#aaaand a little crooked moon

[xhanisai]

Wo Ai Ni !

AO3 / FFN

Summary:  

 Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell. . He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her.

A/N: I am sick and tired of all the work I've been doing for finals and honestly need my break. Anyways, here's a sweet, fluffy fic to get the stress out of my system and hopefully make your day a bit better :) The fic's title is inspired by Hitomi Takahashi's song: Wo Ai Ni (which most of you would find familiar as ending 14 for Gintama) Aaaand special thanks to @Word_Devourer for giving me the idea for the operation's name and thanks to @gale-of-the-nomads for giving me the push to write this~ Takes place after Party Crasher/ Trouble Fête, enjoy! ~(x)~ . . . Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell. . He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her. Mm-hmm, there are no words in the french vocabulary that could even describe half the agony that Plagg's enduring right now, right this second as Adrien floated around in his room, hugging the gift that Marinette gave him earlier on at school with a disgustingly hopeless grin plastered on his stupid blushy face. 'Is it too late to go back to napping for a few more centuries or so? Cos I am way too old to be dealing with this fuckery again.' Plagg scowled, feline eyes almost like slits as he slouched on his pillow. He didn't even get a chance to take a bite out of his beloved Camembert! Why was he always the one stuck with the lovesick kittens again...? "-and our hands touched when she gave me the gloves! TOUCHED! I am never washing my hands again~" Adrien wiggled on the spot, nuzzling the soft present against his cheek and hungrily memorised the delectable vanilla scent that lingered on it. "Oh Plagg...did ya see the way she smiled at me? That soft, pretty, beautiful smile? Her lips so glossy and kissable AND mon dieu! I was tempted to just gather her up in my arms and kiss the living daylights out of her!" The blonde teen let out another high pitched squeal that sounded quite close to a kitten's meow and flopped on the bed, his weight causing Plagg and his pillow to bounce up and send the yowling kwami flying. Plagg. Had. ENOUGH. Darting towards the boy's face, fur sticking up making him look like a fuzzy ball, Plagg grabbed Adrien's collar and yelled. "CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP AND GO ASK HER OUT ALREADY!?" The force of the little God's voice caused Adrien's fringe to blow back comically, surprising the teen in which he merely blinked back like a kitten. After realising what he's done, an apology was quick to make way on Plagg's tongue for snapping like that only to disintegrate immediately when Adrien's reaction turned into one of a typical, shoujou, love struck schoolgirl. "I can't just ask Marinette out! She's too amazing...too cool...so awesome...oh man I love her so much! I have to get cooler and be at least half as wonderful as her before I could even dream of asking her out." Adrien was blind to Plagg rolling his eyes like it's the end of the world and kept on rambling, gloves pressed to his lips. "Besides, she doesn't even love me that way...she's always so jumpy around me..." Just as Plagg was about to scold him for being so self-deprecating and maybe give a boost of encouragement, Adrien suddenly shot up from the bed with his fists pumped up in newly found determination. "Which is why I should get better at wooing her! I'm gonna call the boys and come up with a plan to get Marinette to fall in love with me! It will be called: Operation Marry-Nette. What do you think?" Adrien looked genuinely proud of his plan like he's just won the lottery and Plagg couldn't help but sigh endearingly at him. Maybe for the last time, just for him, just for Adrien, Plagg will humour his holder through their terrible love schemes. Who knows? It could be quite entertaining and finally end this tiring love square that has lost its charm many months ago. "You were never this obsessed when you were claiming about how Ladybug and you were meant to be. Were your feelings not deep enough for her?" The kwami settled back on his pillow, stroking his wedge of cheese and glanced at Adrien through his peripheral vision who looked sheepish for a split second. "Don't get me wrong, I do love Ladybug still- but because she's my bestest friend and I admire her so much. It's just not as romantic anymore and a guy can only pursue for so long before it starts to grate on the pursued. I must have annoyed her quite a bit..." "Just a bit~?" "...okay a lot. I deserved all those bops to the head by her yo-yo and I already did apologise to her for being so obnoxious. Anyways, the point is that even though Ladybug is amazing...Marinette is Marinette. Marinette was always there for everyone, there for me. It's like my feelings have been building up for her throughout the whole time and my feelings for Ladybug was the dam. The dam's now broken and all my pent up love for Marinette is flooding all over the place...and I don't regret it one bit." Adrien hugged the gloves again with his standard, warm smile that the God always spotted when Marinette was nearby. "It wasn't easy, keeping those feelings away to avoid feeling guilty about loving another girl. Now, I don't have to worry about that. I can love Marinette all I want...if she wants to have me." Plagg rolled his eyes fondly this time, cuddling into the crook of the boy's shoulder with a fanged grin. He couldn't wait to see the delight and happiness when his chosen finds out that he's been in love with one girl all along and that his feelings were absolutely mutual. ~(x)~ "Oh! A-A-Adrien!?" "M-M-Marinette! You there- I mean hey there! Hahah...longtimenosee-" Not too far away, Alya and Nino watched the scene before them with exasperation as Marinette and Adrien started their daily stammering ritual for the umpteenth time. The model being the new addition. Sure, the first few times watching the two of them become a flustered mess when coming across one another was an entertaining prospect. Now it was absolutely painful seeing the two beloved idiots so stupidly in love with one another, blinding them from the fact that it's in fact requited. And what answers were they given when they attempted to convince said idiots that they should ask each other out? "Ah! Alya-aaa! You know I can't do that yet. Adrien still sees me as a friend so don't get my hopes up. But that doesn't mean operation secret garden is finished. I will get him to fall in love with me!" "Nino!? How many times do I have to tell you? Marinette's more interested in my clothes than in me! She's yet to fall for my suave, meow-tastic self~ Also, operation Marry-Nette is now a go-go. You, Agent Best Man have to make sure that the rose petals are ready as soon as she steps into the art room." Needless to say, Adrien's scheme failed catastrophically. So bad that not even the nerdy model took the opportunity to make a pun about it since they ended up jamming the large fans for a 'wind' effect with the rose petals and thus causing a fire. All the boys from the class ended up with a week's worth of detention much to their dismay and the girls' curiousities. Did Lahiffe even need to mention how Agreste begged for them to keep their shenanigans in helping him woo the girl he loves a secret? Despite the fact that the whole school pretty much caught on? So that's how the bespectacled couple felt like they've aged for like a decade or so thanks to their oblivious best friends who were still exchanging word soup and frazzled gestures. "-no no! You're beautiful- not that you're not beautiful everyday! Oh- erm- agh-" Adrien bit his tongue by reflex and shoved his hands inside the pockets of the designer hoodie he threw on this morning. His cheeks matched the Asian girl in front of him in a raspberry tinted flush. "YOU THANKS! I mean...thank you..." Marinette took a deep sigh before determination settled on her face. She gently clutched one of Adrien's sleeves, letting her dainty fingers brush against the back of his hand and smiled sweetly. "You're beautiful too," She flashed a toothy grin and then immediately speed walked away, leaving behind her gaping friends. A high pitched kettle like sound escaped from Adrien's throat and then he immediately shoved his hood over his head and used the drawstrings to fasten the hole in order to hide his discombobulated face. Alya and Nino carried on gaping as the usually cool model chanted 'Mon Dieu' over and over again, clutching his fabric covered face and wiggling on the spot. "Either things will get much more interesting or we're about to hit the peak of idiot one's and idiot two's stupidity." Alix quipped from the background, joined by a mutter of agreement from the other students. "Oh Marinette just hurry up and marry me already~" Adrien swooned, ignorant to the chuckling crowd as he was still stuck in his bubble. The bubble was mercilessly popped by Kubdel. "THEN GO PROPOSE TO HER ALREADY LOVER BOY!" This snapped Adrien out of his daze in an instant, prompting a feminine squeal from him and his body launching up in the air like a scaredy-cat. Heaving, he clutched Nino who was the closest to him and glared at the short girl before scoffing and scurrying away. His hand covered his face in embarrassment throughout the whole time as the students in the vicinity guffawed at him. Adrien decided that he was going to hide his face for eternity and avoid everyone who's not Nino. Representing the Gabriel brand be damned! ~(x)~ Adrien.Exe has stopped working. No, really. His soul pretty much abandoned his jelly like body and his brain has turned to mush. 'Adrien Agreste has unfortunately stopped working for the time being. Please leave a message after the meow.' Was the only comprehensible sentence that ran through the teen's mind. Marinette was sleeping on him. Sleeping on him! Again!!! Her soft, pretty, serene face hid in the crook of his neck, causing him to inhale the lingering bakery scent of vanilla and strawberries every time he dared to breathe. One of her hands latched onto the front of his shirt adorably, knuckles against his chest and Adrien could swear that the erratic beating of his heart would disturb her slumber. Yet, by some miracle he remained calm and cool on the outside despite his inner turmoil. Inhaling sharply, Adrien willed for his heart to calm down as he bravely rested a hand on the girl's waist before allowing his cheek to lean against Marinette's smooth, silky locks. He took this as an opportunity to study her up close. Marinette had her hair loose today. The long, petal thin strands fanned just below her shoulder and her fringe tickled his neck pleasantly. Her long lashes created a subtle, curved shadow on her cheek bones and had Adrien been an ordinary boy, he would have missed the expertly applied concealer below her eyes. She seemed to get more and more exhausted everyday. His poor princess... "I wish I could just hold you in my arms and keep you safe and happy forever..." He mumbled into her hair, placing his free hand on top of Marinette's which was still grasping his shirt and squeezed gently. Gathering what's remaining of his courage, Adrien puckered his lips and pecked her head, face flaming throughout the whole time. It lasted no more than a moment. Yet it was a moment that Adrien will cherish for the next few decades to come. CLICK. Reflex kicked in rapidly and by muscle memory, Adrien shielded Marinette's body with his, wrapping his arms around her and was quick to flash a dangerous glare at the intruder that dared to make an appearance. The sight of a cheeky Alya and the rest of the cooing girl group, all waving their phones and giggling on the spot drained his wrath and replaced it with shyness. "How much did you see!?" Adrien rasped, unconsciously holding Cheng closer to him, not realising that she was starting to stir. "All of it~ but don't worry Sunshine, we won't tell or show her a single thing." Alya winked slyly, wriggling her phone for emphasis. "It's just going to be in our collection for the amazing album we'll be showing you on yours and Mar's wedding day," Adrien stumbled on his words next, ears and cheeks redder than Nathaniel's hair before hiding his face in Marinette's locks as the girls snickered louder. Thoughts of Marinette in various wedding dresses, floating down the aisle with a loving smile on her face, slipping a ring on his finger as she recited her vows, leaning up as he leaned down to kiss her, all ricocheted within his mind without mercy. It was then that the boy noticed that Marinette was fidgeting in her sleep and panic started to settle in his body. "You evil people...you're waking her up." He hissed tiredly but without any venom and made soft shushing sounds to lull the designer back to sleep. The girls had other ideas however and without wasting a second, they made their moves in sonic speed. Juleka was the first to strike, lifting Marinette up bridal style whilst Rose firmly pushed Adrien back against the library's beanbag in a more comfortable way before the tall girl gently placed the snoozing girl on the boy's lap. Alix and Alya struck next, positioning Adrien's and Marinette's arms so that it looked like the former was cradling the girl protectively against him and the latter snuggling up to him with her arms around his neck.   