#(I say. like a child explaining their scribbles)

[captainadwen]

Damian Wayne vs the World

Sixteen year old Damian Wayne is on the hunt for a younger sibling. Being more discerning than Bruce 'child collector' Wayne, Damian's firm criteria for Batman's latest adoption problem includes but is not limited to: black haired, blue-eyed, tolerable humor, not evil, and most importantly - younger than Damian.

Lucky for him, fourteen year old newbie vigilante Danny Fenton is the perfect fit. Now, to fulfill his end of their deal, Damian must defeat the evil government organization hunting Danny in order to gain a baby brother.

Or, @livinghalfway your post made my brain go !! but in such a different way I figured it was better to make a separate post, hope you don't mind/enjoy still

~~

Damian Wayne re-entered Tim Drake's life like a gnat revealing itself in a closed bedroom space. Tim was in t-shirt and a boxers, maneuvering ramen into his mouth with one hand and scribbling out an epiphany on a murder case with another, when Damian's demonic dulcet voice echoed down from the ceiling. "Drake," said Damian, judgemental, "You live like this?"

Tim nearly choked on his ramen, because the day Damian doesn't attempt to murder him - however doubtfully accidental this incident might be - is the day Darkseid decides to be friends with the Justice League. "Fucking knock," Tim coughed out. "And get out. No one invited you in."

"Put better traps if you don't want me here," said Damian, dropping from the ceiling where he'd crawled in on wall-clamps.

"This is my apartment," said Tim. "It's called courtesy."

Damian sniffed. He padded around to Tim's desk and frowns at his cases, then said, with no further lead up, "I need your assistance."

"No," said Tim.

"You did not even listen to my request."

"Don't need to," said Tim. "Answer's still no. Door is that way. Bye."

"Father says mutually assisting each other is beneficial," said Damian.

"Father," said Tim sarcastically, "blamed me for you exploding a glitter bomb in the batcave two weeks ago."

"That is your fault for not being able to provide evidence to the contrary in an appropriately efficient manner," said Damian. He squinted down at Tim. "And he apologized. Eventually."

"I would not have glittered the batcomputer," said Tim. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to backup those servers? No, because you don't like tech work, you just profit off it."

"Blaming me for Father's mistake," said Damian, "Most mature of you. But we must put our differences aside. I have selected a new family member and I need you to dismantle a government organization."

That drew Tim up short. He blinked down at his ramen as though it might explain Damian's words to him, but the ramen remained disappointingly uninformative. "Repeat that," said Tim, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Slower, and with more detail."

Damian pulled out his phone and sent him an email. Silence surrounded them in the brief moment it took Tim to set aside his chopsticks and open the email. The subject line was titled 'New Baby Brother', which birthed all sorts of horrifying nightmares of Damian Part 2: Demon Child Boogaloo. The teen in the inserted picture, however, was reassuringly not in possession of Damian's bone structure.

He did have black hair and blue eyes. "Who am I looking at?" asked Tim.

"Daniel Fenton," said Damian. "He is fourteen years old, enjoys puns, and has recently awakened 'ghost powers' that allow him to transform into the vigilante Phantom to fight other ghosts."

"Is he also an orphan with a tragic backstory?"

"No," said Damian, and Tim relaxed. "But that will not be an issue. We can share custody if they cannot be removed from the picture."

"Jesus H, kid."

"I am joking, of course," said Damian blandly. "Murder is wrong."

"Ha ha," said Tim. "If he has parents already he's not joining our menagerie."

"He will," said Damian, with a smug upwards tilt of his lips. "He and I have a deal."

"So you're coercing him in addition to stalking him. Anything else you want to share with the class?"

Damian considered this query with a serious frown, which was how Tim knew this was not a flight of fancy or a very early midlife crisis (although with their lifestyle and Damian already having died before...).

"He has," said Damian after a moment, "a rogue that calls himself 'The Master of all Technology' and is a technopath." This was clearly meant to be of interest to Tim, and not to be a stereotype, but it kind of was.

"Great." Tim turned his attention back to the email the demon child sent him. He scanned through it quickly. There was apparently a secret and evil government organization dedicated to the investigation and extermination of 'ghosts' and other paranormal creatures in the world. Their latest efforts were focused on the town of Amity Park, Illinois, which was 'infested with ectoplasmic pests'. Their words, not Damian's. (It was specified in the email.)

"Okay," Tim drummed his fingers against his desk. "Before I help you defeat this secret evil government organization so that," he opened the email attachment with a contract on it and squinted at the legalese, "this poor newbie teen you've harassed into signing this joins the family in exchange."

"I did not harass him," Damian huffed. "It was a gentleman's agreement."

"Does he know that?"

"I am not a politician, Drake. I thoroughly explained the terms and legalities before presenting any contract. Now ask your question."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because," said Damian, tone implying 'you are stupid and haven't noticed something obvious, idiot'. "Father has begun saying he misses the noise around the manor and looking wistfully at old pictures."

"We still live there though?" said Tim. Damian looked flatly at him. "Sometimes."

"If you lived there frequently enough," said Damian, "you would already know Father is having...empty nest syndrome." Damian sounded disgusted. "I refuse to tolerate whatever inadequate and incompetent child he will find."

"So instead you found an incompetent and inadequate child for him?"

