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bbykpoper · 4 years ago

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𝓢𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 🍰

Inspired by this post 🌼

Pairing: patissier!mingi x waitress!reader

Index: Jongho // Hongjoong // Seonghwa // San // Yunho // Wooyoung // Yeosang

･*:༅

“Hey y/n.” Your co-worker and friend, Sorn, called out to you as you two cleaned down tables after closing. “Why are you working here?”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your apron coming undone as you finished your half of the bakery.

“Well, you’re quite an intelligent person and I know you are smart in many fields of life, so how come you ended up working at a bakery?” Her glittering eyes looked over at you, curiosity gleaming along.

You’ve been working at Sugarberry’s for a few months now, applying for the job at a whim one summer night. It’s been a tough life for you who had to provide for herself most of your life, loosing the chance to get a college education because you couldn’t financially support yourself, not having much of any job options to choose from and simply having been surrounded by the wrong people. That one summer night, when you just couldn’t come to terms that your life was falling appart a young man noticed your heavy expression and approached you with a smile.

A smile which had changed your life for better.

“I don’t really know.” You shrugged your shoulders at her. “I guess I just found something which made me stay.”

“Was it the boss?” A sly voice sounded from the back where the kitchen was located.

“For your information Wooseok!” You threw your apron at his face. “No. It was not.” With a roll to your eyes you waited for Sorn to finish up cleaning and him to drag his ass out to the front. “Where the hell did you even get that idea?”

“Oh come on y/n, we all see the way you two look at each other.” He laughed. “It’s just a matter of time.” He sang along as you locked up the place.

“It’s just a matter of time for what?”

“Eek!” Sorn and Wooseok screamed at the top of their lungs, both clinging to you for dear life.

“Mingi.” You calmly said, even though your heart was in your throat at the startle he caused you. “You came back early.”

“Yeah, our trip was cut short due to some business.” He smiled down at you, his eyes turning into half moons. “You guys finished for today?”

“You are a mean human being Song Mingi!” Wooseok exclaimed pointing his finger at the tall man, his arm still wrapped tightly around yours. “Why would you scare us?”

“I didn’t mean to guys, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. “How about I buy you lot dinner as an apology.”

“I’m not saying no to dinner.” Sorn giggled and pulled herself off you, going to stand next to Mingi and now latching on to him.

“Sorn?” Wooseok asked confused.

“Let’s go.”

You and Wooseok exchanged confused glances as she dragged Mingi by her side, ignoring his protests and weight in trying to stop. You decided to keep your mouth shut and just follow after them, sticking your cold hands into your pockets, ignoring Wooseok’s constant commenting on the situation.

･*:༅

“Something weird is going on.” Seonghwa sat down next to you on your break the next day, Hongjoong joining in shortly as he got his drink from Sorn who worked the counter.

“I’m on my break and have no intentions on using it up on your relationship problems.” You said, not even raising your eyes from the page you were currently reading.

“It’s weird that Sorn is hanging around Mingi so much.” He emphasized, making you stop your eyes for a second, but quickly going back to reading. “Ever since we came back from that trip she’s been clinging to him too much.”

“Well it could have two reasons.” Your eye twitched at Wooseok who decided to join in on the gossiping. “First is, she’s finally working up the crush she has for him and is shooting her shot. Or-” He looked at you who was two seconds away from smacking him atop the head. “-she’s trying to make y/n jealous and finally admit her undying love for him.”

It was the last straw which made you ubruptly stand and spill Hongjoong’s poor coffee on the floor. You picked your book up and walked away, going back on the clock and evading both Sorn and Mingi.

“I think you just made it worse.” Hongjoong said, glancing at the boy who shamefully walked into the kitchen. “Wanna stay here and wait for the boys?”

“Sure, we can arrange an outing with everyone.” Seonghwa said, his hands skillfully texting away.

The day passed with you being in a bad mood. Most of the regular customers weren’t used to you being so distant and quiet, while the rest of the boys kept glancing between you and Mingi. Mingi on the other hand was pouting in the kitchen, decorating his 15th cake of the day with broken hearts and dark colours. Wooseok didn’t have the guts to tell him that it was kind of unappealing so they just said today is a gloomy day for Sugarberry’s.

“Hey y/n!” Yunho enthusiastically walked in, a girl in tow behind. “How have you been?”

“Hey Yunho...” You were taken by surprise at the sudden smiley faced pair and you just had to soften up your expression for him. He was too baby-faced to look at him mad. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Huckleberry. My girlfriend.” The blush on his face was so cute, you just had to smile at him wholeheartedly.

“Nice to meet you. I’m y/n.” The girl also smiled back. “What can I get you guys?”

“I’d like some tea and a piece of chocolate cake.” She said softly.

“Wow, even your order is the same!” You laughed, the sound echoing through the bakery and lifting everybody’s dark clouds. The sound managed to even bring Mingi out to the front, but his cloud only darkened when he saw you laughing along with Yunho. The bag with pink sprinkles popped open at how strongly he was holding it, the floor turning into a punk fuzzy surface. “I’ll get your order in a minute, you guys take a seat. The boys and their girls are outside in the usual booth.”

“What are you laughing at?” Mingi asked you as you went behind the counter to prepare the order for the two.

“I’m sorry?”

“He has a girlfriend, so why are you laughing with him?” He gritted through his teeth.

“Oh, so only because he has a girlfriend I should ignore his existence and not be polite to him?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well that’s a load of bull coming from a man who let’s a taken girl cling to his arm like her life depends on it.”

“What?”

“Sorn has a girlfriend you idiot.” You deadpanned making Wooseok drop his croissant. “Grow the fuck up Song and say what’s been pissing you off these past few days instead of throwing childish tantrums all around.”

“You know-” He came real close to your face, the anger evident in both of your eyes. “-no man wants a woman that goes after taken man.”

“Well Song, no woman wants to date a child.” You gritted out, taking the order outside and declining nicely the invite to go clubbing with the gang later.

You both evaded each other until the end of the day and when it was closing time, you finished cleaning and left, saying good bye to your co-workers and the gang, walking past Mingi as if he wasn’t even there.

“Did they fight?” Hongjoong asked Wooseok through a whisper.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, both of them watching Mingi’s clenched jaw tightening.

･*:༅

The small house you lived in was inherited by you from the old lady that let you live with her when you were still a teen. She had taken care of you as much as she could and in return you did the same to her. You cooked, cleaned, even sometimes gave baths to the 80 year old woman out of gratitude and in return, she left her quiant little home to you. Unfortunately she had passed away a few years ago, but you still honoured her life by planting sugarberries in the garden; her favourite flower.

“Fuckin’ asshole.” You mumbled as you relaxed in the bathtub after a long and stressful day at work.

Candles littered the bathroom as faint piano music played in the background. You looked into the full body mirror with golden rimmed leaves which faced the bathtub. Your long light coloured locks stuck to your face, as your eyes sadly observed your soft and round features.

“What does she have that I don’t?” You whispered out, touching your cheek. “Stupid Mingi!”

You stayed in the water for another hour and finally decided to get out and dry yourself, putting on one of the many night gowns you’d gotten. The giggle that left your mouth had you remembering some better and happier times.

Times when you weren’t in love with a childish Mingi.

You sat down on the sofa and began reading the book you had today, slowly loosing all thoughts of today’s argument, and focusing on that fictional world in your hands.

The loud thud and banging on the front door woke you up from your book-induced-nap. Blinking a few times you shook your head and went over to the door, glancing through the peep-hole and wincing when you saw an eye looking back at you.

“Y/N!~”

“What the hell are you doing at my house at 2 a.m.?!” You flung the door open as the man in front of you straightened up and looked at you in the eyes. He kept looking at your appearance and something stired deep within him at your half asleep eyes, messy locks and long beige night gown. “Well Mingi?”

“Oh fuck it.” He grabbed your cheeks and kissed your lips, your poor knees shaking and loosing balance. You both fell on the ground, him holding you up as best as he could so as not to hurt yourself. Your lungs were screaming for air and he felt it too, pulling away with a low whine. His hair was messy, his cheeks were rosy, eyes glossy and breath stinking of alcohol. And you; your hair was sprawled out around you like a halo, cheeks and neck red from the lack of oxygen and onslought of embarrassement, the skirt of your night gown ridding up all the way to your thighs. You looked like a fucking angel to him underneath him. “God you are so gorgeous.”

“Mingi you’re drunk.” You tried to push him off and get up, but you stopped abruptly when you felt little wet droplets on your exposed chest. “Mingi? What’s wrong?”

“Why am I not good enough for you?” He asked in a low whisper. “Why do you laugh so much with Yunho and Wooseok, and the others, but not with me? Why do you only smile at me and evade me the whole day?”

“Mingi-”

“I’ve been trying so hard for you to notice me! I made new recipes from fruits you like, I baked the bread you said you liked every day, and I decorated every cake with the flowers you like.” He came closer to you and you could see the haze in his eyes which showed he was only slightly drunk but mostly sober. “Why do you keep giving out advice to my friends on how to get the girl but never to me on how to get you?”

“God you are so dumb!” You groaned out and looked at him unamused. “Everytime I gave advice to your friends I was giving it to you too. I wasn’t sure if you like me because I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the details you were setting out. I’ve never had someone go out of their way so much.” You pulled him into a hug and he relaxed in your arms. “You are good enough for me! You are more than that!”

“So you like me back?”

“I love you.” You whispered out.

“I want to make love to you.” He whispered back. “For the rest of my life.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” You laughed at that thought.

“I am.” He looked at you seriously. “I wanted to marry you that first day I met you.”

“You barely know me.” You sat up along with him. “Shouldn’t we get to know each other first?”

“But I already know everything about you.” He blushed. “Granny Kim talked about you a lot.”

You looked over at the picture frame on the wall where you and old lady Kim sat in the garden, enjoying the sunshine, laughter and sugarberries around you. You had to smile to yourself at this situation. That woman thought of everything it seems.

“It seems this house will become more lively then.” You giggled at him.

“Is that a yes?” Mingi grabbed you by the arms in excitement.

“Yes!” You were lifted off the ground in a hype as the front door closed and Mingi twirled you around.

“God, I need to call Wooseok and tell him to open shop tomorrow!” You blinked in surprise. “You and I have so much to catch up on and work is the least of our problems.”

The choking noise you made in surprise had him smirking as he carried you off further inside the house, his eyebrows wiggling with delight.

･*:༅

“I hope you’re not mad at me y/n.” Sorn spoke as you both sat on the side for a while, seeing as it wasn’t so busy. “I never had a thing for Mingi, I was just fed up with his constant love-sick sighs and I had to get everything in motion.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good.” You smiled at her. “Thank you.”

The two of you exchanged a glance and laughed at how the situation turned out. Wooseok grumbled from the kitchen something but you paid him no mind. You kept on observing Mingi who was outside with a few of his friends, talking about the big plans. It made you happy and smiley and the bakery was thriving with this low feeling of love.

The sugarberries in your garden seemed to grow brighter since Mingi moved in and you guys decided to make a sweet with them, naming it 계속 미소 지으며.

Keep smiling.

#ateez imagines #song mingi #ateez #ateez reaction #sugarberry

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brave-heart-academy · 4 years ago

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Brave Heart Academy’s Students

Some of these OCs are from my friends. Also, I’d like to thank them for helping me with the development of BHA.

Lionhart:

Patrick Anderson (3-D) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Kronk in Emperor’s New Groove)

Henry Leonhardt (2-E) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the Scared Lion in Wizard of Oz)

Wiatara Mitsu (2-A) (Twisted from Winnie The Pooh) (This is my friend’s OC)

Gray Hughes (1-A) (Twisted from Eeyore in Winnie The Pooh)

Silversword:

Zaman Clockwork (2-B) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the crocodile in Peter Pan) (This is my friend’s OC)

Jack Handyman (3-D) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the octopus in Peter Pan)

Einar Russel (1-B) (Twisted from Oh in Home) (This is my friend’s OC)

Celty Pacifica (3-C) (Twisted from the ocean in Moana)

Regalia:

Minerva Athens (3-A) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Bobble in Tinkerbell) (This is my friend’s OC)

Cloud Sharp (1-E) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the Scarecrow in Wizard of Oz)

Marianna Megalos (2-C) (Twisted from Meg in Hercules) (This is my friend’s OC)

Sage Hudson (3-D) (Twisted from the Hudson Hornet in Cars)

Rogue Begonia (3-D) (Twisted from Loki in the Norse Mythology)

Libellule:

Aether Draconia (2-C) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Vidya in Tinkerbell) (This is my friend’s OC)

Altair Macaw (2-B) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Iago in Aladdin)

Blair Allaway (1-D) (Twisted from Merida in Brave) (This is my friend’s OC)

Kalil Weaver (2-A) (Twisted from the Magic Carpet in Aladdin)

Camellion:

Rosalind Alarie (3-B) (Dorm Leader) (Inspired from the song, Royal Scandal https://youtu.be/Og-e5FBDKxA) (This is my friend’s OC)

Nora Justice (2-D) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Judy Hopps in Zootopia)

Dorothea Hampton (2-B) (Twisted from Dory in Finding Nemo) (This is my friend’s OC)

Feliruch:

Felix Roterluchs (2-E) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from James in Peter Pan and the Star Catchers)

Mallory Cricket (1-E) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the Lucky Cricket in Mulan)

Ferran Sapajou (1-A) (Twisted from Abu in Aladdin)

Sylvester Redfox (2-E) (Twisted from Nick Wilde in Zootopia)

Kavalihim:

Nia Marie Eidolon (2-A) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Cogsworth in Beauty and the Beast)

Sherwood Archibald (2-D) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Robin Hood)

Lian Jingyi (3-A) (Twisted from Shift in Kung Fu Panda) (This is my friend’s OC)

Rune Midnight (3-E) (Twisted from Pinocchio)

Briatelier:

Lumine El Makina (2-A) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from Tinkerbell before she met Peter Pan)

Hugo Smith (1-C) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the Tin Man in Wizard of Oz)

Gānglóng Chén (1-A) (Twisted from Mushu in Mulan) (This is my friend’s OC)

Hubert Atlas (1-C) (Twisted from Milo in Atlantis)

Vasilias:

Arthur Chevalier (3-A) (Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the concept of a Prince Charming)

Elizabeth Grace (3-B) (Vice Dorm Leader) (Twisted from the concept of a Princess)

Max Blanc (3-B) (Twisted from the Prince’s trusty steed)

Suzette Patissier (1-C) (Twisted from Vanellope Von Schweetz from Wreck It Ralph)

Luciana Leclair (1-A) (Twisted from Esmeralda from Hunchback of Notre Dame) (This is my friend’s OC)

Robert Briller (2-C) (Twisted from Kuzco in Emperor’s New Groove)

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raendown · 4 years ago

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I was bribed in to this by @rookie-d and @sleepysenseis and I regret nothing. Show some love to Rookie’s art for this au as well!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1893 Rated: G Summary: Owning and running a bakery with his husband isn't exactly where he thought life would take him but Tobirama wouldn't trade this for the world.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Patissier-pation Award

The familiar chime of a bell greeted him first as he walked through the front door, eyes down to inspect the mail he had gathered on his way in. Mostly junk, a couple of bills, and a letter that he would bet his entire bank account had come from Hashirama. He would know those graceless spiky letters anywhere. Off on some nature retreat for the past month, there was little doubt this letter would be filled with the same rambling nonsense as the last one had been, lengthy descriptions of the woman he had apparently fallen in love with at first sight.

Under the hum of halogen lights and the ever present smell of baked goods Tobirama could hear a slight groaning sound that made him smile. Instead of going to look for the source right away he continued to flip through the mail until he had sorted junk from bills, slipping behind the till counter to put everything in its right place. Running their own shop was hard work some days but always worth it in the end. While he was there he tidied a few receipts from the day before and used a nearby rag to wipe off a bit of icing probably smeared around by a customer’s child. Only when he was satisfied that everything was in order did he finally turn to look at the plush couch set just a little ways apart from the rest of the seating area. During peak hours the various armchairs and stools were usually filled with people taking a few minutes to enjoy the treats they had just purchased.

Since right now was not peak hours the only person to be found was Madara, stretched out across the couch that Tobirama had quietly purchased just for moments like these. A fond smile touched his lips as he watched his favorite idiot rub at a full belly with furrowed brows.

“How many of those tarts actually made it on to the shelves?” Tobirama called out to him with a lightly scolding tone.

“Most of them!” Madara shot back. Then he groaned again while both hands paused to delicately cup his stomach. “I could have sworn I only ate a few. Just to taste test. Quality checking is important!”

“I see.”

The argument might have been a bit more believable if Madara didn’t use the same one every time he overindulged in his own products. He was the one who initially came up with the idea for the two of them to open their own bakery and Tobirama supposed he should have known then that doing so would lead to regular episodes like this one. His husband was an amazing patissier but he was also his own biggest fan. Or his stomach was, at least, and Madara had never been known for denying whatever his stomach wanted.

“Did you by any chance happen to find time to finish the Sarutobi order before you took your little snack break?”

“Of course I did,”’ Madara huffed. Generously sacrificing one hand for a moment, he pointed imperiously towards the order counter where there indeed were three boxes with the shop logo printed on the front stacked neatly together and tied with ribbon. Inside there would be a dozen cupcakes each with, if Tobirama was remembering currently, blue icing and rainbow sprinkles arranged to spell out the recipient’s name. A fairly simple order. He wasn’t surprised Madara had finished the whole thing while he was gone, though he was surprised there had been enough time left over to gorge on the tarts he’d put in the oven before he left.

Since he trusted his partner Tobirama didn’t offer the insult of going to check the order. Instead he mentally checked it off his list of things to do before heading in to the back to go wash his hands. There was still another order he needed to get a start on, although most of it would have to be finished tomorrow. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t have enough icing until their shipment arrived the next morning.

