[Image description. Image reads “Tropetember Prompt List”, in the background, a picture of a mug placed on an open book in front of a blanket invokes a cozy feel. End id. Thanks to@supericelight for the image description!]
Fusion / Crossover / Harlequin / Rom-Com (eg: Hogwarts, Pacific Rim, Daemons, Hunger Games, The Princess Bride, Pride & Prejudice, Goncharov, Love Actually, 10 Things I Hate About You, etc)
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Rumors about an entity getting captured by humans have spread around, and Hob hasn't heard anything from Dream ever since he postponed their meetings indefinitely to tend to his realm.
Hob knows that it's unlikely that Dream got captured again. But it's probably safer to check.
Word Count: 5,067
Notes
This is inspired by this fic by @softest-punk! <3
For Sadman Week 2025 | Prompt: Teeth | @mr-sadman
For Tropetember 2025 | Prompt: Whump | @tropetember
EDIT: Now with Part 2!
[Read on AO3]
---
The buzz of pleasant conversations floats around The New Inn as Hob laughs at another joke made by one of his fae regulars. He prefers to mingle with the customers during "Spirit Nights" at the Inn; it's not everyday that he gets to truly be himself and not have to be wary about being caught as an immortal.
It was about a year ago when he happened to see two men breaking into a bookshop and stopped them before they could take anything. He met Aziraphale and Crowley shortly after the men ran away, and it took several minutes and a few drinks for his inner medieval Catholic to wrap his head around demons and angels being real, but by the end of that night they had become friends. And Hob had the idea to make the third Friday of every month be "Spirit Night" for The New Inn, to provide a safe space for other immortals like himself. Considering who he built the Inn for, it's surprising really that he hadn't thought of it sooner. Crowley makes fun of the name's pun every chance he gets, but he visits more often than Aziraphale.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor catches his attention, and he sees that one of the demons has stood up; his human disguise flickering for a moment to reveal a shorter humanoid with green skin and stubby horns, and a tail flicking back and forth. There's a spell that automatically casts a disguise on all non-human creatures if there are any oblivious human customers around, made by a witch that Hob had hired, but the fact that this particular demon's disguise flickered meant that he was preparing to use magic, and everyone knows that's against the rules of the Inn.
Hob excuses himself from the fae's table and starts to walk towards the demon, but before he could say anything, the demon heads for the door and Hob realises he's about to confront the woman who just entered.
"Lookie who's here," the demon drawled.
"Hullo, Drozgeth. Nice outfit."
Hob freezes in place as his mind registers multiple things at once.
That woman saw through the human disguise, which means she already knows other creatures exist.
She knows the demon's name and spoke it so casually.
She looks exactly like Lady Johanna.
What the hell. Is that her? Did Dream make her immortal, too? Hob knows now that Death is actually the reason that he's immortal, not Dream. But still, did those two make her immortal? Hob doesn't know how he feels about that, but for now he has a bar fight to prevent.
He walks closer to the demon—Drozgeth? He's only been here once or twice before, but he should know that The New Inn is neutral ground.
Drozgeth sneers. "What are you doing here, Constantine?" he says the name like he's spitting out something disgusting.
Constantine? If this is Lady Johanna, Hob would have a few words with Dream about not telling him she's immortal too.
"I'm here for a drink," the woman says lightly. "It's been a long night, mate. Move out of the way."
Drozgeth hisses and a forked tongue slips out from his mouth. He takes a step forward. "How about I—"
Hob puts a firm hand on his shoulder. "How about you get back to your table now, eh? Let's all have a good drink with our friends."
Drozgeth roughly shrugs off his hand and glares at him. "And what if I don't? What are you going to do about it, human?"
"Me? Nothing. The others, though…" Hob looks around them.
Fae and nature spirits and even other demons are glowering at Drozgeth, showing glowing eyes and glinting fangs through their disguises. Most of the humans remain oblivious, but they still don't look happy about a potential fight.
"They might have a thing or two to say about it," Hob continues. "You know the rules. If you're gonna fight, you take it at least one kilometer away from the premises."
Drozgeth warily looks at the threatening stances around him, and he walks back to his table with nothing but some grumbled words. The rest of the customers return to their conversations like nothing happened.
"You're the owner?" the woman asks Hob. "I've been hearing about this place. Just didn't have time to drop by until now." She walks past him and to the bar without waiting for an answer. "Whiskey, mate. Neat," she nods to the bartender.
She didn't seem to recognise Hob. A descendant, then? Not Lady Johanna herself.
Hob orders a beer for himself and sits next to her at the bar. "You look human. But you knew that demon's name. Familiar with this lot, then?"
"You could say it's the family business," the woman says indifferently before taking a sip from her glass.
"And the business is… bounty hunting?" Hob guesses.
"Depends on who hires me, really. Like my job for tomorrow, I didn't need to do the hunting for that one. Just gotta free some poor creature locked in a basement before the humans who summoned it blow themselves up with magic they don't understand."
Something about the phrasing nags at Hob. He sets down his bottle at the bar and forgets about it for a moment. "Locked in a basement? Who?"
"Probably a demon. Or a nature spirit, or something else entirely. The important thing is, the priest who heard about the capture is my friend and is paying me double if I do the job immediately."
Hob falls silent. Since Dream came back three months ago, they had seen each other almost every week. Then Dream told him at their last meeting that he needed to attend to some things in his realm, and he didn't know when he'd have the time to visit again. Hob hasn't seen him in a month.
"When was that creature summoned?" Hob asks.
"I don't know," the woman shrugs. "A few weeks ago, maybe. Why?"
An unpleasant feeling rises up in Hob's throat. "A friend of mine got locked in a basement for a while. I'm just wondering… No, it can't be him," Hob mumbles mostly to himself. "He'd have been more careful this time around. I'm sure it's not him." He doesn't believe his own words, and the woman looks even more skeptical.
She frowns and stares at his face for a few moments. "Bloody hell. Are you the Wandering Jew?"
Hob instinctively tenses up. The last person who called him that looked exactly like this woman, and her thugs had a knife to his throat within minutes.
"My god, it is you. It was a rough drawing that Lady Johanna had, but it's you, isn't it? And does your friend happen to be the 'devil' in Burgess' basement back then?"
Hob feels his eyes widen. "You know him?" He doesn't think he'd ever met another human before who knew Dream.
"Dream of the Endless? Yeah, I met him once, a while ago. I happened to have his magic sand, he took it back." Her expression turns somber for a moment, then just as quickly it returns to normal. "Anyway. I don't think it's him. Nothing weird's been happening to dreams, right?"
Hob nods slowly. He wants to know how this Constantine met Dream, and how she ended up with his sand, but there are other things to prioritise right now. "Are you absolutely sure that it's not him?"
The woman taps her fingers thoughtfully on the bar top. "No. I can't say for sure until I actually see the creature."
Hob lets out a breath and makes a decision. "Then I'm coming with you."