Throughout the whole time, Mylène recorded the entire endeavour with a happy hum. "You should have involved us in Operation Marry-Nette. Look how much more successful we were in a matter of minutes compared to the painful weeks you guys went through with your schemes. I still can't believe that one of them involved you acting out a stunt in order to impress her only for you to fail terribly and bruise your ribs. You should never listen to Kim." The chubby girl smiled, grin only widening as Adrien's blush deepened when Marinette cuddled closer to him in her sleep. The raven haired girl's lips were brushing against his collarbones. It took everything for him to not combust. "Nino blabbed didn't he?" The blonde teen accused. "My babe is terrible at keeping anything from me, boo. But to be fair, it was super obvious from the start. Don't be mad at us~?" Alya pressed her phone against her lips, batting her eyes cutely, prompting the boy to roll his eyes and look away but the way he squeezed Marinette closer to him didn't go unseen. "...m'kay...just send me the pics afterwards please?" Adrien's question was answered with a cheer from the girls. . Nino on the other hand was chased around the school by Adrien with his sabre for ratting out the plans to Alya. "Bro! I'm sorry! PLEASE STOP TRYING TO STAB ME- SOMEONE HELP!" "You broke the bro-code Lahiffe! Now you must suffer the consequences!" "BRO!!??!!" ~(x)~ "...Are you okay Chat Noir?" As soon as Marinette placed a tentative hand on the hero's shoulder, he leapt up as high as his namesakes before quickly composing himself with an awkward laugh. "Kine...I MEAN- FINE! I'm fine...hahah..." Chat's faux ears plastered themselves against his unruly locks as he gripped his tail in front of him with both hands. He internally thanked the Gods (more reliable than Plagg at the very least) that his hair was covering his human ears otherwise Mari would have seen that they were as red as Ladybug's suit. The heroine in disguise raised a brow in worry, lips pursed with confusion. The silly boy has been acting very odd for the past few months. In fact his behaviour right now was starting to resemble a certain blonde sweetheart in her class- 'No! Snap out of it Marinette. Don't start comparing them both again!' The girl warned herself in her mind, shooting down the blush that tried to fight its way to her cheeks and then plastered on a polite smile. "Thank you for saving me and sorry for being in the way. I was trying to get away from the akuma, honest." Marinette fibbed, hoping that her partner would simply tease her with a few puns before vaulting away. Instead, the black cat stammered incoherently. "Oh hahah! N-N-No! You weren't in the way. You can never be in the way, it's never too much of a big deal- NOT THAT I'M SAYING YOU'RE NOT A BIG DEAL! You are one heck of a deal haha- oh the akuma is going that way. Stay safe pretty girl whose name I don't know- IMEANGOODBYE! ADIOS! Gahhhhhh..." Snapping his jaw shut, Chat Noir zoomed away with his staff in hand, hitting himself on the head repeatedly as he muttered 'Stupide!' over and over again. Marinette was left blinking owlishly at the boy's strange antics. The familiar feelings that has been gnawing on her mind for the past half year or so simply grew, causing her to nibble on the tip of her thumb. Yet, she couldn't identify what it was for the life of her and it was driving her insane. "Tikki, first Adrien has started to act like me when I'm around. Now Chat Noir? Have I done something to offend them both?" Marinette pouted at her kwami cutely which elicited a giggle from the tiny Goddess. "Oh no, no no no. I think they've fallen for you Marinette- isn't that exciting? The two boys you love? Flailing around you because you make them so shy and nervous? I can't wait to see how this plays out!" The knowing smile that Tikki had on annoyed Marinette. "What do you mean 'the two boys I love'? I'm not in love with Chat Noir! And them loving me? Impossible. Chat Noir loves Ladybug and Adrien hasn't shown any interest in me other than being 'just a friend'." The face that the little Ladybug wore was drier than the Sahara desert. "Marinette. Are you really going to argue with a being that has existed before time itself about this?" The designer only stared back stubbornly before answering. "Tikki, transformer-moi!" "You know I'm ri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight-" Was the last thing Tikki managed to say before encasing Marinette into her standard suit. Ladybug snorted, hands on hips as she tried her best to ignore everything that has happened prior. "Liking Chat Noir as well doesn't make this any easier dammit..." ~(x)~ Adrien tripped over his shoes and fell on his face as he was too preoccupied in watching Marinette (with a dopey smile etched on his lips) chatter with Marc and Nathaniel. He was rewarded with the love of his life helping him back up on his face and cupping his face tenderly as she worried over him and checked for any injuries. Chat Noir pestered Ladybug over and over again about allowing Marinette the mouse miraculous once more or even letting her try a different one as he tenaciously believed that she would make an excellent part time hero like Rena Rouge and Carapace. The silly cat ended up receiving a playful chop to the head and a 'I'll think about it' from his Lady. He never noticed how she was oddly flustered as he was too busy doing victorious acrobatics and dances during the rest of patrol. A student from the nearby lycée took interest in Marinette after seeing her a few dozen times since he was a local at the Dupain-Cheng bakery. His attempt in asking her out however was sabotaged by a group of peculiarly dressed, short 'tourists' asking for directions to the nearest Parisian attraction in their painfully broken and accented English. The boy missed his chance to seek her out when she skipped out of his sight with Alya and co and then gave up entirely as Marinette ended up going off on a heated rant about how she was getting sick and tired of strangers going up to her and asking her out when she's never really acknowledged them. He missed the way the supposed tourists removed the disguises from their faces, revealing Adrien, Nino, Kim, Max and Ivan as they 'Ho ho ho'd away. During his patrol, Chat Noir spotted Marinette conversing with both Luka and Kagami near La Seine, the latter two sporting a fond look towards the short designer. Fonder than usual...Noir didn't like it at all. It didn't help that he knew that the musician harboured some feelings for Marinette and the fencer has mentioned numerous times how cute Marinette was. So, with his usual dramatic flair, Chat vaulted towards them, staff slamming between Marinette and the other two friends and then slid down to their level. His body slightly shielded Dupain-Cheng from Couffaine's and Tsurugi's view as he exchanged pleasantries with a slight bite to it. The trio happily conversed back instead, sending guilt down Chat Noir's spine for acting a bit bratty in the beginning. The guilt transformed into second hand embarrassment as Luka and Kagami admitted that they started to casually date and was asking Marinette for advice on where to go for a proper date to make it official. There was no need for the green cat to make its appearance to start with! ~(x)~ Marinette gave Chat Noir a pleasant kiss on the cheek, thanking him for escorting her home and her warm smile never wavered when he went through his customary babbles. The kitten ultimately gave up speaking, gathering back what's left of his dignity and grasped Mari's fingers, kissing the knuckles chastely before saluting and leaping away. The heroine in disguise let out a happy smile, a soft blush flared in her cheeks as she leaned against the top of the balcony and perched the side of her head with her fist. A few stars twinkled in the dark, clear sky and the breeze was soothing enough to clear one's mind. "Oh Adrien, you poor kitten...now what am I gonna do with you?" Marinette's quiet giggles were joined by her kwami who flew out of her purse and nuzzled her holder's cheek. "Told you he's in love with you. You owe me those tasty triple chocolate chunky cookies with your Maman's special tea." "Oh well. A deal's a deal. I still can't believe he's my Chaton- no, wait. I can believe it. Who else would be my silly, dorky, wonderful partner? Did you see how jealous he looked when he saw me with Luka and Kagami? And I thought I was bad! Hahah!" "At least he didn't get them akumatised like he got Theo once." Tikki chimed. "Oooh! Can you believe that he wrote 'Adrien Dupain-Cheng' on your notebook a few times without realising it wasn't his? And then proceeded to steal it for a day so that he could get rid of the pages he's written on? Plagg almost choked on his cheese laughing about it!" "If he hadn't missed that one page, I'd have never known why he stole it in the first place. Makes that time I borrowed his phone for the day to delete the voicemail seem minor in comparison." "He has a folder in his phone dedicated to pictures of you and another folder dedicated to you and him! His current lock screen is of him and you~! So cute~!" "We're both so horribly obsessed with each other. How is that cute- hey! Stop laughing!" "And his name for the operation to make you notice him; absolutely adorable~" "Pfft. I'll give him that. It's not too bad." A comfortable silence settled between them as they happily stargazed. For once, Marinette didn't feel exhausted or being pulled apart in numerous directions. Figuring out that her crime-fighting, pun loving partner was none other than the shy, sweet boy who sat in front of her in class soothed her heart and eased her mind. Accepting that he was head over heels for her to the point where he turned into a nervous, stammering, hot mess did nothing but fill Marinette with giddiness and perhaps be less harsh on herself when she was in his shoes. He fell for her twice. Twice! Just like she did! How could she not be floating on cloud nine after that? For once, her hectic life ever since she received the magical earrings has hit a calm and Marinette couldn't wait to see what adventures would follow next as she and Adrien would face them on unmasked, without anymore secrets. Speaking of secrets. "Hey Tikki? When should I come clean to him? There's no way that I could keep this hushed. I have a feeling that Maître Fu is aware of everything too with how I've seen him lurking left and right with that stupid knowing smile you both always seem to have on. So it should be alright, right?" "Since the Guardian has given you and your partner more freedom with your secret identities now, it's up to you when you want to tell Adrien everything. Bu-uuuuut...I kind of want to see him confess to you. Maybe figure it out himself. It's more fun that way, no?" Tikki's grin widened at Marinette's rosy cheeks, the former looking away bashfully, eyes sparkling with joy. "Do you think he'll figure it out?" "Plagg told me that he figured it out the day Mme. Mendeleiev got akumatised but ended up having to scrap that idea when he saw that illusion you created to throw him off. Adrien was so sure that Ladybug was you and seemed pretty down when you disproved that theory." 'So he did know it was me...' Marinette thought with awe, recalling how much happier and excited Chat Noir was during the battle, thinking that his Lady was his Princesse. "I'll give him a couple of days to confess or figure out my identity. Otherwise I'll just grab him by the collar and smooch his stupid face like no tomorrow." Tikki kissed Marinette's cheek in response, delighted with the girl's answer as they made way back into her room. ~(x)~ This was it. He was going to confess. Adrien has had enough of the way Marinette's lips would taunt him with the way they glistened under the lights and he couldn't escape the sweet scent that wafted from her every time she moved. It was so much more easier to deal with her when she was flighty and shy! Now? She was so much more sure of herself, bold, coy, dare he say...flirty. It went from squeezing his fingers to reassure him to smoothly kissing his cheeks as a thank you for whenever he's helped her out or did something she thought was 'adorable'. The tight hugs, the hair ruffles, the lip biting, the cheeky smirk that eased its way to her face whenever someone mistook them as a couple and the lack of denial or correction she gave in response. If he didn't confess at the end of the day, he was going to explode! With the help of the founding members of Operation Marry-Nette along with the new members, they have arranged a successful scenario. One that was working way too smoothly compared to the previous hundred or more plans that went haywire in an instant so Adrien kept a look out for anything strange or bizarre. Knowing his lack of luck, Le Papillon would strike now. Luckily, this didn't seem to be the case as he found Marinette waiting for him by the Arc de Triomphe. The place where he asked her to meet him. "Marinette! Hey!" Adrien jogged towards her, mentally patting himself on the back for not stammering. That thought process was quickly wiped away when he realised what she was wearing and how beautiful she looked. Dupain-Cheng was decked up in a simple but stylish red blouse with a high waist, short black skirt. Following her long legs were black tights and black ankle boots that had a red ribbon on the zippers. Her hair was kept up in space buns, also adorned by red ribbons, making her sky blue eyes pop. Lastly, her lips were glossed in a cherry red tint. The urge to kiss them increased by ten folds and all the words that Adrien has taken months upon months to plan and say turned into goop. 'What the fuck!? This isn't fair. This is so not fair. Why the hell did she have to dress up so prettily and look all cute and innocent now of all times? Why now!? Fuck! It should be illegal to be this beautiful! Damn you!' "Hey there Handsome! You said that you needed to tell me something?" Marinette peeked below her dark lashes and fiddled with the gold necklace that adorned her neck. A necklace that he gifted her a few weeks ago. She was going to be the death of him. "...Adrien? Are you okay?" Her hands reached up to cup his red cheeks only to be intercepted by his in an iron grip. "Adrien?" The boy squinted his eyes shut, blush never leaving and finally blurted out his feelings: "Wǒ ài nǐ!" . 'I love you!' . . . A few seconds of silence went by. The sounds of the chattering crowd in the background faded into nothing as all the boy could hear was the harsh pounding of his heart. Fearing the worst, Adrien refused to open his eyes and his ears and cheeks burned with both shyness and embarrassment. Dread began to build up in his heart when he felt Marinette wriggle her hands out of his grip and his shoulders sagged, awaiting the rejection that was clear to follow. His spiralling thoughts were halted by the contact of Marinette's fingers brushing his cheeks, slipping through his hair before getting tugged down sharply so that his lips crashed into hers. Adrien's eyes snapped open for a split second in surprise as a shocked mewl escaped his throat but then the warmth and softness that was Marinette's lips took over and he couldn't help but shut his eyes again. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her small frame tightly against his and he couldn't help but smile into the kiss. Before Adrien could deepen the kiss, Marinette parted much to his dismay but her lips still brushed against his. He got an eyeful of her cheeks turning as rosy as his and her lips darkened into a kiss bruised state. An image that burned into his mind pleasantly. "So...d-does that mean you love me too?" Adrien couldn't help but whisper, lips tingling as they brushed against hers. "Silly Chaton. In China, we don't outright say that! But...wǒ zhǐ shǔ yú nǐ." "My Lady!? Mmph-" The boy was silenced with another kiss and this time, Marinette's words played in repeat over and over again in his mind. Wǒ zhǐ shǔ yú nǐ: I only belong to you. . . . ~(x)~ A/N: I'll proof read tomorrow. N I G H T. And Ramadan Mubarak~