A quick peek in to the fridge on his way by confirmed his suspicions. Although they still had a tub each of pink and white, yellow was running low and the red was all but entirely gone. If he tried to decorate anything he might have enough to use red for a couple of accents but certainly not enough to cover several dozen cookies in the pattern the order called for. It was a good thing all this wasn’t due to be picked up until late tomorrow.

Hands clean, Tobirama tied an apron around his middle and began pulling out the ingredients necessary for making his specialty gingerbread, one of the quickest selling items on their menu every winter. When he was younger he never would have believed that life would take him here. As a child he’d mostly been obsessed with science and little else. Most of his career dreams had centered around NASA or biochemical research, plans for changing the world with his magnificent discoveries. Now he co-owned a bakery with his husband and spent most of his days rolling dough or decorating cakes, all in between manning the till and watching children’s faces light up as they picked out which treat they wanted to take home. It was hardly the auspicious career he’d always imagined but it was a good life, full and happy, one that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even for the trips to outer space he used to dream about.

So lost in his own musings was he that it felt as though he’d only just begun mixing the dough when he looked down and found row upon row of perfectly shaped cookies all laid out before him. Some were made to look like people, some like trees, and others still were laid out in thick flat sheets with which he would later build a house. Gingerbread was always quite fun to work with. A quick count told him that he already had everything he needed as well as a couple of spares in case one or two of them burnt in the oven yet there was still just a bit of dough left over.

With a whimsical smile he reached for his tools again and began to shape a new pair of cookies.

Baking gingerbread didn’t take all that long, almost as much time as it took for them to cool once they were back out of the oven, and as he packaged everything to keep it safe for tomorrow he set his final two creations aside. It may have been a whim but he’d never sent anything out of this kitchen that hadn’t received his full effort and he wasn’t about to now. There was, after all, just enough red icing left - not to mention plenty of black.

Madara was still draped across the couch in the front shop when Tobirama came out to check on him, one of their fancier order boxes in hand. The bellyache appeared to have passed and instead pulled the man down in to a light food coma. Long dark lashes fluttered against pale cheeks when Tobirama bent to stroke one of them, rousing his husband from what looked to a very peaceful if possibly undeserved nap.

“Mnng? I wasn’t asleep.”

“Your snoring tells another story.”

“T-that wasn’t snoring! I was just humming a song under my breath!”

Lifting one eyebrow, Tobirama shook his head. “Mhm, very convincing.”

“Shut up! What’s that? I didn’t think we had anything else going out today. Did I forget something?” Madara frowned and his eyes grew distant as he went over their orders for the week in his head.

Rather than let him suffer Tobirama simply placed the box in his lap.

“You forgot to greet me properly when I came back from running errands but I’ll forgive you for that just this once. These are for you, if you’ve still got room in your belly.”

“Oh?”

Always intrigued by the promise of more sweets, Madara plucked at the edge of the box to pull the tab keeping it closed out of its slot. He lifted the lid with an almost childish expression of anticipation that morphed in to a graceless full-mouthed gawk when he spotted the gift inside. Much to Tobirama’s horror, he caught sight of what looked to be tears gathering in his husband’s eye.

“Is that...us?”

“Yes it is.”

“We’re holding hands. And you gave yourself a little fur collar just like your favorite jacket!”

Tobirama rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. He really liked that jacket. “A little extra detail never hurt anyone,” he murmured as though in protest.

He was mortified to see Madara cradle the cookies in one palm so he could use his other hand to gently stroke the little red icing lines marking where Tobirama had tattooed his own face during a rebellious youth. The number of times Madara had given those marks the same gentle attention were uncountable and it never failed to draw a little color in to his cheeks, embarrassed that his heart could be so softened by such a simple gesture.

“Just eat them and go back to moaning about your belly,” he grumbled even as he leaned in to the touch. Madara huffed at him in amusement.

“What brought this on, hm? I feel like I’m being rewarded for something.”

“It was a whim and nothing more.”

Something about that seemed the right thing to say as Madara puffed up like he’d been complimented, as though being gifted cookies made out of leftover dough were the greatest gesture of love.

“Thinking about me, were you?” his husband asked with a sly undertone.

“I am always thinking of you,” Tobirama admitted. It was true so he saw no reason to deny it.

Madara blinked once. “Oh. Well...I’m always thinking of you too. So there!”

Both of them blushing and flustered, two silly little gingerbread men still held ever so carefully in one of Madara’s palms, Tobirama was eternally grateful there were no customers in the shop to witness the disgustingly sweet scene they were surely making. With a rough clearing of his throat he pulled away and cast his eyes anywhere else in the room.

“Right,” he said gruffly, “eat your cookies. I’m going to go take inventory so we can call in another supply order tomorrow.” Spinning on his heel relieved him of the sight of his beloved husband cradling such precious if silly gifts but it did not spare him the sound of a quiet voice trailing after his rapid footsteps.

“I love you.”

Tobirama wrinkled his nose against the wave of mushy feelings in his chest until the urge to turn around and throw himself down on the couch with his partner had faded. He stepped out with purpose, with dignity, with every intention of going to make himself useful for the rest of the afternoon. But he did pause in the doorway to the kitchen long enough to turn his head to one side.

“Love you too,” he murmured.

It felt like capitulation but, then, Madara had already won his heart many years before and the life they’d built together would always be sweeter than any treat he could bake for himself.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #modern au #bakery au #fanfiction #yes the title is a pun #would you expect anything less???#i considered two other puns as well xD

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minah-delacroix · 4 years ago

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At any price (Part IV)

Universe: Dynasty AU

Characters: Minah, Sungjae, Tyler, Tara, Ashleigh, Daniel, Lucas

Word count: 4,3 k

The blind spot

“The Lee Corp gift strategists are on their way, should I set them up in the study room?” Lucas, Tyler’s very handsome mentee, said as the two of them walked into the golden room on the second floor of the Lee Manor. It was just another morning at the Lee’s, and Lucas ever so helpful was running through Tyler’s day’s schedule. Coming from one of the richest families in town, Lucas Zhang was surely one of a kind. He possessed the killing looks of a pop star —or at least that was how Jane described him to anyone willing to listen—, the good manners of the only son of a very traditional, old money Asian family and the ability to memorize Tyler’s schedule by heart and put up with his oftentimes ridiculous demands.

“Please, do,” Tyler said, practically snatching the cup of coffee one of the maids was about to serve to Lucas before sitting at the head of the curved glass table where Tara usually hosted her reading club soirées, but that had been set up for yet another majestic breakfast that morning.

Living with the Lee siblings was quite an experience and despite having spent nearly a month under the same roof, Minah was not used to their extravagant way of living yet. Even for someone like her who’d grown up surrounded by otherworldly luxury and wealth, some of Tyler’s habits seemed over the top at the very least. Minah had uselessly tried to convince herself that having her clothes washed and ironed with lavender water imported exclusively from Provence for that purpose or having breakfast at different sections of the house every day were just little quirks, but some of the house’s codes made her frankly uncomfortable. Having Tyler’s maids following her around and offering to perform even the most common and simplest of the tasks was one of them. She still recalled the time one of the housemaids offered to undress her and brush her hair before taking a bath. According to Tara, it was just the royal pampering they had been trained to give, but Minah still found it odd. Royal court training or not, she didn’t want any woman touching her intimately.

Then there was the excessive food and the grand buffets each meal turned into. Minah herself was not too much of a foodie, so she considered the exaggerated amount of fine cuisine a waste of resources. That morning was no particularly different and a spread of breakfast classics laid out on the table: exotic fineries like British tea mixes Minah had never heard of before, macarons from Tyler’s personal patissier, small cakes with the Lee family’s coat of arms —two dragons intertwined by a cross flory over a per saltire field—, silver dollar pancakes with red fruits, toasted English muffins, four different types of yogurt, you name it.

“Good morning, Miss Delacroix” Minah couldn’t help but smile that little satisfied grin of hers she reserved for men of his kind when Lucas sat across the table, bowing at her the slightest bit. Breakfast had suddenly become ten times more fulfilling with a man as beautiful around.

“Did you sleep well, darling?” Tyler cleared his throat, directing a fleeting, charming smile at Minah, who sat to his right dressed in a luxurious champagne peignoir that hugged every curve of her body. Then he eyed Lucas, pointing at the iPad with a very detailed schedule glowing on its screen.

“After the meeting with the-“ Whatever Lucas was planning to say, it was disrupted by his phone loudly ringing in the pocket of his Anderson & Sheppard jacket. He picked the call and almost immediately mouthed a “they’re here” to Tyler. Lucas pushed the chair back and stood up excusing himself with Minah with another bow before disappearing through the arched entrance.

“Is Mr. Choi up yet?” Tyler ignored the little pout Minah’s lip stuck out in and asked to no one in particular, though if Minah had to guess, he was talking to Mrs. Chu, his elderly Singaporean nanny.

“I’m afraid not” She replied, barely looking up from her phone. She was lounging on a chaise long, focused on her favorite mobile game. “He said he needed to catch up on his sleep,” She said before muttering to herself “As though he didn’t sleep enough already”.

“Well, please let him know I’ll be in the study room with the gift strategists in case he needs anything” Tyler reached to grab a pitcher of orange juice, but one of the maids standing nearby pounced forward to serve him.

“Gift strategists?” Minah asked, blowing softly on the surface of her cup of pine nut and apricot tea.

“Gifts for our clients” Tyler replied naturally “I mean, my family company’s” he corrected himself as the maid placed a bowl of fruit and greek yogurt in front of him “We are sponsoring The Royal Exchange's annual tree lighting ceremony this year. I thought we’d hand the gifts there-” He trailed off, a slightly concerned expression of disbelief crossed his face “Don’t tell me, you forgot the year-end business presents for our company”

Minah shook her head fervently although Tyler was not mistaken. With the stress of dealing with her family and her mind occupied by thoughts of Sungjae, she’d completely forgot about the business presents she was supposed to prepare. “What do you take me for?” She chuckled “Of course Maison Envoûté has something in the works."

“Do I get one of these gifts too?” Daniel Choi swept into the impromptu breakfast room and sat down across from Minah, admiring the food waiting for him.

“No, your life has been one big Christmas morning since you arrived” Minah faked a sweet smile at Tyler’s friend, who was meant to be visiting from New York for a week, but who’d already prolonged his stay a couple of times. Minah thought she had reasons to worry about him and how much of a distraction he’d represented since he set foot at the Manor. Tyler would often forget appointments because Daniel was around doing God knows what to keep him off his duties.

“You two behave, I’ll be in the study room,” Tyler said trying not to giggle at the way his business partner and his best friend looked at each other —as though they were planning each other’s funeral. “See you at the office, Min” Tyler gave Minah a quick soft kiss on the forehead before exiting the room, causing Daniel to fake retching noises.

“So what are you gonna do?” Daniel asked once Tyler was gone. Minah looked over at him with a serious and inquiring face, so he added “About the client gifts you don’t have?” With an eye roll.

“Like I said it’s in the works” Minah glared at Daniel so forcefully she was surprised he didn’t retreat then.

“Tyler might’ve bought your act, but he’s nice and he gives people more credit than they deserve” He sneered as one of the maids offered him a basket of pastries. He picked a croissant. “I’ve been here two weeks and I already know you have a blind spot when it comes to thinking about other people” He looked like he was going to add something else but he thought better and simply forced himself to smile at Minah

“I have no blind spots. I see all spots.” Minah picked a strawberry and took a bite “Just like I see you eating your croissants while you may be desperately trying to claim a seat at this table” Minah watched satisfied the way Daniel’s face tensed up “But you need to know that unless you’re a Lee or make business with a Lee, no one cares what you think” Minah popped the rest of the strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly, her mouth twisting into a smirk as she stood to leave “Especially not me”

Daniel’s eyes followed Minah when she walked out of the room, a strange smile gleaming across his face as he piled mini croissants onto his platter.

Boundaries

“Hey, I need a shopping partner or an assistant whichever you’re in the mood to be” Minah called, walking into Sungjae’s house

Somewhere in between the charity football game and the present day Minah and Sungjae had a conversation that allowed them to get some things off their chest and agree to try and be friendly to each other. After all, they’d known each other for a long time, and ignoring each other’s existence was as uncomfortable as it was inconvenient, considering Minah still helped Aurelie with some of her family’s minor companies. That’s why Minah thought there would be no problem if she paid a quick visit to her new “friend”.

“A ride at the very least” she suggested, fixing the chain of her shoulder bag. Just as she reached his room, the door opened and Ashleigh walked through it. She didn’t seem surprised to see Minah, instead, she was fastening her belt with a hundred-watt grin crossing her lipstick smudged lips.

“Oh, I see someone already got one” Minah scoffed, trying to look unfazed and unaffected by the fact Ashleigh never seemed to leave Sungjae’s side.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Ashleigh asked, walking out of Sungjae’s room and picking her bag from the console table in the hall.

A jab of jealousy nailed Minah in the gut. She could remember personally picking that table for Sungjae in one of the many home decor shopping sprees they went on when he first moved into the Delacroix property.

Suddenly the awful realization that it never was just sex swept over Minah. Sungjae meant a lot more to her than she ever admitted.

Obviously, now it was too late.

“Oh, you mean I can’t just walk in like I own the place?” Minah questioned with a thinly veiled smirk. “Because newsflash, I do”

Ashleigh purposely ignored Minah’s words and reached to pick her coat.

“So how is the job going? Heard Mr. Rausing wasn’t too pleased after finding out you rejected our contract. Now he’s been chasing after us, desperately trying to get us to sign with him, offering us a bargain price for your textiles” Suddenly feeling vindictive, Minah said despitefully. "I guess I should thank you after all"

“The only job I want to talk about is the faux job you pretended to give my boyfriend” Ashleigh frowned. It was the first time the two of them met face to face after Envoûté’s launch party, so Minah wasn’t exactly shocked to find out Sungjae’s girlfriend was still furious at her. After all, she’d made her cry and leave the party early.

“Faux job?” Nevertheless, Minah feigned obliviousness “Wow that’s pretty classy, Ash” Ashleigh cast an exasperated glare at Minah, so she gave in “You know you could argue that me pretending to blow Sungjae was a good thing, you two came out stronger than ever-”

“Are you high on something?” Ashleigh forced a laugh. As if on cue, Sungjae step into the hall.

“What is going on?”

Minah shrugged innocently and Ashleigh, though still fuming, only turned to face her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth.

Minah looked away, feeling an unpleasant twinge of jealousy.

“I was about to leave” Ashleigh put on her coat as Sungjae looked over at Minah questioningly “Maybe you should change your locks” The blonde woman gave Sungjae a peck on the cheek before walking out of his home.

There was a brief silent moment where Sungjae continued to look at Minah as if asking for explanations, but she had already started to walk toward the kitchen.

“Minah“ Sungjae called with a weary sigh, making her turn on her heel and look at him with those large Bambi eyes of hers that apparently had long ago lost their effect on him. Sungjae stood looking at her with his arms crossed over the chest, eyes hard as he regarded her with a raised brow.

“I would say she isn’t getting enough of you-know-what, but knowing you-“ Minah was interrupted by Sungjae’s severe sounding voice.

“Minah you can’t just barge in here without respect for boundaries,” Sungjae said, his lips twisted in disapproval.

“Boundaries?” Minah asked, eyelashes fluttering “I thought you agreed to be my friend”

“Yes, but Ashleigh doesn’t want to be your friend” Sungjae’s voice softened “Nor she wants to be reminded we were friends”

“I think you’re using friends as a euphemism, but I mean actual friends” Minah pursed her lips and then stared at Sungjae with something that resembled to pleading eyes, for a brief moment. But of course, Minah was a Delacroix, so her expression shifted automatically, turning a tad reproaching.

“Minah, you can’t expect Ashleigh to be cool after all you put her through”

Minah rolled eyes at that. What about what Ashleigh had put her through?

“You need to give us some space” Sungjae didn’t look amused, nor he’d sounded so serious ever before.

Minah took it as a cue for her to leave.

Sungjae’s Christmas present

“What is all of this?” Tara asked following Tyler into his office. The room smelled like an odd mix of cigars, fine chocolate, and scotch so she regarded Minah, who was sitting at her desk with an arrangement of colorfully wrapped gifts, with wariness.

“It’s the season to show our clients how much we appreciate them” Minah handed a list to Tara and Tyler as they sat across from her on a recently shipped Grand Model Sofa from Le Corbusier. “And to show our competitor’s clients what they’re missing out” she smiled proudly.

“Are we hosting another party?” Tyler asked confused, without even sparing a glance at the list.

“People forget parties as soon as their hangover fades” Minah was probably speaking from her own experience at the launch party but Tara nodded in agreement. “If we can butter up my family’s clients with a memorable present, maybe some of them will be willing to meet with us”

Tyler and Tara shared skeptical looks, but Minah was too busy sorting through the gifts on her desk to notice.

“Now, if you look through the list you can see some of the options-”

“Tara will help,” Tyler said giving a quick glance and losing interest the moment he noticed there were like 20 items on it “Choosing presents is exhausting, I can only deal with it once a year”

“Fine” Minah shrugged, concealing the disappointment in her voice quite well. She’d been under the impression Tyler wanted to pick the gifts for their clients himself, but she figured out the meeting with the gift strategists that morning hadn’t gone quite as planned. “Anyway, my family usually hands the gifts at their Tree Lighting Ceremony, so I guess we could send ours next week at the latest” she added, discarding all the items she’d been planning to show Tyler and putting them back in their respective bags.

“So you’re going to the Lighting Ceremony?” Tyler stood up and asked “casually”, which earned him an eye roll from his sister.