"What?" she looks taken aback.
"I'll help you free the creature. Then we can both be sure it isn't him."
She shakes her head. "I've never needed help with these things, and I don't need your help now. I'll let you know afterwards if it's him or not. "
"But it would be faster if you had some help, right? And safer. Especially since we don't even know what kind of creature it is."
"Look, mate, I barely know you. I don't know what you can do in that sort of work. I can't afford to worry about your ass too while covering mine."
"I've been a soldier in every war that happened in this continent for the past 600 years," Hob points out. "I can take care of myself. And how do you think I manage to run a pub like this? I'm not an idiot around magic."
She sighs in exasperation and narrows her eyes. "You really care about him, don't you?"
"Of course I do, he's my oldest friend."
"Fine. But you have to listen to everything I say. I don't want him getting angry with me if something happened to you."
***
Less than 24 hours later, Hob finds himself going down a staircase of an abandoned factory. Jo is walking a few paces ahead, and it's his job to make sure that no one's following them.
Jo had explained to him the main things to watch out for, and a few incantations to protect himself in an emergency. But what he's more worried about is what they'll find in the basement. He knows that Jo has a point about how there hasn't been anything wrong with dreams lately, so it's unlikely that Dream has been captured again. Still, he can't risk repeating the same mistake of not being there for Dream when he needed it.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and there's a faint fluorescent light casting a ghastly glow over carboard boxes and rusted shelves. In the middle of the room sits what looks like a child dressed in leaves and twigs, hugging his knees protectively towards his chest. When he looks up at the sound of footsteps, Hob notices that his ears are pointed at the end, and his cheeks have a tinge of green.
"Dryad," Jo mutters, slowly approaching the binding circle surrounding the child. "Are you hurt?"
The child shakes his head, his bright green eyes looking cautiously at the two of them.
Jo gets to work unlocking the binding, reciting a few incantations from a book while erasing runes with her boots in a particular order that Hob doesn't understand. Hob feels bad for the dryad child, and partially guilty about the relief he feels at seeing that it's not Dream after all.
They all make it back safely out of the factory, and the dryad thanks them both, giving Jo a shiny green pendant before running off into a nearby cluster of trees and disappearing.
"See?" Jo turns to him. "There was nothing to worry about."
"Why would they imprison a dryad? And who are they, anyway?"
"People will do anything if they're desperate or greedy enough. The owners of this factory went bankrupt recently, and I guess they believed that imprisoning a magical creature would bring them luck."
"Assholes," Hob mutters, thinking about a different prisoner and a different basement.
"Go home, Robbie. You worry too much about your man."
Hob feels his face warm. "He's not my—" he cuts himself off when he sees Jo's knowing smirk.
"Just wait for him, yeah? I'll let you know if I hear anything that could be about him. It's not like you can run after every single rumour of a summoned creature just to check." Jo walks down the sidewalk and hails a cab.
***
Hob ducks behind a pillar just as the guards fire at him. A bullet lodges itself into his shoulder, and he grunts as the smallest bit of movement causes blood to trickle out of the wound and down his arm. Damn. He has to patch that up if he doesn't want a trail of blood leading the guards right to him. He takes out a handkerchief and quickly ties it over the wound, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. It will have to do for now. He can take the bullet out later.
His sources said that a demon is being held captive in the garden of this fancy mansion, and judging by the armed guards patrolling, there's definitely something worth all this expensive security.
He dashes into the hedge maze—he still can't believe rich people really own these things—and pulls out the map that was stolen for him. The early afternoon sun is glaring from above the tall green walls, and soon enough Hob can feel sweat dripping into his eyes. Why he decided to wear a jacket today of all days he doesn't know. He hastily wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and turns the corner leading into the heart of the maze.
A large perfect circle of salt is drawn in the center, and inside it stands a tall dark creature seemingly made of shadows.
Hob's footsteps stutter to a halt. It's not Dream, is it? He knows his friend can take many forms—
The figure turns to him and snarls, rows of jagged teeth appearing in multiple places along its body.
"I'm here to help," Hob puts his hands up in a placating gesture, wincing as the movement sends a bolt of pain in his shoulder up to his neck. "I'm looking for my friend, but I can get you out of here too."
Most of the teeth retreat out of sight, and Hob gets the sense that he's being watched curiously by unseen eyes.
"Okay. Salt circle. I just need to break it, right?" He checks his notebook to be sure. "Right. I'm approaching now, okay? Don't kill me." It would be annoyingly inconvenient if he had to legally fake his death so soon in this century.
The remaining teeth disappear, and the figure floats backwards as far away as possible within the circle.
Hob moves forward and kicks away chunks of salt, making sure that no amount of the fine white powder get stuck in the grass.
Shouts and footsteps are coming from nearby, and Hob looks at the creature just as it lunges towards him with clawed hands. Hob doesn't have time to gasp as he feels bony hands grip his shoulders and suddenly everything is dark and he's flying and it's cold cold cold.
He lands unsteadily on his feet and blinks a few times before the disorientation dissipates completely. He's outside the mansion, and the shadow creature is floating in front of him. Only the sound of passing cars and pedestrians can be heard here; the maze is too deep inside, and it would take the guards a while before they can get out of it.
The shadow creature bows to Hob, then it shrinks back and blends into the shadows cast by the mansion.
Hob quickly unties the bloody handkerchief and pockets it. Then he takes off his jacket with a pained grunt—he really needs to take that bullet out—and slings it over his shoulder to keep the wound out of sight and soak up any blood that might come out. He heads down the road and blends in with the other pedestrians on the crosswalk.
So, not Dream. Still, there's been no word at all from his friend. Hob sighs and walks towards the restaurant where he had parked his car.
***
"A crystal? Really?" Hob says infuriatingly at the orange pendant hanging on a hook in the empty bedroom he had broken into. The pendant is about the size of his palm, and inside it he can see the silhouette of a humanoid figure, who just shrugs at Hob's exasperation.
Hob quickly turns the pages of his notes to find what he can use to free someone from a crystal. Jo mentioned some general unbinding incantations on that night they went to the factory. One of them must work.
He tries them one after the other, even combining a few, but to no avail. He huffs out a breath and looks at the creature. The silhouette was sitting cross-legged inside the crytal, it looks like its arms are crossed. Hob can't see its facial features but it almost seems bored.
"I don't suppose you can help me in any way? I'm not sure if I can take this crystal outside the premises without harming either of us."
The bedroom door opens and reveals a very surprised man in a business suit.
Hob looks back at the crystal. "Never mind, let's go." He grabs the cord and wears it on his arm, holding the pendant tight in his fist.
"Hey—!" The man steps forward but Hob shoves him as he runs past and out into the corridor.
"Guards!"
