’s something to hang onto while things are incredibly difficult. does it guarantee that anything will actually happen? no. but does that little whisper of light provide some heat, some solace, some comfort? absolutely yes.

so, to everyone, just keep coping however it is you find fit. if you’re in acceptance and are working your way through that, continue. if you’re passionate and fighting to see if you can make a difference, continue. if you’re tired and drained and just need to take a break from it all, continue.

continue, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. as my therapist put it, we are all turtles right now. we are all slowly navigating through all of this. don’t kick the turtles, because they will clam up and will no longer move.

allow the turtles to move and cross the finish line at their pace.

love yall so much ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

#OFMD #OFMD Season 3 #SaveOFMD #RenewOFMD #Renew as a crew #Be a lighthouse #I for one am going to continue hoping and continue fighting #And that might not be what’s best for or what works for everyone #And that’s totally okay #Do whatever it is YOU need to do

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ganonfan1995 · 2 years

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Burnt out

#initially this was meant to be something else entirely #but i wasn't really liking how it was going so I scrapped the idea and opted out for something a bit more personal #ive been really suffering from burn out for the last few years and just barely keeping my head above water #there are times where i seriously feel like ive failed in every aspect of my career #like if i were good enough i wouldn't have burnt out #i love my job and i love my trade i love every skill ive gain up until this point #but its been hard not to take it personally when all the effort you've put into honing those skills #are abused or exploited #life is difficult enough already and and time is fleeting #taking time for yourself is above all the most important thing you can do to help your work flourish #taking a break isn't failure #its health #we aren't machines despite our industries treating us as such #just waiting and hoping that itll pay off #ive certainly learned my lesson #and im looking forward to brighter horizons #and healthier more respectful ones #ill be okay ive learned how to love my art in my personal time again #but i certainly need to let my mind rest and my body to recover #these tags are lengthy anyways #unionize and dont work for nothing from large companies #be gay do drugs love your friends make art for yourself too #my art #scuttles out of here #i hope these long ass images actually show up in full resolution #i did draw them fucking TOLL as hell

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broomsick · 5 months

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There truly is no offering more fulfilling than something made with your own hands. Are you a cook? A baker? Or are you skilled at arts, poetry or crafts? No matter your skills and no matter what you create, it shows the Gods that you are devoted to them, and inspired by them. It doesn't matter if you're not an expert at what you do, for none of us are! But to take the time to create something with your own two hands is such a beautiful, deep and personal demonstration of your love.

#thought #good morning all #I hope you all are doing okay #polytheism #spirituality #deity work #heathenry #norse gods #norse paganism #paganism #deities #pagan

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mattodore · 5 months

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he's waiting on a call he's planning to send straight to voicemail

#sorry matthias </3 maybe he'll pick up the next time you try calling............ <- me when i lie #river dipping #ts4 #ts4 edit #gifs #theodore doe #echthroi #hi friends and lovers hope everyone's doing well <3 #i got my old laptop to work so i have a laptop again even if the battery on it is messed up #but still #i haven't been online much bc i've started getting dizzy from staring at computer/phone screens for too long #and in particular the act of scrolling either on mobile or desktop makes my head spin and my eyes hurt :/#but i powered through it yesterday so i could get in game with theo (and matthias) since i missed him really bad... oc plague be upon ye #i took... well. like five hundred screenshots and forty videos... i was in the soup. the mattodore soup. what can i say?#i don't like posting too much on here bc. i'm crazy (<- has avpd) so i probably won't post much from yesterday's fun here #but i'll post whatever i want on pillowfort <3 pic of jerma holding out his hand captioned let's take mattodore together #what else should i say before leaving... right my inbox... well i'll get to it eventually <- have been saying this since october sorry #but okay i've been staring at my screen too long so i need to go lay down for a bit #enjoy theo in motion!! if you’re a theo-head like myself #theodite à la jermamite? hm. its in the works. i’m workshopping.#mentioning jerma twice in these tags… busting a cyanide pill onto my tongue i’ve said too much #i have to go now mwah mwah mwah bye warmth and love to you mwah

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cherry-bomb-ships · 7 days

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Aaaaaah I know I've been talking abt this art for like 3 days but I FINISHED IT HEEHEE 💖💘💖💘💖💘💖 The thought behind this was Cherry was getting mugged during their walk back to her apartment cuz Townsville be like that, and this is the moment Mojo swooped in to her rescue (How did he know it was happening? He deeeefinitely wasnt spying on them lol) ANYWAYS ENJOY If you want more thoughts look at my tags!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

[[🧡 Reblogs and comments are all seen and very appreciated!! 🥺 Tag list below the cut, check out my pinned for my taglist form! 💙]]

@absentmoon @ava-ships @bee-ships @beetleboyfriend @berryshipbasket @canongf @clawfull @cloudyvoid @derelictdumbass @dissonantyote @edencantstopfallininlove @final-catboy @flowering-darkness @gible-love-nibles @nagirans @hoppinkiss @hotrodharts @hyperionshipping @iwishihadfangs @iyamifucker @judetama @lex-n-weegie @lficanthaveloveiwantpower @little-miss-selfships @little-shiny-sharpies @loogi-selfships @mandrakebrew @mintpecks @mothfinite @mrs-kelly @nameless-self-ships @orbitingaroundyourlove @nerdstreak @paper-carnation @p-i-t-s @qilinkisser @reds-self-ships @rexscanonwife @rotten--cotton @ship-trek @spacestationstorybook @squips-ship @toogayforthistoday @winterworlds

#my art #💜: loving you's a felony #🍒🧬: emotional processing lag #self ship #oc x canon #self shipping #self ship community #self insert #fictional other #mojo jojo #okay with organization tag outta the way. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH 💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖#GUYSSSSSSSS THIS ART WAS SO FUCKING FUN 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖#i have NEVER done lining like this before and messing with line thickness was a fucking blast!!!!!#ALSO HATCHING. FIRST TIME DOING HATCHING AND THAT WAS ALSO RLY FUN 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖#and of course oho. ohoho OHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖#ive definitely talked about it on the blog before right. the idea of him being sooooooooo protective 💀💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖#like whoever the assailant is here is DEFINITELY BOUTTA DIE LOL 💖#i hope i did good on the expressions but i mean i rly love it!!! 😳💖💖💖💖💖💖💖#also the way that cherry's a little roughed up. i like to think that they just tripped trying to get away 😂#like the person mugging them had very little to do with actually causing those scuffs. doesnt change how definitely dead they boutta be 😳#anyway whoo hooooooooo here it is i am so happy with it it was so fun and its making me so 😳😳😳 i hope yall like it too!! 🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖#also last thing sorry for shitty hotel room lighting hrnsnzhf it was all i had to work with but I tried my best 😂💀😂💀

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suddencolds · 1 month

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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I��m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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