“Of course I am, I’m a Delacroix after all” Minah said distractedly.

“Wanna go together?” Tyler’s invitation made Minah and Tara stop on their tracks and slowly turn to look at him with matching looks of disbelief.

“Well��” Minah started, clearly flustered “I usually go with Sungjae” Tyler’s obvious reaction was to roll eyes while Tara’s face morphed into a grimace that looked like a charade clue for the WTF expletive. “But I figured out his girlfriend wouldn’t like that” Minah went on, picking her bag from the ottoman next to her desk as a new realization hit in. “You know what? I got the best idea for Sungjae’s Christmas present this year” She jumped to her feet enthusiastically.

“Space?” Tara asked, giving Minah a slightly cold judgmental look.

“No” Minah shook her head “I am going to make a new friend”

“Who?” Tyler blinked confused.

“Please don’t say-“ Tara started.

“Ashleigh,” Minah and Tara said in unison, their voices differing in tone.

—

It took Minah an hour to navigate through London’s traffic and make it to Ashleigh’s office on the 30th floor of some North London tower that once upon a time had been considered one of the ugliest architectural pieces in the city, but it had been revamped with vertical gardens that made an important ecological statement as much as they helped it to save face.

Minah had to take a deep breath before walking through the doors of IN-Eco Corp and remind herself that she was only there to show Sungjae how much she actually cared about him and that she was willing to do anything to keep him in her life. She would go as far as to call a truce with Ashleigh. Even if that implicitly conveyed a sign of weakness.

When Minah stepped into Ashleigh’s office she was on the phone complaining about a sponsor drawing back from a contract and how it would affect the company’s organic cotton farming project in Peru, but she was quick to finish the call as soon as she saw Minah.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt” Minah apologized insincerely. Actually, she’d meant to and she was glad Ashleigh picked the hint. “But, I brought you an invitation to the Annual Delacroix Tree Lighting Ceremony” Minah flipped her hair over her shoulder with one hand and pulled a red envelope from her clutch with her other.

“The Tree Lighting might be hosted by your family, but Sungjae is an employee and I’m going as his date, why would I need your invitation?” Ashleigh said, getting up from her desk. “Why are you really here, Minah?” Minah didn’t miss the way Ashleigh pronounced her name —the way someone would pronounce some offensive word.

“Sungjae is my friend and you’re his girlfriend” Minah started, trying not to react at the way Ashleigh moved her hands as if encouraging her to go on and stop repeating the obvious. “So it stands to reason that you and I are gonna run into each other a lot-”

“Is that a threat?” The blonde cut Minah off.

“No” Minah heaved a sigh, thinking about the lengths she’d go to make Sungjae happy with a strange sense of concern and mortification. “I'm just saying we all should be friends for all of our sakes”

“So in other words, you want me to make it more convenient for you to spend time with my man?” Ashleigh raised her brows incredulous. Minah almost let out a chuckle at the fact Ashleigh referred to Sungjae as “her man”, but she had the sense to stop herself.

“Ashleigh, listen, this is not just about Sungjae” Minah offered her a fleeting smile “I would be the first one to admit that I could use a girl friend” Ashleigh laughed as though she couldn’t believe her ears. “Come on, Ashleigh, you’re making things more complicated than they need to be” Minah went on “It’s not like Sungjae and I were even in love” Ashleigh expression hardened upon registering those words “It was just office sex and booty calls”

“Tell that to him” Ashleigh glared at Minah

“Wait, what? Did he say it was more than sex?” Minah attempted to sound casual but was quick to realize Ashleigh wasn't fooled by her cool exterior and was picking up on her lingering excitement.

“And that is exactly why we can’t be friends” Ashleigh fumed, opening the glass door for Minah to leave.

Trying to move on

“Why are you still bothering that poor girl?” Tara inquired sternly, looking at Minah through her pair of frameless Chopard glasses. For someone as lenient as her, Tara seemed quite exasperated

“Well…“ Minah, sitting on the Pierre Frey rug, supported her left elbow on the sofa and placed her hand upon the chin. The two girls had been sitting in one of the lounge rooms on the second floor, supposedly working, but of course, they’d lost their track after Minah decided to share her visit to Northern London with Tara. “I thought that if I tried to be friends with her-“ Minah looked up from the list in her hands, sincerity radiating from her big hazel eyes, something Tara would’ve given Minah credit for if she had not been too busy frowning at her.

“Let-it-go, Min” Tyler’s sister clicked her tongue as though Minah had not spoken. “Close the door and let’s focus on this before Tyler gets back here. We’ll talk about this later when I have Jane backing me up”

Minah rolled her eyes. Tara was really not fun at all ever since she started hanging out with that Mark Yang boy.

“Well, Envoûté is supposed to be super innovative and eco-friendly” Tara started

“Well, if we go with tech it has to be cutting edge, something everybody wants” Minah meditated, her eyes straying briefly to the strong fire blazing in the fireplace

“So why don’t we give them that headphone-headband hybrid, but we make it couture?” Tara suggested.

“Here’s a tip, you can never go wrong with rum,” Daniel said entering the room, a glass with something that looked like a Negroni in his hands.

“Tell that to your parents, Daniel” Minah scoffed. “Look, this is a work zone, for people with jobs”

“Jobs where you can wear pajamas all day?” Daniel said, eyeing Minah up and down and looking at her silk set with reproving eyes. “Sign me up”

“Charlotte Casiraghi wore this last week!” Minah explained to Tara, almost scandalized Daniel was suggesting she was wearing pajamas. “You’ve clearly picked Americans’ bad taste, assuming you ever had it, of course,” Minah spat angrily.

“Whatever, I didn’t come here to comment on your clothes” Daniel started, eyes narrowing to slits “Though I would absolutely change before meeting the cutie that’s waiting for you downstairs” He shrugged before turning around ready to leave.

“Wait! Who is it?” Tara asked curiously.

“I think his name is Seojun” Daniel didn’t deign to look back at the girls before walking away.

“Sungjae?” Minah and Tara exchanged incredulous looks.

____

Ten minutes later Minah walked down the marble staircase into the entrance hall of Tyler’s home. It was a given that Minah Delacroix was always beautiful without even trying, but she looked almost ethereal dressed in white ruffled silk shorts and a bodice with thin straps that barely held the piece of fabric in place and showed more cleavage than her family would deem appropriate for someone of her status. Then there was the fact her hair gleamed against her clothes, spilling down her shoulders in loose waves.

Sungjae had to gulp and look away when she stood in front of him, eyes boring into his.

“What are you doing here?” She questioned, still feeling bitter about their last meeting.

“Well, you don’t seem to understand boundaries, so why should I?” Sungjae’s voice was tense as if he were keeping himself contained within his body. “Why did you go see Ashleigh?” His jaw clenched.

Minah snorted. “I was adulting. All I did was inviting her to the Tree Lighting Ceremony and she kicked me out of her office” She said, giving slow steps, trying to draw closer to Sungjae.

“I told you to give us space and you tried to sabotage my date?” Sungjae shook his head, tongue in cheek as if he couldn’t believe Minah was as tone-deaf.

“What?” Minah’s snort was equal parts confused and offended, she stared at Sungjae, eyes widening and mouth pressed into a fine line. “Wait, you’re taking her to the Tree Lighting?” Her voice was accusing and momentarily she allowed herself to look hurt. “But that’s our thing. I mean-” Of course Minah briefly forgot there was no such a thing as “we” —as in Minah and Sungjae— any more and by extension, there were no traditions for them to keep either, but the thought was so painful that she still went on. She needed a clear response “We always go together-” she trailed off.

“Minah, these boundaries aren’t just for Ashleigh” Sungjae said gravely, “They’re for me” He took a few steps forward, the heels of his dress shoes slightly clicked against the marble floor and before he noticed, he was standing face to face with Minah, so close she could even count his lashes. “I can’t keep doing this every day” Minah recognized the same tone he used the morning after he slept with Ashleigh. “I think about you when I shouldn’t and I need to get you out of my head before we fall back into what we had”

The tension between them was so thick Minah almost felt she couldn't pull air into her lungs. Sungjae’s words echoed through the ample hall and its almost 30-foot ceilings, causing Minah to shudder ever so slightly.

When she finally gathered the courage to speak, Minah felt like facepalming herself. Her breath shook as she parted her lips. “Would- would that be so wrong?” she asked, her hand moving to hold Sungjae’s before her brain could even process what she was doing.

“Yes” Sungjae watched their hands and briefly squeezed Minah’s in something that was probably meant to be a comforting and warm touch, but that only made Minah’s heart tremble in ache. “I’m trying to move on”

And with that Sungjae stormed out of the Lee Manor.

Meanwhile, Minah remained in the same spot, her stomach twisting in pain as she swallowed once, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“You startled me” Just when she was about to indulge in tears, the doors of the manor flung open and Tyler strolled in, clearly surprised to find Minah there, all dolled up. His eyes automatically settled on the curves of her breasts and the glowy skin of her cleavage.

“I- I was-“ Minah heard herself stammer “I was waiting for you to come home” she blatantly lied.

“Why?” Tyler licked his lips almost unconsciously

“I figured out I never gave you an answer” Minah smiled at him fondly, but he looked a bit confused, so she clarified “Do you still want to go to that Tree Lighting together?”

Tyler raised a brow for a fraction of a second, but then he threw a furtive appreciative glance at Minah and smirked, nodding his head.

Why would she ask such obvious questions was beyond him.

...

#oc #story #minah #sungjae #tyler #tara #daniel #lucas #ashleigh #dynasty au

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whatwashernameagain · 5 years ago

Text

Keep him safe - Chapter 26

You can read the previous Chapters here: Ch 1, Ch 5, Ch 10, Ch 15, Ch 20, Ch 25, Previous Chapter, Ao3 Link, Lo’s, Pat’s and Virgil’s aesthetics, Fantasy AU You are Magical, I’m dying to be with you

Pairings: Logan/Patton, Roman/Virgil

Words: 9.842

Warnings: abusive relationships, anxiety, low self esteem, fear of sexual assault, described injuries, bathing, mentioned striptease dancing

Summary: Detective Logan Sanders and his best friend and dorky partner Roman Prince have made a dear friend in the lovely pattisier Patton. Logan however feels a lot more than friendship for the sweet man, even though he knows he cannot possibly have him. Their routine is broken abruptly when Logan finds bruises on Patton’s fair skin and slender wrists he could hardly have received from his costumary clumsiness. Meanwhile his partner Roman has his own demon to fight, which comes in the form of a little delinquent who seemed to have been pulled into a street gang quite against his will. Roman is determined to help the strange young man. It would be so much easier though if he just stopped hissing at him!

Notes: Late again. No one is surprised. However, I will have more time to write soon and will be starting on the next chapter as soon as I know what exactly I want to write about. Suggestions are very welcome! Thanks again to my amazing beta readers who corrected SO MUCH in record time! @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 and @hanramz-the-fander <3

Chapter 26

He couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

He was bundled up securely, his hand and arm hastily cleaned and wrapped by a paramedic that had mercifully patched him up as briefly as possible. He was in a place where he’d never been hurt before – Logan’s apartment – and still the shaking would not stop. He couldn’t focus on anything else. It seemed to seep into his very core, rattling everything loose – his lungs, his heart, his very emotions.

The rattling made him restless. Despite how heavy his limbs felt, some old, animal instinct told him to get up, to move, to find a spot that was dark and tiny which he could crawl into and not be found. He was far too exposed.

Agony shot up his leg as he tried to stand before he’d consciously come to the decision, startling a soundless cry of pain from him. His ankle throbbed with heated, angry sensations, twisted as he’d fallen when Trevor had hit him. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to manage to put any weight on it, despite having walked off so many injuries. It was the shaking – he was so weak, cold and unsteady, he wanted to pull himself together so badly, he had to, but everything seemed so hazy whenever he moved, nausea and dizziness threatening to overwhelm him whenever he tried to get up, to not be in the way and be noticed and draw more anger towards himself. This was bad, being vulnerable was bad. It invited worse things every time. Every sound made his heart thunder anxiously, he just wanted to hide and not be seen, he felt so ugly. So unsafe.

Patton flinched so hard he felt it in every bruise on his slender body. The knock had been very soft, just a gentle warning against the not quite closed door, but it felt loud. Tears of shame and terror made his vision swim as he was confronted with how gentle he was being treated after causing so much destruction.

“Yes?”

He could only speak the word quietly, annoying and feeble, he’d never be heard this way and everyone would have to wait for him to repeat himself again-

The door creaked open softly. He’d been listened to.

Logan stood on the other side, much more composed than before, and blessedly alone, respecting Patton’s wish for privacy. He could not be seen by anyone else this way, the humiliation of having been so very wrong would break him. Patton felt like he was about to fall apart as it was. Like a fragile little thing with shattered, bird-like bones. Yet his quick gaze took in the man before him on instinct, noting the hunched shoulders, the sock clad feet, the lack of a belt and service weapon, the fact that he’d dressed down to his pristine white shirt to soften his image. There had been blood on his vest and jacket, he recalled shamefully.

“May I come in, Patton?”

His voice was very gentle, almost calm enough to hide the tremor in his voice. Poor Logan, he was distressed!

“O-of course. I mean -you don’t need to ask, this is your room! Please don’t be- I shouldn’t- I really don’t want to- to take up too much space and cause a fuss, you don’t need to worry about m-me or feel sad, I don’t want to- I don’t want to cause t-trouble-”

“It is alright, Patton.” Logan interrupted his increasingly frantic, breathless mumbling soothingly. “You are not imposing. I could not begin to express how relieved I am to know you are here now. I would not want you anywhere else.”

Tears threatened to blind Patton upon hearing the sincere reassurance. Logan – considerate, gentle, wonderful Logan – had tried his hardest to hide how shaken and hurt he was, but he’d never been good at keeping things from the young man. Still he was a steadying presence in the room, large and quiet. Slowly, so as not to startle his guest, he offered the tea he’d left to fetch for Patton to take.

The mug had cooled a little, he noticed, so not to burn his skin. I was a wasted effort, considering how badly his hands were shaking. With his injured hand wrapped and of little use, Patton managed to spill a bit of the hot tea over his bandage immediately.

Logan reached out quickly to steady him.

The flinch caught both of them by surprise. Patton whimpered, flooded with sudden terror. The mug slipped from his numb hand and was barely caught by Logan who must be furious – the white carpet under the bed – he’d – Patton pulled his hands to his chest and curled into himself, silent as a mouse, feeling every single one of his injuries as if he were just receiving them, feeling tiny and terrified. He sensed Logan freeze over him, a wall of muscle boxing him in. Squeezing his eyes shut, the patissier waited for his hair to be grabbed, for the screaming to start.

The clink of china being set down was loud in the utterly still room. Then heard nothing but his own shallow breathing and the rushing of blood in his ears. Though he tried so hard to anticipate what would be done to him, the dizziness and the burning pain of his cuts made it hard to focus. His head felt strange and hazy and he felt exposed.

“Patton?”

Surprise made the smaller man pause. Logan sounded much farther away than he’d expected. Blinking burning eyes open, he found him backed away against the door, wringing his hands anxiously. The mug sat next to his feet innocently. He did not look angry.

“I am sorry for startling you.” He uttered very softly. He hadn’t expected a man so large speak so quietly. “Please, is there anything I can do? Would you like me to leave, or ask Virgil to...”

Patton shook his head. He didn’t want to be alone, yet he was afraid to be approached, to anger someone with his mistakes. He didn’t know what he wanted. To feel nothing, perhaps. To not have broken things so badly in the first place. He wished he hadn’t done all the terrible, dumb things that had caused them all to be here, hurting and sad and burdened because of him. He’d only wanted to love Trevor, to have a family, but all he’d done was cause him pain. He’d trapped him and betrayed him and he’d left him, unconscious, and who knew what Logan would do with him now?

A small sound of defeat escaped the younger man. He couldn’t help him anymore. Logan had seen him hit Patton and he’d be so angry, he’d put him in prison. Oh my gosh, Trevor wouldn’t survive there, he didn’t even know where he was right now, with no one to comfort him after Patton had just… broken him. The memory of his tear stained, twisted, angry expression made cold fear stiffen the baker’s limbs, yet the guilt weighed much more heavily on him. He only noticed that his shaking had turned into painful, rattling sobs when he realized Logan was rambling at him.

“...please, just- let me know how I may help you! I cannot imagine what you are going through right now but I promise we will fix this, somehow. You’ll have whatever you need. Please, Patton, please believe me.”

He looked terribly lost on the other side of the room, unable to touch Patton and therefore barely knowing how to make things better. His pleading cut the gentle man like a knife between ribs that were aching and bruised. He wanted Logan to be alright, he wanted to feel safe in his arms, yet he felt frightened of what he would do to Trevor. He realized with sharp clarity that he had no idea what this protective man might be capable of - the thought scared him. He knew he had no right to ask anything of him and might just make things worse with his insolence – he had every reason to be furious at Patton’s impertinence, yet the irrational plea burst from his lips without his consent.

“Please don’t hurt Trevor!”

Logan stilled. A terrible look washed over his face. It was worse than anger. He looked baffled, hurt, defeated.

He neither raised his voice nor his hand against Patton.

A long moment passed.

“I will not take any measures without your consent.” The promise sounded like he had to rip it from his own, bloody chest. Hearing his voice was like a stab to Patton’s heart. He hated himself for this.

“I’m so sorry.”

The words broke out of Patton like a sob of a frightened child.

None of this would have happened if he had listened to all the people who’d told him – over and over again – to leave, to stop trying, that their relationship was bad. Logan had told him. This very day, he’d looked at this brilliant, well meaning man and had told him he knew better than him. Humiliation made his face burn.