[lranyc]

Thank you to @allons-y--spaceman for helping me get this in the right shape and for encouraging me to start writing at all! All mistakes are mine.

Enjoy reading!

_______________________________________________

Prompt: Sharon and Andy going star gazing at the observatory.

“Wow!”, her eyes and mouth opened wide. He was definitely stunned. He was observing her features in the shadows created by the faint lights on the inside of the observatory and the moonlight shining in the night sky, “This is amazing, Andy!”. Sharon’s face was one huge grin. Her eyes were sparkling, those beautiful emerald green eyes of hers and he couldn’t get enough of it. Of those eyes, of her.

“I knew you’d like it”. Andy walked towards her and put his arms around her waist from behind. A few seconds passed before he said, "You know I love you, right?!” He was holding on to her a little tighter and Sharon could feel it.

She smiled to herself, “Andy, of course I do," and turned around in his arms. Then her expression changed and she frowned, “I love you, too, but what’s gotten into you? Are you okay? You’ve been strange the entire day and I’m worried about you.“

“I... No, Sharon, I’m fine. I just, uh, ”Andy stammered but when he saw the worried look on her face, he knew he couldn’t make this about himself. She was so happy just a few minutes ago, so he continued, “I‘ve got a surprise for you.“

Sharon was confused. He could see it. Her head changed position and she leaned back from him, "Andy, this was already a great surprise and I loved it. I always wanted to visit an observatory and watch the stars. Did you even look through that telescope?” Sharon said, pointing at it. "It’s just amazingly beautiful how clearly you can see the stars," her face started to light up again and those eyes of hers began to sparkle once more while she was talking so eagerly about what she just saw, "It’s like they are right in front of you!”

Andy had to smile. She was just so adorable when she was excited about something. He cupped her cheeks with both hands and kissed her gently, "Then you’ll love what will come next even more," he told her, their faces where only inches apart now, "Just close your eyes and trust me.”

Without another word Sharon closed her eyes and held on tightly to Andy’s hand and left arm as he let his hands slip from her cheeks down to his sides.

He lightly pulled her with him as he started walking towards their destination.

Not long after, Sharon broke the silence, "Where are we going?"

"You’ll see. We are almost there. Juuust wait...," Andy said, before continuing “aaaand, here we are.”

Sharon wanted to say something but before she could, Andy added, "Keep your eyes closed.”

He led her a few more steps ahead and told her to sit down and lie back.

"Andy what are we doing?” she asked, with a little uncertainty in her voice. Man, if she didn’t love that man so much. But she did love him and trust him with everything she had and so she did what she was told. It felt like she was lying on a lounger, not an overly comfortable one because it was hard but at least there was a small pillow placed under her head.

She felt Andy move, presumably lying down beside her but she couldn’t be sure because next thing she knew, she felt his hands gently cupping her face again.

She loved when he did that.

He pressed a light kiss on her lips and whispered, "You can open your eyes now, beautiful.”

The first thing she saw was Andy’s handsome face with that typical Andy Flynn smirk on it but as he slowly moved to his side again and away from her line of view, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Never in her entire life had she felt so overwhelmed and awestruck by nature. And never had she felt so much love and gratitude for a man before. Andy presented her the stars. Her man brought her the stars. She never thought, she’d say that one day. As he cleared her line of vision, a huge glass ceiling came into view with millions of stars in the dark night sky above it.

Sharon took a quick breath, "Oh my..." her hands flew over her mouth and Sharon sighed, "Andy... what in the world, I mean, how...?" she was at a loss of words.

All this time Andy observed her reaction and couldn’t quite grasp how he deserved this woman. "You deserve all the stars in the whole wide universe, Sharon, and more."

Sharon’s hands slowly left their place over her mouth and her right hand fell over Andy’s left one and she squeezed it. She turned her head to the right and looked at him, "I don’t know what to say...I just...this is so...you are..."

"You don’t have to say anything," he interrupted her.

"No, Andy, I do because this is amazing! And I know, I’ve been saying this a lot today but this day, here, with you, It‘s just...what you did. It’s the most beautiful, romantic and thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me and I don’t know how I deserve you but I’m endlessly grateful to have you in my life. I just love you so much, Andy Flynn."

Andy could see tears glistening in her eyes and he didn’t know how much longer until he his own eyes would glaze over, so he kissed her with more intensity and pressure than before. While their lips locked, his right hand found its way to her cheek and into her hair again.

When Sharon pulled him just a little bit closer, nothing else mattered anymore, except the two of them under a sky full of stars.

_____________________________

"Do you know that when I was little, I’d always sleep with my window open. No matter what season, no matter how cold," Sharon started. She lay with her head on Andy’s shoulder, his left arm around her back and stroking her arm gently. They were gazing up at the glass ceiling, observing the stars.

Andy frowned a little, not sure where she was going with this but all the more interested to learn something about her childhood. About a life before him, before they met, about a time where she was still a little girl and not that strong and independent woman she is today.

He looked down slightly but she never turned her gaze away from the stars.

"I had this room with the window right beside my bed and when I’d lie down I had this perfect view of the night sky. So when I couldn’t sleep I’d open the window and observe the stars, the sparkling and wandering lights that airplanes create and sometimes even the moon. This and the fresh night air lulled me to sleep all the time, when nothing else would," she paused and then continued, "Somehow, they never fail to calm me down and get my mind off of things.".

When she felt Andy’s fingers had stopped moving up and down her arm, she turned slightly to look up at his face. When his eyes stayed fixed in the stars over their heads she prodded gently, "Andy?"

His face still didn’t move, so her left hand cupped his right cheek and turned his head to her slightly, "Hey," she whispered, "are you still with me?"

Then his eyes suddenly focused on her and he seemed back in reality. "Yes, yes, of course. I... what, why did...," Andy wanted to ask but Sharon interrupted him because he still seemed a little out of it, "Honey, where did you just go?"

"I don’t know. I guess I was just lost in thought."

"Yeah, I could see that," Sharon smiled slightly and stroked her thumb gently over his cheek.

They looked at each other when Andy suddenly asked, "Why did they calm you down? The stars, I mean."

She looked at him a little while longer and pressed a short kiss to his lips, "Let’s go home and I‘ll tell you there."

She turned to stand up and heard a soft, "Okay, " then she felt him stand up too.

She didn’t know what was going on with him but something was definitely not right. He seemed kind of sad and she was going to find out what it was, but she needed to be at home with him to accomplish anything and for him to open up.

She looked up at the glass ceiling again and the millions of stars above and then back to Andy and hugged him. "I had the most beautiful day today," she murmured in his shoulder, "Thank you."

____________________________

Back home, Sharon was sitting on the balcony with a steaming mug of tea in hand, looking out over the city and waiting for Andy to come out of the shower. It was a particularly quiet night, not a lot of sirens, no honking of cars whose drivers weren’t patient enough for Los Angeles’ traffic.

She loved that view and she loved the sounds, even on not so quiet nights because she loved this city. She had liked the city from the day she moved there but she came to really love and appreciate this city on her first evening on this balcony. That’s when it clicked. She and this city just connected. To that day she couldn’t pin point what it was exactly and she stopped guessing and started to just take in and appreciate.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Andy speaking up, "Now I know why you’re always out here," he was leaning on the doorframe of the sliding glass door.

“Huh?"

"It’s the stars," Andy started moving towards her, "You are sitting out here all the time watching the stars, because they calm you."

She chuckled lightly and looked up at him, moving towards her, "How long have you been standing there?"

He smirked, "A while."

A moment passed before he gave her shoulder a gentle nudge and slid in behind her, between the back of the lounge chair and her. He pulled her back against his chest, his legs next to hers.

He slung his arms around her, careful of the mug in her hand, and breathed in deeply with his nose nestled in the crook of her neck, right behind her ear.

He waited a few moments until he felt her relax against him and then asked, "Will you tell me now?"

It seemed like she was pondering his question, "Tell you what?"

"Why the stars calmed you down as a kid and still do now."

"Oh, right. Well," she moved, put the mug down and snuggled more firmly into Andy. He tightened his hold just a little bit and started caressing her arm with his fingertips.

"You might not think so but I wasn’t always going to school with a happy face as a teenager and I didn’t always pull through so smoothly. In my final year I was impatient. I didn’t want to put up with teachers and other students anymore, I was sick of smiling and being nice to everybody when I just felt so empty and exhausted inside. Basically, anyone annoyed me at the time. And now you might say that’s sounds just like a classic teenager," Sharon waited for Andy to say something or to at least react in any way but when nothing came, she continued, " but it wasn’t like that. I knew that wasn’t me, I didn’t like me that way. At least not all of it. I knew something had to change," she took a deep breath, "Anyway as it all weighed down on me and life added more and more, I couldn’t sleep well and I found myself opening up my window for fresh air before sleep and I saw those beautiful stars shining right outside my room. It looked so wonderful. It was like magic and it mesmerized me, I just kept staring at them and all the other lights on the clear night sky. I kept observing them and just forget about all that other stuff. The imagination that the sky, the universe, is able to create such lights, made me realize that we are so small. This world is so small and the sky with the moon and these millions of stars are so big and the real deal. It was just so fascinating to think that there might be more out there, up there. More beautiful and magical things like stars. And I believe in life after death, so these stars have to mean something. At least they do to me."

Sharon finished talking and after a moment she realized she had just kept talking and talking and Andy hadn’t said a word. Right, Sharon, the reason why stars calm you down and not because of how miserable your life was at 17. Gosh, get a grip. What’s wrong with you? He’s probably bored out of his mind, she thought.

"But you didn’t want to know all of this," Sharon lifted her head from his chest and looked up at him, "You just asked why they still calm me down. I’m sorry," she smiled sheepishly and started to push away from Andy to sit up properly. Putting a little distance between them, "I just kept on rambling. You must be bored out of your mind."