"Don't be stupid, Drake," said Damian. "I would not have chosen someone inadequate. Daniel is merely lacking formal training. Father can rectify this. It will keep him occupied for at least the next two to four years, which gives me enough time to find another black-haired, blue-eyed, tolerable child I approve of to be his successor and my second younger sibling." Damian paused. "Or until one of you procreates and gives him a grandchild."

"You're really serious about this," Tim whispered in horrified awe.

"I am serious about everything I do," said Damian. "Now, you will help me defeat this evil government organization so that our new sibling joins us."

"Okay," said Tim, but his mind snagged on a minor, throwaway detail, so utterly in odds with Damian 'Demonic Jealous Child' Al Ghul it surely came from another person - "Did you just call this kid your successor?"

[dclovesdanny]

Dead on Main

4/5

Jason had always loved the drawings littering his arms. As soon as he knew how to write and had markers, he would write notes to his soulmate. He knew Danny like the back of his hand. Danny was the first person he said good morning too and the last person he said good night too.

He barely managed to scribble out a message to Danny before he died, apologizing.(He prayed Danny forgave him for leaving him alone.)

After Jason was resurrected, he didn’t know what to say to Danny. Danny still wrote on his arms, and Jason would be lying he said he didn’t look over those notes and feel tempted to write back. But Danny deserved better than what Jason could give him.

(the only person Jason ever showed the notes to was Damian. He would let the little Demon trace over them silently as he explained. He knew the league’s policy on soulmates was not kind. He hoped Talia would be kinder to the kid)

Then the writing started getting sloppier. The notes became those of a vigilante, the one thing he had hoped his soulmate wouldn’t have to be. Jason wasn’t supposed to leave the League. Jason should be working towards his revenge on The Joker, his plans for Gotham.

But then Danny wrote about Vlad. About the creepy guy that made his insides crawl and Jason couldn’t keep himself from clenching his teeth.(all of the trainees got used to Jason having some days where he was worse than others. Sometimes, the pit would rage inside of him at the thought of Lasters, but oddly enough messages from Danny seemed to ground him and make it harder for the Pit to control him)(maybe that’s why the league didn’t approve of soulmates.)

It was when the writings stopped that Jason really got worried and started preparing to leave. Talya caught him quickly, but was surprisingly willing to let him go. Her only request was that He took Damien with him. (Sometimes, he noticed how Talia wore the same sleeves that he did. He wondered sometimes if Talia only pretended not to have a soulmate.)

The last message that he got from Danny was the one that made him leave three weeks earlier than planned, with a demon child to his back, and guns ready to fire.

I never expected to be a teen dad. I’m kind of scared, but like hell I’m letting the fruit loop raise these kids.

I wish you were raising them with me.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

My hands are tied, I have to ask for more Ghost family! It's a need not a want

What do we think about Simon and the 141 being on leave after a particularly long mission and Tommy is in football (us soccer ) and has a match and made little crayon invitations for the each member if the team, inviting him to his game

And maybe they go get dinner afterwords? And celebrate? Win or lose?

His Whole World

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, emotional softness, child/family content, swearing (from the adults), suggestive content and soft smut (MDNI 18+), mild language, hurt/comfort themes, domestic sweetness

Author's Note: You asked for more Ghost Family—and I gladly deliver. I hope you enjoy this little life of theirs!

Summary: While on leave, Simon and the 141 attend Tommy’s football match after receiving adorable crayon-drawn invitations. What follows is a celebration full of laughter, love, and a quiet night where Simon gets to hold his whole world in his hands.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started with a stack of brightly colored paper, three boxes of crayons, and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with his tongue poked out in concentration.

You'd glanced over while washing dishes, catching him drawing lopsided smiley faces and scribbling stick figures in what he insisted were team uniforms. Little soccer balls dotted each corner, and each card was signed in big, clumsy letters:

To: Uncle Soap

To: Uncle Gaz

To: Grandpa Price

“Baby,” you smiled, drying your hands. “What are those?”

He held up a green one proudly, a sun in the corner with a crooked rainbow above it. “I’m inviting Daddy’s friends to my match! ‘Cause they said they’d come next time!”

You blinked back emotion. “They’ll love that.”

When Simon walked in and saw the mess of crayons and construction paper, he tilted his head.

“What’s all this, little lad?”

Tommy beamed. “Invitations!”

“For what?”

“My game! You said they’d wanna come!”

Simon froze in the doorway. And then—very slowly—he crouched next to his son, picked up one of the drawings and stared at it like it was the Mona Lisa.

“They’ll be there, kiddo. Promise.”

—

A Few Days Before the Match

The restaurant was the definition of comfort—old booths, framed kids’ drawings on the walls, crayons and coloring menus already on the table. You, Simon, and Tommy were squeezed into one side of the booth while Soap, Gaz, and Price took the opposite. It had been laughter and casual teasing all night.

But Tommy had been fidgety the entire meal, a little bundle of nerves and excitement, bouncing in his seat and clutching his backpack like it was a top secret mission.

When dessert arrived, he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I have something!” he blurted, sliding out of the booth and tugging open the zipper of his backpack with both hands.

Soap raised a brow. “This ain’t a bomb, is it?”

Tommy giggled. “Nooo, silly.”

He handed out folded papers one by one—wrinkled, smudged with crayon, each one unique.

“To Uncle Johnny. To Uncle Kyle. To Grandpa Price.”

They each unfolded theirs carefully, expressions going soft.

Soap snorted a laugh. “That’s me? You drew me with… is that a cape?”