“Logan, I’m so sorry- you t-told me it wouldn’t work. I’m so stupid, you must think I’m the most foolish person and now you’re feeling bad because of me and s-surely- surely Virgil is really distressed and- and I shouldn’t ask you to- I hurt you and I know you shouldn’t- but- but it’s all my fault, he d-didn’t- he can’t help it- please-”

“Patton, please stop.” The detective pleaded. Panic welled in him upon seeing this precious creature’s suffering. He wanted to grab him and press all of his shattered pieces close, yet he hardly dared to touch him. Patton had never looked smaller or more fragile. His lovely face was discolored with bruises, pink and reds bleeding together around his cut lip and swollen cheek. Even his hair was still mattered with blood where it had been pulled too harshly. The brutal sobs shaking him had made his face redden and shine with tears. Logan’s hands felt too big and rough to touch him. He hardly knew what he was doing in ordinary situations, how was one supposed to fix suffering this unimaginable? How would Patton ever recover from this?

“I’m sorry.” The patissier mumbled. Ever attentive, he’d spotted his protector’s helplessness. His chest felt heavy with grief so great it was crushing him. He’d hurt Trevor so terribly, and now Logan was in pain because of him. All he had ever wanted was to help the people he loved so much sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breath from it, like there was not enough space to fit both his lungs and his emotions in his narrow chest. His face burned as he recalled Trevor’s twisted, reddened face, caused by his failure to love him.

“I’m so ashamed.” He admitted in a small voice, feeling the words break in his throat.

A wounded sound escaped the taller man. He felt his expression melt out of his control – a picture of pain and weakness when he needed to be strong the most. Oh so carefully settling on the bed next to the patissier, giving him time to pull away, the detective cupped his delicate, discolored face in his large hands with utter gentleness. His voice was rough as he spoke, as if the very truth of his words rose from the burning behind his ribcage and scalded his throat with how much he needed Patton to believe them.

“Patton, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Something terrible was done to you by someone who was supposed to love and protect you. Who failed to protect you - like I did. We, the men in your life, are supposed to feel ashamed for failing to live up to the way you accept and care for all of us. Everything you are responsible for is your honest attempt to heal us from wounds inflicted to each other and shield us from ourselves, because we are not like you. You are a man who will love even when everything is lost. It is your primary response to the world and – it will not always work. Sometimes, love is not enough, but that is not your fault. In a world as good as you deserve, it would be.”

Feeling his vision blur, Logan rubbed at his eyes with a shaking hand, unable to see Patton through his tears and frustration. His words kept spilling from him with little more control than he had over the salty droplets falling between them.

“How can I make you understand – Patton - when I look at you I feel – hope. You are too good, too gentle for this world. But that does not mean we get to hurt you or that you need to change. It means we need to reach for your example. Your pain and ours is not your fault but the effect of our failure.”

He gave up on drying his tears.

“Patton, you are not to blame because you gave him your everything. No matter how broken and undeserving a man is, you take him with his flaws, without judgment, and give everything you are, hoping to heal what the world broke not because there is any hope left, but because you refuse to leave anyone behind. The strength it must take to uphold this fight, this life – it humbles me. Patton, you leave me awed whenever I look at you. Even bruised and hurt by a relationship that failed, you didn’t because you are stronger than anyone I have ever met. You were cut and beaten by the world and responded with kindness. I don’t understand it, because I am not – I am not like you, but I admire you for it. I know you are in pain now and that you must feel like you will never recover from this, but even though I have little of your power, I will- I would like to...”

Patton was in his arms.

He felt where the blood had tangled his fair locks together where the smaller man pressed his head under his chin, felt his trembling in the strong arms he wrapped around the slender body. Patton’s breath was ragged where he pressed himself against him, as if he could hardly be close enough. As if the embrace of his man, who saw him not as ugly and broken but as strong and beautiful, could take him to a place where nothing could hurt him. He closed his eyes and held on.

Soft sounds reached them from beyond the walls of the bedroom. Roman’s voice was so deep and honey-rich, Patton imagined he felt it seep into the warm wood of the floors and walls and reach him through the very air around him. Virgil was there with him, responding to a soft warbling with the pitch he’d reserved for the neurotic raccoon stress-gnawing on objects. The sounds were faint, almost drowned out by the steady heartbeat under his ear. He pressed closer, letting the melody of the flat around him flow into the awning hole ripped into his chest by unforgiving hands, sharp words and terrible, suffocating guilt.

“You’re trembling.” Logan remarked softly. His hands were large and warm on his back, yet the coldness in his limbs would not quite go away. His fingers felt icy where he’d twisted them in the pure white of the detective’s shirt.

“I-It’s okay. Just cold.” Patton mumbled.

He was no stranger to this feeling. When things were especially bad and his hands shook too much to dress his wounds for long hours, sometimes this coldness settled into his bones that no desperate amount of blankets he’d wrap himself in could chase away. It happened when his shame and exhaustion were so great they threatened to grind him away to nothing but dust carried away by the breeze. There was no heat left in his brittle form. No will left to keep it warm and alive. In those long nights when Trevor took his frustration and pain out on him and then slammed the door behind him, Patton was pathetically wishing for a warm body to hold him, for Trevor to come back and forgive him, for anyone to wrap him in their embrace so he would not have to feel so alone.

Logan pressed him closer with a gentleness at odds with how firmly he brought them together, as if he could not bear any space between them. Patton’s bruises hurt, but he tried to curl in tighter, smaller, make himself tiny enough to disappear, so he didn’t have to be so cold. His breath caught as he realized he wasn’t alone with the chill this time.

“Would, um-”

The patissier quieted his ragged breathing, noting his protector’s unsureness.

“Would you like me to- to draw a bath? I know you are feeling…”

Hurt, broken, ashamed, needy to be held and hidden from the world-

Patton swallowed the bitter, clingy words with difficulty.

“...unsteady. It is only an offer and I will not- I would not want to push you into anything, but I cannot help noting how cold you are. The shock is likely affecting your system, and I have learned that it helps some – survivors – to feel more safe and clean when they – when-”

“I’d like that. Thank you.” Patton responded quietly. They had no bathtub in their flat, and often standing had been too difficult or the spray of hot water too painful on his body. He felt so drained and tired of hurting and trembling that he wanted to try. Even if the idea of peeling off his bloodied clothes, his last line of defense he’d gotten to keep today, make him anxious.

Logan was as gentle with him as he’d been the whole day. He helped him up with careful hands and pulled him close steadily when he noticed the wince of pain caused by his sprained ankle.

“May I carry you?”

His voice was deep and soothing. Patton closed his eyes and focused on nothing else.

Being picked up by the detective was nothing like being grabbed by Trevor. He was out of control when he was tentatively lifted off his feet, but he knew he would not be dropped or restrained. Not wanting to be seen, he buried his face in the man’s neck as he crossed the corridor, breathing in nothing but his scent. Sounds – Roman’s concerned rumbling, Virgil’s softly treading feet and an excited mewling, reached him from the kitchen, a respectful distance away.

The bathroom smelled nice.

It was the first thing he noticed upon being enclosed in the warm, tiled room and dared to turn his head. Roman had clearly widened his territory and left his many, sweet scented products covering the various surfaces. There was more furniture than last time he’d been here, he noticed. A small table with a dark, wooden chair had been placed close to the window. Various boxes and brushes and other beauty products were scattered around a mirror almost obscured by the spotted orchid spilling its flowers over the table as it grew at an odd angle. The detective had clearly tried to wrangle it under control with sticks and string, but had made little progress so far. Slowly, Logan lowered him onto the cushioned chair.

Quickly starting to fill the tub, he kept his voice very gentle.

“I will be just outside in case you need anything at all. If, um, if you like, I can help you with- with your clothes, only as much as you want me to, of course! And you may of course feel free to wrap yourself in a bathrobe or towel to bathe, if the additional cover provides you with added comfort.”

He was blushing, Patton noticed. Though anxious about the situation, the taller man’s insecurity put him at ease. Logan was far too concerned about his comfort to try to take advantage of him, the rational part of his mind told him. Yet he could not bring his heart to stop racing.

Tentative hands on his own made him realize how firmly he’d been clutching his bloodied shirt. His cut hand was throbbing awfully.

“You do not have to do this, Patton. I can simply carry you back to bed and tuck you in with some warmed pillows. Or I can ask Roman or Virgil to assist you, if their presence might make you more comfortable. I would absolutely understand you not wanting to be so… vulnerable in front of me.”

“No! I can’t- Virgil can’t see me like this.”

He couldn’t bear to be so ugly, so disappointing in front of someone so strong and hurt as Virgil. He’d wanted to support him and make him feel safe, not burden him by breaking apart when he was needed. He had been supposed to be the one to take care of the former gang member. He’d been supposed to be strong and reliable and now he was failing at both.

Roman was out of the question as well. The man was so gentle and sweet, he’d never expose him to something like this. Seeing him suffer by being confronted by someone as sad and broken and sick as Patton – he didn’t want that for him.

It was true that his feelings about Logan were conflicted sometimes. He was still shaken by what the man had done to Trevor, but despite the shame and frisson of fear shooting through him at every sudden move, he trusted Logan not to injure him. Moreover, he wanted him here. Logan was tough and intimidating, overly protective and dangerous, and he was safety. He was patient and gentle and kinder than anyone had ever been to him and his hands and words were steadying and encouraging him every day since they’d met. His voice captured all of Patton’s frightened, jumbled thoughts and brought them here, into the present where Logan was taking care of him and so willing to... it felt like loving him.

Patton’s thundering heartbeat slowed.

“I can undress myself, but… would- would you help me get into the tub?” He asked softly. Something calmed in Patton’s chest as he saw Logan nod vigorously, so willing to serve and protect.

“Of course! I will wait outside. The towels and bathrobe are right here, just call and I will, um… Yes, I will be right outside.” He rambled, backing away as he spoke, clearly awkward. The patissier felt more of his fear drain away, replaced by soft feelings for the man almost stumbling over his feet in his haste to give him privacy.

Undressing was as painful as he’d expected. Bending forward to take off his socks made him terribly dizzy. For a moment, he had to steady himself at the tub next to him as black spots from pain and nausea made his vision swim. Sweat dampened his clothes from the effort as he moved. He knew he was taking a lot of time to peel out of his shirt and pants and was worried about making Logan impatient, he was really trying to be quick, but there was little he could do to speed up the process with his bruised abdomen and bandaged hand and arm. The torn skin on his forearm throbbed painfully as he pulled his shirt over his head. Trevor had shattered a glass so close to him against the wall that the splinters had cut him.

He was quivering like a leaf and feeling weak and helpless once he was finally wrapped in a large robe. Even breathing seemed like too much of an effort for a few long minutes. He was so tired. By the time his icy hands had managed to tie the robe around his small waist, the tub had filled. He felt barely conscious.

Logan stepped into the room quietly upon being called, as if he were afraid any sound would make Patton shatter. There was no hiding the distress on his face upon seeing the state the patissier was in. His face was pasty white under the discolorations and the robe had slipped down and exposed one thin, harshly bruised shoulder, adding to the gruesome picture of his beaten face. The younger man turned away with shame, fumbling with the fabric with numb fingers. Carefully, the detective grasped the material and pulled it closed.

“It is alright, Patton. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He promised earnestly. In contrast to the image he knew he presented, Patton was painfully aware of how handsome the other was though. His clear cut features, his dark, clear eyes and long, graceful limbs clad in expensive fabric. He felt small and dirty in comparison. The patissier knew exactly how he looked. He’s seen it in the mirror often enough, late at night or early in the morning, trying to cover up bruises in the cold light of their bathroom.

Trevor was ashamed of hurting him. Every time. Sometimes, that shame made his words about his looks sharp and hurtful. It did not mean they weren’t true though.

Yet, Logan did not look repulsed as they gazed at each other. His expression was very soft.

“May I lift you now?”

Yes, being in the warm water and not having to sit upright anymore sounded like a great idea. And it was. Compared to his chilled hands the temperature felt too hot, yet he knew Logan had made sure not to scald him. His bruises burned uncomfortably in the heat, but the pain would pass. Despite the initial discomfort, after only a few seconds, Patton felt his tense muscles loosening. Laying his head down was a blessing – Logan had even hastily laid a towel at the edge of the tub so he could rest his head against it. The young man tiredly watched him kneel next to the tub fold a second towel over its edge to place his bandaged arm and hand on top of the fabric comfortably. He was having a hard time taking in so much consideration.

Despite the heat, his body was still shivering from a coldness deeper than the skin. In comparison, his bandaged hand felt even colder. Logan appeared to notice and tentatively curled his own, warm hands around his smaller limb. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on the pale skin, distracting him from the pain.

“Would you like me to leave you alone? What can I do?”

A husky laugh escaped Patton that had nothing joyful about it. He still wanted to do more? After saving him and carrying him around like a useless child? He’d already done so much while Patton was doing nothing but selfishly take more, need more from him. He pulled his knees close to his body, feeling small and naked and awkward even with the robe wrapped around his bruised body. When they’d met at least he’d felt he could offer a nice place to stay to the detectives and feed them, take care of them. He’d wanted to take care of them. But the longer they’d known each other, the worse Trevor’s paranoia had grown and the needier Patton had been.

He really only wanted to love and heal everyone he cared about so deeply, but he’d made his own boyfriend distrustful and sad and violent and now he leeched off Logan’s kindness and still failed to respect what he’d given him. His eyes started to burn where they were fixed on the bandage. The perfectly white fabric was stained with the tea he’d spilled and it suddenly felt terrible.

He felt guilty and afraid and he knew he should have taken better care of it and he would not cry anymore. He’d been messy and annoying enough. Biting his lip hard, he tried to pull himself together, almost managing a smile after a moment.

“It’s fine. I’m perfectly fine, thank you so much, Logan. You’ve done so much.” He promised lightly. His hand had grown stiff in the detective’s hold as if trying to avoid drawing attention to the ruined fabric and the possible consequences. Concerned and insecure, the taller man looked down to where Patton’s cold fingers had tensed, fearing he was overstepping.

“I apologize if my contact made you uncomfortable.” He muttered, drawing back his hand. “I should have asked before initiating it. Would it be alright if I changed your bandage? I promise to be quick so not to cause you any further distress.”

Oh.

Patton’s breath caught quickly at the mention of the bandage, fearfully hunching his shoulders. He did not know what he expected, but no more accusations or anger emerged from the concerned detective.

“I’m sorry I ruined it.” The patissier mumbled, fighting the instinct to draw his hand closer to his chest. He shivered despite the warm water lapping at his collar bones like a liquid blanket.

Blinking in surprise, Logan hastened to reassure him. “It is of no consequence. Whenever Roman injures himself, his bandages need changing several times a day when he suffers accidents with his makeup or nail-polish. He irrationally appears to fear his appearance might suffer due to any injury and attempts to make up for it with especially colorful cosmetics. I will take care of it right now, if you do not mind.”

Patton waited for the other shoe to drop, but Logan simply gazed at him patiently. After a long moment, the tense limbs uncurled slowly.

“Oh- alright. I can do it myself, though. You really don’t have to. You must be really uncomfortable sitting on the floor like that and I already took up so much of your time.”

“I would like to do it.”

And that was that. Logan dug out the first-aid kit and unwrapped the cut hand with the utmost gentleness. One layer after the other came off and still nothing but the sound of lapping water and quiet breathing filled the room. More than a little awed, Patton observed the look of concentration on the handsome man’s face as he touched him as if he were a fragile, newborn bird. He had a hard time understanding why he wasn’t angry. Anger always followed him after days like the one he had just survived. And then, he recalled a day early in their friendship. Logan had come to fix his lights with barely cleaned scabs on his hands. Patton had taken care of him. He had knelt before him much like Logan was beside him now and had silently wrapped his hand and arm. He had liked doing it.

Fear and tension finally seemed to seep out of him, making him almost weightless in the warm water. Seeing Logan from Patton’s perspective made him suddenly, clearly understand why the man did all of this. He liked taking care of people. Perhaps… perhaps he was more like himself than like Trevor. What a novel thought, to see Logan not as the hardened cop with the frightening temper – severe and dangerous, but to understand that he was just a man wanting others to feel safe and good, a man just wanting to help, like Patton, and that he sometimes did not know how to do it right – like Patton.

When the detective looked up to check if the changing of the bandage had hurt him, Patton curled his fingers around the larger hand and smiled, warm and loving.

“Thank you.”

For the first time, the words were not spoken with fear or guilt, but calm gratefulness. The tone seemed to shake something loose in Logan’s chest. His posture relaxed with a shaky breath. He smiled back – a small, tender expression.

“You are welcome, Patton. Now, tell me what I may do to make you comfortable, please.”

“Okay.” Patton answered softly. His insides felt very warm, suddenly. What a welcome relief from the freezing loneliness and despair that had nested so deeply in his chest. Yet, the image of Trevor standing over him, raising his fist to strike, his shaking hands undoing his fly, his body lying on the floor unmoving kept threatening to creep up on him. He needed a distraction.

“Would you tell me a story?”

Contemplatively, the detective brushed his fingers over the sensitive inside of the smaller man’s wrist, casting his mind back to find a suitably light anecdote to lighten the mood.

“Did I ever tell you about the incident that led me to arresting Roman?”

Patton perked up, interested and a tad worried about his big friend. Poor Roman, he hoped they hadn’t had a fight! The corner of Logan’s lips turned up at the memory though. The baker shook his head curiously.

“I’m afraid I am not much of a storyteller. You are advised to allow Roman retell the story to you at a later occasion.” Logan warned a little shyly before beginning his tale.