Andy didn’t say anything and just stared at her, so she slowly stood up from the lounge chair, "Anyway, um...it’s late, so we should go to bed. I’ll just go now. Good night, Andy." She felt a little weird and maybe a little disappointed. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Sharon was opening the door when Andy finally snapped out of his daze and grabbed her wrist, "Sharon! Wait, no please. I’m sorry. I’m not bored. Of course I’m not. I... please sit back down," he was pleading her with his eyes and if she had to be honest, she was curious to hear what he had to say, so she sat back down again, leaving more distance between them.

He seemed to understand that she needed a little space but he still wanted to feel her close so he settled for talking her hand in both of his. He looked down at them and watched his thumbs stroking over her hand slowly and gently.

"Sharon, I listened to what you said," his head moved up and he looked at her, "Just a few minutes ago and ever since I‘ve known you. I listened to you, to every story, to every word you’ve said, because I wanna hear you. I wanna understand you and get to know you, get to know your story," his hands squeezed hers just a little tighter, "and every day I realize that there is still so much that I don’t know about you, about your life, about your story, Sharon," Andy’s eyes bored into hers, "whenever I think 'I know her', whenever I think I’m a step closer to you, I discover something unknown, something that was covered until now," he lowered his head again slowly, "and even though I‘m grateful for every little detail I’m allowed to discover," he paused and took a deep, shaky breath, "It also terrifies me because…" when she got a look at his eyes again, she saw tears in them, threatening to spill out and it broke her heart to see him like this but she let him continue, "...because I’m afraid that one day you might realize that I don’t deserve you and that I’m not worthy of you, that I’m not the right man for you and that you will leave me," a sniffle that was more like a sob wracked Andy’s body and the tears in his eyes were suddenly running down his cheeks in streams.

Sharon didn’t know what was happening and her heart shattered in a million pieces when she saw him breaking down right in front of her, so utterly terrified to lose her.

She pulled her hand from his grasp and cradled his face in her hands, "Andy, I’m here. I’m not leaving you," she looked him in the eye but she was sure, he couldn’t see anything because of all those tears. He just wouldn’t stop shaking, so she pulled his head to her chest, right under her chin and wound her arms around him, squeezing tightly, letting him know, she was there.

The only thing that came from him were pained whimpers. He clung to her and his fingers grasped the back of her shirt so tight that she feared he might hurt himself.

"Andy, I’m here," she was stroking his back and moved her hand in his hair, massaging him in a soothing manner. Wanting to calm him down. "Shhhhh, I’ve got you," she whispered in his hair, "I’ve got you." She pressed kisses to his head and told him over and over that she was there and they’d be alright. That she loved him so much.

_ _ _

It took some time but his grip on her loosened a little and he calmed down. His breathing evened out and he felt heavier against her.

She let him rest a few more minutes against her chest before she stroked his cheek with her left hand and told him they should get up, "Andy, honey, come on, let’s get into bed."

He was slow, visibly exhausted from his break down but he followed her to bed.

She covered him with a blanket after he fell onto the mattress and got in beside him.

She turned to switch off the beside lamp when she felt a hand reach out for her and a faint but worried, "Babe?" came from behind her.

She turned to him after switching off the lamp, covering his hand with hers and snuggling up to him, "I’m here, honey. I’m right here and I’m not leaving."

When they were lying there like that, snuggled up so close, her arms around him, stroking his back and caressing his head, his right arm around her back, holding her close and not letting her leave, his head nestled against her chest, turned upwards into her neck, when they were lying there like that, everything clicked into place for her. Why he seemed so sad from time to time today and now that she thought about it, more times in the last few days or even weeks and why he hadn’t said anything on the balcony before, when she’d rambled on about her teenage troubles. It was one of those moments again, where he learned something new about her but it terrified him and when he couldn’t take it anymore, he broke down.

She was sure they’d talk about it again soon, maybe even the next day, but that night, with his weight on her and his deep breathing against her neck, that night she was just glad that he was there in her arms.

[shockapella-sweet]

Autumn Bridge

AKA the “Jacqui Briggs/Takahashi Takeda marriage proposal in the Fire Garden” fic that took me forever to finish, but yay, it’s done! Ever since I first saw the Shirai Ryu Fire Garden stage, I’ve envisioned Tacky popping the question here, so this is the result.

Note: This takes place a year after Shinnok’s defeat, and a year before the events of MK11, so Jacqui’s still a specialist (and Takeda still exists). Also, that Fire Garden stage is utterly gorgeous and needs to make a comeback in a future game (along with Takeda, obviously). Includes brief mentions of a terminal illness.

 Hope you enjoy this little offering, fellow Jakeda-lovers! ^3^

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Hot and cool. That was the best way to describe the air.

At this time of the day, when the late afternoon sun barely hovered above the horizon, the air – draped over this piece of forest land like a blanket – was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Light winds pierced through this mild layer, their coolness intermingling with the humidity.

These winds made their way through the well-maintained grounds, brushing against the bells that hung from a nearby wooden structure; the bells tilted to and fro, their notes obliging on the ears of those within hearing distance. Catching the pleasant rings, the winds carried them away as they made for the trees.

Much like a group of freezing, elderly men who yearned for the warm embrace of youth, the crooked trees appeared to be stretching towards the sky; their gnarled limbs – lined with an array of rich red, orange and yellow leaves – were extended high, as if to grasp the last rays of the setting sun. However, for the leaves that broke away and were quickly gathered into the invisible arms of the passing breezes, the effort seemed entirely in vain.

With a carefree flourish, the winds danced through the trees, the folding leaves almost like castanets in their hold. The crinkling sounds were enough to startle the nesting birds and send them flying into the sky, only to return when the stars would take their place in the heavens.

Changing course, the winds swept over the cobblestone path before descending upon a small bridge that cut across a stream. A man and a woman wearing light clothing stood upon its deck, their hands resting upon the rails. The winds surrounded the pair at once, their accumulated leaves falling upon their forms like confetti – one breeze cupped the woman’s face in an almost flirtatious manner, cooling her hot skin while softly intoning the bells’ peals in her ears.

At precisely the same moment that a smile appeared on her face, the winds moved on, spreading themselves swiftly and merrily throughout the rest of the grounds.

Sighing softly, Specialist Jacqueline Briggs canted her head at her companion.

“I needed that,” she murmured. “It was getting to be like a sauna out here. Then again, I don’t expect it be Sub-Zero levels of cold in a place that’s called the Fire Garden.”

Takahashi Takeda chuckled, tugging at one of his rolled-up shirt sleeves.

“It gets pretty cold in the evening at this time of the year,” he said, “so be glad you brought your sweater. Wouldn’t want you to become an ice sculpture, do we?”

“If I did, I’ll be counting on you to warm me back up,” was the coy reply.

Ignoring the heat that spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the Shirai Ryu cleared his throat, saying: “So, apart from the hot weather, what do you think of the Fire Garden, Jacqui? You like it?”

Jacqui nodded, her smile widening at his eager tone. She leaned forward, casting her eyes on the leaves that had fallen upon the water, piggybacking on the swells that carried them downstream. A sweet scent mixed with an earthy aroma made the specialist’s nose tingle as she breathed in.

“It’s incredible, Takeda,” she answered, exhaling. “I thought that nothing could top our moonlight walk in that forest in Lampang, but geez, this place is in a class all of its own. If Cassie were here, she’d be posting snaps of it all over the ‘Gram and on her Friendships profile.”

Takeda’s cheeks were akin to red apples as he grinned.

“I’m glad you like it here. It’s cool to be able to show you where I trained with the Shirai Ryu … aaaand I thought this would be the perfect place to spend our anniversary together.”

His girlfriend appreciated both facts. A year ago, the pair not only walked away from Shinnok’s failed invasion with their lives intact – they also came away with a relationship that went beyond a mere six-week association between a Special Forces member and a Shirai Ryu chujin. While recuperating from their battle at the Sky Temple (which included a week-long getaway to Venice Beach and plenty of umbrella drinks by the poolside, thanks to the one and only Johnny Cage), they knew that they wanted to give what they felt for each other a shot.

Soon afterwards, it became common knowledge among their close colleagues in S-F and comrades of the Shirai Ryu clan that Jacqui and Takeda were officially dating. Between then and now, the couple learned all that they could about each other: their childhoods, their training, their dreams and their fears. For the specialist, her life on the farm was a relatively happy one, save for the ghosts of her father’s revenant past that haunted him – and by extension, the rest of his family – in his darkest hours. The lack of hugs, cuddles and hair tousles was overcompensated with overprotection against enemies that young Jacqui knew little or nothing about … except for the Outworld ghost that regularly starred in her father’s nightmares.

As for Takeda, his mother’s death, coupled with his father’s absence, made for many a difficult discussion, but he could only thank the Elder Gods for Jacqui’s patience and understanding as he slowly opened himself up to her. Fortunately, talking about training under Master Hanzo Hasashi at the Shirai Ryu Temple – and sharing tidbits about his quiet life in Lampang before it was permanently disrupted – came more easily to the telepath. From moonlight strolls to drills at dawn (and the occasional training screw-ups), he shared them all with her. He even took it one step further and brought her to Lampang three months after they began dating, showing her the forest that was near to where he and his mother used to live. Their evening walk there was one filled with breathless kisses and countless caresses, witnessed only by the moon and the stars.

And now here we are, at another one of Takeda’s stomping grounds for a romantic rendezvous. He sure has an eye for pretty places.

Jacqui resisted the urge to smile as she thought: Just like I’ve got an eye for pretty asses.

Out loud, she said, “It’s beyond perfect. I also enjoyed the spread that Master Hasashi prepared for us. What was the food called again?”

“Hiyashi chūka and mizu yōkan – cold ramen noodles and jellied red bean paste. Of course, Master Hasashi only ever prepares fancy food like that when we have important visitors, which is like, almost never. So yeah, I should bring you here more often.”

The specialist playfully swatted her boyfriend. “If this is a glimpse into how you might cook, then you should’ve brought me here a lot sooner.”

Turning on the spot and leaning back with the points of her elbows resting on the rails, Jacqui let her quartz-coloured eyes wander over the entirety of the Fire Garden. The reds, oranges and yellows of the autumnal foliage glowed like embers in the dimming sunlight. “You really trained here?”

Takeda nodded, mimicking her movements. His left forearm brushed against her right, the hairs tickling her exposed skin.

“Sometimes, but not a lot,” he replied. “Master Hasashi prefers the Fire Garden to be an area of contemplation. It was built – well, rebuilt – to honour past Shirai Ryu members and our loved ones. Still, Master Hasashi did hold training sessions here so that we could learn how to use the environment to our advantage.”

“In case of attacks?”

“Yeah. For the older guys who pulled pranks on the younger recruits, they milked it for all it was worth.”

“You Shirai Ryu were actually allowed to prank each other?”

“Ha, hell no. But the glory you got from pulling one off without Master Hasashi ever finding out that it was you was too good to pass up.”

Not that I ever tried, Takeda thought, grimacing at the memories of those who failed, and paid dearly for their pranking misfires.

Jacqui rolled her eyes to the heavens. “If they tried to pull that s*** on the farm, Dad would’ve skinned them alive and used their bodies as scarecrows.”

A nervous expression bloomed on Takeda’s countenance. “And you wonder why I don’t visit your place often.”

Jacqui smirked. “Dunno why you’re still scared of my dad. He’s warmed up to you now. Took him a long while, but he’s definitely more accepting of our relationship.”

“With or without my dad’s, uh, prodding,” the Shirai Ryu muttered. “Dear Elder Gods, every time he opened his mouth, I thought it was the end of me for sure. He might as well have asked Mr Briggs to kill me on the spot.”

