Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

First, what I will and wont do

Wont
Basic stuff (Rascism, pedo, ect)
Almond x Pv (I see them as father and son)
Almond x any child (wtf)
Anything illegal

Will do
Smut
Fluff
Angst
Most things rlly
Au
Ect

X reader

So ye can give request :)

Chapter Text

"Okay Al, time to get you back," Latte declared with a mix of exasperation and affection, her arm securely around his shoulders. Al was past the point of tipsy, wading deep into the sea of inebriation. His steps were a dance of near-misses with gravity, almost doing a nosedive off the juice bar's three-step exit. He was a charming disaster, with his hair striking out like rebellious exclamation marks and his clothes in a state of disarray as if they'd been through a light-hearted brawl.

With a Herculean effort masked as a mere groan, Latte labored to support the weight of the young detective. "Madaleine really should've cut you off after your fifth Shirley Temple," she muttered under her breath. From Almond, there came a sound that was half chuckle, half yawn. "But they're just so darn tasty," he slurred, his words a drunken melody, as a goofy grin took over his face. Latte hoisted him slightly to better assess the situation. Al's eyes were barely open, housing a look of blissful ignorance to his own state, and a wayward lock of hair draped over one of them. A droplet of his beloved Shirley Temple hung precariously at the corner of his mouth. He was the epitome of adorably inebriated.

With another sigh, Latte cradled his face in her hands, looking into his semi-conscious eyes. "You're with me now," she declared, and with a swift and practiced motion, she hefted him over her shoulder like a sack of particularly precious potatoes. Al's legs flailed momentarily before resigning to their undignified position. A soft grunt escaped him as he succumbed to the comfort of her sturdy shoulder. Latte, undeterred, maintained a firm grip on his posterior and embarked on the journey home.

As they trekked, Al would occasionally murmur incoherently about his detective cases, or let out a solitary yawn, or even give an impromptu leg kick, as if dreaming of chasing down suspects. But mostly, he was silent, much to Latte's relief. His drunken detective diatribes were endearing but exhausting.

Finally, they arrived at Latte's abode, a towering haven with a view that commanded the city of Parfaedia. The twilight hues of purple in the sky cast a serene glow over the duo. Once inside, Latte gently deposited Al onto a chair. His eyes were heavy, his drunken energy spent; he was the picture of exhaustion wrapped in a tipsy veneer.

With tender care, Latte fetched some paper towels and water, dampening one to dab away the sticky remnants of Al's indulgence. He stirred slightly at her touch. "Wha'sat?" he mumbled, caught between the realms of sleep and wakefulness. "You've got a little something," Latte replied softly, cleaning his lip with the care one might use when handling a rare artifact, careful not to agitate the scar that marked it—a battle wound from an overly ambitious attempt to cut fruit while sleep-deprived on a case.

She sighed yet again, but this time it was different, tinged with a fondness that only those who care deeply can truly understand. She watched as Al allowed her ministrations, his eyelids fluttering in the battle against sleep. One eye finally surrendered, closing in sweet surrender to the fatigue.

A smile, small and private, danced on Latte's lips as she looked at him. This was a rare side of Al, one that was seldom seen under the stern, wearied facade he presented to the world. It was a moment to be cherished.

Yet another sigh escaped her, this one laced with contentment. She stood, guiding the detective by his shoulders, and navigated to her bed, a sanctuary of soft linens and inviting warmth. With a gentle insistence, she encouraged him to lay down, settling him into the embrace of the bed. She took a seat beside him, her hand stroking his hair with a rhythm designed to lull him into the restful slumber he so rarely found.

In this quiet moment, as her fingers traced the contours of his face, Al grunted softly and leaned into her touch. His vulnerability was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of a man constantly chasing the next clue.

"You're pretty," Al's voice was a hazy whisper, a compliment that would never have made it past his lips without the influence of the Shirley Temples.

Latte's heart skipped a beat, surprised by the unexpected confession. Almond's face, still adorned with that dorky smile, was tinged with the rosy blush of a man who had revealed too much. His eyes remained closed, perhaps a defense against the reality of his boldness.

With a gentle touch, Latte brushed his hair back from his face. "Well, thank you, detective," she responded, her voice a soft melody, her smile widening as she continued to stroke his hair. She had suspected his affection for her, but this embrace, this moment of unguarded tenderness, was new territory.

It was clear now, the signs had been there all along, his feelings for her not so hidden as he might have thought. But here, in the blur of intoxication, the barriers had fallen, and he held her tightly, pulling her into a snug embrace that spoke volumes.

As she lay beside him, her head resting on the pillow, Latte allowed her eyes to close, a serene calm washing over her. The detective's breathing evened out into the soft cadence of sleep, a confirmation that he had drifted off into the respite he so desperately needed.

And Latte, holding him close, felt a warmth in her heart for the man who was always so tirelessly dedicated to his work. This moment, this simple, unguarded exchange, was a treasure she would guard closely. For in his vulnerability, in his drunken declaration, she had glimpsed the depth of his affection.

She loved that about him.