“We had not been partnered for very long and were still working at our first precinct. Roman had been out of commission due to a viral infection for a week while I worked a case of a robbery. It proved to be a stimulating puzzle. Though the evidence I had gathered was circumstantial, I believed to have located a group of five middle aged women as the possible culprits with reasonable certainty. All I required to close the case was a warrant to search the premises they had chosen for their operation in order to identify the serial-numbers on the money I believed they had stored at the apartment. Unfortunately, my previous Captain believed I had imagined the connection on a basis of a misogynist mindset.”

Patton gasped, scandalized at the accusation. “But that’s not true!”

Logan ducked his head, feeling his ears heat upon being defended so passionately. “No, certainly not. However, Captain Smith failed to take my logical reasoning into consideration. Additionally, he did not appreciate my calling out the hypocrisy of his belief that women were incapable of robbing a money transport.”

“I bet he didn’t.” Patton mumbled, feeling his admiration for the other man grow. He could clearly imagine an annoyed Logan telling off a superior officer fearlessly. Surely, he would not be scared to stand up for himself.

“I was frustrated, since I irrationally believed the case would surely be solved already had I been able to rely on Roman’s insight. This assessment, based on emotion rather than evidence, angered me further due to it being unprofessional.” The detective confessed, focusing on Patton’s small hand in his bashfully. The slender fingers looked very delicate in his own, rougher ones.

“To my great consternation, it looked like I would not be able to adequately complete my assignment due to a lack of creativity or ability to convince my superior. Then, however, Roman returned.”

Patton leaned closer, captivated by the little lift in the older man’s voice. Although composed and calm as usual, he seemed fond and pleased at the memory.

“Upon being confronted by my less than tranquil mood, Roman asked me to elaborate on all of the details of the case. After my conclusion, he excused himself briefly and returned in a regular police uniform, grabbed my hand and escorted me outside. Once we had arrived at the apartment building the suspects had taken residence in, he asked me to wait in the car for him so I would not be recognized from the interrogations I had conducted. Then, he proceeded to ring the suspect’s doorbell and to my horror identified himself as a police officer and demanded to be admitted to the premises. Of course, I feared such behavior would not only frighten the suspects into getting rid of the evidence, but also cause them to take legal steps against Roman or the precinct, with would have caused us considerable problems and doomed the case for certain.”

Flushing slightly at having to relay the shenanigans of his friend, he rumbled, “However, I appeared to have underestimated my young partner. After about 20 frankly agonizing minutes in which I feared not only for the case, but for him as well, he emerged from the front door in a rush, dressed in nothing but...”

“But what?” Patton asked, alight with curiosity. The fact that Logan was flushing with embarrassment drove all other thoughts from his mind.

“Dressed in nothing but his- his underwear – preposterously patterned might I add, several bills trailing after him and sticking out of the garment.”

“What? Nooooo!” The patissier squeaked, trying to make sense of what the poor man must have come up with. Logan chuckled at his tone.

“Indeed. Knowing we needed to secure samples of the stolen currency in order to compare the serial numbers of the missing money, he decided to pose as a male police themed stripper. As he had expected, they must have assumed one of them had ordered him for the purpose of celebrating their success and enthusiastically chose to pay him according to his performance. Once they worked out none of them had placed the call to any escort agency, he made a hasty exit with the evidence without his clothes.”

“Oh my gosh! Did it work?” Patton asked, eyes wide.

“Certainly. The serial numbers matched. Roman gloated for days.”

The patissier cheered gleefully, so easily swept up in the success of his beloved friend and very eager to forget his own feelings.

“That is amazing! He did so well! But - why did you arrest him, then?”

“Well, unfortunately, Roman escaped the building and rushed onto the busy street in quite a hurry. Apparently feeling elated at his success, he yelled ‘Gotcha, ladies!’ just as he jumped outside. At the same moment, a group of mothers heading for their spinning class were passing by and unfortunately received the wrong impression.”

Patton felt terribly guilty. Those poor women must have gotten such a fright by a tall, almost naked man leaping at them and Roman had not deserved to look like a sex offender at all. Yet, he laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and his elated squirming nearly caused the tub to overflow.

Chucking with him, Logan’s face showed nothing but warm amusement as he explained, “In conclusion, by popular demand, I was forced to arrest him.”

His face ached from smiling as he recalled Roman’s pouting and loud complaining as he cuffed him and gently herded him into the back of his car, furtively brushing his hand through his silky locks lovingly while making sure he wouldn’t hit his head on the door-frame. His partner’s face had been flushed from exertion and his hair was in disarray from long nailed, manicured hands running through it. Yet, he’d been proud, so proud, of solving a case for Logan. Around the next corner, he’d climbed into the backseat with his friend and released him, before wrapping him in his jacket. Though he’d griped about the unsanitary nature of the bills and refused to touch them without his leather gloves, he’d been filled with an affection he’d still had no idea what to do with, back then.

“So you were able to solve the case with him after all, like you thought.”

Patton’s admiring observation brought him back to the present. He was right. Despite feeling embarrassment for the illogical wish to have Roman there to confide in and the childish hope to want him to help find some impossible miracle solution he could not see himself, his partner had come back and had done just that. Logan would have never come up with such a ridiculous, clever plan. His friend had saved his reputation around the precinct and had proven he was just as reliable as Logan had wished he would be. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to feel so uncomfortable for wanting his partner with him after all.

Patton watched him with soft eyes, comfortably curling up in the warm water, weightless and safe. He didn’t feel ugly or ashamed when Logan turned his eyes back on him, dark and caring. The closed wooden door of the bathroom enclosed them in soft light and the quiet breaths of two people who did not need to speak to feel connected. Separated from the world outside and all of its cruelty and worry, Patton enjoyed the scent of Roman’s perfumes, the lush greenness of the plants filling up the glass of the windows and the way his smaller hand fit into the detective’s. The moisture of the bath’s steam settled on everything like dew on a spring morning. It coated every surface with a blanket of a softening veil. It washed out all colors and muted every sound until everything took on a pale, hazy quality. The mirrors and windows turned opaque with fog, protecting Patton from the harsh reality of his reflection and the sharp edges of the outside-world. He felt like he could stay this way forever – until he noticed just how itchy his scalp was.

Reaching up unconsciously, he winced as his stomach and bruised torso protested sharply. He whimpered softly, curling around his abused middle slightly. Logan looked panicked and helpless immediately. Patton couldn’t help giggling. He didn’t know where the reaction came from, he’d never dared to do anything like that with Trevor, but his realization that Logan just wanted to help and care and was so good and so bad at it at the same time – he was just so strong and brave and intelligent and sometimes so clueless, it was the most endearing thing he’d ever seen.

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s all good! Just itchy, is all. You can scratch that problem!”

Though in pain, he smiled at Logan contently, finally feeling like himself again. It was astonishing how Logan could consume his very thoughts with his presence and push everything else from his mind. Especially the blank look the man gave him at his very clever pun coaxed a real smile from him.

Now that he noticed the blood crusted around his hair and skin, he could not quite ignore it anymore. He resigned himself to the effort it would take to at least rinse it out. He had to admit that Logan had been right. He wanted the memories of this day washed away from his body completely. Once he woke up tomorrow, he needed as much of the violence that had been committed against him forgotten as possible. He could not bear any more anger and bitterness to touch him. Not here, in this place covered in dark wood and colored fabrics and pet hair. Not here, where Roman nested on the couch with fluffy pillows, fashionable magazines and bright paint, where Virgil had learned to smile again and those poor animals were growing fat and glossy. There was something magical here - healing magic, he was sure of it. And the source of it was this man who would likely scowl at such a ridiculous idea. Patton didn’t care. How could he doubt what he felt was true when those hands were soothing his pain right now.

Logan had reached out tentatively, patiently waiting for the other to refuse it he wanted, before parting his pale brown curls to check on the wounded skin and crusted blood.

“Would you like me to wash your hair?” He inquired. The thought of leaving Patton marked by his violent experiences did not sit well with him.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I’ve washed myself plenty of times after I fell.”

‘After he fell’ - if Logan noticed Patton falling back into old patterns of making up excuses he mercifully said nothing about it.

“It would be illogical to attempt it yourself. I already told you that I do not mind taking care of you, and I shall tell you again as often as you require hearing it.” The detective explained patiently.

Patton flushed slightly, realizing he was right. Accepting help and thus being a burden was just so hard for him to do, no matter how often he’d been told it was okay today. Logan did not sound annoyed though. The way he went about rinsing the blood from his hair with the softest spray from the shower-head did not feel like the task burdened him either. He was utterly focused on the attempt of not aggravating his injuries or getting water into his eyes, so Patton didn’t have to worry about a thing as his bangs were brushed back by long, slender fingers and his locks combed this way and that. It was a soothing feeling.

After a while, he became warm and weightless. Those capable hands in his hair caused pleasant shivers to run though him even as they sometimes hurt a little. Patton didn’t care. Being petted like that made him feel like he was melting. Keeping his eyes open was becoming increasingly difficult, so he allowed his eyelids to flutter closed trustingly, focusing only on the sensation of tender hands rubbing his skull. The moment felt intimate, yet he was not ashamed of his swollen cheek, split lip, discolored shoulder or the way his body was built anymore as he’d become in so many other intimate encounters. Here, surrounded by sweet smells and being touched like something fragile and precious, everything seemed far away. He’d agonize over the things he’d left behind in his flat later. Right now, he was protected and cared for.

A scratching noise, accompanied by a sudden, pleading sort of mewling woke him up from his slumber. Muffled by the door, a whispered curse reached his ears as Virgil hastily tried to remove the escaped kitten. It had grown quite playful and energetic in the last few days, alternated by bouts of sleepy, loving cuddliness. Considering how tired and ashamed Patton had been, they had simply grabbed everything that could cause him stress and locked themselves in the kitchen so Logan could calm him down privately. Virgil could understand the urge to hide better than anyone after all.

Patton appreciated the security the closed doors had provided him with so very much. He still felt anxious and humiliated by the prospect of being confronted with his other friends, even though now that he was reminded of the existence of the tiny, perfectly fluffy kitten, he wanted it.

“Would you like me to help you get ready to go to sleep? If you like, the kitten may stay with you of course. It is yours, after all.” Logan offered gently.

It was?

Patton didn’t have words. Hearing Logan admit so easily to having adopted a pet for him, a thing he’d always wished for, made the patissier feel so- loved.

The detective lifted him out of the tub easily and settled him in the chair in front of Roman’s vanity before handing him a large towel to wrap up in while he went to find clothes for him. Feeling much better than before, Patton managed to get out of the robe and huddle in the towel by the time the knock sounded at the door. His protector helped him get dressed with the utmost respect and gentleness, careful to neither look at nor touch the revealed skin. All of the clothes he’d brought him were well worn and soft from washing them often. The shirt looked like it might belong to Roman - white cotton with a faded, rainbow-colored crown printed on the chest. He even carefully rubbed the washed curls dry. Though Patton promised he could make it, Logan insisted on carrying him to the bedroom.

The younger man was very small in his arms as he cradled him close. It felt a lot like carrying a cat, this time, since Patton wasn’t shivering and tense anymore, but soft and mellow in the way he yielded to the touch. He seemed to sink into his embrace with a trust born from contentment and tiredness. In his half asleep state, it took the small baker long moments to realize where he was being set down and tucked in.

The comforter that was pulled over his thin, bruised shoulders was midnight blue and smelled of laundry detergent. A single gray hair made his snub nose itch. Finally feeling much calmer, Patton noticed the wooden beams running along the ceiling, the shelf built along the opposite wall filled with colorful books, plants and papers as well as plastic models of what looked like toys at first glance. He spotted a bright red Baymax figurine, a circular replica of what looked like the USS Enterprise, a duck-like model of the star-ship Serenity. Next to the bed, sitting on top of a crimson copy of Isaac Asimov’s collected works was a bluish porcelain figure of Bulbasaur with a succulent planted inside. This was most certainly not the living-room!

“I can’t sleep here, Logan! This is your bed! I’ll just curl up on the couch, I’m sure there is plenty of space left.” Patton exclaimed, feeling dreadful at the thought of chasing the poor man from his room. It was clearly a very personal space for him. No matter how very intrigued he was at encountering actual toys in Logan’s room (how endearing!), he would not impose! As it had become a pattern for them already, the detective refused his attempt to make himself small and invisible with admirable patience.

“No. You are injured, Patton. I will accept no refusal. Please allow me to do this for you.”

His voice and the strong hands pushing him down carefully left no room for refusal. He was blushing, Patton noticed as he was covered securely. The mattress was just perfect under his body that was so tired and painful to move, taking the weight from his throbbing ankle and the pillow was so downy – his eyelids grew heavy. Yet there was a restlessness in him again that did not allow for the other man to just – just do everything for him! He had to- to- he wanted to help. To be useful after being so-

“I should see if Roman and Virgil are okay. I probably scared them, poor things.” Patton rambled, trying to rise and escape the unpleasant thoughts of being useless, being worse than useless, creeping into his mind.

“Patton, you have no obligation to think of anyone but yourself right now.”

“Of course I do!”

How could he say something like that? He’d been so selfish already!

Logan looked tired as he caught him around the upper arms and pushed him back down slowly and deliberately.

“No, Patton. I must once again ask you to rest now. I can see that something causes you to feel agitated, but whatever the issue is, it will be dealt with in the morning, with our help. I can ask Virgil and Roman to visit you while they bring the kitten to you if that is agreeable to you?”

It was. Having Logan take the lead and simply forbid any attempts to move and talk and helplessly try to make things less terrible was a relief. He sighed thankfully and closed his eyes for only a moment.

He must have been more tired than he’d thought. The next thing he noticed was a soft purring rumbling under his chin as a silky furred tiny cat rubbed itself against him. It felt like a living little engine, rumbling and happy.

Virgil was there.

He’d knelt next to the bed, pale and thin and anxious. His long fingers were twisted in his hoodie, hie shoulders hunched, his dark eyes bruised with bluish shadows. A hurt sound escaped Patton that was not caused by the stinging pain of opening his arms for a hug.

Virgil crawled into the offered embrace with a little hitch of his breath and held on oh so carefully. The patissier buried his face in his neck and clutched at the bony sides of his kiddo, feeling too much, too hurt, too exhausted. Yet he loved Virgil so much – his thin body in his arms, it made his throat almost close with rising tears.

A grumpy warbling sounded from the side of the mattress Virgil had just climbed, followed by a dreadful tearing sound of little sharp claws ripping expensive fabric. A little despairing noise escaped the older detective.

The top of the fat raccoon’s head was appearing at the edge of the bed, suddenly boosted up by a large, helpful hand under the furry bottom. Patton flinched almost violently.

The whole room stilled in shock, especially the tall, handsome detective who’d unintentionally caused the frightened reaction. Roman looked devastated.

Curling his prettily manicured hands to his chest, he stepped back to Logan’s side, green eyes wide and guilty.

“Oh- dear Patton, I apologize earnestly for- for frightening you. I’ll just- I’ll leave you and the others alone.” He muttered, giving him a brave, unsteady smile. Patton almost fell off the bed trying to stop him. Both Virgil and raccoon rumbled a complaint while the kitten simply rolled where it was moved with a jostled purr. Though his bruised face paled from the pain, the baker’s voice was strong as he called his friend back.

“NO! Ro, please c’mere! I’m so sorry, it was my fault, I love you bunches, please come and let me hug you!”

The plea did not have the desired effect though. Roman’s lovely eyes filled with tears. Holding back a sob only barely, he slowly sank down on the mattress (ignoring a hiss as he almost settled on a striped tail, there were too many animals, okay?). He cupped Patton’s reaching hand carefully, telling him seriously “Patton, darling, you do not need to apologize or take care of me. We are here to protect and aid you. You do not have to be strong for everyone all the time. And- of course I love you like sunshine on flowery petals as well, but how about you relax and I hug you for a change, my dear?”

Oh. Okay, he would like that actually, as long as it helped his sweet RoRo not to look so crushed because he couldn’t handle the simplest situations again. After waiting for his nod, Roman slowly crawled behind Patton to envelop him in his careful embrace. Though Patton had agreed to the contact mainly to show his poor friend that he loved him and did not want him to feel abandoned, now that he was there to loosely hold him, it felt really good. Safe. Roman smelled as nice as the products scenting the air in the bathroom, especially his thick caramel locks. The kitten wormed its way back under his chin, briefly making Virgil splutter as he got a mouthful of hair. He’d been very quiet, the poor kiddo.

“It truly loves you.” Roman rumbled gently at the tiny baby cat started to knead the cotton shirt contently.

“The feeling is mewtual.” Patton promised truthfully, hoping for the sake of his friends that his tone sounded light and unconcerned. It was easier than he’d expected to push the frightening coldness inside of him aside. He imagines it coiled and moved inside of him, icy and alien with its tentacles that suddenly shot out and turned to ice in his throat at unexpected moments. Patton could barely remember a time where it had not been settled inside of him, this thing that had crept down his neck in terrified nights where tiny Patton had squeezed himself between the couch and the wall as his father had screamed. It had been there so long, he sometimes feared its tendrils were growing into his flesh and becoming part of him, make him colder and colder until he could not move his limbs anymore, leaving him frozen and trapped the way he had been as a child. Helpless.

He’d learned to live with it, nested like a parasite next to his fluttering, full heart. Sometimes, late at night, he imagined feeling it grow, taking space from his excitable little heart. He’d lain there, silently wrapped his arms around his chest and had been afraid.

This time however, Roman’s arm was wrapped around him. Virgil had gently laid his head against his ribs. His heart grew, taking back some of the space stolen from it. It beat strong, surrounded by quiet company as he was. Logan had settled on a comfortable looking brown leather chair by the large windows, briefly battling a bunch of feathered fern leafs that tried to take up too much space over his shoulder where the adorable rat apparently needed to sit. Roman’s tense muscles were loosening behind him where he had the feeling of being able to protect Patton from the cruel world and Virgil – well, he was still very small and quiet in his arms, but he was holding on.