“At least Mom had our backs, and …”

Jacqui’s voice trailed off. Takeda turned to look at her, concern etched into his features as he sensed the sombre air that enveloped her.

“Your mother … how is she?” he asked softly.

Jacqui let out a dry bark of hollow laughter.

“Why not just read my mind?” she asked in kind. A slight bitterness underlined her tone.

The telepath shook his head. He had his boundaries when it came to his mind-reading abilities.

I learned that the hard way after S-F’s last inter-realm conference with Outworld. Jin still hasn’t forgiven me after I told him I knew where he was during the half-hour break. As if the hickey on his neck didn’t give me a clue the first time.

When it came to Jacqui, however, there was just some things that had to be vocalised rather than telepathically mined out.

“Speaking about it out loud to somebody does help, Jacqui,” Takeda quietly responded. “It’s painful, but it’s worse if you keep it bottled up. Same thing happens when I talk about my mother …”

He did not need to say anything more. Jacqui’s top teeth dug painfully into her bottom lip as she wrapped her arms around herself. The nearby trees rustled, letting loose some of their fiery fronds.

“It’s not … it’s not looking good,” she said, a little shaky. “She’s going to treatments like she’s supposed to, but the doctors say that her chances of recovery … are not happening.”

Takeda touched her shoulder, tracing a pattern with his thumb. “Aren’t the meds helping, either?”

Jacqui’s feet came into view as she shook her tilted head. “Oh, she hates them. The doctors have increased the dosage, but it’s not doing anything. She’s too far gone, they say. They’re talking about three months from now …”

She sniffed, then swallowed.

“It’s so weird, Takeda,” she practically mumbled. “All her life, Mom never had to carry around boxes or little containers of medication, besides the ones for Dad when he had his bad spells. Now all of a sudden, she can’t even leave the damn house without carrying a tote bag full of ‘em. It’s just … oh God, just so …”

Takeda’s arms were around his girlfriend in mere milliseconds. Up and down, his hands rubbed along the grooves and ridges that lined the length of her back as she shuddered in his hold. One side of her face rested against his chest, while her fingers clutched at the material against his shoulders.

For a minute or so, the couple’s combined warmth was incomparable.

Pulling away, Takeda gazed upon Jacqui’s face – surprisingly, there were no tears in her eyes, nor were there any streaking down her cheeks. Tinged only by the orange and pink hues of twilight, her features were simultaneously smooth and firm.

I wish I could be that strong.

I can’t imagine how her father must be taking all of this …

It was as if Jacqui read his thoughts, for she cleared her throat and murmured: “Dad’s not handling it well. He took it harder than me when he found out. But he’s being strong for Mom’s sake. For mine, too.”

A pause. “He’s trying hard to be like that … like how she used to be when he was in recovery.”

Takeda gulped, holding her gaze steady.

“I’m so sorry, Jacqui,” he whispered. “I … I wish I knew what I could say to make it all better. I really wish I knew.”

Jacqui said nothing, offering him a small smile.

Her boyfriend continued: “Might I be able to see her, please? If she’s allowed visitors, that is.”

Here, Jacqui gave a heartfelt laugh.

“Of course you can,” she replied, her smile bigger. “It’s not like she’s in prison or anything. I bet she’d love to see you. She thinks you’re adorable, you know.”

The tips of Takeda’s ears were as red as the leaves.

“I’ll drop in as soon as possible,” he promised. “I was planning to see your folks soon, anyway.”

The specialist cocked her head, a few braids coming to rest against her cheek.

“Both of them? On the farm? Willingly? That’s a first.”

It was the Shirai Ryu’s turn to roll his eyes, but he could not help but grin as he took her hands into his own, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“I want to share something with them.”

“What is it?”

“Something that I want to share with you.”

Jacqui’s brows furrowed. “Do I have to repeat the previous question?”

“Be gentle with me, it’s our one-year anniversary.”

A smart-aleck remark that Cassie Cage would have approved of was on the tip of Jacqui’s tongue, but the lovable expression on Takeda’s face stopped it short.

Goddamn, Mom was right: he is adorable …

Letting go of her hands, Takeda took half a step back. His eyes, dark as black moonstones, met hers – he breathed in sharply, feeling a flicker of anxiety. The sound of the steady stream beneath the bridge soothed his nerves only a little.

Breathe out, Takeda. Breathe out.

“Takeda, are you okay?” Jacqui asked, her brows furrowing further. “You look kinda pale. You want me to fetch Master Hasashi or something?”

The telepath hastily exhaled, saying, “No, no, don’t. I’m fine.”

“Boy, if you’re lying –”

“Like I would do that to you. Master Hasashi raised me better than that.”

“Bet your dad would totally agree.” The sarcasm was not quite Kung Jin-levels of high, but still high enough.

Chuckling under his breath, Takeda drew his arms behind his back. He canted his head, looking at the military woman through half-lidded eyes. Beneath his breastbone, his heart fluttered like a hummingbird; every nervous beat was akin to frantic wings beating against his ribcage.

Breathe … just breathe …

Inhaling deeply, a caramel fragrance carried by a gust of wind shot up Takeda’s nostrils, relieving his senses. His unease left with the puff of air that he breathed out.

“I’d never want to lie to you, Jacqui,” he began to say. “I want to be honest with you always – to be able to share all of my truths with you. Even when they seem unpleasant to hear, or … or to talk about, it makes me so incredibly happy to know that you accept them as is. For that, I just want to give you the rest of me. Everything.”

Jacqui stared, her face bearing a mixture of bemusement and captivation in response to this remarkable speech.

Takeda went on, his confidence climbing to new heights.

“When our fight with the revenants was over … when we walked through the woods in Lampang that night … whenever we’re together … all those times, I just wanted to keep holding onto you and never let go. I wanted to have like – you know, like what your parents have. What Master Hasashi and his wife had … what my parents could have had.”

The lump that suddenly rose in Jacqui’s throat was as hard as a rock.

“Takeda,” was all she could say.

The Shirai Ryu shifted his weight from left to right. His eyes shone.

“But above everything else, I want you to be happy. The Elder Gods know you deserve it, and so much more. The thought of seeing you smile and hearing you laugh each and every day fills me with joy like you won’t believe. It’s a little selfish to say, but I want – I need – to be that person who gets to see and hear you like this before anyone else. I want to be one of those reasons that you do … like you already do for me.”

Jacqui’s chest rose and fell with each tremulous breath. Her mouth parted, but no words came.

But just this one time, the telepath allowed himself to delve into the confines of her mind, finding the words that she could not voice:

What else do you want, Takeda?

His grin spreading bit by bit, Takeda brought his arms forward. He raised his hands, which were clasped around a small, square object.

Jacqui’s eyes widened.

A box.

Indeed, it was a box, its surface a smooth and polished maple wood. In Takeda’s hands, it looked very fine and small.

A box that’s big enough to hold a … a …

The specialist’s eyes were now as wide as china plates.

Oh my God …

“Jacqueline Sonya Briggs,” Takeda’s voice was full of hope and adoration, “please may I have the honour of marrying you?”

Grasping the lid, he pulled it open. Cushioned in the foamy black insert was a gold band – flawless, solid, and expertly fashioned in its shape. Atop the unblemished metal was an Asscher-cut white diamond; in the glow of the descending dusk, it glimmered like a bright yellow spark.

Jacqui gawped at the ring in astonishment, which morphed into disbelief, before finally transforming into …

“Jacqui?”

She raised her head – quartz met moonstone, reflecting the brightness that swirled in them. For a moment, she could see the future in them: a home as high as two storeys; a comfortable living room with lofty bookshelves and a fire burning in the grate; a kitchen that was filled with the mouth-watering scents of khao soi simmering away in a large pot; late afternoon chats with friends in a lush garden and with drinks at the elbows; late nights that saw heat overcoming two entwined bodies; early mornings that saw the frigid dawn driving them into each other’s arms once more in search of warmth; a smile, a laugh and a kiss from one that the other mimicked in kind; a future filled with …

“Jacqui, please say something.”

In this man’s eyes, the specialist could see it reflected clearly …

… happiness.

Hers. His. Theirs.

“Yes.”

Takeda nearly dropped down in a dead faint. “You’ll really marry me?”

Jacqui nodded, her vision becoming misty. “Yes, Takeda, I will marry you. Yes, yes!”

Other than Takahashi Takeda – who, in teary elation, slipped the ring on her finger before scooping her into his arms, holding onto her body for as long as that bridge could hold them – only the winds could have heard Jacqui Briggs’ reply.

Rolling around their balmy forms with their leafy instruments, the winds carried away her words down the cobblestone path, past the trees, against the bells that tolled one last time, above the wooden structure and into the night sky above the Fire Garden, where the returning birds circled among the clouds.

Tomorrow, their song would bear the winds’ message loud and clear, regardless of the heat or the cold that it would bring.

[beauvoyr]

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 5

blooming | titus andronicus Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, and an inappropriate amount of references to video games and classical music and literature titles, no beta we die like men ;;v;; pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

YOU HAVE A NEW MESSAGE FROM NOCTGAR!

PLEASE CHECK YOUR MESSAGE BOX!

A message. You quirk a brow at the notification popping up after your raid battle in King’s Knight. While it’s an extremely common occurrence as of late, give or take a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have received a notification like this out of nowhere. Now, you’d get this notification popping up after every few hours, saying you have a message or two posted in your inbox. It’s strange. All too strange.

Without thinking, your thumb hovers over the INBOX button and presses down. What used to be an empty inbox devoid of messages is now filled to the brim with short notes, all bearing the name NoctGar.

TO: THE ARCHITECT

FROM: NOCTGAR

SUBJECT: [none]

MESSAGE: Prom and I are planning a raid tonight on the new Eleastor dungeon. Wanna come? We’ve got a fourth party member too.

And NoctGar is none other than Prince Noctis himself.

You skim through his raid invitation once more, lips pursed thoughtfully. Ah, yes, the Eleastor dungeon from the time-limited event in King’s Knight. Figures that the boys would be excited over it. Seeing how you just finished soloing a round, you suppose it won’t be too bad of an idea to join them in their raid. The item drops ranged from common antidotes to rare weapons, though rumours circulate the web that there are five-star drops with an appalling drop rate left to be scavenged by some lucky souls. And those five-star drops are precisely what you’re aiming for.

Already knowing your answer, both thumbs expertly key in your reply.

TO: NOCTGAR

FROM: THE ARCHITECT

SUBJECT: Sure

MESSAGE: What time?

Succinct, just enough to get the point across. You had just sent the message with a tap of a button when your phone vibrates, indicating yet another prompt reply from the prince.

TO: THE ARCHITECT

FROM: NOCTGAR

SUBJECT: [none]

MESSAGE: 9.30 tonight. I’ll text you the room ID later.

9.30 p.m.? That’s close enough to your bedtime, you suppose—but then again, you pretty much napped anytime, anywhere if you got the chance, so if you napped in the evening then you guess you could stay up a bit later to raid with them. Anything goes for that five-star drop to come true. With that plan firmly cemented in your head, your fingers are hard at work again.

TO: NOCTGAR

FROM: THE ARCHITECT

SUBJECT: Ok

MESSAGE: See you later.

Aaaand, send.

You navigated out of your inbox, knowing that no more replies would be coming in for now. After all, it’s already afternoon, where the sun glows brightly above Insomnia, swathing its citizens in balmy heat. Afternoons are usually bustling, where people roved about in their daily business, getting on with their lives just as easily. Surely the prince and his cheery friend, Prompto, are still in class. Sharing tables with the rest of the students in a university, doodling in seminar when the lecturer’s droning way past lunchtime, and munching through an unhealthy tableau of greasy burgers and salty fries.