“You’re my superhero,” Tommy explained proudly.

Gaz blinked a few times. “Is this for your football match?”

Tommy nodded eagerly. “You said if I invited you, maybe you could come. So I made invites! I drawed them all by myself!”

Price cleared his throat, already reading aloud. “‘Please come watch me score lots of goals. There will be juice after. Love, Tommy.’”

“Juice and football?” Soap grinned. “It’s a date.”

Gaz leaned across the table. “Front row. We’ll make signs.”

Tommy gasped. “Really?!”

“Absolutely,” Price added. “We’ll be the loudest ones there.”

Simon hadn’t said a word, just watching with his jaw set tight, a hand resting protectively on his son’s back.

When Tommy crawled back into the booth beside him and leaned into his side, Simon bent low, pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Told you they’d say yes,” he murmured.

—

Game Day

The field was damp from last night’s rain, the grass lush and springy underfoot. Kids ran wild in miniature uniforms, knee-high socks pulled to their thighs, shin guards crooked. You’d found a good spot on the bleachers while Simon paced just behind them, arm crossed, leg bouncing.

He was nervous.

“He’ll do great,” you said, rubbing his arm.

“I know,” Simon murmured. “Just—first time he’s ever played with a crowd.”

“He’s not just playing for a crowd.” You smiled. “He’s playing for his dad.”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed the top of your head and scanned the field until he found Tommy—a tiny blur of navy blue and white, blonde curls under a too-big headband, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

And then the shouting started.

“GO ON, TOMMY BOY!”

Soap.

“LET’S SEE THAT RILEY FOOTWORK!”

Gaz.

“DO US PROUD, LAD.”

Price, calm and commanding even from a lawn chair.

The three of them had shown up in matching 141 hoodies, faces painted with small stripes in Tommy’s team colors, holding signs that were very obviously made by Soap’s chaotic hand: “RILEY FOR MVP!” “BABY GHOST DOMINATES!”

Simon looked like he was about to cry. Or fight someone. Maybe both.

Tommy turned to look for you—and when he spotted his dad and the team waving wildly from the stands, he lit up.

He gave the smallest salute.

And then he ran.

The game was chaos in the best way. Kids missing the ball, bumping into each other, falling down and crying before getting up again like it never happened. But Tommy—Tommy scored. Twice.

You swore the sound Simon made wasn’t human.

Soap was on his feet, swinging Gaz in a circle. Price looked smug like he knew all along that the kid was destined for greatness.

And Tommy? He ran right to the fence after the whistle blew and threw himself into Simon’s arms.

“DID YOU SEE?!”

Simon lifted him like he weighed nothing. “Saw everything, champ. You were brilliant.”

His voice was hoarse. Raw. So proud.

And you—watching your husband hold your son like he was holding the whole damn sky—felt your heart swell.

—

After the Match

You all piled into a local family diner—sticky booths, cracked menus, a jukebox in the corner. Simon sat with Tommy tucked under one arm, still in his uniform, now eating a celebratory sundae with a plastic gold medal around his neck.

“Best player award,” Tommy announced to the table, lifting it up for all to see.

Soap clapped so hard it startled a waiter. “That’s our lad!”

Gaz leaned in close. “You want us to tell the base commander to get you a real one next time?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Can you do that?!”

“Absolutely,” Price said. “We’ll frame it for you.”

The food was greasy and perfect—burgers, fries, and milkshakes all around. Simon barely touched his own plate, too busy watching his son laugh.

You caught his hand under the table. He laced his fingers with yours instantly.

“He’s happy,” you whispered.

“So am I.”

—

Later That Night

Back at the house, Tommy crashed the second his head hit the pillow—sunburnt cheeks, messy curls, medal still clutched in his hand.

Simon kissed his forehead and closed the door quietly behind him.

You found each other in the hallway, drawn together like magnets.

“He was amazing,” you whispered, arms slipping around his waist.

“He was perfect,” Simon murmured, pressing you back against the wall, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “You should’ve seen yourself cheering for him. Christ.”

“I did. You cried.”

“I didn’t—” he huffed, nose brushing yours. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

You laughed softly, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt. “Come to bed.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

—

You lay beneath him, skin bare, breath stolen by the slow rhythm of his hips and the heat of his mouth on your neck.

Simon moved with reverence—like prayer. Every inch of him pressed close. Nothing frantic, nothing rough. Just desperate closeness.

“Missed this,” he whispered against your collarbone. “You. Home.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, breathless as his hand slid over your hip, his lips ghosting over your breast.

The only sounds were the quiet creak of the bed and the way you gasped his name when he filled you again—slow, deep, a rhythm just for you.

You arched under him, clutching his shoulders, letting yourself fall apart in the safety of his arms. He followed not long after—buried deep, voice catching as he groaned your name into your mouth.

After, you stayed tangled together, hearts thudding in time, sweat cooling against your skin.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“For all of it. Him. You. This life. I never thought I’d have it.”

You cupped his face. “You earned it.”

Simon kissed you slow, like he could bottle this moment forever.

And maybe—just maybe—he could.

—

The Next Morning

You woke to the smell of pancakes and the sound of tiny feet thumping down the hall.

Simon’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

“Alright, champ—one more flip, then you do the syrup.”

You padded out, still in one of Simon’s shirts, hair messy.

Tommy looked up from the stool he was perched on, beaming. “Mummy! We made breakfast!”

Simon looked up and smiled, eyes soft.