Patton got distracted from his worry by a weight dipping the soft pillow at his head. Cat was stomping around it, trying to find a comfortable spot close to, but not too close to her humans. She finally settled on her side like a fat sausage with an audible ‘thud’, her head curled adorably with her furry belly resting against Virgil’s head. Her foot was close to the patissier’s face.

Was that nail polish?

Distracted, he sent a questioning look Logan’s way. He’d know what was going on. Sensing the attention, the detective looked up from petting the composed rat in his palm and examined the now professionally cleaned, pointy claws. The sigh that escaped him could only be described as long-suffering.

“Roman, you can not put nail polish on a forest critter.” He reprimanded his partner severely, trying to ignore the sheepish look the little delinquent attempted to hide in Patton’s shirt upon hearing the accusation directed solely at the young detective.

Roman’s metaphorical feathers rose immediately. “I beg your pardon? Your- stray showers with you! How is that not worse than adorning this poor beast with some culture and beauty?”

Patton tuned the argument out, for once not feeling too concerned since he heard Virgil’s soft snort at the detectives’ expense. He quite liked the burgundy coat that decorated the pointy claws actually. They looked snazzy and went well with the golden spot at the tip of the striped tail. It swished slightly, landing in Virgil’s hair and mixing with purple locks. The patissier’s blinks turned longer and longer as his limbs grew heavy and he was lured to sleep by the gentle rumbling of Roman’s words resonating through his chest where it was pressed against his back. Both detectives had gentled their deep voices, now exasperatingly arguing softly about the acceptability of clipping an actual miniature diadem on a raccoon. He fell asleep thinking it would be a cute idea. For once, there were no stressful thoughts of having to disentangle himself from the people he loved to go back to a flat covered in cold, white tiles and bone-pale leather furniture. The comforter wrapped around him was ironed smooth and warm and the air was thick with the scents of perfume, plants and animals. Virgil’s breath was soft and quiet on his skin and still, the kitten was rumbling its love.

______________________________

If anyone has ideas about what might happen next, I’m more than happy to hear them! My mind is a little empty right now >.< Comments make me happy weather you have ideas or not though <3

Check out the art and writing which always makes me the happiest of people!

FICS:

You can enjoy this incredible take on what could have alternatively happened in this chapter if you feel like reading more. It is absolutely moving and wonderful! Link

ART:

This graphite drawing made by @charmingkari shows a lovely image of Virgil after he got caught by the Scorpions. It’s very sad though.

@dweeborg drew a really intense close up of Virgil which I really love.

@bangthekobrakid colored in a drawing of Roman with the long hair for me and made it really really cool looking!

Next Chapter

#keep him safe #detective AU #Prinxiety #Logicality #Platonic LAMP #Hurt/Comfort

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

Photo

In fair Verona, our tale begins with DAPHNE ALLARD, who is THIRTY-ONE years old. She is often called DIANA by the CAPULETS and works as a EMISSARY. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

TW: FAT SHAMING, BULLYING

Trying to encapsulate Daphne Allard is like trying to catch lightning in a bottle, the moonlight on your eyelashes, or the ray of the sun upon your tongue. She is simply that enigmatic, so much so that there are truly those who believe her to be something otherworldly, something magical. How could they not believe it, when it seemed that SERAPHIM bowed at her feet while cherubs adorned her cheeks with sweet, rosy pink kisses? It’s not so difficult to believe since it seemed near impossible to deny anything to the apple-cheeked child that would roam up and down the grand halls of her parent’s estate. Frequently, she would pad down to the kitchen late at night to beg the patissier to grant her one or two small macarons while the glittering guests mingled in her parents’ ballroom and they were helpless to her whims, sighing begrudgingly as she plucked the treat from their palm and went merrily on her way. What they didn’t see was how she snuck out and passed her treat to the dirty, awaiting hands of those less fortunate than her, or how she stole away the blankets from her bed and placed it on the shoulders of the children who shivered on the dirty, cobbled streets day after day. All anyone would ever see is the princess whose ears were adorned with bright, glimmering diamonds -- whose bright, shining smile and glittering eyes seemed better suited to the vapid day-to-day responsibilities of a DEBUTANTE. Lock her in an ivory castle and do away with the key, for she was a child far too precious to see the vileness and hardships of life.

But the Allards could not protect her forever, try as they did to shield their precious porcelain doll. Didn’t they know that children could be just as cruel as their parents? Foolishly, they had thought that sending her out of Verona to live abroad in France would spare her from the atrocities of man, but girls could be far more wicked when left to their own devices. They knew where she came from, how the city from which she proudly came was full of roaches and demons. They wondered if her spirit would be just as difficult to kill. Day after day they would ridicule her, isolate her, HOUND her like the harpies that they were -- words sharp as knives, tongues lashing like whips. Gifts that her parents gave her, they would ruin, forcing her to hide it away, like a dragon hoarding gold. Though she spoke French impeccably, they mocked her for the way that her tongue curled around the words, how she gestured emphatically, and for every morsel that she ate. Little did they know the VENGEANCES that she took upon them, how she would steal away the money from their wallets, the odd earring and the errant ring. The fools didn’t even know what they were missing -- for a couple of hours they would huff and puff before their parents would send them something far more expensive as a salve for their wounded hearts. But Daphne would console herself for her trespasses against them by knowing that the money she had made by pawning their jewels off would allow a widow and child to keep their shoddy apartment, or that the beggars in the city square would have something in their stomachs for that night.

It became a habit of hers, the heady warmth of bettering another’s life became the most potent drug she knew. She bettered her skills, crafting them so that slipping priceless watches from the wrist of an arrogant suitor was as easy and thoughtless as brushing a comb through her hair. By the time she returned to Verona, she was determined to never relinquish that high -- though she loved her city, she did not balk from the truth: the city needed a SAVIOR. And the only way to do so was to ruthlessly weed out those that threatened to choke it; she knew that she could only do so by purging it from within. Her parents had a long-standing relationship with the Capulets, but had insisted that Daphne -- their sweet, apple-cheeked child -- could never be useful to them. What was more useful, though, than MONEY? Money could more or less buy you anything, and a place in the Capulet ranks was to be no exception. She had prepared for her ties to them to choke her, to smother out what there was of her light. But the deeper she delved into the world of the mafia, the more she thrived. It was an intoxicating thing, the power that came with ranking among the deified of the city, rivaled only by the rush of knowing that someone owed their life to you.

Being a heroine or peddling something quite like it -- she had somehow allowed both to become her POISON. And the people of the city were none the wiser. They knew her as the socialite, as the doted-on girl who was set to inherit a fortune. Their bright star, their shining light who was perhaps the one beautiful thing unmarred and untainted by the blood that ran through the streets. In a way they were right, Daphne was shining and beautiful as ever, but so was the sun and it burned just as brightly as she. It warmed and healed, it scorched and purged. She looks in the mirror each night, lips bare and eyes wide, knowing that she too has the ability to save the city or the power to rule it as she desired. They loved her, they were devoted to her, and she loved them too. Each night she feels her throat tighten with the knowledge of the power that sits at the tip of her fingers, and though she LOATHES to admit it, she has created a drug of her own making, one that gets more potent each passing day. Before she looks away from the mirror, turns away from that Aphrodite-like creature, she can’t help the brief, barely-acknowledged wish that her parents had kept her locked away in that ivory tower. Perhaps, then, the city might be saved from those vices of hers that threatened to ruin them all.

BEAU RENARD: Husband-To-Be. He is presented like Apollo -- a golden boy, a warm shining sun amidst the glittering stars of Verona. However, it would be more accurate to liken him to Hades, ruler of the dead, isolated and far too keen to wear a bone-made crown upon his head. She knows what her duty is, and she is more than happy to fulfill it. After all, marriage is nothing more than a contractual agreement between two adults and it would benefit them both. Although, it seemed like the scales were tipped a little more in his favor; he was blessed enough to be wed to the darling of Verona, after all. Still, though, there is hope that whatever frigid wall he has placed between them comes tumbling down some way or another. She looks at her parents and sees a romance more pivotal than that between the moon and the sea, so no one can blame her for the wish in her heart to have something -- someone -- to call her own, and for that person in turn to say the same and mean it.

RENZO CAROZZA: Achilles Heel. She isn’t a foolish girl conned by pretty faces and honey-sweet words, but there is something about Renzo that strikes a chord in her already bleeding heart. Perhaps it is because of the abyss that reflects in his eyes that she longs to cast out, longs to fill with something greater than that gaping maw of emptiness. He treats her as he does every other person -- with kisses upon her cheek, words that could coax the devil into whispering a prayer, touches that could lull a raging dragon into a slumber. But there are these still moments where they catch one another’s gaze and it feels as though he holds a knife pointed at her heart, as though he is witnessing the sun dawn for the first time. Then he glances away and the world breathes once more. She cannot understand why nor does she dare too, but it is there all the same and nothing she does can get him to relinquish this hold that he has over her. Daphne cannot blame him -- she can’t bring herself to either.

TAMURA CHIKO: Leverage. There are small amusements and joys that she allows herself to indulge in, and creating the mirage that is Chiko’s wealth is one of them. When she had instigated this little ploy with him, it had initially been because she thought them a better person than they were, someone who would truly make something of themselves. But, as with all things in Verona, they proved to be just as dastardly as the rest of its inhabitants -- and she became all the wiser for it. The charade that they continued to pander to seemed to place them deeper and deeper into her debt, but she was far too amused by how everyone seemed to eat it up, both Montagues and Capulets alike. Their enigmatic persona was nothing more than a thinly veiled self-made man, and yet Verona seemed to whisper about them as if they were a god. She wondered, though, if they knew how she intended to use their secret. But, for now, she was all too content to watch them and let them believe that they were a puppet without strings.

PANDORA PHAN: Wildcard. She had not intended to save them -- she had thought that they were another soul, caught in the crossfire that was the war between the Montagues and the Capulets. A young soldier was too keen to wave their gun about and Daphne had saved Pandora’s father just in time, rushing them to the hospital, ensuring that he would live and breathe another day. Then Pandora had stumbled into the room, seen her father’s forlorn form and that is what Daphne knew what she had done. Moreover, she realized the debt that was owed to her, one that would undoubtedly earn her power in the Capulets that none could hope to have. It had become an oddly satisfying thing, being in the same room as the great Pandora Phan and knowing the great power that she could hold over her head.

Daphne is portrayed by TARA LYNN and was written by ROSEY. She is currently TAKEN by DIANA.

#lsrpg #literate rp #bio rp #crime rp #shakespeare rp #daphne allard #cap #w #t #tw

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wehaveabucky-archive · 6 years ago

Text

Feel Like Baking Love

pairing: baker!bucky barnes x singlemom!reader

word count: around 3.9k

summary: you forget the most important part of your kids birthday party; the cake. but thankfully, a local patissier is more than willing to help you in your hour of need

warnings: fluff

masterlist

“Balloons.”

“Check.”

“Party bags.”

“Check.”

“Gluten free hot dog buns for Rhiannon?”

“Check.”

“Cake?”

“...Shit,” you looked up from the spread that covered your dining room table. It was a variety of party supplies; banners, uninflated balloons, garden games, party hats, party food. But no cake.

“We could just go to the mall?” Wanda suggested as you slumped into a dining room chair, a defeated groan escaping your lips as you threw your head back.

“She’s five, Wan, I want this to be special,” you pouted, “plus, it’s the first one since…” you trailed off, closing your eyes, and Wanda smiled sadly. You had been working hard lately, both in your career and at being a single mother. It wasn’t easy, holding down a full time job, dealing with the grief of losing your partner, and then raising your daughter at the same time. But, you were determined to make everything in Leila’s life perfect. Including her 5th birthday.

“I know a guy that makes cakes,” Wanda smiled, a scheming tone to her voice. You opened one eye and frowned.

“It’s not the chef you tried to set me up with last month, is it? Because I told you, if I meet someone, I meet someone, I don’t need you-”

“It’s not the same guy,” Wanda was quick to butt in and she covered her eagerness well with a cough, levelling her voice as she pulled out a card from her purse and began writing on it, “that guy was a chef. This guy is a… baker.”

She handed you the card and you read over it.

James Barnes. Pâtissier.

On the other side was a number, an email and, in Wanda’s rushed handwriting, an address that seemed to be ten minutes across town. You sighed, reaching for your phone but Wanda stopped you again.

“Go see him now, he won’t mind.”

You frowned at her, glancing at the name again. It didn’t seem like it was the same guy. The guy she had tried to set you up with the other month had a strange name... Buck? Bucky? Something like that. Still, you were a little apprehensive about just knocking on his door and asking him to bake your kid a birthday cake within the next twenty four hours.

“Are you sure? His card seems pretty fancy…”

“That’s just Bu-James for you,” Wanda nervously laughed, standing and grabbing your coat, “Go, I’ll look after Leila for you whilst your gone. I think Pietro would appreciate another hour or so of play time.” She nodded at your two kids who were playing with a toy kitchen set, Leila chopping fake plastic vegetables as Pietro pretended to fry an egg.

“Alright,” you sighed, letting Wanda help you into your coat, “Leila, I’m just going out but Auntie Wanda will watch you two for a bit so behave, okay?”

“Mom!! You made me cut my finger,” she frowned up at you playfully, clutching her uninjured finger with a frown on her face. You crouched down next to her with a smile, reaching out and taking her hand in yours. You frowned at her finger, pretending to examine a non existent cut, before placing your lips against her finger, making an over exaggerated smooch sound.

“There we go,” you grinned, pressing another kiss to her forehead. She giggled and went back to cooking.

“See you in a bit,” you waved to Wanda as you grabbed your keys and left the house.

“Enjoy,” Wanda wiggled her eyebrows a little as you shut the door, the comment too late for you to respond with anything but a frown as the door closed.

James Barnes’ house was in a nice area, probably nicer than yours. It was a small detached house, painted white with olive green shutters and a porch covered with climbing ivy. When you rang the doorbell, you heard a clattering of bowls from inside, presumably from the kitchen, and then steady footsteps making their way to the door.

“Just a minute,” someone called from behind the door as a jangle of keys indicated the person was opening the door. You thought about who could be behind the door. Maybe an old guy with posh glasses. Wanda had said he was fancy. Maybe he was French… no his name wasn’t French. Maybe British?

“Sorry, I was busy in the kitchen,” the man said with a laugh as he opened the door. Your lips moved to smile but they faltered slightly when you were greeted with what can only be described as a baking god the other side of the door.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Young, probably the same age as you, and a slight stubble shadowed his cheeks. His hair was long and scraped back neatly into a bun and he was dressed in chef’s whites, almost spotless although his flour covered hands indicated he was in the midst of a recipe.

“Can I help you?” James quirked an eyebrow at you when you stood there a minute not speaking, and you had to shake yourself back into looking normal again instead of some gormless stranger. You put on your best smile, taking James aback.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting you but, are you James Barnes?”

“Yes,” he frowned at the card in your hand and you raised it a little to indicate that’s how you’d found him.

“Wanda told me you could help me? It’s my daughter’s birthday tomorrow and I have this big party planned but I… well… I was bound to forget something and it just so happens to be-” you glanced at his flour covered hands again and smiled sheepishly, “-the cake.”

James frowned, turning to look through the hallway to kitchen, where he was halfway through making some Petit Four for the shop tomorrow. He didn’t make children’s birthday cakes. Far from it. And Wanda knew that. So why did she send you to him? Directly?

You noticed his hesitation, chewing your lip as you mulled over your options. You could apologise for assuming and go to the mall or…. You could try and sweet talk him.

“Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” you smiled even wider and Bucky lost the nerve to tell you he wasn’t that kind of baker. You held your hand out, “my name is Y/N.”

Y/N. And you were friends with Wanda. Suddenly it all clicked. You were the girl Wanda had told him about last month, and had continued to tell him about every time he saw her since, despite the fact that you didn’t want to go out with him. He remembered Wanda saying you were single, that your partner had died a little under a year ago, and you had a daughter, Leila, five years old. You worked hard at your job, and even harder as a mother, and you were perhaps the sweetest person on the planet.

“Even sweeter than this ganache, Bucky,” Wanda had hummed, swiping a finger through the bowl of chocolate as she followed her friend around his kitchen.

One thing Wanda had been wrong about. You were even prettier in real life.

Without thinking, Bucky reached out, grasping your hand in his to shake it. A poof of flour erupting around your joined hands like a mushroom cloud. Bucky’s eyes widened as it settled on your black jeans, expecting you to leap back and yank your hand away. But, to his surprise, you held onto his hand, laughing as you nonchalantly brushed the flour away.

“Oops,” you chuckled, and Bucky smiled, opening the door wider.

“Sure, I’ll help you,” he gestured for you to enter, chewing on his lip, “erm, let me just tidy this up and you can tell me what you want.”

“It’s nothing too difficult, I just… wanted it to be special, you know?” You glanced around what you could see of his house, appreciating the simple yet homely decor. When Bucky walked through to the kitchen, you followed. Your jaw dropped at the room. It had clearly been recently renovated, and it was probably larger than your kitchen and living room combined. The cabinetry was a sleek white and the countertops a beautiful white marble. There were multiple ovens, four it seemed, in a square inside one wall of cabinets, and there were two large fridges.

“Wow, do you work from home?” You turned to Bucky who scratched the back of his head nervously.

“Erm, sometimes,” he said, in a way that you knew you wouldn’t be getting much more out of him. He quickly cleared away some bowls of delicious looking mixtures to a corner of the kitchen before turning back to you.