You lock your phone with a click of a button and glanced at the world before your eyes, a sprawling cityscape of glass and steel magnificence.

“Why the long face, milady?”

Byron’s voice comes just as easily, interrupting your brewing thoughts with a soothing baritone. From your spot by the television, a spot where Noctis and Prompto once shared, he locks eyes with you and offers a crooked smile from the kitchenette. As usual, Byron’s brewing a signature pot of black tea—one of his favourites, you realise—and in the midst of arranging some biscuits on a paper doily, readying to be served for teatime.

Dropping your face into your pillow, your reply comes out muffled. “Nothing much. Just thinking about uni.”

“University?” he parrots after you, pale eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Are you worried about your thesis? As far as I know, your progress is on track, so you needn’t worry much. Worrying will only give you wrinkles, you know. If I’m still wrinkle-free at thirty-three, then you should strive to do better than that, milady.”

Again with that jibe of his. You can always count on Byron to lighten the mood when you’re a mess of a gloomy cloud. Turning to lie on your side, you pull the blankets up to your chest as the man dawdles on, emitting faint tinkling sounds of silverware against porcelain from the kitchen.

King’s Knight. Raid. NoctGar. Prince Noctis. Friend.

You’d seen him before—or rather, more accurately, you had read news with his face on it. A brooding prince printed in both colour and monochrome, eyebrows straight and lips pressed into a firm, thin line. Long lashes curtaining hazy blue eyes, complementing flawless expanse of skin. All sultry dips of collarbones, broad shoulders, and sinewy arms. Whenever he shows up around here, he’s always in a dark shirt and cargo pants, sometimes looking like a sweaty mess, and sometimes looking like he’d just stepped out of shower. With your chastising, he’d set aside his boots and claim your television area as his new territory, playing a game or two.

Did that constitute as a friend?

You roll over on your stomach, pulling a pillow close to your chin as you explore the thought.

Would a prince want to be friends with someone like you? Would he prefer the company of one such as yourself? Would you be worthy enough to be called his friend?

Prince Noctis is an untouchable figure, one who manifested out of the papers and stumbled into your room. He doesn’t talk much—except, when he brought his friend over last week, he seemed to be in a good mood all the time. Together, the three of you played through hours and hours of King’s Knight, achieving a grand total of four dragon scales out of 68 rounds before he breaks it off with a phone call from Ignis, who requested their hasty return for dinner.

It was fun.

If you closed your eyes, you could almost replay their voices in your head, a broken record of Prompto’s whining and the prince’s grumble.

It was really, really fun.

Is that what having friends felt like?

With them around, your thesis is just a pile of papers too difficult for a nineteen-year-old to be writing. Your box of cereal is shared between three, a meal fitting for the palate of a royalty. Your world in these four walls threatens to expand, to burst out of its glass box with Prompto’s ringing laugh and the prince’s incessant sulking. Your existence is not seen as merely Quintus’ object, but as someone. Someone they talked to. Someone they shared soda with. Someone they saw as a human. A human being.

Noctis doesn’t scoff at your inability to articulate emotions like the rest of them. There are no scathing one-liners designed to shame you. He kept things light, much like his name, Noctis Lucis Caelum. The first crack of light you see when he opens your box, the first light lining the horizons when dawn comes. The daughter of Andronicus is not deigned a stranger to the many magnanimities of the prince, never once regarded as one beneath him. He sees you for who you are, and your worth is weighed only in his hands alone. None other may influence his judgment, not that he allows it.

The House of Andronicus matters little to him, and so does Quintus’ name.

Subconsciously, your fingers dig deeper into your pillow.

“Hey, Byron?”

The albino, readying tea for two, stops working on the simple treat. “Yes, milady?” he answers, cocking a brow in concern. “You’re acting like a garbage maggot doused in hot water on the floor. What’s troubling you?”

You almost wanted to throw a pillow at his explicit description of disgust. “Meanie.”

“I’m sorry, milady, but that’s the truth.” He shakes with laughter, mischievous eyes glinting under his bangs. “Since you’re already cocooned up like one anyway.”

Impertinent Byron and his eternal teasing. On some days, he could be a mean surgeon with a scalpel for his tongue, and on others, he’d be the sweetest angel the Astrals created just for you. Still, he’s what you’re used to—and he’s the only one who’d talk to you anyway. Nobody else did before the prince showed up. Nobody but Byron.

Fiddling with your fingers, you peer up at him curiously from your pillow barrier.  “I was just wondering if… y’know… if we’re considered friends?”

Silence.

He’s heard your question, loud and clear. But the look in his eyes are heavy, heady grey, offset by the scarlet flecks in his irises.

“Oh dear, milady… we’re not friends. You own me.”

father would kill him if he catches wind of this. but byron is undaunted, humming cheerily to himself as he adjusts your oversized shirt and tucked the drooping neckline into place.

“it’s too bad you’re not allowed to wear dresses, milady,” he laments with a dramatic sigh. “i saw this cute dress at laellum market while i was out and about today, and i almost had the urge to buy it, you know?” he laughs at the look on your face. “no, not for myself. for you, milady. it’s cute and stylish for girls your age.”

a dress. you saw them before in books; cute, floaty frocks princesses wore as they danced with prince charming. under a cherry moon, painted in watercolours, mother read those books to you before. princesses twirling about with their princes, glass heels encircling their feet, a tiara of gold resting on their tresses. will there ever be a moment in time for you? where the galaxies are your halos, the stars crown your hair, and the nebula for your dress? will they throb and glow, minute lights dotting your lengthy tresses, as the universe kisses your lips?

but it is a hopeless desire even if the astrals craft your dress out of its constellations, for a dress is a dress. a dress father once ripped to pieces because you do not exist you do not matter you were never a daughter—

byron’s jostling breaks your reverie, and his hand in yours leads you away from those terrible thoughts. “anyway, let’s get a move on. today’s special.”

special, he says, but you don’t know what’s special anymore. byron said father would not hesitate to cut him down if he’s caught doing unsavoury things, but the man doesn’t seem to care. he’s told you with a roguish wink and a hushed whisper that today’s special, today’s the day you’ll remember, today’s a good day. dragging you out of the room and into the hallway, he marches you towards a parlour with an adjoining piano chamber where mother once played. he locks the door behind him, ushers you towards the connecting door to the room nearby, and kneels before you.

“i can only do this much, milady, i’m sorry i’m powerless to do more,” he says, despite the confusion swimming in your eyes. then, he tears away from the contact, keying in three sharp knocks at the door. “she’s here, lady mnemosyne. i brought her, as promised.”

your eyes widen. and tears flood your eyes just as easily.

mnemosyne.

mother.

mama.

“no—“ comes mama’s voice from the other side of the door, stifling a sob. “no, no, don’t say that, byron. thank you, thank you so much for thinking this up for us.”

pressed against the door, you couldn’t feel her warmth. not anymore. but hearing her voice is enough to make up for the distance in between. eyes brimming with unshed tears, your voice comes out as a warble of words, words that were unintelligible, words that had byron laughing, words that even mama hiccupped with laughter. but words were all you had before—and now, byron too.

“I’M SO TIRED!” PROMPTO WHINES from his spot on the hardwood floor. He flops backward with a thump, lying spread eagle as sweat continues dripping off his skin. “Gladio, don’t you have an easy mode or something!? I can’t beat you like this!”

“That’s the whole point. You’re not supposed to beat me.” The taller, brusque man mutters under his breath. “Not that you can, anyway.”

“Whaa—then what’s the point of our training?!”

Wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt, Ignis steals a glance at his wristwatch, tuning out the rest of their bantering. 8.57 p.m., just several minutes shy of nine, which means he’ll have some time to make preparations for dinner after locking up the training room. As part of the Crownsguard, their training drill takes up most of Noctis’ night, seeing that the prince himself is busy juggling his studies with Prompto. It’s a cycle of swords clashing against shield, daggers soaring through the air, and Gladio barking out orders left and right.

Adjusting his slipping gloves, Ignis tosses a look at Noctis, who’s chugging down a bottle of water. “Well then, let’s clean up and hurry home. The later we return, the later dinner will be served.”

But Noctis seems to be having other plans. “Sorry, Specs, I’m taking Prom and Gladio with me.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, setting down the bottle. “We’re going to raid some dungeons upstairs.”

Upstairs only meant one thing: The 56th floor, the room of the strategist’s prisoner.

As much as Ignis wanted to say he’s seen this coming, he knows it does little to remedy the situation. Restricting the prince from doing whatever he wants will only result in the situation backfiring, and he’s saying that from experience. The foreboding feeling from Ignis’ heart doesn’t go away even if you presented yourself as a harmless lass; he’s seen snakes twining around apples before, hiding poison in their fangs. The moment you strike will mark Noctis’ downfall. And by then, it might be too late for him to retract his actions.

At the very least, Ignis supposes he could divert Noctis’ attention. “Noct, King’s Knight can wait.”

“Nope, can’t wait,” Gladio pipes up, hoisting his broadsword and returning it to the brackets by the wall. He’s met with Ignis’ silent eyes, completely glossing over the warning signs of his stiff posture. “Saw these kids getting their Ravager—“

“Revenant! It’s Revenant!” Prompto squawks. “Get it right, old man!”

“—yeah, whatever weapon that was,” the Shield brushes it off, “so I’m jealous as hell. We’re definitely gonna do some serious raiding tonight.”

Prompto isn’t remotely helping the situation either. He’s stowing his guns away with a flicker of Noctis’ magic, fragments of light bouncing off the hardwood floor. “Mhmm! We’ve got a really strong Kaliva on our team too! It’ll be a cinch, big guy.”

“Heh, you mean that Quintus’ daughter, right?” he grouses, retrieving Noctis’ own training sword to store it in its rightful place. “She plays Kaliva?”

Prompto bounces on his feet, chiming in. “Yeah—she’s pretty weird, but she’s like a talking King’s Knight Encyclopaedia or something.”

“Like how you’re a talking chocobo, huh?” Noctis looks on, taking another swig of his drink, a lopsided grin seizing his lips.

“Noct, buddy, chocobos are cool. I’m honoured with your compliment.” The blond snorts, obviously offended. “We had this talk before, remember? Sheesh.”

He’s only met with a roll of Noctis’ eyes. “That wasn’t a compliment but whatever. C’mon, let’s go.”

Things aren’t supposed to go this way. Noctis should have agreed with him and acquiesced with nary a protest on his lips, tempted by the promise of dinner with his friends. Only, his circle of friends might be expanding—will be expanding—has expanded, more likely. Dinner for four no longer whets his appetite. Dinner for five, a dinner with a prisoner of fate, with much laughter and more smiles. An incredibly disconcerting prospect, that’s for sure.

And Ignis only prays it doesn’t escalate more than this.

Rubbing his nape, he swallows all his dissents and seals them behind his lips, clearing his throat. “At the very least, let me grab the groceries from your car first. Noct, your keys, please.”

NIGHT FALLS OVER INSOMNIA, an assemblage of stars spreading over the skies. Rich, black velvet studded with Swarovski, you think to yourself, as you lean against the window.

Suffocating. Empty. Silence.

Your computer screen glows bright in your dim room, like a beacon of light in this solitude. This jarring silence could be banished if you played a selection of mother’s favourites. Debussy, Ravel, Satie—anything, as long as it chases these thoughts away, keeping them firmly locked from your eyes. But no. Thinking about mother hurts. The exquisite pain she bestows upon you—memories of her smile, her voice, her scent—everything hurts you tonight.

Nineteen long years in isolation should’ve taught you how to cope with this. The darkness should’ve been your friend. The silence should’ve been a constant in your life. The sorrow should’ve been your shield.