“Family tradition,” he said, setting a plate in front of you.

Tommy hopped off the stool, ran over, and threw himself into your lap.

You looked at them both—Simon, shirtless in flannel pants, Tommy in his dinosaur pajamas—and felt that ache again. The one that came from too much love in one room.

He was your little shadow.

And Simon?

Simon was finally standing in the light.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[dulcet-aurora]

permanent . damian wayne x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ when you press me to your heart, i'm in a world apart. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ what better an idea to immortalize your best friend in time.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. pining, pining, pining. did i mention pining? slightly ooc damian but like whatever i just want a yearning man. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.3k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii, @minorlyatfault. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. inspired by thinking of you by sister sledge! the writing is an actual excerpt from my diary about a man because if he won't yearn i obviously have to. ignore how shitty this is because it was 10pm and i miss the girl i used to be. enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒊f i were any other version of myself in this timestream i would say that i am exhausted of being in love. my thoughts are blurred by a fog where each particle of water is one tiny thing creating this sole, large, mystical being that cloud my senses and drive me half to insanity.

but i am a changed man and unlike the child formed of snapped bones and spilled blood that was deemed as useless as water, i have found myself thriving on the galleons of blood pumped daily by my palpitating heart for this girl. she is magic incarnate and i am under her spell. i cannot explain it and it is terrifying and awfully thrilling all at once because this is the first time i have not been able to draw a conclusion or a reasonable answer based on fact nor logic to my feelings. my feelings themselves have always been buried— crushed by burdens and grandfather's teachings that emotion was weakness, but for some reason she has latched them by a hook and drawn them up and claimed them as her own.

in my own way i fear her. she is the very opposite of every lesson i've been taught, the moral behind every beating i took. she took my heart of stone and cracked it in two and found the humanity within me, glowing like the contents of a geode and it shines just for her. i do not know how she managed it. i do not know how i let her manage to do it. i have never been vulnerable and never did i think i would ever be vulnerable and yet i stand here pouring out my feelings in ink like the blood i spilled as a child.

yes, it on paper but i would rather stain the carcass of a tree than the blank canvas which is her and risk leaving the mark of my impurity on something as pristine as her. i cannot bear damaging her because i felt too much.

— d.t.w.

damian sat on the floor at the foot of the piano bench, the tip of his pen hovering limply over the paper. his feelings stared back at him like a mutilated corpse, ugly and disgusting and something he couldn't believe he'd done in a moment of clouded judgement. the sound of the piano echoes through the empty ballroom of wayne manor. the space was empty and rarely used more than twice a month for when bruce held a gala. you sat at the beautiful grand piano, your fingers delicate on the keys as the instrument sang a solemn melody.

you pressed aimless keys as the moment of serenity faded and the melody fizzled out. "do you ever get frustrated with a piece of your art?" you sighed, leaning forward on the bench to peer at the sheet music of your newest piece that you'd scribbled out on a few sheets of loose-leaf paper. the penmanship was horrendous, chicken scratch only a musician could read in between wrinkles and creases from being folded time and time over to fit in your pocket.

damian snapped his journal shut. "exasperation in the creation of beauty is inevitable," he said. "you as a musician should already know this."

"you always make it look so effortless, though," you groaned, supporting your weight with your hands as you leaned back on the bench.

"do i?" he arched a dark eyebrow, his viridian eyes glinting with something between curiosity and amusement.

"yes," you sighed. "you can paint, you can sculpt, you can write the perfect essay. art comes naturally to you."

damian pondered this for a moment. "i come from a long line of individuals who took pride in the destruction in beautiful things," he said. "i suppose i did not want to be like them, when there are so many specks of the heavens in the world around us. i chose to trap them in time then to make them memories."

"you would be a lovely playwright," you declared after a beat. you cleared your throat, "i bethink thou art something of a twenty-first century shakespeare." you reached over the side of the piano bench and gripped the cover of his journal.

damian's heart stopped. he yanked the journal from your grasp so hard you pitched forward and had to steady yourself by gripping the piano. "methinks you jest." he snapped.

"methinks thou hadst a stick up thy ass."

"methinks thou shouldst shut thy trap." damian tilted his head back to look up at you.

you put a hand over your mouth and laughed, and damian's heart jackhammered against his ribs. that laugh, that feeling reminded him why he chose to paint your smile that he saw every time he closed his eyes, why he sculpted your jaw that he dreamed to hold with the tenderness he was never shown, and why he made you a permanent fixture in time with his words.

"play me that piece again," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

"you've heard it a thousand times," you complained, wringing your hands. "along with my tears and sobs and fussing."

"i enjoy it," damian said simply, rising from the floor and sitting beside you on the bench. your knees pressed against each other. damian wishes it was your lips.

"well, you have to," you pouted, "you're my best friend."

"i am not obligated to 'liking' anything, i enjoy what is enjoyable and your piece fits the criteria of pleasurable things," he said. "so play it again."

you groaned and before damian could even exhale to protest again you poised your hands over the piano and began to play.

magic flowed from your hands, infusing the keys with some sort of golden ichor with every press of your fingers. it was a piece in f minor, but transitioning to a sweeter major with a signal of a small breath from your lips. it was incomplete, damian could see the question marks replacing notes on the staff on the last page of music but, oh, was it beautiful. if your hands hadn't both been on the keys he would've laced your fingers together.

eventually the melody tapered off again and you sighed in defeat, slumping your elbows against the keys with an exasperated huff. "yeah, that's that," you sighed.