“Okay, well… let’s start with her name,” Bucky gestured to a stool behind the large island and you sat, trying not to stare at his arms as he rolled the sleeves of his whites up, leaning on the counter across from you.

“Leila,” you said, even though Bucky already knew, and he smiled.

“Pretty name.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, smiling proudly. Any compliment of your daughter made your heart sing.

“She likes the colour yellow. And sunflowers. She’s obsessed with tweety bird, you know, from Looney Tunes?”

“Old school,” he raised an eyebrow at you and you pursed your lips. You didn’t want to tell him it was something your partner used to watch with her but from your expression, Bucky knew that already.

You cleared your throat.

“She likes bees too. Anything yellow really,” you laughed, shaking your head, “my parents bought her this beautiful chestnut coloured teddy bear but for a year she refused to sleep with anything but her bright yellow rubber duck. She had a beak imprint on her face every morning.”

Bucky laughed with you, unable to control the wide smile that spread across his face at your own blissful joy as you reminisced.

“Okay so yellow. Any allergies?” He asked, producing a notepad from a drawer and scribbling down notes on things you’d just said.

“No. I mean we have one kid coming who is Coeliac but I was going to find a gluten free alternative for her anyway,” you explained, frowning when he wrote that down anyway.

“And you need it for…”

“Tomorrow,” you nodded, chewing your lip, “I’m really sorry it’s so last minute.”

You reached into your bag to pull out your wallet but felt Bucky’s hand cover your own. He was reaching over the counter and when you looked into his eyes, you got lost in the blue. He gave you a small smile, squeezing your hand softly.

“Wanda’s a good friend,” was all he said and you could almost cry at his generosity. Without thinking, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling back with a beaming smile. Bucky was acutely aware of how red his cheeks were becoming after that small amount of affection, feeling his heart beat a thousand times a minute.

“Thank you, James,” you stood, “I’m really sorry but I left Leila with Wanda.”

You rounded the counter and flipped over a page in the notebook, scribbling down your address and then your number. Bucky watched over your shoulder, ideas already running through his head about the cake. You tore out the page, folding it once before handing it to Bucky.

“Again, I can’t thank you enough, James.”

Bucky took the paper from you, the distance between his body and yours a little too close for a regular conversation, but neither of you seemed to mind.

“Please,” he finally stepped back, tucking a stray hair that had fallen from his bun behind his ear, “call me Bucky.”

“I still cannot believe you let me go to that man's house and make an embarrassment out of myself, thinking he was a completely different guy to the Bucky guy,” you waved around a balloon, still slightly out of breath from pumping it up. Wanda rolled her eyes and your other friend, Natasha, chuckled as she tied a knot in an already inflated balloon.

“You didn’t make an embarrassment of yourself,” Wanda hit you with a balloon and you glared at her.

“How would you know?” You grumbled, tying a knot in the last balloon.

“Well,” Natasha grinned, falling into a chair as your shoulders dropped in relief, “now all that’s left to wait for is the cake.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you and you sighed.

A couple of kids had arrived for the party, but only the ones whose parents you were good friends with. Steve and Sharon’s kid; Sarah, Sam and Natasha’s son; Lev, Wanda and Vision’s son; Pietro, and Bruce and Thor’s daughter; Rosa. They were all playing in the garden, with the various garden games you’d already set up, as the parents milled around helping you set up the party.

For the next few minutes, you went outside to watch the kids with Thor and Sam, laughing as Rosa triumphantly beat Lev at a game of cornholes. But, no amount of childish fun could drown out the shocked voice of Steve as he opened the door.

“Bucky?”

You whirled around, excusing yourself quickly from your post with Thor and Sam, and ran inside to the front door. Steve was stood in the hallway, a frown set on his face as he tried to comprehend the appearance of his best friend stood in the doorway, a large yellow box in his hands and a plastic bag hanging from his arms.

“Bucky,” you breathed out, glancing with a frown between Steve and the pastry chef, “you two know each other?”

“Since we were kids,” Bucky smiled, turning his attention to you. You nudged Steve out the way, opening the door wider and letting Bucky into your home. It was smaller than his, and each room seemed to be home to some toy tucked away in the corner. There were family portraits on almost every surface. Some of you and your daughter, some of you and your daughter with who Bucky assumed to be your partner, and then some of just you and them.

“Sorry about the mess,” you apologised, leading the man into your much smaller kitchen which had different trays of party food littered across the surfaces. The adults had all gathered in the conjoining living room, from which they could watch the children in your garden. Most waved at Bucky, addressing him by name in their greeting, and you tried not to look too taken aback that it seemed like all of your friends knew him.

“Looks like a good party,” he smiled at you and you couldn’t help but mirror the smile. He set the cake down on the counter space you’d cleared for him carefully.

“Well, it’s about to get a whole lot busier,” you looked at your watch, noting that it was nearly 1pm, the start time on the invitations.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” you smiled, and something about the way he looked into your eyes and didn’t step back when he turned and you were closer than appropriate for a noral conversation, made you reach out and squeeze his forearm appreciatively. Your hand lingered and Bucky chewed his lip, trying not to let the blood rush to his face.

Wanda had been right. You were sweet, insanely pretty and from the looks of the effort put into this party, a wonderful mother.

“Do you wanna see?” He murmured, eyes still not moving from yours. You frowned and Bucky cleared his throat, gesturing to the box. You took a breath to regain your composure, turning towards the box on the counter. You felt the eyes of your friends on the two of you and tried not to let them see your flustered expression.

Bucky lifted the lid carefully, arm brushing yours as he did so. You couldn’t help but gasp at the contents.

It was a two tier cake, the bottom layer white and the top black, but each had a dripping effect yellow icing running down the side like paint. On top sat a golden bird cage, a perfectly formed tweety bird sat inside. There was a sash around the cage, reading “Happy” then a large space “Birthday, Leila”.

Growing from the yellow icing over the white cake, were small chocolate sunflowers, elegant bees painted onto the black background of the top cake.

“I… I didn’t know how old she was turning so I left a space,” Bucky murmured, pointing at the gap between Happy and Birthday on the sash.

“Five,” you whispered, still in shock from the beautiful cake that graced your eyes. Bucky nodded, reaching into the plastic bag to produce a small piping bag. You watched as he elegantly piped ‘5th’ in between the two words, hand steady.

“Wow,” was all you could say, feeling tears well in your eyes. Bucky chewed his lip, unsure of what to say or do now, so he pulled out a smaller box from the plastic bag, opening it to reveal a cupcake topped with yellow icing and smaller tweety bird, this time not enclosed in a cage.

“For the Coeliac kid,” he grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. You looked at him in awe for a second, before you acted upon complete instinct and pulled him into a big hug, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Oh my god, I could kiss you,” you laughed, feeling happy tears run down your face. You pulled back, looking into Bucky’s eyes as he blushed a deep red at the thought of it.

“Thank you, honestly. This is more than I could’ve asked for,” you smiled.

“Wow, Buck,” Steve stepped around the counter and the two of you pulled away from each other awkwardly. Bucky cleared his throat letting Steve slap him on the back.

“You don’t even make cakes for my kid,” Steve pouted and Bucky spluttered, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he tried to form some sort of excuse that would save his dignity.

“But,” you frowned, “you’re a baker, no?”

“No!” Steve laughed, answering for Bucky with a shake of his head, “Buck’s a patissier. He owns Le Loup Blanc in the city.”

You choked on air, glancing between Steve, Bucky and then a sheepish looking Wanda as you processed that information.

“But… that’s michelin starred…” you felt yourself turning sickly as you realised you’d just put a michelin star pastry chef to work on a children’s birthday cake for the last twenty four hours. Bucky tried to reason with you, holding his hands out as he commenced a speech about how it was no big deal, when suddenly your daughter ran into the kitchen, holding something up to show you, only for it clatter to the floor when her eyes were captivated by the masterpiece.

“Is that my… cake?”

There was a silence, you still unsure that you could even form words at the moment. So Bucky acted on instinct, bending down to your daughters height.

“Sure is, darlin,” he smiled at her.

“Did you make it?” Leila asked, little eyes wide in awe as she pointed at the cake that was too high for her to reach.

“I sure did, want a better look?”

Leila nodded and Bucky scooped the girl up, lifting her so she was at your height, looking down at the cake.

“TWEETY,” Leila gasped excitedly, prodding a finger out to point at the caged bird. You gulped, glancing around at your friends with wide eyes as you processed the information you’d just recieved. But they were all watching Bucky with a fond smile on their faces. You watched to as he described each element of the cake. When he’d finished, Leila had a massive smile on her face, and you shook yourself into mother mode.

“What do you say, Leila?” You pressed, smiling at her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she grinned at Bucky, wrapping her arms around as much of his shoulders as she could in a grateful hug. The group of adults awed and Bucky blushed again, setting the girl down on the floor so she could run back to your friend.

“I’m so sorry,” you said as soon as she was out of earshot, covering your mouth with your hand to express your shock, “I swear, I didn’t know, I- I would never have asked such a thing of you if-”

“-Hey, it was my pleasure,” he tried to give you a reassuring smile, but you still shook your head, not noticing the disappearing of your friends into the back garden to join their kids.

“But, I took so much of your time,” you breathed out, lip quivering as you were about to lose it over how crazy this was.

Bucky didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was because you looked like you were about to break down. But he was pretty sure that it was because ever since you’d shown up at his doorstop, he hadn’t been able to think about anything else but that date Wanda had promised him that never happened.

“How about you let me take up some of your time, you know,” he stepped closer to you, feeling bold, “in return?”

You held your breath, brows furrowing into a frown as you processed his words.

“Like… like a date?” You squeaked out, feeling your heart going crazy at the soft look in his eyes. Bucky smiled, chewing his lip.

“I have to go back to the shop now,” he murmured, stepping away from you, and you felt your chest deflate a little. You nodded, leading him to your front door on shaky feet.

“Dinner, tomorrow? At eight? I’ll pick you up,” he almost pleaded when he was halfway out the door. You wanted to say no. Just to spite Wanda. But the idea of spending time with this man you were pretty sure was an angel made your lips curl up into a smile.

“Okay,” you nodded, chewing your lip. Bucky couldn’t help but beam brightly at your answer, eyes darting down to your lips. Without a second thought, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

You wanted to be taken aback, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been wanting that to happen since you laid eyes on the man. So you kissed back gently, tasting a faint taste of caramel on his lips. Bucky rested his forehead on yours for a second, before pulling away with a small laugh.

“Sorry, I just,” he shook his head, hair falling around his face, “been thinking about doing that since you brought it up.”

There was a teasing tone to his voice that made you giggle like a schoolgirl. Finally, Bucky sighed, stepping back down the steps of your porch towards his car.

“Desserts on me,” he winked as he turned to leave and you smiled again.

“Hopefully literally,” Wanda’s voice made you jump and you whirled around to glare at her. She grinned sheepishly at you as your glare hardened.

“What?”

“I’m still mad at you,” you muttered, shaking your head as you closed the door. But Wanda knew from the smile on your face, tomorrow night you’d be thanking her.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fluff #baker!bucky #singlemom!reader #bakery au #fluff #bucky #bucky fluff #bucky au #au #bucky oneshot #oneshot #bucky cute #cute #bucky romantic #romantic

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hazelandglasz · 5 years ago

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Voltron Legendary Patissier (A Shklance AU)

I came across a wonderful drawing by @lemonjuiceday when visiting a con and I was immediately inspired to write this little fic. Nothing major, just a bout of fluff and food porn for our favorite boys (strictly food porn, you pervs ;))

On AO3

Lance didn’t expect to find himself in such a position, caught between two hard chests while working his part-time job.

Then again, he didn’t expect his part-time job to be in a bakery.

“A pâtisserie, not a bakery,” his boss insists, his fond, exasperated smile growing less and less fond and more and more exasperated with each time he has to repeat it to one of them.

Lance doesn’t blame him, he would be very specific too about his craft if he was … well, as crafty as Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane, his associate and their apprentices.

While Shiro splits his time between the kitchen and the till, Lance strictly works behind the counter, serving the customers and writing down the special orders.

And daydreaming about the way Shiro’s biceps flex so wonderfully in his tight shirt, and how mesmerizing are his eyes when he watches someone trying something new fresh out of the oven …

“Lance?”

And just how beautiful he is, inside and out.

“For Apicius’ sake, Lance, snap out of it!”

Lance blinks back into the moment and back to the voice calling his name in such a pissed off manner.

Sure enough, Lance’s binome glares at him, angrily shoving delicate little chouquettes in a paper bag while their customer smiles at them, her eyes moving back between them as if watching a tennis match.

“Yes, my dear colleague, how can I help you?” he replies sweetly--too sweetly to be subtle, if the intensification of Keith’s glare (and of the customer’s giggle) is any indication.

“For the third time, since we apparently lost you in the void between your ears,” Keith replies in the same dulcet tone, “can you, please, if it’s not too much of an imposition for you to move, get in the kitchen and get back mille-feuilles for the showcase?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Lance says, winking at the still-giggling customer while simultaneously hip-checking Keith out of his way, “of course, of course.”

Keith’s sigh still reaches Lance’s ears before the door closes between the two rooms. Lance takes a moment to breathe.

As much as he finds Shiro attractive and amazing, he cannot shake the itch that has crawled under his skin ever since he met Keith Kogane.

A need to punch him in his perfect face, with his fist or with his mouth, the jury is still out on that one.

Keith has seniority over Lance but he also works only in the front of the store.

And thus lays Lance’s problem.

While he can escape Shiro’s … shironess every now and then, Keith’s mindfucking keithness is always around him, hovering, glaring, grumbling in a way that should not be as sexy as it is, dammit.

So, yeah, Lance is in a hell of his own making and, heartache be damned, he loves every minute of it.

Okay, this has gone on for too long.

Lance cannot prove it, but he would bet his favorite nerfgun that Shiro is doing it on purpose.

It here serves as a summary of everything that Shiro does around the shop: carelessly shaking his hips to the sound of the music drifting from the records shop next door, licking the tip of his fingers when he accidentally gets cream on them.

Accidentally, right, as if.

And he supposes Shiro also left a flour handprint on Keith’s ass by accident.

By all that he holds dear, Lance is not mentally equipped to deal with the image of those two together, together.

Separately, they are already forces to be reckoned with and Lance tries really har--ahem--he really tries his best to stay professional and not do something stupid, like drool all over them.

But if they are together?

Well, that takes care of his fantasies of dating either of them, but that sparks a fire under the possibility of dating them both.

Madre de dios, he’s only human and that’s just, to quote the great 21st century philosopher Bruno Mars, too hot, hot damn.

Lance sighs before shaking his head.

He needs to focus. If he cannot have the man, men, whatever, of his dreams, then he’s going to work, and have one aspect of his life that will be successful.

Oh, they’re out of Divorcés.

As there are no customers in the shop at the moment, Lance skips to the kitchen to get a tray of the delicious pastry.

Except that there is a conversation taking place that he is not supposed to hear and cannot resist any way.

“... insane, Shiro.”

“It would be complicated, sure, but--”

“Complicated? Try disastrous. You know that I agree with you on how attractive he is, but bringing him into our relationship? Let me spell it out for you: D-I-S-...”

“Keith …”

“Shiro …”

“Come on, babe,” a soft, wet sound pauses the conversation, “you’re always ranting about ways to shut him up.”

A soft laugh answers that, one that Lance would definitely characterize as a giggle if it didn’t come out of Keith “Badass” Kogane’s lips.

“You think that would do the trick?”

“No,” Shiro replies, laughter in the back of his voice, “but maybe you wouldn’t object if what came out of that beautiful, pouty mouth was moans and your name.”

“Or yours.”

“Or both.”

“God, Shiro …”

More wet sound that leaves little to Lance’s overactive imagination, and he flees the hallway to get back to the safety of the bright shop, where no one talks about threesomes and moaning and beautiful bodies intertwined …

Lance snaps his eyes shut and takes a deep breath just as the bell over the door rings.

“Welcome to Paladelicious, how can I sweeten your day?” he says reflexively, putting a smile on his face.

If he focuses on his job, he’ll find a way to bury his feelings, be it his lust or his jealousy over the man Shiro and Keith apparently want to bring into their bed.

Lucky bastard.

Or he can quit.

Lance doesn’t want to, he really likes this job, especially since he adores the world of pastry and really could see himself thriving in this field.

But.

This is just too painful.

He knows that neither Shiro nor Keith saw him eavesdropping on them, but ever since that day, Keith’s glare only intensified and Shiro is …

Well Shiro is Shiro, welcoming and warm like a cozy sweater and a hot chocolate with cinnamon sprinkled on top, but there is something behind his gaze that pulls on Lance’s heartstrings.

It’s with a heavy heart indeed that Lance came to the conclusion that he has to leave Paladelicious, and he’s not the only one already regretting it.

“Dude.”

“Hunk, don’t try to change my mind.”

“B-but, Lance!” Hunk still continues while Lance keeps on writing his resignation letter to Shiro--yes, he’s taking the cowards way out of writing to instead of facing Shiro, but can anyone really blame him?

“Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance, I’ll continue to say your name until you stop and look at me, Lance, Lance, Lance, L--”

“Hunk! Stop it,” Lance replies, making the rookie mistake of looking up at his best friend.

Because in spite of his height and bulk, the only real danger coming from Hunk Garrett is his puppy eyes.

“You don’t really want to leave us, do you Lance?”

“Of course I don’t want to!” Lance explodes. “But the alternative, it’s just too … too much for my--”

Before Lance can finish his sentence, his mouth finds itself otherwise occupied.

With an oversized chou, which is definitely on the petit side.

“Hmph!!!”

“Eat.”

“Hunpbdfrr!”