Always with the guards. Hob turns a corner and finds a door in front of him and a balcony to his right. He's only on the second storey, but he doesn't wanna risk breaking his neck jumping from that height. Maybe that room has a window with a respectable ledge outside he can climb out of. He runs to the door. Locked. He can probably try to break it down but—
"Stop!" a warning shot fires into the air.
"Oh, bugger," Hob curses under his breath, looking at the balcony.
He sprints for it, ducking as bullets zoom past him.
Hob closes the glass balcony doors behind him and looks around for anything that might help him climb down. There's a pillar to his left overgrown with vines, and down below a few shrubberies that might soften his fall marginally if he's lucky enough.
He swings a leg over the railing as the balcony doors burst open and three guards pour in. He leaps onto the pillar, grabbing at vines that are much thinner than they look. A guard leans forward and tries to take hold of his arm but he's already sliding down, tearing down vines and leaves and going far too quickly than he'd like.
Branches scratch at his face, and he's sure some of his fingernails are bleeding from how he's scrabbling for purchase on the stone pillar. He tries to jump down to the ground, but he doesn't quite time it right and his legs give out beneath him, sending him rolling inelegantly across the garden like a thrown rock.
He takes a few seconds to catch his breath, staring at the clouds above being coloured a soft orange by the setting sun. He looks at the pendant still in his hand. The silhouette is standing up, its hands pressed to the surface of the crystal as if eager to get out.
He hears footsteps coming towards him, and he unsteadily gets to his feet. He's too far away from his planned escape route, but he can take a few bullets while running as long as they don't shoot his head or something.
"Hob Gadling."
He jumps at the sound of the voice, and he turns to see Dream standing right beside him, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth forehead.
"Dream!" Hob can hear the relief in his voice, and he knows what a sight he must be right now, grinning like a fool with cuts all over his face. "We have to get out of here. They—"
Dream waves a hand and the air ripples around them. "They shall not perceive us."
The guards arrive and run around the garden looking confused. One of them says that the intruder might have gotten out already, and they all rush outside the gate to give chase.
"Give me the crystal."
Hob wordlessly hands it over, still staring at his friend who has finally shown up again.
Dream speaks in a language that feels otherworldy, making goosebumps crawl across Hob's skin and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.
The crystal shatters into orange mist, and suddenly a fae creature is standing beside Dream. Her blue hair is cut short like a pixie's, and her eyes glitter in different colours much like her dress.
"Lord Shaper." She bows deeply to Dream, her voice reminding Hob of a soft breeze blowing through windchimes. "My thanks to you. And your friend." She smiles at Hob, eyes twinkling with interest. "Who is he? If I may ask."
Dream looks at her, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "He is mine. You may go now."
Something skips in Hob's chest with the way Dream answered, but he decides not to dwell on that for now.
The fae bows again. "I will tell my kin of your kindness. We owe you a boon, Lord Shaper." She straightens up and slowly turns into a swirl of orange and green leaves, floating into the air and scattering in the wind.
"As for you, Hob Gadling…"
Dream summons his sand and a gust of wind causes it to surround them both. There's a swooping sensation in Hob's stomach, and when the sand disappears they're both standing in his living room.
"How did you know where I was?" Hob asks in awe.
"It is Spirit Night at your pub. You were not there. I persuaded your sources to tell me where you had gone."
Hob can only imagine how intimidated they must have been when Dream suddenly arrived. Though Hob had a feeling that they knew why he was going on all these missions, so hopefully they didn't need much persuading before they told Dream where he went.
"Tell me. Why go out of your way to attend to these endeavours? I seem to recall you saying that you are actively avoiding a dangerous life this century," he says in a tone that was unmistakeably disapproving.
"Ah. Well…" Hob tugs at his ear. He can feel the scratches and bruises all over his body, but they all seem distant compared to the nervousness he feels at having to explain to Dream why he'd done it. "I couldn't risk any of them being you."
Surprise flashes on Dream's face. "What?"
"Yeah." Hob brushes dirt and leaves off his clothes just to give his hands something to do. He'd have to vacuum those later. "I'd avoided all sorts of magic things, after the 1600s. So when I heard that Burgess had a 'devil' locked in his basement, I steered far away from it. And I…" He makes himself look at Dream. "I didn't wanna make that mistake again."
Dream's lips are parted, but he can't seem to form any words. He looks so soft like this, and Hob has to resist the urge to reach out and touch his face.
"Hob. What happened then was not your fault, and I would not have you risk capture or harm to your person just for my sake."
Hob smiles. "You said to live life as I choose, right? Well I choose to always be there for my friend. You'll just have to deal with it."
"I am serious, Hob."
"So am I," Hob can't help the edge to his voice. His entire body still hurts from jumping off a balcony, and he can't believe that Dream still doesn't realise how much he's cared for. "It's been four months, Dream, without a single word from you. How was I supposed to know if you're still okay? Maybe my method now is a bit stupid to you, but at least it's different from sitting on my arse doing nothing for more than a century while you're imprisoned."
Dream purses his lips. "I did not say it is stupid. I just… worry."
Hob softens at that. He knows it isn't easy for Dream to admit to such sentiments. "And you're allowed to do that, just like I'm allowed to worry about you when I haven't heard from you in a while." A pang of pain shoots up his side and he winces, clutching at his ribs. He must have bruised them pretty badly.
"You are hurt." Dream steps forward, frowning in concern.
"This should heal in a few minutes," Hob tries for a smile but just manages a grimace. He walks—limps—towards the couch and gingerly sits down.
"You should not have gone through all that trouble. Any of it." Dream sits beside him.
Hob shakes his head. "It's no trouble, Dream. Not for me. Anyway, are things all right in your realm now? I'm not taking you away from your duties, am I?"
Dream frowns. "My realm is fine. Do not deflect, Hob Gadling. Will you keep doing this every time I am away?"
"If I keep hearing news about magical creatures being captured, and if I don't hear from you during that time, yeah," Hob shrugs. "It's not like I can die."
"Neither can I, and yet you persist in worrying."
Hob chuckles. "Yeah, okay, you got me there." He leans his head back against the backrest, closing his eyes as he feels some of his injuries heal up. He didn't seem to have broken any bones, fortunately.
"I do not understand," Dream says quietly, and when Hob opens his eyes to look at him, he seems genuinely confused. "You know of the Sleeping Sickness that happened when I was captured. As long as nothing of that nature is happening here in the Waking, you should feel reassured that I have not been captured once more. This all seems… unnecessary."
Hob sighs and stares at his ceiling. Maybe it's because he feels like Dream needs to know. Maybe he hit his head too hard on the ground earlier. Or maybe he's just never meant to make wise decisions. Whatever the reason, he hears himself say the words.
"I love you, Dream." He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, seeing Dream in his periphery but not daring yet to look at his expression. "It's not unnecessary to me."
The minutes tick by and Hob is hearing nothing but his own breathing.
Dream remains silent for long enough that Hob finally looks at him.