"it is a lovely composition," damian said earnestly.

you smiled faintly. "i had a great inspiration."

he tilted his head. "did you?"

you sighed, your gaze almost dreamy. "the best."

your words stuck with damian all day, even till the dead of night where he lay awake and his brain did its usual run through of the thought of you. he lay in his bed and you were tucked against his side, passed out after hours of trying to figure out the right notes. your sheet music lay on your stomach and your pen was clasped loosely between your fingers. damian sighed.

"foolish girl," he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. you sighed in your sleep and damian softened. he took the sheet music off your abdomen and plucked your pen from your limp hand. he turned around as gently as he could to set your sheet music on his nightside table. as he laid it down on the top he caught a glance of the title and his breath hitched.

damian's theme. a musical memoir to the boy i adore. written in a handwriting that was messy and barely legible and that could only be yours.

he stiffened. "i had a great inspiration. the best." you had said. his heart slammed against his ribs once more and he was sure his bones were painted red from how often that happened. he looked over at you, his sleepy musician, his modern day clara schumann, the reason he chose to create instead of destroy.

damian made art because it was permanent, and it was precious. he'd never felt precious or had anything remotely permanent in his life other than the ghosts from his past that followed him. but now he realized that he truly was treasured. and it wasn't so bad.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[itzpookiepooh]

hiya! I love yr writing so much. For a request would u mind writing something abt the lads men having sassy babies? It’s based of this tt

Thank you so much if u write this!

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNdUmsG8V/

Sassy Pants

Your daughter was just like Rafayel. Sassy and dramatic to boot. Rafayel doesn’t see it but you do, everyday. It’s definitely an inherited trait. So imagine his surprise when his mini me sassed him today.

He was teaching her how to hold a pencil. As he was teaching her he was still holding onto her hand helping her trace. He seemed to be holding onto for too long because she snatched her hand away and started scribbling by herself. His jaw was on the floor.

“Did you see that? I can’t believe she did that to me!” He sounded offended. Hand on his chest and all.

“I wonder where she got that from.��� You said sarcastically but he didn’t catch on.

“I don’t know but it’s certainly not from in this house.” He pouts watching her draw unfazed.

“Right not in this house…” You mumble scratching the back of your neck.

“What are you saying?” He questioned you equally as offended as he was earlier.

“Nothing.” You smile innocently as you turn to watch your daughter scribble.

Zayne was trying to feed your son mashed peas but he wouldn’t eat it. No matter how much he begged and coaxed him he just didn’t like it. He pushed the bowl away with a facial expression just like his daddy making you almost laugh in Zayne’s face.

“I don’t understand where this attitude is coming from.” He mumbles to himself as your son bangs on his high chair.

“Well he sees a certain someone not eat their carrots.” You mumble while looking elsewhere.

“I see. I haven’t set a good example.” He sighs before taking the bowl and walking away.

“So you’ll eat your carrots?” You ask as he throws the peas out.

“Absolutely not. We can try another vegetable if he would like.” He tells you as he goes to wash out the bowl. You slide down in the chair clearly defeated.

Caleb was on baby duty while you got a shower in. He was teaching your daughter to build something with mega blocks. The issue was the blocks kept falling over when she stacked them too high. She was becoming impatient.

“It’s okay Princess let’s try again.” He reassured her as he built the foundation and she started again. Although she had a good foundation it fell over once more.

She slammed her hands down repeatedly as she screamed making your eyes go wide. Caleb tried to comfort her but it was no use as she huffed and puffed.

“Let’s take a deep breath.” Caleb said gently as he wraps his hands around her to pick her up but she gave him the stankiest face she could muster. You fell out into full blown laughter.

“Hey! That’s not nice to do to Daddy!” Caleb pouted as you turned away trying to regain your breath.

Xavier and your baby are very much alike. So when Xavier put the baby down for a nap you didn’t think he was putting himself down too. It was getting late and you had to feed your little one so you went to wake him and his father.

Xavier’s hair and your baby’s hair was strewn on the pillows. They slept in the oddest position with Xavier sprawled at the bottom and his mini me sprawled on top of him. You smile at them before picking up your son.

“It’s time for dinner my love.” You whisper kissing his fat cheeks. He puts a hand on your lips and mugs you.

How dare you wake him up from the best sleep he’s ever had? Your eyes widen as he stares at you tiredly, angrily. Xavier lifts his head in a quick panic when he doesn’t feel the baby before looking up to you both having a staring contest.

“What did I miss?” His groggy voice asked.

Sylus and your lovely child were bickering. Your child has a similar evol to your husband. Therefore, she pops up where she wants when she wants. It was terrifying at first however, you’ve gotten use to it. Sylus however is tired of her ignoring him.

“You’ll become a pancake using your energy this way.” He explains in the simplest way possible only for your child to babble at him as he nods.

“I know you like to do it but it’s not safe. You need more training.” He explains again but she babbles again anyway. She makes a face at him as you tried not to laugh from the doorway.

“Well that’s not a nice face to make at your father now is it?” He rests her on his thigh with a raised eyebrow.

“She’s got your attitude.” You point out to him as he smirks at you. “I beg to differ.” He chuckles bouncing her.

I love sassy babies they don’t know how funny they are

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Temperamental- Yandere Geto X fem reader

Heian era Japan AU

Contains - master servant dynamics, possessive behaviour, abuse - he really is an ass in here,

You have never seen him so angry.