Was father truly right all along? That you were but a weak, wretched child of his, and you couldn’t compare to a son. A son would’ve been stronger, impervious to loneliness, emotionally detached from worldly things. A son would’ve done him proud. A son is what you’re not. A son does not think, he acts. A son is fit to lead an empire while a daughter plays the part of a wife. A son is the symbol of strength, and a daughter is the emblem of calamity. A son is a son, and a daughter is a daughter.

Even if you fought like a son, you were still a daughter.

Nothing could change it.

Tearing your gaze away from the glittering cityscape, you run your fingers over the filigreed cover of a book in your lap. Across the forest of silver, a name stands out.

Titus Andronicus.

By chance, Byron had picked it up from a second-hand corner in Laellum many years back. Like a namesake, he laughs when he thrust the book in your hands. Byron never got around to telling you the price, though you suspect it’s worth a whole month’s salary or more, judging from the gilded embellishments scattered on its spine. Always so secretive, he dodges the question the moment your tongue curls with the weight of it. You turn the book over in your hands, a wry smile crossing your lips before you realise it.

Titus Andronicus and House of Andronicus.

The Astrals must’ve been snickering when they scripted your fate, naming your life after a tragic tale.

You barely have the time to react when there comes a succession of footsteps stopping beyond your door, laughter, laughter, and more laughter resonating in the hallway. You’ve never heard this many people before, like a stampede of dualhorns you saw on television. Someone pushes the door open and pale light illuminates his features, highlighting the shaggy strands of dark hair, turning blue eyes gleaming black.

You didn’t need to look further to know the silhouette belongs to—

“You asleep already?”

—him.

A hand reaches out for the switch and lights come on with a click. You wince at the shock of white entering your vision, closing your eyes and rubbing over your eyelids. Ouch.

“Woah! Lucky, she’s still up! C’mon guys, we’re gonna party tonight!”

“Huh. She’s smaller than Iris.”

“Be polite, Gladio. We are intruding on someone’s home, after all.”

“Technically, it’s Noct’s place though.”

Voices. You’ve heard them before. Three familiar voices, and a new one, rich and low. By right, it should’ve surprised you when you opened your eyes once more, staring at the doorway. Overcrowded, four men in varying shades of clothes, Noctis already with his boots set aside, Prompto jumping around on one foot as he tries to get his socks off, Ignis in the background, and a behemoth-man whose massive forearms are fiercely inked.

What is this?

“Um.” You start, only to realise you’ve got nothing to say when Noctis fixes you a blank look. “Um—wait. Why are all of you here?”

Prompto’s smile is wide enough when he kicks off his offending socks and stumbles into the room, holding out his phone. “It’s King’s Night, duh!”

You open your mouth, then closed it with a click at the pun. It must’ve looked dumb, because he laughs at your face and makes a beeline for the television. Wetting your dry lips, you try again. “No—wait, that’s not what I meant. I mean, what are you guys doing here?” You point at Noctis for emphasis. “Didn’t you say you wanted to text the room ID?”

Like any of this isn’t his fault, the prince just follows Prompto from behind and settles down on his favourite spot closest to your gaming console. “You said ‘see you later.’  Thought you meant we should meet up here.”

What a blatant lie. He clearly knows more than he’s letting on, albeit expertly masking it behind feigned indifference.

Ignis sidesteps the strange behemoth-man, already having removed his shoes and socks as per custom before entering your room. In his arms are grocery bags spilling with vegetables, wrapped meat, and other condiments, settling them on your small kitchen counter. “I’ll make something quick for all of us. Will sandwiches be sufficient for tonight?”

“Just leave out the veggies for our prince,” the hulking mass of muscle rumbles, shutting the door behind him. “I sure as hell don’t wanna be the one scraping his vegs clean tonight.”

“Neither do I.” Ignis replies just as easily, picking apart everything your humble kitchenette had to offer. Pots, pans, ladles and bowls, he’s probably doing a little logistics at the stuff in your cupboards before deeming it satisfactory. “Looks like we’re in luck. I’ll put in a side of stew as well, if sandwiches aren’t enough.”

“That’ll be great!” Prompto crows in excitement as the theme song of King’s Knight blares from his phone. He looks past Noctis, who’s already logging in the game, and you find yourself staring right at him, blank. “Hey—c’mon, Architect guy, let’s get started already! We’re sooooo gonna get that five-star drop tonight!”

Architect guy?

—oh.

You never got around to telling them your name, did you?

“Yeah, c’mon, Quintus’—whatever you are.” Behemoth-man waves you over, already settling down comfortably between Noctis and Prompto, holding out his own phone. “These five-star drops aren’t gonna fall from the skies by themselves, y’know. Start farmin’.”

The noise level in your room is off the roof—louder than what you’ve blasted from your speakers. A cacophony of human laughter, indignant shouts, and motherlike chastising, paired with Noctis’ judgmental look at his companions. A broken symphony of cut-off words overlapping with arguments and dares from one another. An unfamiliar and deafening noise you’ve never heard before. Prompto talks and behemoth-man cuts him off, erupting into more laughter. Noctis drops into a scowl and Prompto nails him in the side, then behemoth-man chuckles when Ignis sends off a warning look.

Everyone’s here.

Acquaintances and strangers alike.

Do they care about your name? No, you suspect not. Do they want anything to do with your father? No, you suppose not either. Amidst all the chaos, the prince turns over to look at you and rubs his nape. The look in his eyes is a brush of familiarity in its quietness. You’ve never seen that kind of look before.

And when he speaks, he speaks so softly you might not have heard him at all.

“So, what’s the room ID?”

IT MIGHT’VE BEEN A MISTAKE when Noctis gets up from the floor, making his way to your kitchenette just to grab some soda from the fridge for their five-minute break. Something thick and silver gleams underneath your table lamp, highlighting the curl of its sheen and unveiling its age. An old book, he thinks, and almost pays no mind to it until his eyes slip from the spine to its cover.

Titus Andronicus.

That stops him in his tracks.

He’s never heard of the book before, in all the exercise drills his private tutors made him memorise in his earlier years. But the name Andronicus puts him on the spot. Was it a fictitious tale penned by a poet? Or was it a book detailing the skeletons of the Andronici, the proud males who stood as strategists for the Lucian kings? Curiosity shouldn’t have seized his heart, but his detour to your desk catches both yours and Ignis’ interest, each pair of eyes boring down heavily on his back.

Picking up the deceptively heavy tome, he takes in the elaborate scrollwork sprawling over the cover, burying the title under silvery vines. Fingers then picked through the ageing papers, catching the names composing the play.

Titus. Bassianus. Lavinia. Quintus.

It’s a name he’s familiar with.

Quintus Andronicus.

“Something caught your interest, Prince?” you call out from across the room, sotto voce. Your question is slow, calculated, manipulative in nature. That much, Noctis knows, because he’s put his nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. But it’s too late to put it away now, not when he’s sniffed out something.

He keeps his inflection flat as his fingers skim through the weary pages, pretending that Ignis isn’t adjusting his glasses simply because he wants to. “Titus Andronicus.” His voice has gone quiet. “Looks interesting. What’s it about?”

Noctis half expects the answer to come from you since you owned the book, but his advisor lends his thoughts to the matter instead.

“It’s a play written by a certain playwright several hundred years ago,” says Ignis, delivering a brief history lesson as he expertly flips a sandwich in a pan. “A grotesque tragedy, if I must summarise its contents.”

Noctis lowers the book and scans your expression from the corners of his eyes. He’s seen you in various states of unsmiling before, being the sleepy child you are, but this time it’s different. It’s a vacant look. Eyes placed on him, yet not quite on him. Seeing past his skin, digging into the gelatinous depression of his eyeballs, fingernails delving into his brain. You’re picking him apart, he realises, to look for answers when he’s only coming up with one.

“Sounds bloody.” Prompto makes a retching sound at the back of his throat. “Is it violent? Full of gore?”

“Violent and bloody, yes. A vicious cycle of revenge that ends in unhappiness, as all tragedies are.”

What a depiction. An exceedingly unsettling depiction of the play, thanks to Ignis’ excessive narration. Plays aren’t usually Noctis’ thing, even if his old tutors are groaning at him in exasperation at the back of his head. Standard royalty tuition classes come bundled with public school, since it is expected for a prince to be well-versed in the classics as much as King Regis was, no matter his waning interest in it. Yet, there is something about Titus Andronicus that Noctis should probe deeper if he wants to dig out the skeletons under your name.

You’ve gone silent since your first question, withdrawing into your world of King’s Knight again. Tapping relentlessly on the screen, probably going through a dungeon raid on your own as you tune out the rest of the world. Gladio doesn’t seem to bother much about the conversation, scrolling through his phone on another journey in the game. But somehow, Ignis’ depiction of Titus Andronicus roams the prince’s thoughts with more guesswork, and he only sets down the book in its rightful place again.

“Not my kind of thing.” Noctis dismisses the topic, and resumes his expedition to your fridge.

He doesn’t miss how your attention diverts from the game, furtively trailing after him from your desk to the fridge, tracing up the curve of his spine when he bends over to fish a cold can out from the bottom tier, cracking it open. But just as soon as he finishes gulping down its contents, flicking it into your dustbin, you’ve turned away from him, reverting into the hollow husk of a human you are.

[tbc.]

thanks for sticking around through all the boring and long process of worldbuilding! shit gets real in next chapter 8) hope everyone’s ready for more plot! this fic is pre-canon which will venture into canon soon enough, and i’m a grandma who keeps forgetting the stuff i write ;;v;; at the moment, i'm on chapter 13 and so much fluff aaah <3 but there are also bad things as well, so. oh no.

PREVIEW:

It’s just a simple word. Good. Yet Byron knows you’ve been starved of attention, of acknowledgement. The feeling of being recognised, being wanted for something, being given something—just like the abandoned child you are. Even if Noctis is feeding you scraps of praises from his outstretched hand, you’re nothing but a ravenous mongrel eager to lap it all up, licking all over his palm and sucking off his fingers.

In all of your disgusting desperation, there is beauty in how you gaze at the prince, the wide-eyed ingénue you are.

[starlightomatic]

Give us your thoughts on Luna Lovegood aaaand...Newt please! ^_^

When Newt hears about the Hippogriff, he rushes to Hogwarts immediately to speak with Dumbledore. Tina reminds him that he isn’t as young as he once was, and that he shouldn’t exert himself, but he won’t hear it. He boards the train, joints creaking as he settles into place, and opens the Prophet. Of course the front page article is about Black, the escaped convict. As an escaped convict himself, he can’t help but wonder… but no, that was because of Grindelwald, this man almost certainly is actually a criminal.

He disembarks at Hogsmeade station and boards a carriage up to the grounds. Even after all these years, his heart leaps at the first sight of the school, but… what is he doing here? He is an old man; he does not belong here. There is no way he can save this Hippogriff. Just like he couldn’t save Amina. Couldn’t save Credence, couldn’t save anybody –

No. He recognizes this. Dementors.

Heart pounding, he reaches for his wand –

He can’t protect anyone, nearly got Tina killed, abandoned Pickett –

No. He closes his eyes, envisions Tina as she looked all those years ago, radiant in sparkling white, eyes twinkling and hair dark under a filmy veil as light as air. He imagines her smiling up at him –

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The Thunderbird leaps from his wand, ethereal in the dim afternoon light (the sun sets so early now), and circles the carriage, scattering the shadows he had not seen closing in.

He sits back, breathing hard. Tina is right – he is not a young man anymore, and this has taken more out of him than it would have done in times past.

Suddenly the carriage stutters to a halt. What now? He looks out into the gathering dark and sees a tall figure in a pointed hat – and opens the door.