Dream is staring somewhere in the middle distance, his shoulders are tense, and there's an uncertainty in his eyes. "I am not sure I understand that either," he says quietly before meeting Hob's gaze. "Why you love me."
Something aches in Hob's chest at that. He sits up properly to face Dream, and he very nearly almost reaches out. To do what, he doesn't know.
"But." Dream lowers his eyes. "I am… happy. That you do." He looks at Hob again.
Hob exhales in relief and smiles. "Right then. So just let me do this, yeah?"
Dream is quiet again for a few moments. "Will you let me do the same thing?"
Hob furrows his eyebrows. "Do what?"
Dream leans forward and reaches out to Hob's hair. "Will you let me love you, Hob Gadling?" He plucks out a leaf and drops it to the floor, before looking at Hob again.
Hob feels like his heart is thumping wildly behind his newly-healed ribs, and it's hard to breathe, let alone speak. "Dream… You… What…"
Dream gives a small smile. "I am afraid I might be out of practice, but I would like to try. With you."
"Y-You're not just saying that because I said…?"
"While I was away attending to my duties, I found myself frequently wishing that I could simply return to you. There were times when I wished I had a mundane human job, that I might go to you once my working hours were done."
It's Hob's turn to be speechless. He never once thought that he even crossed Dream's mind the entire time he was away.
"When I arrived at your Inn and learned what you had gone to do, I surprised myself with how much I worried. Even knowing that you cannot die, I could not bear the thought of you being taken and out of my reach. I would tear down any walls that would dare keep you from me." His gaze haven't left Hob's, and those brilliant blue eyes burn with an intensity that Hob is all too happy to be devoured by.
Hob swallows, trying to clamp down on the wave of emotions surging within him. He wasn't prepared for this. He's dreamt about this, definitely, but what is he supposed to do now that it's happening? What if he makes a mistake and—
Dream touches his face, a light caress of thumb over cheekbone, fingers a grounding presence on his jaw. He leans forward, slowly, giving Hob plenty of time to move away.
Hob takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes as he bridges the gap between them.
Dream's lips are soft, and warm, and so careful with him. The kiss lingers for a few precious heartbeats, and then Dream is pulling away. Hob chases after him before he can think about it, and suddenly there's more.
Their lips slide against each other, and when their tongues touch for the first time Hob inhales sharply and something fierce and urgent pools in his belly. His hands find themselves in Dream's hair, and then Dream's hands are on his waist and their knees are in the way and Hob wants and needs—
Dream gasps and breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against Hob's as he catches his breath.
"Are you alright?" Hob asks, lightheaded and breathless himself. He pulls back a little to look at Dream. "I didn't hurt you, did I…?" He looks at his hands on Dream's shoulders.
"Your daydreams." There are spots of red high on Dream's cheekbones. "Are loud."
Hob feels his face flush. "Ah."
"You are still injured." Dream looks at him up and down with a frown of concern.
"Well, don't let that stop you," Hob quips. "The worst thing that can happen is you accidentally kill me, but then I'll pop right back up and we can continue."
The corner of Dream's mouth turns up in a smile and Hob wants to kiss him all over again. "Will you be amenable to continue instead in the Dreaming? In my home. There you will not be limited by a physical body. And neither will I." The promising glint in his eye makes Hob's heart rate pick up again.
"Yes," Hob breathes, his hands tightening their hold on Dream.
There's something sharp and excited in Dream's smirk as he pushes Hob down on the couch. He looms over Hob and kisses him with a newfound confidence, and Hob slowly feels his body relaxing as his mind slips into the Dreaming.
---
Notes
Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this~
@fourseasonsbingo Card B: Apple orchard || Prompt List
---
Sometimes Ravio forgets how attractive Link is. Strong and lean, with faint scars painting a clear picture of all that he’s been through, and a confident stance with every weapon and book he can get his hands on.
And it’s strange to find him attractive, seeing that they're supposed to be mirror counterparts. They have their differences, such as Link being Zelda’s twin, and those differences can be found in their faces if you squint hard enough. Same height, similar build, but there’s something soft and pretty about the curve of Link’s lips, the point of his nose, and the slant of his eyes.
Ravio can admit Link is handsome, knows he fits the boxes that are seen as attractive to others, but Ravio prefers the softer parts of Hyrule’s hero.
Hands adorned in rings, dresses and skirts threaded with magical enchantments, and heels on boots. He’s heard from others in the market that men embracing their feminine side is unusual and strange, but Link never thinks twice about his looks, instead grumbling out, “I’ve saved them countless. It’s none of my concern if they can’t look past my clothes.”
And is it strange that the hero prefers embroidering to fighting? Prefers soft and flowing clothes with matching boots, and eccentric accessories that should not fit as an outfit, yet always do?
Link loves to bake, loves puzzles and challenges, loves sleeping in just as much as he demands to be a busybody. Maybe, Ravio thinks as an apple hits him on the head, it’s not Link’s looks he’s attracted to, but Link’s ability for domesticity.
Link is not built for softness or comfort, and yet he tries. He’ll save apple peels for Sheerow, join Ravio through the market even when sleep tugs at his eyes, and reads on that rickety rocking chair with a steady voice as Ravio cooks dinner that day. He’ll give input as Ravio repairs items, complains as he opens his shop, and makes them tea with unsteady hands.
He tries, and Ravio, someone who has never known the safety of family or the security of unconditional love, can’t help but lean into that comfort.
He watches as Link fills a bucket ahead of him, easily tugging apples into his container like second nature, grumbling as some fall to the ground. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off tanned and sturdy arms, and sweat glistens off his skin. Hands calloused from years of holding a sword, strong and nimble, are careful as they grab hold of the apples.
Ravio blushes as he stares at him, thinking of the number of times he’s held them, caressed them, soothed pains and aches.
He has to look away as his face burns, and desperately hopes Link is oblivious enough not to notice his flushed face and racing heart. Dear Lolia, how is he supposed to continue the day normally now?!
Sheerow squawks with laughter at him, and it’s with dread he realizes they still have no separate bed. He buries his face in his hood, embarrassed as he imagines being held by Link again tonight, of the safety and relief being hugged brings, of feeling a steady heartbeat by his ear, of resting his head on a solid chest.
Lolia, kill him now, please; he cannot keep having these new revelations about his roommate!
Obi-Wan Inadvertently Saves the Galaxy With the Power of Animal Friendship
Obi-Wan has an unusual gift with animals. It has at times annoyed him, and at times been useful, but he never could have imagined it would lead to the end of Darth Sidious.
Written for Fandom Empire Bingo 2025 - Prompt: Wildlife
and Sweet and Short September 2025 - Prompt: Climbing
and /r/FanFiction's Trope Bingo 2025 - Prompt: Crack Fic
and What-if AU Bingo (#71) - Prompt: Crack!fic
and @tropetember 2025 - Day 10: Accidental Confession | In Vino Veritas (Drunk Confession) | Crack | Truth Serum
Most Jedi generally had a gift with animals, but with Obi-Wan, it went quite a bit further. Most Jedi needed to concentrate, to focus on the animal to gently persuade them. For Obi-Wan it was effortless, unintentional. Animals of all shapes and sizes simply flocked to him.