Your master was a temperamental man at the best of times; you had learnt to avoid him during his rages. Only now it doesn't do anything when you're the one he calls upon to soothe him, leaving your other work to fall on someone else as you scurry to his side. Most of the other servants have learnt what the relationship between you and the master has become; it is not as though he is inconspicuous within his own manor, calling on you to tend to him as he wishes. But who would say anything? The majority of them pity you, seeing the bruises across your body when you're in the baths, and the others just look at you as if you had been the one to seduce him in the first place. Anyone who had the power to speak up about your treatment simply doesn't care enough about you to do so. What noble would turn their head slightly towards the well-being of an indentured servant? It is not as though you could even run to your family, them being the ones that sold you into the lord's manor as a maid while you were a child, in exchange for one less mouth to feed and to be forgiven for their rent for the next year. You try not to dwell on that fact, that perhaps if you hadn't had this misfortune of becoming a servant, you would have only become the wife to some other farmer. At least your lord keeps you fed and dressed in silk- if only for his own pleasure. The kind of man who would feed his lapdog the same meat obtained for his plate.

You suppose you occupy that position of a coveted pet. Running to his call in order to keep his rage from tearing through the manor, leading to your fellow servants to be in the wake of his wrath. You haven't been the only person left with marks from him, just the only one to gain those marks in his bedchamber. The only one to receive an apology afterwards. He doesn't keep other maidservants in his bed, nor does he have a wife or concubine for you to compete with. You assume that when he does eventually marry and secure his position as head of the household, you'd be quietly put to serve his wife if she doesn't make too much of a fuss, that her husband still keeps his favourite toy within close reach.

When you come to the door to his chambers, you knock, announcing yourself at the entrance. The last time you made the mistake of coming in without warning, he nearly hit your head with the porcelain vase he threw at the disturbance.

“You called for me, master Geto?” Your voice echoes almost pathetically in silence as the clattering inside stops. You wait a few moments before allowing yourself to enter the bedchambers. It is not as great a mess as it could be. Your master is a man in the habit of taking his anger out on whatever is closest to him; it is the priceless decorations that tend to bear the brunt, mostly when you aren't in the room. His long, dark hair is down, fallen from his top knot during his rage, his robes are loose and open at his chest, and you try to keep your gaze lowered before he permits you to meet his eyes.

“That I did.” his voice is gruff, while you’re lucky to have not been present during the initial burst of his anger, it is still flowing from him in waves. “Come in properly, do not linger at the door like a stray dog,” he orders. You follow suit, walking properly into the room and kneeling in your regular spot before the tea table. Geto takes the seat opposite from you, pointing down at a scroll which has been set in place for your arrival. “I will give you the chance to explain this to me.” You still, unknowing what his rationale is behind the order that he has given.

“I cannot read, my lord,” you say as softly as you can. He already knows this, so why would he put the scroll before you as if he expects you to understand the scribbles it contains? If only to remind you how much more he is than you.

“Of course you cannot, I was only giving you the chance to explain to me why you are mentioned by another man in this letter to me. A man who was a previous guest of mine.”

Your face pales as you realise the understanding that your master has drawn from this, when some few months previously, he had a guest from the capital arrive. A man who in comparison to master Geto was far more easy going and even empered during his stay, he was an attractive man but in the sense that it was unnatural for a human being to look so perfected as he did, a beauty that seemed to repulse just as much as it could draw someone in to stare uneadnibg at his eyes as blue as a blacksmiths flame.

“Why, pray tell, would he mention how sweet he found my little attendant, scurrying into my room as quickly as I called her, like some scared dog? Asking if I could let him borrow you into his chambers the next time he darkens my doorway?” Geto grabs your chin, nails digging into the soft underside of your flesh, drawing a squeal of pain from you with something akin to satisfaction in his eyes as he continues.

“I always thought that for all your faults, at the very least I could count on your loyalty to me. But now I see I may have been mistaken and that you just bat your pretty eyes at whatever man is foolish enough to give you the time of day.”

“I didn't master I swear it,” you plead as you feel his nails dig in deeper, “I swear to you I would never look at another man when I am nothing but your humble servant, please, I beg you.”

His fingers shift, the touch becoming firm but no longer painful as he gives out a small hum.

“Perhaps that fool only just meant to taunt me, to threaten to take something very precious out from under me. Maybe I came to a false conclusion too quickly. Of course that bastard would want to wind me up like this, making me doubt my precious maid.” Getoloosens his fingers, moving his hand to tenderly stroke your face as though there aren't little indents underneath your chin which well with blood.

“He was most likely hoping that I would discard you, allow him to take my leftovers. He wouldn't be the only one who wishes that I give you up, too many annoying fools who think they know better for me and my house, give me their unasked for opinion that it would be best if I grew out of our little attachment. That I should find some well-bred wife and have well-bred heirs,” he tilts your head, “ what do you think, you're the only one who has ever seen me so candidly, surely you must have an opinion.”

You know full well, Geto doesn't really want your opinion in this matter, only an answer which will manage to entertain him. He wants to see how far you can go within the realms of your position. He comes over to your side of the table, laying his head in your soft lap, ordering you to speak with a wave of his hand.