“You’ll thank me later. No one can be as moody as you were after my praline’d crème pat. And then we can close this silly conversation.”

As reluctant as he may be, Lance has to admit it: Hunk’s crème patissiere could ungrump the grumpiest of Grumps.

“Grumph.”

“Swallow.”

Lance laughs, most of the chou soothing his soul and filling his stomach already. “You know I always do.”

Behind them, at the piano, Pidge tsks as they boil several caramels in copper pans.

“Now, do you still want to leave? That means no more free goodies.”

“You’d still feed me some goodies when we get together, Hunk, don’t lie to yourself.”

Hunk blushes. “You’re probably right. But no more trying out my ideas if you’re not here.”

“You wanna leave?”

All three heads turn toward the door where Keith is standing, face even paler than usual and, oh dear Lord who has no mercy on Lance, hair tied in a messy bun.

Hunk and Pidge turn to Lance, a question in their eyes. What are you going to do now?

“I--I have considered it,” Lance mumbles. “May be best for everybody, all things considered.”

Even though I don’t want to. Even though it will hurt like a thousand knives dipped in hot sauce.

“But, I thought we--we bonded ...,”Keith opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, eyebrows going from a frown to sad before settling on anger again; funny how Lance never noticed how expressive those eyebrows were before.

“Fine,” Keith finally says, voice a lot colder than it ever was. “Do whatever you want, like I care. Not having to deal with you will bemmph?!”

Apparently, chou-shoving is Hunk’s move of the day.

“Do not. Finish. That sentence.” Hunk’s voice is frighteningly normal. Lance would be glad not to be on the receiving end of that tone if his mind was not replaying Keith’s words on repeat, with added acidic commentary.

Like I care. See, silly, he really does not need you in his life, not even as a co-worker so can you imagine dating him? It’s a wonder how you can even walk and breathe at the same time. Time for you to be useless somewhere else.

“Hunk, what the hell?!”

“We want Lance to stay and you are being mean.”

“You could have killed me!”

“With a chou? A deadly weapon for sure.”

“Guys?”

“What?”

“Lance left.”

Hunk glares at Keith. “Go fix what you broke.”

“But …”

“I am not afflicted with Lance’s obliviousness. Go; get him back. For everybody’s sake.”

Keith repeats his goldfish impression before giving Hunk a firm nod and rushing out.

Hunk picks a chou from the plate and munches on it. “Stupid men being stupid, amiright?”

Pidge nods vigorously, opening the chou open to suck on the creme. “Men being men, then.”

“Hey!”

“Not all men are as wise as you, Mr Garrett.”

“A’right, can’t deny it.”

Shiro doesn’t say a word, once Keith is done explaining what just happened in the lab.

He doesn’t frown, he doesn’t glare, he doesn’t yell.

He stands, shakes his head and opens the door to his office, aka the door to the back alley behind the store, nodding toward his bike.

Overall, Keith feels shittier than he did when he heard Hunk talking about Lance leaving, which is saying something.

He almost would have preferred for Shiro to scream at him.

At a redlight between the store and Lance’s place, Shiro pats Keith’s hands crossed over his stomach.

In Shironese, that pat means “it will be okay but you fucked up, my love.”

Keith tightens his hold on him.

In Keithan, that means “I am so sorry I got scared I fucked please forgive me.”

Since Lance took the bus back to his place, the three of them arrive at the same time.

Keith can see the moment Lance spots them on Shiro’s bike: Lance’s eyes widen and he stumbles.

“Lance, can we have a word?”

God bless Shiro for keeping his cool.

“What more is there to say?” Lance replies dejectedly with the saddest shrug Keith has ever witnessed. Now that he’s closer, Keith can see how red his eyes are and how pink his nose, and he cannot help the mixed feelings of guilt and adoration for the man standing in front of them that threaten to submerge him.

“I think Keith here has something to say,” Shiro replies softly, not so gently nudging Keith forward. “And I wouldn’t mind adding my two cents to what seems to be a classic miscommunication-provoked mess.”

Lance considers them, the unhappy downturn of his mouth increasing until he sighs, dropping his head to his chest. “Fine, come on up.”

Shiro and Keith exchange a look before following Lance up the flights of stairs leading to his apartment.

Keith spares a second to take in his environment and he has to repress the smile that threatens to appear at the sight around him. Lance’s place looks, well, it looks like him, warm and just a little bit messy but inviting and comfortable.

“Keith?” Shiro calls him, one eyebrow raised perfectly to push Keith to get on with his apology already.

Keith turns to Lance with a deep, strengthening breath. “Lance, I--I’m sorry for what I said back at the shop. I felt, um, I was hurt by the idea of you leaving us so suddenly, because, well, I--I, err, don’t want you to leave. The shop. Or,” he pauses, blidnly reaching for Shiro behind him, “or us, really.”

Lance’s eyes drop to their joined hands and if anything, his arms tighten around his torso.

Almost as if he’s trying to hold himself together.

“We don’t want you to leave,” Shiro repeats, taking a step toward Lance while still holding Keith’s hand.

Lance’s frown increases. “‘S not like I’m such an important cog in the Paladelicious’ machine,” he mumbles, turning his back to them.

Shiro blinks before sighing fondly. Keith is familiar with that sigh.

It’s Shiro’s “God knows why I am getting myself in such a mess, but boy do I love every minute with you” sigh.

“Lance,” he says quietly, letting go of Keith’s hand to put both his hands on Lance’s shoulders, “I didn’t say a word about my store.”

Lance freezes before following the motion Shiro’s hands are provoking.

When he faces them again, his eyes are wide and shiny. “What are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying that we,” Shiro moves his hands from Lance’s shoulders to his cheeks, “want you in our lives.”

Lance’s mouth parts open, eyes darting to Keith. “Both of you? You--with me?”

Keith takes the one step separating him from the two other men and cups the back of Lance’s head. “Both of us, with you,” he whispers before leaning over Shiro’s arm to lightly press his lips to Lance.

Pina colada flavored lipbalm. Of course.

Lance laughs and hiccups at the same time, resulting in an adorable “meep” sound. With one hand, he covers Shiro’s hand on his cheek while the other reaches for Keith’s waist.

“What do you say?” Shiro asks, voice barely above a murmur as he runs his nose along Lance’s temple before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I--I say,” Lance starts before pausing, eyes fluttering shut as Shiro continues on kissing odwn his cheek and jaw, “I say that I’m all in, baby!”

Both Shiro and Keith lean in to kiss Lance, which results in quite a messy situation where noses are bumped and lips don’t necessarily meet the previously aimed for location, but neither of them would have it any other way.

“Hey!” Lance exclaims, pushing both men away. “Does that mean you want to shut me up? I resent tha--mph!”

As a matter of fact, it turns out that Shiro was right.

Kissing the living Hell out of Lance is a perfectly efficient technique to shut him up.

The End.

#lemonjuiceday #sometimes i write #voltron au #vld #shklance #because i wanted to #food porn #you have been warned

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cinnbar-bun · 6 years ago

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Dragon Knights + Aglovale as MysMes Routes

@raechelpapaya: “ hello! May I request something? It’s kind of the same energy as the previous wildcard ask (MysMe as GBF units), but how about about the reverse? Maybe the Dragon Knights (+ Aglovale if you’d like) as MysMe routes? Like how to win their affection/how to get on their route, what their route focuses on, maybe even good/bad/best endings?”

A/n: HI HI HI YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! YESSSSSSSS!!!

Part 1: Vane and Lancelot

Vane: Quite possibly the easiest route. I wanna say the equivalent of a mix between all the casual story routes into one, because while it touches upon a larger story, it mostly is cutesy!! And happy!! Because Vane is best boi!!

How to get on his route:

Be kind and sweet

Encourage him

Don’t call him stupid or dehumanize him

Say he is just as good but do not directly compare him to Lancelot

Try to get along with the others; those are his friends, and you need to treat them well too!

Plot of his Route: It’s not as deep as the others. His is the most basic, spoiler-free route that mostly focuses on his day-to-day life as Vice-Captain while he grows as a person with you. Hardly any mentions are made about various threats, and it’s very light-hearted. Unlike in MysMes, where there are party guests, you instead do mission quests to help around Feendrache/the skydom. You need to have completed over 10 missions to get a good ending.

Endings:

Normal Ending- If you did not do enough missions, you are greeted by Vane one morning. He asks if you’d like to relax a bit with him as he’s carrying a picnic basket. He takes you on a picnic and talks about random things. After a while, he pauses and looks at you before he grabs your hand and asks for your attention. Vane then mumbles about how he hasn’t felt happier until he was with you, and wonders if you would like to continue pursuing a relationship with him. You agree and he excitedly brings out two small cakes and a glass of champagne. He tells you a heartfelt speech and muses about how much he really loves you.

Bad Ending 1: If you acted rather mean and cold to Vane, on Day 7, he becomes a lot more emotionally unstable and reactive. Lancelot, noticing how different his best friend has become, confronts you and tells you how he disappointed he is in you before expelling you from his sight. You insult Vane and Lancelot one more time before leaving, causing other Knights of the Order to see the commotion. Your reputation becomes soiled due to that encounter, and Vane has a hard time overcoming his own insecurities.

Bad Ending 2: If you compare Vane to Lancelot or tell him to be like him too much, Vane immediately becomes obsessed with acting like his best friend. His overall attitude and outlook has changed, as to become exactly ‘like the person you wanted him to be’, he threw away his old personality and looks. A cutscene appears where Vane is talking to the player, having dyed his hair black and changing his armor to match Lancelot’s and talking like him. He talks about his day to the player, and wonders if this is how Lancelot would treat you. At the last second, Vane thinks to himself about why he feels so incomplete despite having you. He berates himself right after, insisting Lancelot would never be upset about this.

Bad Relationship End 1: If you don’t put enough care to talk to Vane, the two of you grow rather distant. Vane sadly walks up to you and asks if he can discuss something important to you. In private, he breaks down and says he cannot continue with you. He explains how he thought you would make him feel complete, but he can’t help but feel as if you two rushed with things too fast. He hugs you one more time before saying you two can ‘just be friends’, and apologizes for hurting you.

Bad Relationship End 2: If you don’t have that well of relationship with the others (as well as acting rather controlling of Vane), Vane gets confronted by the other knights and they ask how you treat him. He of course is confused as to why they’re asking that, and they talk about how you’ve been rather rude and confrontational with them, and almost territorial of him. He tries to deny that you’re mean, perhaps misunderstood at most, but they don’t relent and try to get him to see he’s not in the healthiest of relationships. After Lancelot tells him of how you tried to keep him away from their picnics in the mountains, Vane gets upset and lashes out, insisting you’d never do that to him. He breaks down and claims how he thought the men were his friends, and resigns from the Order as per your idea. Years pass, and you and Vane have moved to a small cottage at the edge of the forest. Vane greets you as you come home, saying he missed you since you left him alone for the day. You coddle him a bit and assure you’d never leave him, in which he smiles and says that dinner is almost done.

Good Ending: If you have completed over 10 missions, a cutscene appears where Vane is waiting impatiently at a candlelit dinner, fiddling and mumbling about his appearance and everything around him. You show up moments later and he gasps, complimenting you for how wonderful you look. He fumbles with pulling out the chair for you and thanks you for coming. Fast forward around an hour later after you two finished dinner, Vane pours you a drink and laughs nervously. He then asks if he is someone you feel genuinely happy with, and if there’s something he needs to improve on. After you assure him, Vane muses on his feelings and discusses how he never really imagined he’d be here. He talks about how much he loves you and how he can become a better person with you by his side. At the end of his monologue, he gets on one knee and proposes to you, apologizing for not exactly being a ‘prince charming’ (BUT LIKE HE IS????) but hoping he can be the perfect man for you. You accept and he rejoices in his luck, lifting you up and kissing you as the other Dragon Knights clap from a good distance away. They discuss how Vane truly has become a knight and a damn good man. Siegfried then makes a joke about walking you down the aisle as a father-figure.

After Ending: The AE starts with you and Vane’s wedding, biting into the wedding cake he made. You compliment him and he laughs how if he wasn’t a knight, he’d probably be a patissier or chef. You then remark how you two should start a business, and he gets instantly excited. As the years go on, Vane says how you two have been saving money to start your own little cafe. Around the fifth year, with a lot of help from the Order and your Crew, you and Vane get to finally open your cafe, and celebrate with all your friends. You and Vane are in the center, making a toast as thanks to all your friends. At the end, Rosetta and Katalina walk over and hand a box to Vane, stating he’ll ‘need it soon’. Confused, he looks at you for an explanation and you tell him you’re pregnant with his child. He screams about how he’s going to be a father, and the news sends the group into an uproar as they congratulate you both. Vane holds you close and marvels at how he got so lucky to have met you. He seals it with a kiss and promises to be the best father to your child, and he cries tears of joy.

Lancelot: The ‘Yoosung’ level route. His delves a bit more into some of the mysteries, but they are mostly just speculation and don’t explain too much, merely leaving you with a bit of doubt and questioning the true motives of those around you.

How to Get On His Route:

Be polite and courteous

Encourage him to be healthier

Work hard to become better

Show your loyalty to Feendrache and your comrades, but also point out corruption and wrongdoings

Put honor above all else

Plot of His Route: Lancelot’s is a lot different than Vane’s and requires more critical thinking. It focuses a lot more on Lancelot’s role as the Captain of the Order and him dealing with where his loyalty lies.

Normal Ending: If you manage to get through all the days but don’t complete enough missions, Lancelot pulls you aside and asks what he should do about his feelings. He feels betrayed by the Council, but still feels like fighting for the good of Feendrache. He ends up deciding to become a full-time member in your crew, going with you from place to place and helping around the sky. He acknowledges how he cannot be a god, since he is only human, and because of that, he can’t expect to do things perfectly. The scene ends with you two watching the sunset atop the deck of the Grandcypher as he embraces you, thanking you for opening his mind.

Bad End 1: If you don’t help him learn better stress management or cause him more stress, Lancelot ends up having a meltdown in front of the Order. He screams at you and asks for everyone to leave him the hell alone. Vane tries to comfort him but he runs out before anyone can calm him down, and ends up holing himself in his office for few hours. The damage has been done, and in a flurry of emotions, Lancelot quits and leaves Feendrache in shame and anger, feeling as if everything he tried to work hard for meant nothing. Due to his impulsive departure, the Order quickly dissolves into chaos and Feendrache is in a crisis, leaving Vane to get promoted to Captain without any formal training. Although he manages to get it under control, something feels missing...

Bad End 2: If you don’t save Lancelot in time, he ends up being kidnapped and tortured by Isabella. Broken and battered, he tries to stay positive, insisting that you and his friends will come and save him. Isabella laughs in his face and remarks how it’s been nearly a year, and nobody has come. With this new revelation coming to life, he freezes up and finally loses all hope, becoming in a near catatonic state. He states he doesn’t know how much time has passed since he learned the truth, but he can’t even think properly to do anything about it. He remains in the prison for many more years before his deteriorating health catches up to him.

Bad Relationship End 1: If you act too immature or unrefined in public with Lancelot, he steps you aside and explains how your relationship cannot continue like that. He’s warned you many times that you cannot embarrass him like that, or refer to him with nicknames in front of the King. He sighs and says that you two need a break, since both of you are looking for something completely different in a partner. He apologizes and sadly gives back to you the ring you both bought for each other. He tearfully asks for you to find someone ‘normal’ who can give you all the affection and attention his rank simply can’t allow him to. He kisses your forehead one last time before telling you goodbye.

Bad Relationship End 2: If you make Lancelot question everyone’s true intentions, eventually he caves in and seeks solace in you. He claims everyone is out to hurt him and ruin him, but you’re the only one who’s cared for him. He begs for you to stay with him and never leave him alone, saying he’ll do anything so long as you continue to look at him. He resigns from his post and follows you as you take him far away from Feendrache.

Good Ending: If you completed the route and did over 10 missions, Lancelot meets with you at the Feendrache palace and embraces you, crying as he thought he almost lost you. He feels awful that you could have gotten hurt because of his blind loyalty, and promises that he’ll make Feendrache prosper and change to the best of his ability. As he calms down, he asks if you can do one favor for him- love him. He admits that he needs to work on seeing the bigger picture, and says if you keep loving him and encouraging him like you always do, he’ll be the best man he can be. Despite knowing the truth about the Feendrache councils, he decides to stick around and minimize the corruption inside, vowing that he will protect those in need. Towards the end of the scene, he hugs you and thanks you for everything you’ve done for him. He states that he may just be a man, but with you, he feels invincible. He goes down on one knee and proposes to you, giving a romantic speech about how much he truly loves you.

After Ending: Lancelot is seen in the AE giving commands to a bunch of new recruits to the Order. After dismissing them, he turns to you and greets you, saying how much he missed you. He asks you to follow him to his office and once you get there, he pulls out a gift box and hands it to you. You’re puzzled, and he claims he just got it for you because he thought of you while buying that. Lancelot stumbles with his words and laughs, mumbling about how he can’t contain how happy he is with you. You’re about to leave when he stops you and says he has one more gift prepared, and he pulls out two tickets to a hotel in the Auguste Isles. He explains he saved up his vacation days to make sure you two could spend some quality time together, relaxing. The scene fades and returns to you two at the resort, where he is floating lazily on the water. As a little prank, you splash him and knock him off his floatie, causing him to fall into the water. He retaliates and splashes you back, insisting you started a war. You two play fight a bit before, and he thinks to himself how carefree and wonderful he feels now. Being a Captain was hard work, and to think...he’d be able to have this much fun. He can’t help but smile, thanking the gods for giving him the chance to be with you.

#long post #Granblue Fantasy #Granblue fantasy imagines #Dragon knights #aglovale

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