It didn’t feel much like a gift, no matter what Qui-Gon said, when the local wildlife insisted on climbing all over him at every opportunity. But then again, Quinlan didn’t always like his psychometry, either. Sometimes gifts were more trouble than they were worth, but a Jedi had to learn how to work with them nonetheless.
As Obi-Wan got older, he gained patience and appreciation for the lifeforms that came to him. They could be helpful, too, guiding him where he needed to go or bringing him lost objects that he could return to those who had missed them.
But that didn’t mean that his patience wasn’t tested sometimes.
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My Tropetember 2025 contribution for the prompt : Soulmates.
I’m sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language. I hope you like it.
Summary : On his sixteenth birthday, something unimaginable happened to Senku. A mark appeared in the hollow of his wrist. A tattoo bearing a name: Kohaku.
Disclaimer : Dr. Stone belongs to Riichiro Inagaki and Boichi.
@tropetember
AO3 / FF.NET
Senku had always heard of the legend of soulmates. It was a story everyone knew, like that of Santa Claus. A rare phenomenon, affecting only a few people.
At some point in life, a name would appear on a part of the body. Like a tattoo, it bound two people together. A person who completes us and shares our heart to make it one.
Senku had never believed in that legend. Just as he had never believed in Santa Claus. Even when his father, Byakuya, showed him proof. The name “Lillian” was tattooed on his collarbone. Senku had laughed and, at the age of seven, told him he had gotten the name of an ex-girlfriend tattooed and was too embarrassed to admit it. Byakuya had looked at him with wide eyes and replied that a seven-year-old should believe in the magic of soulmates and that he would prove him wrong when he met Lillian.
At thirteen, Taiju came to him, overexcited, showing his forearm. A tattoo displayed the name “Yuzuriha.”
“You know what this means, Senku !” He exclaimed enthusiastically. “I’m going to meet my soulmate !”
Senku held back a laugh. Apparently, Byakuya had managed to drag him into his delusion, and now both were trying to mess with him. Though it seemed odd coming from Taiju. He simply smiled and told him he was happy for him. When they entered high school, they met a girl named Yuzuriha. Taiju instantly fell in love with her. Senku thought it was quite the coincidence. What if the legend was true ? Even if some legends held a grain of truth, this story of a tattoo appearing overnight had nothing scientific about it. And there was no way he would make Yuzuriha uncomfortable by asking if she had Taiju’s name tattooed on her body. Even Taiju had not dared confess his feelings yet.
On his sixteenth birthday, something unimaginable happened to Senku. A mark appeared in the hollow of his wrist. A tattoo bearing a name: Kohaku. That was all he could see. The word stretched across the length of his wrist, bold and clear. As if his soulmate had a strong personality. His soulmate. Senku was breathless. He had never believed in this story, despite what his father and Taiju said. He had always been rational, believing only in science. Yet now, he was supposed to believe. Somewhere in the world, his soulmate existed.
Without hesitation, Senku opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out the watch his father had given him for his fifteenth birthday. The strap was perfect to hide the tattoo. No one would know, and he would act as if his soulmate did not exist. Just as he always had. His one and only goal was science, and it would always be that way.
Over the weeks, the watch strap became a second skin he never took off. Gradually, he pushed Kohaku to the back of his mind. Only science mattered.
Everything returned to normal for Senku, until the day a beam of light enveloped the Earth and turned all humans to stone. As he felt his body petrify, Senku thought of Kohaku. It was the first time in months he had thought of her. Was she thinking of him too ? In a second, everything froze. All life stopped, and Senku began to count.
******
Senku emerged from the stone after three thousand seven hundred years. He had managed to stay conscious all that time by counting the seconds. The more time passed, the more he wondered if Kohaku had stayed awake too. Especially in recent years. Strange, he thought. He had never thought about her this much before.
The first thing he did upon emerging was look at his wrist. It was instinctive. Of course, after three thousand seven hundred years, the watch was long gone. His wrist was bare. But the mark was still there. Even more pronounced than before. As if Kohaku was nearby.
He shook his head violently and slapped himself to clear his thoughts. This was not the time to think about soulmates. He had more urgent things to do. Like surviving in a hostile world, finding Taiju and figuring out how to depetrify him. And maybe one day, he thought in the back of his mind, he would depetrify Kohaku.
******
Senku’s first meeting with Kohaku felt surreal. She had nearly been killed by Tsukasa and was trapped under a tree. From their first exchange, she trusted him. Her life was literally in his hands, and thanks to science, he saved her.
She told him her name : Kohaku. Senku placed his hand over the mark, hidden under a bandage. His pulse quickened, and he felt warmth radiate from the mark. And when she told him she was in love with him, his heart beat faster. For the first time, he did not understand what was happening to him. He loved his father, Taiju, and Yuzuriha, but romantic relationships had never interested him. He saw no use for them. Whether he had a soulmate or not, it would not change anything. He was convinced of that.
Yet, facing Kohaku, he felt new emotions. He wondered if she felt the same. He introduced himself, but she did not react. He glanced at her as she stood up but saw no tattoo on her arms or legs. Maybe it was hidden by her clothes ? Maybe it had not appeared yet ? He had never researched the concept of soulmates, but according to Byakuya, when two soulmates met, their marks were already present.
The next day, Kohaku led him to her village. Walking behind her, he saw it. His name, marked on the inside of her right ankle, half-hidden by her shoe.
“The mark on your ankle,” he said abruptly.
Kohaku stopped and glanced at her ankle.
“It’s a birthmark. Must run in the family. My sister has one too, a bit different, on her ribs. It has a strange shape. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A strange shape ? Senku realized that all forms of culture and literature had vanished over the centuries. Kohaku could not read. That was why she had not reacted when she heard his name. And the legend of soulmates had likely disappeared. Maybe it was better that way, Senku thought.
“There’s something else strange. For the past few days, I’ve felt warmth on my ankle,” Kohaku added. “It got stronger yesterday.”
Since she met him, Senku wanted to say. But he said nothing. They arrived at the village, and their conversation ended. Either way, he would not tell her. Even though they had just met, he did not want to burden her with the weight of having a soulmate she had not asked for.
******
Senku walked with heavy steps toward his father's grave. He had spent the entire night with Ruri, learning everything he needed to know about the Hundred Tales. Never would he have imagined that listening to stories could be so exhausting. He knew he should rest, but he felt the need to reflect, especially after hearing a certain tale.
“You just had to make up a story about soulmates,” Senku said with a wry smile.
He sat down on the ground. Even though his father had been dead for centuries, he felt as if he were right there, close by. Strangely, ever since arriving in Ishigami Village, everything reminded him of Byakuya.