“You are the lord of this house,” you mumble softly, running your fingers through his long hair, carefully scratching his scalp until he groans. “No one has the right the give you any orders, they can only hope to advise you based upon what they believe to be the best, but that does not meean that they know better than you.” you pause unsure of what to say next, he opens one eye expectantly as you still.

“Go on,” he orders, “then tell me what you would best advise me from your own position,” he smirks, “you may be candid.”

“If you were to take a wife then my position will be in danger,” you say the words he has been expecting from you, “but my position as a servant is no matvvh to the importance that a wife would hold for the sake of the house, for your power to be consolidated their is both a need for alliance as well as for children. And if those who advise you believe that my presence is distracting you from finding a bride, they are not unfounded in their anxieties for the sake of the house.” You try your best to say nothing that could upset him or potentially rock the boat.

“So do you believe I should discard you for some noble?”He hums, amused at the turn your conversation is taking.

“I don't want to lose your favour,” Geto stills in your hands as the mumbled confession makes its way past your lips, “But I have no position to be selfish when all the privileges I've received have come from your attention.” despite his rages, he has his gentleness to. You have become plump from the sweets he has slipped past your lips and warm from the silk he has made into your robes, with an opulence that clearly marks you as his. But it's an opulence you have never before felt until you caught his eyes. Without it, you don't know how you'd survive.

“No, you really have no position to be selfish.” Geto pulls himself up on his knees, pushing you down until your back hits the floor, and he straddles above you. The dark silken curtain of his hair drapes over the both of you as he hovers a breath away from your face. “But I can be as selfish as I want,” he leans down, kissing you until your lungs cry for air.

“Do you think if I put an heir in you, they'll be satisfied I've taken a concubine and will stop pestering me to find a bride?”

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || Falling for your dense classmate is a challenge, especially when trying to confess ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

. ♬ ݁˖ || inspo song : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★

ᝰ.ᐟ || izuku midoriya x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, words of affirmation, 1.7k word count •°. *࿐

It didn't take long for y/n to realize what she felt for Izuku far surpassed the typical feelings you would have for a dear classmate.

This sentiment only seems to marinate after many months of admiring from a safe distance — behind the term 'friend' — attempting to disregard the attraction that increases day by day.

Regardless of how much she tried to hide it, at times, her infatuation appeared to control her like a puppet, making words exit her mouth before her mind could catch up.

"Deku, I don't understand this one..."

It's a blatant lie, only wanting to catch his attention, and it seems to work.

His head perks up in an instant, gaze softening slightly as he leans closer, taking a peek at her notebook — filled with erase markings and scribbles — not one ounce of judgement in his gentle look.

"Hm? If you don't mind, I can help! Let me have a look..."

Her heart quickens, fingers clenching on her pencil as she tries to stay still, focused on quieting her racing pulse, growing afraid he might hear it.

The boy becomes so immersed in explaining the equation step-by-step that he doesn't even realize just how close he's gotten; considering she can now count every pretty freckle and scar.

He gently smiles, turning to look at her.

"Do you get it now?"

Her whole body feels like it's on fire, every nerve and muscle yearning to close the distance, urging herself to melt in the arms of the precious ambiance that is Izuku Midoriya.

Yet he never seemed to grasp this concept himself, always preoccupied with strict training regimens and study sessions, mentally distanced from the notion of romance.

So some days she grows bolder than others; giving him little hints to test the waters, subtle indications about the burning affection within her.

"Deku! I um— got you this... I hope you don't have it already. I saw it in the store and well—"

His face visibly lights up, scrambling up from his seat to approach her, receiving the small gift like a lively child on christmas day.

"Uwahhhh! This is the magazine with all mights latest interviews! I can't believe you managed to get a copy before it sold out! Even Kacchan couldn't get one!"

Izuku is already flipping through the pages, his awe filled gaze zeroing in on each sentence, gushing over every little thing that his mentor responded with.

Despite knowing All Might personally, it seems he'll always be a fan boy at heart; the thought makes her smile back with hidden admiration.

The way his eyes glistened with joy always had her in a trance, hence she couldn't pass up pre-ordering the item — when she saw it on a instagram post he liked — y/n just couldn't resist.

She smiles.

"I guess I got lucky, huh?"

He eagerly nods.

"Mhm! You're like a good luck charm y/n!"

She's visibly taken back, the words getting stuck in her throat, slight goosebumps peppering her skin — despite no breeze being present — unable to comprehend his random declaration.

"E-Eh?!"

He takes a few steps forward, his head still in the clouds, holding the magazine closer to his chest with pure joy.

"I mean it! It seems like whenever you're around me, good things happen!"

She shyly averts her gaze in an attempt to ignore how close he is, how close she is to just erasing the gap between them all together, wanting nothing more than to hear his endless rambles and praise.

Praise that seemed to easily leave his lips, maybe too easy, after all, she seems to be stuck in that category of 'just friends'.

A label she'd like to change for something more intimate.

"You... really think so?"

"Of course I do!"

Being friends with Izuku Midoriya makes a person question if the world is truly as cruel as they say, because the boy in front of her counters all of that.

The true embodiment of a kind soul; disguised as a mere high school student.

So she shouldn't be shocked when his popularity sky-rockets during their last year in UA, fangirls approaching him whenever given an open opportunity, leaving the boy a stuttering mess as he nervously fidgets around.

It irked her more than it should've but nonetheless, she was grateful, considering it ignited an ambitious drive inside her heart, urging her to seek him out.