“Who are you? You have breached the defenses of Hogwarts! Show yourself!”

“Minerva, it’s just me. Newt.”

“Oh.” She breathes out a relieved sigh. “Newton. You always have had a way of making an entrance.” She smiles at him. “Well, go on. Professor Dumbledore is expecting you. I trust you remember where his office is.”

“Of course.” He gives her a crooked smile. “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright, Minerva.” She shakes her head and walks away.

The carriage trundles on and deposits Newt at the great front doors of the school. He looks up, taking in their elaborate carvings – wings and claws and swords and wands, wizards and flying beasts, battles and quidditch matches – and of course, in each corner, rampant, each House’s mascot. He smiles at the badger on the lower right before entering through a sally port beside it.

Once inside, he traverses the familiar corridors, smiling as black-clad students rush by. He doesn’t see Rolf (the youngest of his grandchildren and the only one still at school), but perhaps he will have time to visit the seventh-year after his talk with Dumbledore.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t see the slightly rumpled man clad in patched brown robes until they’ve collided. Inkwells, quills, parchment, and books tumble to the floor.

“So sorry,” he says as he and the man wave their wands, and the ink flies back into newly reconstituted inkwells and the lot of it neatly settles back into the man’s arms. He glances into the man’s face and his breath catches. Scars, sallow skin – just this morning he noted, with a glance at his calendar, that it is nearly the full moon – this can mean only one thing. He is surprised, momentarily, but of course Dumbledore, who has always stood up for the underdog, would offer this man a job. It was probably the only one he was able to get, because –

– because of him. Because of the Werewolf Register. Because somehow, even at the age of 50, he was still young enough and naive enough to underestimate human cruelty. He should have known the Register, intended as a way to keep track of werewolves so as to better help them, would be used as an instrument of discrimination and harm. He has been trying for decades to abolish it, but to no avail.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softly this time. The man looks at him quizzically for a moment, seems about to say something, and then hurries on.

Bereft, he continues along the corridor. Perhaps the Dementors have returned, he muses, as he reflects bitterly on all the pain he has caused while trying ineffectually to do good.

“Excuse me, sir, is that a Bowtruckle?”

He turns. The creature before him is small and luminescent, with blue eyes as large as a mooncalf's and ethereal like a fairy. She can’t be more than twelve.

He can’t help but smile, and gently removes the small green creature from his lapel. “That it is. Would you like to hold him?”

The girl’s eyes widen even further and she nods enthusiastically. He gently places Cork into her outstretched hands and her face breaks into a grin. As the Bowtruckle moves over the back of her hand, she expertly moves her other one up for him to step onto. “He says his name’s Cork. How lovely!”

Newt’s eyes widen. How – ?

“By the way, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Luna Lovegood, from Ottery St. Catchpole. We grow dirigible plums there, did you know? Oh. Some people call me Loony.” She extends a very small hand, still balancing Cork on her other one.

He remembers the names he used to be called and feels a pang of sympathy for this small blonde creature. He reaches out and shakes her hand. “Newt Scamander. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Her mouth falls open and her face lights up. “Newt Scamander! But you’re – you wrote Fantastic Beasts! Did you really travel all those places?” She’s bouncing up and down now, and before he can answer, she continues – “it must have been lovely finding all those beasts! Did you discover any new ones? I don’t suppose you spotted a Crumple-Horned Snorkack? My father says they’ve never been found – but one day I’ll find it! I’m going to travel the world just as you have!”

“Really?” asks Newt, excited over her enthusiasm. “You’d like to become a magizoologist?”

“I’d love to! Oh, it would be grand!”

“Well, Miss Lovegood,” his face breaking into a smile again. “I’ve got an appointment with Professor Dumbledore, so unfortunately I’ve got to go. But if you’d like to write to me, you are quite welcome to do so.”

“I’d love to!”

He takes out a scrap of parchment and writes:

Newt Scamander12 The MoorPuddletown, Dorchester

And hands it to her. She grins, thanks him, gently hands Cork over, and flounces away.

Two weeks later, he receives a letter from Luna Lovegood, Ravenclaw Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She talks of nargles and of classes and of the spells she’s mastered, but little hints let him know that she’s lonely; the other children find her strange. His heart goes out to her; he knows what that’s like. He recounts to her his travels, and tells her of his life with Tina; how fierce she is, yet how kind; how she named a Kneazle Mauler. Luna muses, once, that she hopes she finds someone so lovely one day; Newt assures her that she will.

When Luna mentions, in passing, having lost her mother three years previously, Newt is heartbroken – he had no idea. He asks Tina, who lost her own parents as a child, to write to her, and of course she does.

He is overjoyed when Luna tells him, in June, that Buckbeak is free, but heartbroken again when he learns what has happened to the young man with the spilled inkwells. He resolves to write to him, as well – hoping his owl will find the man with no address, merely “Remus John Lupin.” It does.

When Luna writes excitedly of having friends, he is worried at first, particularly when he reads in her letters her adoration for a vivacious redhead – he remembers how love and affection can blind a person to manipulation when one is otherwise so alone. But it quickly becomes clear that the redhead (Charlie Weasley’s little sister, it turns out) is nothing but kind to Luna, and the same is true for the boy who might nearly be a squib but whose talent with magical plants is just beginning to shine, and for the hapless trio who always seem to end up in the middle of everything, reminding him of his trip to New York all those years ago.

In her fourth year, she hints at secret yet exciting proceedings, and he does not pry, but he marvels as he senses her gentle fragility turning to gentle strength. In June, when he hears of Luna’s exploits in the Department of Mysteries, Tina is beside herself – “They could have gotten killed! Yes, Newt, of course I remember I was an Auror, but they’re only children!” – but Newt’s heart swells with pride.

Luna’s fifth year begins less eventfully, but Newt smiles at the thought of her commentating a Quidditch match, and is excited to hear that she met an actual vampire – and at a party, no less! Hogwarts is certainly still as strange and wonderful as he remembers.

It’s only a few months later when his heart breaks as he learns that Hogwarts will never be the same again – nothing will be, really, without Albus Dumbledore. His words so many years ago were a lie – he knew exactly why Dumbledore had stood up for him, why he’d stood up for so many others. Dumbledore saw his students for who they were, each and every one of them. Dumbledore cared.

“You care, too, Newt,” Tina says softly. “I believe in many ways you carry on his legacy.” But he dissolves in her arms because he has lived for one hundred years in a world that contained Albus Dumbledore, and now it does not, and he cannot imagine it.

The next year, Hogwarts is taken over. Letters don’t always get through, but when they do, they are full only of chipper pleasantries, upbeat updates on food and quills and other unimportant things. But through them runs a thrum of danger, and – resistance. He is sure of it. He is proven right when word leaks out, through the grapevine, of graffiti on the walls of Hogwarts – Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting.

At Christmas the letters stop, and he is gripped with a terror he has not known since the days of Grindelwald’s ascent to power. Charlie Weasley visits him; his sister had sent him to tell Newt what has happened (it is too dangerous to send a letter – it could be intercepted). He tells himself that worrying means you suffer twice, but the terror, a ball of tension in the pit of his stomach, is always there – but so is Tina, arms ready to close around him when the terror spills over and he cries into her shoulder.

In June, the world bursts open again – Luna is alive! She is free! As he reads her letter, though, his happiness mixes with horror and anger as she relates all that has befallen her. His eyes close and he’s back on the subway tracks, lightning cracking like a whip from Grindelwald’s wand and coursing through him, searing –

“Newt. Look at me.” Tina is crouching in front of him, pressing a piece of ice into his hand. “Newt, you’re here, on The Moor. In Puddletown. In Dorchester. It’s nineteen-ninety-eight. Grindelwald is dead. He was found at Nurmengard last fall; you remember.”

“Yes,” he says shakily, clutching the ice in one hand and Tina’s fingers in the other. “Yes.”

“Newt,” says Tina. “She’ll be okay. She has you.”

(When he find out that she also has the magipsychiatrists of St. Mungos, he suggests to Tina that they seek out such help as well. “What does it matter now?” Tina says wearily. “It matters,” he says.)

It’s only a few weeks later when another letter arrives from Luna – jubilant, this time – the Dark Lord has been defeated! Hogwarts is in shambles but it has prevailed. She speaks of the sacrifices made by all the students and professors who lost their lives that night (tragically, the young werewolf and his wife are among them), but there is a hint of a different kind of sorrow in her letter, and he cannot figure out the cause.

Until two weeks later, when Charlie’s sister’s face is splashed across the front of the gossip section of the Prophet above the byline of (who else?) Rita Skeeter and below the headline “The Boy Who Loved,” and he understands.

It is then that he tells her about Leta. She is only the fourth person – after his brother, his wife, and his sister-in-law (whom he had not exactly told, but no matter) – to know the whole story. He knows that it is different – her Ginny (no, not hers) isn’t a taker – but he wants her to know that he understands how she is hurting.

The next year, he watches through letters as Hogwarts repairs itself, and moves on. How the students, finally, recognize the harm caused by enmity with Slytherin, and attempt to heal an ancient rift (perhaps, if they had done so a century earlier, things would not have played out as they did with Leta – but no, then he would not have his Tina, and that is unthinkable).

He smiles along with her as she teases him about N.E.W.T. classes and N.E.W.T. exams, and he makes the trek back to Hogwarts for her graduation. And then she is off – exploring the world, as she had told him she would so many years ago. He consoles her as she finally accepts, after years of searching, that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks may not be real after all. He admits, but only to himself, that he had started to hope they were as well.

It is Passover, and he is sitting next to his sister-in-law on the back porch of her house the day after the first Seder meal, watching the kids fly around the yard laughing. He watches Rolf trying to teach the youngest Scamanders and Kowalskis Quidditch. Rolf is a young man now; as old as Newt was when he took that fateful trip to New York, Newt realizes.

He feels Queenie gently riffling through his memories, glancing over lines on parchment and flashes of white-blonde hair and dirigible plum earrings.

“Newt,” she says softly. “I rather think she’d get along with Rolf, don’t you?”

His eyes widen. Of course. How has he never seen it before? They have the same quiet strength, the same love of the absurd, the same disregard for the norms of society and of course, the same love of magical creatures. They’ve both spent the better part of the past several years traveling the world in search of fantastic beasts – they’d make excellent traveling companions!

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Queenie roll her eyes. He raises his eyebrows. She just smiles and shakes her head.

He introduces them, and as predicted, Luna and Rolf not only quickly agree to travel together, but become fast friends. Newt is shocked when, one day, as the pair are having tea with him on a rare break from their adventures, they lean toward each other and kiss.

“But I thought you liked girls!” He exclaims, and Tina dissolves into a fit of stifled laughter.

“I like everyone,” says Luna simply, and smiles beatifically.

It is three years later (but somehow, it feels so much shorter), when Newt finds himself sitting in the afternoon sunlight, Tina by his side (her hands folded in her lap and somehow still breathtaking at the age of 109), looking up at the couple standing in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves twined into the posts of their wedding canopy. His grandson, grown into a handsome and capable young man, and Luna, as ethereal as she was at age twelve but now carrying herself with the maturity of someone who has seen all the horrors the world has to offer and has decided still to view the world with wonder, stand face to face, gently clasping one another’s hands and exuding quiet strength.

He takes Tina’s hand as he lets the vows and blessings enter his head as murmurs, remembering his wedding to Tina all those years ago and marveling at all that has happened since. When Rolf stomps on the glass goblet beneath his foot with youthful determination, and as the guests around him cheer as the goblet shatters, Newt’s heart swells so much that he feels like it might burst.

[efyusikey]

✨ galaxy and sunset 🌅