“We never got to talk about it, but I saw on the news that Lillian Weinberg was part of the expedition. That’s good. At least you got to meet your soulmate and spend your life with her.”
That thought comforted him. Knowing his father had not been alone during that ordeal, that he had found someone to fill the void he must have felt before her. The same void Senku had ignored for years, until he met Kohaku.
He placed his hand on the bandage covering his wrist and slowly removed it. He still hid his mark. Aside from Gen, no one would have been able to decipher what was written there, but it was a habit he had never broken. And he had no desire for the mentalist to poke around in his business. But observant as Gen was, he had probably seen Kohaku’s name. At least he had had the decency to keep quiet.
“I got a mark too. Did you ever notice it ?”
Byakuya had always been loud, sometimes overly emotional when it came to his son. But he had always given him the freedom to come and talk whenever he needed. There was an unbreakable trust between them.
“I can picture you chuckling, saying I was wrong, that soulmates do exist. I haven’t told her yet, and I don’t know if I ever will. We’re together, and that’s enough. I don’t want her to feel obligated to love me or owe me anything. I don’t want to impose anything on her.”
In rare cases, some soulmates rejected each other, plunging them into deep suffering. Senku could not imagine what he would feel if that happened with Kohaku. Maybe it was selfish, but he did not want to lose what they already had.
He sighed and stood up as the first light of dawn appeared. He wanted at least an hour of sleep. He bid his father farewell, promising to return, then headed back to the village.
******
Senku felt the waves brushing against his feet. He needed to get away. The Kingdom of Science had gained new allies after the battle on Treasure Island. Everyone, except him and Ibara, had been petrified. Everyone, including Kohaku.
When he learned she had been turned to stone, he felt a mix of rage and despair. All he wanted was to go to her. But he had to stay calm and stop Ibara. Kohaku trusted him. From the very first day. And he would do everything to save her. To save them all.
When she was depetrified and threw herself into his arms, all he wanted was to hold her and never let go. But their friends were there and they would have found his behavior strange. He had managed to keep Kohaku’s identity as his soulmate a secret and he intended to keep it that way.
So he had slipped away from the impromptu celebration marking the end of the conflict. He found a quiet, secluded spot by the beach. Seeing Kohaku trapped in stone had shaken him more than he expected. He looked at his hand, where the mark was. It would not stop trembling. He gripped it with his other hand, trying to calm the tremors. He knew that if he did not return to the party soon, his friends would worry. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.
“Senku !”
He opened his eyes and saw Kohaku approaching. Her smile instantly stopped the trembling.
“Are you okay ?” She asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I didn’t see you at the party. I thought…”
She lowered her gaze to her feet.
“You were worried about me ?” Senku asked with a sly smile.
“Of course !” She replied firmly.
She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. He saw determination mixed with deep concern.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always trusted you. I knew you’d save us all. But I think you were alone again, like when you were first depetrified. Imagining what you must have felt… it hurt so much.”
She closed her eyes, on the verge of tears. Senku had never seen her so troubled. Was it the bond between them that made her so sensitive to what he was going through ? He stepped toward her and, without hesitation, took her into his arms. Kohaku opened her eyes, surprised. It was the first time Senku had embraced her. Usually, she was the one to take the initiative. Like the fake kiss in front of Kirisame, or when she threw herself into his arms after being depetrified. But unlike how he reacted to others’ affectionate gestures, Senku had never pushed her away. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.
“I’ve never felt alone,” he said softly. “Unlike last time, you were all with me. The whole Kingdom of Science. So don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”
Kohaku nodded and held him a little tighter. Senku smiled faintly. It was the first time he realized how much he needed her. He wanted that embrace to last as long as possible. He was not ready to let go, and he felt Kohaku felt exactly the same.
******
Yuzuriha was helping Kohaku fasten her dress. A poker game had been organized aboard the Perseus between two teams to decide the route to take toward America. On one side were Senku and Kohaku, and on the other, Gen and Ryusui. For such an event, Yuzuriha had declared that they needed outfits worthy of the occasion. She had put her sewing skills to work and was more than satisfied with the result. Kohaku looked stunning in her golden dress. Suika, standing nearby, gazed at her in awe.
“You’re so beautiful, Kohaku !” The little girl exclaimed.
Kohaku smiled at her, slightly embarrassed, her cheeks flushed from the compliment. She was not used to receiving them.
“Thank you, Suika.”
“And you’ll be even more beautiful with these shoes !” Yuzuriha added, handing her a pair of heels.
Kohaku sat down and slipped on the first shoe. Suika approached, curious, and stared at her ankle.
“Why does it say ‘Senku’ on your ankle ?”
Kohaku’s eyes widened.
“It doesn’t say Senku. It’s just a birthmark.”
“At the village school, I learned to read a few words, and I’m sure it says Senku.”
Kohaku frowned, unsettled.
“That’s impossible. Yuzuriha, you can read too…”
She looked up at her friend, who was staring at the ankle with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Yuzuriha snapped out of her daze and forced a smile. She grabbed the garment bags containing the boys’ costumes.
“Have you seen the time ? The poker game’s about to start, and I need to bring them their outfits !”
Without waiting, she rushed out of the room, almost running. Kohaku watched her leave, puzzled. She had the strange feeling that Yuzuriha was fleeing to avoid answering. She cursed herself for not having attended the village school. At least then she’d know how to read. She fastened the strap of her shoe, hiding the mark on her ankle. Just thinking that it might be Senku’s name made her heart race.
******
Yuzuriha burst into the room where the boys were. Before they could react, she tossed the garment bags to Gen, who barely caught them, then grabbed Senku by the arm and pulled him toward the exit.
“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”
She led him to the lab, certain no one would disturb them. Everyone was far too excited about the poker match to think about doing experiments.
“What’s going on ?” Senku asked.
“Is Kohaku your soulmate ?”
The question was direct and blunt. Taken aback at first, Senku gave a faint smile.
“I guess you saw her mark.”
He placed his hand on his wrist and removed the bandage. It was the first time he had shown his mark to anyone. It was even the first time he had spoken about it. Even though Yuzuriha had been his best friend for years, he had never imagined confiding in her about this.
“She doesn’t seem to know anything,” Yuzuriha said. “Why haven’t you told her ?”
“No one in the village seems to know the legend of soulmates. And in the Hundred Tales, Byakuya twisted the story so much with metaphors that no one understands what it’s about anymore.”
Senku fell silent for a moment, then smiled sadly.
“I didn’t want to impose anything on her. I didn’t want her to feel obligated to love me, for it to be the worst thing that could happen to her.”
“Or the best,” Yuzuriha replied softly.
She placed her hand on the back of her neck, and Senku understood that her own mark, bearing Taiju’s name, was hidden beneath her hair.
“I won’t say anything to Kohaku, and I won’t force you to either. But you know as well as I do that feelings grow stronger when you meet your soulmate. She probably doesn’t understand what she’s feeling. I hope one day you’ll tell her, because you both deserve to be happy.”
She took Senku’s hand and gently squeezed it to show her support. Then she left the lab, leaving him alone, lost in thought.
******
Kohaku stared intently at the mark on her ankle. She had been hesitating for weeks, but today she was going to talk to Senku.
Years had passed since Suika first noticed the mark and so many events had unfolded since then. There had never been a good moment to bring it up with Senku, and besides, it had never been a priority. But now that they had saved the world and uncovered the truth about Why Man, their lives had finally settled into a semblance of peace.
Kohaku had learned to read. A skill that had become essential in the world they had rebuilt. And now, she could decipher what was written on her ankle. Suika had been right. It did say “Senku.” He had seen her mark when they first met. He knew. So why had not he said anything ?
But that was not all. On Ruri’s mark, the name “Chrome” was written. Did Chrome also carry Ruri’s name on his body ? Did Senku carry hers ? Just imagining the possibility sent a gentle warmth through Kohaku’s heart. As if all she needed to be happy was simply to be near him. It was both terrifying and deeply comforting. Did he feel the same ? She had to know. She was done hesitating. It wasn’t in her nature. She never hesitated and she was not about to start now.
She fastened her shoe, hiding the mark. Ever since she understood its meaning, she had always been careful to keep it covered. She did not want anyone else to see it, only Senku.
She left her home and headed toward the lab. She knew he was there. Lately, he spent his days and nights working on their time machine project.
Upon arriving at the building, she entered without hesitation, greeting the people she passed. Here, she was known as the white wolf. She spent most of her time helping others, like many former members of the Kingdom of Science. She reached the door to Senku’s office. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Normally, she would have barged in without knocking. But this time was different. She felt like the conversation ahead would change her life forever.
She opened her eyes, knocked softly, then pushed the door open when Senku invited her in. He was seated at his desk, typing furiously on his computer. Kohaku could not help but smile. He had probably come up with a new theory, and as always, was too absorbed to notice anything around him.
“You don’t usually knock before coming in.”
Even with his back turned, Kohaku could sense his smirk. She closed the door behind her and walked toward him slowly.
“I have something important to ask you.”
Senku stopped typing and turned to face her.
“I’m listening.”
This is it, Kohaku thought.
“You know I’ve learned to read and write. And now I can decipher my birthmark. It has your name on it. I know you’ve known from the beginning. What I don’t understand is why you never said anything. What does it mean ?”
Senku sighed and stood up. He had known this day would come, especially since she started school. He was not sure if he was ready to talk about it, but he no longer had a choice.
“I’m guessing you don’t know the true legend of soulmates.”
Kohaku shook her head.
“In the Hundred Tales, it’s been so distorted it doesn’t resemble anything anymore.”
He paused, then continued :
“The legend says that at some point in life, a mark appears on the body, like a tattoo. It bears the name of the person who is our soulmate. And when we meet them, a bond forms. We feel irresistibly drawn to them. As if the emptiness we felt before is filled. As if we finally become whole.”
He watched Kohaku’s face, but she gave nothing away. For the first time, he could not tell what she was thinking.
“If I have your name on my body… do you have mine ?”
Senku nodded. He slowly removed the bandage from his wrist and showed her. It was different from when he had shown Yuzuriha. This time, it was Kohaku. He felt vulnerable, exposed. He had never felt this way before. She stepped closer and brushed her fingers over the mark. Senku felt a jolt run through him. It was not unpleasant. Quite the opposite.
“It’s an extremely rare phenomenon. Few people believe in it. I didn’t either, until it happened to me.”
“So we were destined to meet ? Is that why I instantly felt safe with you ? Why I was drawn to you? I never questioned it. It always felt natural.”
She kept caressing the mark, as if hypnotized.
“Why didn’t you tell me ?”
She looked up at him. There was no anger, no accusation in her gaze, only curiosity. Without realizing it, they had moved closer. Only a breath separated them.
The silence was heavy. A soft, almost electric tension hung in the air. Senku could feel the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the faint tremble of her fingers. Kohaku bit her lower lip slightly, and that simple gesture shattered every barrier he had built since they met.
He had resisted for so long. Out of principle, out of fear, out of respect. But now that she knew the truth, now that she was here, so close, his feelings surged, unleashed and impossible to contain.
“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” he murmured. “To think you had to love me just because we’re bound by a legend.”
Kohaku gave a soft, almost sad smile.
“That’s just like you. You act like you don’t care, but you always think of others before yourself.”
She moved even closer, her eyes locked onto his, her lips just millimeters from his. Senku could feel her breath mingling with his, warm, uneven. His heart beat faster, stronger.
“I’ve been in love with you from the start. And nothing will change that. Legend or not.”
She pressed her lips to his. The world seemed to stop for Senku. No more noise, no more calculations, no more theories. Just her. Just them. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss. Gently at first, then with growing confidence. He slid one hand into her hair, the other around her waist, pulling her closer. Kohaku responded to his embrace, her fingers brushing his neck, her skin trembling under his touch. Their bodies searched for each other, found each other, recognized each other. Every gesture, every shiver, every breath seemed to say : “I’m yours.”
Senku had never believed in legends. But in that moment, he had no doubt. Kohaku was his certainty. His anchor. His soulmate.
And in her arms, he realized he had never truly lived until now.
Gender-Neutral, Disabled Reader. Medical Settings; Strep Throat.
Pet-Names Used: my love, darling, sweetheart.
Read/Support It On AO3!
You greet the day with a yawn; the morning greets you with a terribly scratchy throat that leaves a small cough in its wake. Blearily, your eyes flutter open, a low sound of discontent forming as you crane your neck to look towards the nearby alarm clock. This is met with immediate regret, a terrible ache protesting the attempt. A hand flies up to your throat, fingers pressing just under the curve of your jaw in search of tight muscles, only to squeak at the pain that follows. Swollen lymph node, you realize sleepily, and a sore throat – well, call that a date canceled.
Fumbling your cellphone off the nightstand, you quickly swipe your passcode in. The text is still slightly blurry on the screen as you try to blink away the haze of sleep and the disappointed tears that are already stinging your eyes. Finding your boyfriend's contact is of no issue, at least; your messages are pinned to the top of any chat service you use.
[Text To: Dr. Zayne] – Hey, I've gotta raincheck on lunch. Woke up feeling sick today. I'm really sorry.
The apologies are unnecessary, and you know that — know damn well that the doctor, of all people, is just going to be worried about the fact that you've fallen ill. Knowing that doesn't stop the dampness in your eyes or the tight ball of anxiety that's already trying to coil in your chest. You'd been looking forward to spending the afternoon with him, damn it! And with how busy your schedules could get between the hospital and the Hunters Association, who knew when you'd have time for a date again? It wasn't fair. It already felt like you were always canceling plans, and now your body had decided to —
The buzz of your text notifications briefly disrupts those spiraling thoughts.
[Text From: Dr. Zayne] – There's absolutely no need to apologize for feeling unwell, my love. What are your symptoms?
A small sigh of relief, a breath of tense air that you hadn't realized you were holding. Calm down, you try to remind yourself, Zayne knows that your immune system isn't the best; you getting sick often isn't news to him. The internal chiding doesn't fully sooth your nerves, or the needless guilt that tries to settle like poison beneath your slightly-flushed skin, but it's the best you can do for now. Slowly, around the anxieties and hazy fog in your thoughts, you start to tap out a reply. As asked, you explain your notable symptoms, alongside the slight headache that's already started in the few minutes you've been awake, the dull ache in your muscles that you've now started to notice, how fatigued you felt the night prior…
It doesn't take much beyond that for Zayne to decide that you need a check-up, even though you insist that it's 'not that serious'. It's a promptly losing battle, and not forty minutes later, you're stumbling to get ready to make the short trip over to Akso Hospital. How he'd rearranged his busy schedule so quickly, or why the cardiologist is insisting on seeing you for something that's definitely just a simple infection… Well, you weren't going to argue; sudden medical visits were always way better when they were with your doctor.
—————
"You should have told me yesterday that you'd felt that under the weather." Zayne's voice is colored gently with concern, but it's steady as ever. He's just gotten into the room, and already he's fussing over you. As much as you don't want to be doing this, as tired of appointments as you are, his familiarity is still a welcome comfort.
"I didn't know that I needed to, Dr. Zayne." You insist softly, clearing your throat around the worsening soreness. "I'm fatigued all the time. How am I supposed to know when it's out of the ordinary?" Add that to the list of 'things that healthy people don't have to consider', huh?
"I don't expect you to." The sigh is barely audible, gloved fingers moving to carefully press at either side of your throat for the exam. He's a lot gentler than your accidental inspection of it, but you still wince, a tiny whimper of pain escaping you. More worry bleeds into his tender gaze, the sympathetic apology immediate. "I'm sorry; I know that's unpleasant… I don't expect you to know exactly when something is medically abnormal. My point, my darling, is that I want to know when you're feeling unwell regardless."
"I'm always 'unwell', Zayne, I don't want to bother ‐" Frustration seeps into your voice, but before you can get too far into that spiral, you're being cut off by a gentle grasp on your jaw.
"Sweetheart." His voice is firm, familiar and grounding, a much-needed comfort in the middle of a bad morning. "Allow me to repeat myself: I always want to know when you're feeling unwell. I do not care how often that is. You are not 'bothering me' by being ill." His grip loosens to let cautious fingertips brush across your cheek, frosty touch contrasting the warmth in his gaze. "Your disabilities are a part of you. I love you, wholeheartedly, not despite your struggles."
It takes a moment for you to compose yourself after that one. You're still not used to somebody (outside of Gram and Caleb) loving you so completely. Finally, through the happy-tears that have welled up in the corners of your vision, you nod. "Thank you, Zayne… I love you too."
Another gentle smile, as he presses a kiss to your forehead; whatever illness you've caught be damned. "Of course, my love. Now, open wide - I need to examine your throat."
From there, it's a series of examinations and tests. Zayne quickly agrees with your suspicions that it's one of the handful of bugs going around this time of year, and suggests the standard series of rapid tests to rule things out. Your nostrils are swabbed, leaving you scrunching your nose up and trying not to sneeze on your boyfriend. Then the back of your throat is given a similiar treatment. Testing for COVID-19, influenza, and strep throat, he explains between the swabs. After that, it's a simple prick to your index finger to draw a tiny blood sample. Testing for mono, just to be safe.
Once that's done, Zayne whisks off to get the tests run, promising that he'll be back shortly. The next fifteen minutes drag, and the bright fluorescent lights are quick to worsen your headache.
Finally, the door swings back open. He flashes a reassuring smile at you, lifting the papers in his hand. "As I suspected after looking at your throat, it's streptococcal pharyngitis. You should take at least the next 48 hours off work, until you're certain to not be contagious. I've already written a formal note for the Association." Strep throat, great.
Frowning, you nod, pulling your knees up to your chest where you've curled up on the exam table. "Damn, where'd I even… Oh well, nothing to be done about it now. Thanks, Dr. Zayne."
"It's hard to say. I've written you a prescription for amoxicillin - twice a day for 10 days. That usually clears it up." It's sweet, listening to him explain the treatment for strep throat like you've never had it before. You used to get it all the time as a kid, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to either of you. "You can take ibuprofen or acetaminophen to alleviate the pain, in the meantime. I also recommend warm tea, and getting plenty of rest while your body is fighting the infection."
"Yeah, some things never change." You try for a smile, nodding at his advice. "Thanks, really."
The frost melts, a kind hand tucking stray hairs behind your ear. "Anything you need, my love. Now, you should get that script, and go home to sleep. I'll check on you during my break, alright?"
"Okay, doctor." You smile lightly around the discomfort, untucking your legs and swinging them down to get up. "I love you."
WARNINGS: yandere themes, I don’t know much about flower language
The tall, dark-haired man in the corner looks out of place here. His serious expression doesn’t seem to match the beautiful assortment of brightly-colored flowers that surrounds him. Iwaizumi Hajime is not typically drawn to delicate or decorative things. He much prefers the gym and fits in much better there, if he’s to be honest.
The first time he entered this flower shop, he was just buying a bouquet of flowers for his mother’s birthday. An innocent, kind gesture. It should have stopped there.
Instead, he has been back every day since.
Any flower you recommend to him, he’ll buy without a second thought. The moment you approach him asking “Can I help you, sir?” an awkward smile will cross his face, almost as though he’s not used to smiling. Really, he’d do anything you asked of him.
After all, he had fallen in love with you at first sight.
“Can you put together something special?” Iwaizumi asks, “I have a special occasion coming up.”
“Ooh, what kind of occasion?” you ask cheerfully.
“A date,” he replies, “Do you have anything that means something like ‘I’m serious’?”
You look excited, “I don’t know about ‘I’m serious’, but if this is a first date, carnations mean ‘new love’, and I could add some tulips- ‘perfect love’!”
Iwaizumi melts at the attention, his eyes looking down at you with pure affection. He watches you cheerfully put together a flawless bouquet.
“You’re very talented,” he says as you hand the arrangement to him, “They’re beautiful, just like-” he catches himself, “Just like the last batch.”
“Hope the date goes well,” you say, waving goodbye as the man leaves your shop, before turning to the next customer.
—--------------------------------------
You don’t remember how you got here.
The last thing you remember, you were walking home, then… nothing. And now you were here, tied up tight to a chair in someone’s apartment kitchen. At first, you find no familiarities in the marble countertops and wooden table, but then you spot it.
You know where you are before Iwaizumi even enters the room.
You’d recognize those carnations and tulips anywhere.