Leading them to this very moment, the duo standing in front of the cherry blossom tree on campus, a cliché yet beautiful scenery of falling pink petals under the warm sun.

The curious green-haired boy looking right at her.

"So what did you want to talk about y/n?"

She gulps.

All her confidence suddenly vanishes into thin air as he tilts his head, mindlessly smiling at her, despite not knowing she's on the verge of overheating right then and there.

"Well... I have something important to tell you, if you don't mind."

He immediately nods along.

"Ah—! Okay then, I'm all ears!"

She bites the inside of her cheek, attempting to ignore her sweaty palms; embarrassingly becoming a complete bundle of nerves, right in front of the boy she's been crushing on.

A boy who she knows will treat her the same, with everlasting kindness, regardless of the outcome.

"We've known each other for quite some time and... I think you're really amazing deku... you probably don't know this but you've inspired me more to become a great hero. And if you'd let me, I-I'd want to stay by your side til then because I—"

Regardless of the forming butterflies in her stomach, y/n clenches her fist, the last remaining amount of courage fueling her drive to meet his gaze, her whole body heated with emotions.

He looks at her, a bit caught off guard, clearly not expecting the conversation to go like this, his expression completely unreadable — for once — only prolonging her anxious thoughts and hesitance.

The breeze feels cool against her skin, reminding her that it's either now or never, unable to continue hiding her feelings for the cheerful classmate any longer.

So with a deep breath, she speaks with conviction, holding firm eye contact.

"I-I really do love you Izuku!"

He's visibly taken back, eyes widening at her confession, frozen stiff for a few seconds as if contemplating their whole relationship — all the memories and laughs they've shared — to eventually relax with an oddly calm gaze and warm smile.

His cheeks barely dusted with a light pink.

"Oh— I love you too y/n! You're an amazing friend as well!"

Silence.

The girl could only stare at him with disbelief, she had almost forgotten how dense he is, despite being one of the smartest students in their class; if there's a subject Izuku Midoriya isn't too bright on — it's romance.

She saw the way he short circuits whenever a fangirl even so much as compliments him.

Which means she has to be even more clear with both him and herself.

Well, they say the second time's a charm...

"N-no that's not... I meant— agh! Izuku! What I meant to say was that— I'm in love with you!"

He blinks a few times, like his mind is unable to comprehend her statement.

Then realization seems to hit him like a brick, she could tell by his blush intensifying from a soft pink to a bright red, multiple shades deeper compared to the cherry petals falling around them.

His arms flail around as he stammers uncontrollably.

"W-what?! You're in l-l-love with me?! But why— s-since when?!"

Now it's her turn to be flustered, shyly holding her cheeks to feel the burning sensation beneath her finger tips.

"For a while now..."

"Eh?! Are you sure?! M-Maybe you're just—"

He doesn't finish his sentence, quickly shutting himself up at the sight of her condition — equally as bashful and fidgety — mirroring his own physical state.

His eyes light up at the picture perfect image, her hair flowing in the wind, petals raining down like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com, sun beaming a little too brightly to highlight the glossy look in her gaze.

It was as if the breath got sucked right out of him, unable to avert his eyes elsewhere, she was just that breathtaking.

And it was right there, where Izuku Midoriya realized that maybe... just maybe... his best friend truly has fallen in love with him.

Yet he couldn't make sense of why; how in the world he got the attention of such a beautiful girl.

Previous insecurities resurfacing to question if her feelings for him weren't just a miscalculation on her part, perhaps mistaken for something more than mere friendship but...

Izuku Midoriya may be dense, altho, not a complete fool.

The intense look in her eyes, holding more than a thousand words, gave him reassurance that she, in fact, meant what she said.

Only making him more shy as she awaits his response.

He softly mumbles.

"U-Um... then how about we go out to an arcade this weekend... just us two... uh-! I mean we don't h-have to if you don't want to I—"

Her eyes lit up at his invitation, and she suddenly couldn't resist — as if her body just moved on its own — stepping closer to peck an innocent kiss on his cheek, motivated by nothing other than pure joy.

Many months of pent up infatuation finally taking its course.

"Ah really?! I'd love to!"

He freezes.

And after a few moments, she immediately jerks back, realizing just how bold she was with that one action alone, feeling flushed at her own cheekiness.

"Oh— I'm so sorry Izuku! I didn't mean to—"

She gasps as he sees him stumble over, falling onto the vibrant plush grass, thankfully cushioning his fall — as his brain no doubt short circuits — practically melting like a puddle on the ground with a dazed expression.

The boy dramatically wounding up unconscious.

"Wahhh?! Izuku?!"

He woke up in the infirmary a few minutes later, still beyond starstruck as he attempted to answer recovery girls questions.

The older woman only gives him a comical deadpanned expression as he begins rambling on about his situation with y/n, frankly panicking about never being in a relationship before.

Already searching up 'tips to have the best first date' for future references, all while his hand remains on his cheek, right where she kissed him.

Smiling fondly at the memory, as if reminding himself that this is not a dream.

That sometimes your soulmate is your best friend, whom you hopelessly fell in love with.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! wow this fic is long what the heck, i was locked in?! this is a fic request from the number one deku fan hehe, i hope u like it lele!! lowkey this made me want to write for izuku more so yippieee, now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the flower guy. l Joel Miller

Summary: someone leaves flowers at your door

Warnings: some bad words (fuck), but other than that just fluff and stupid sweet talking

A/N: I think Joel deserves everything sweet and nice, I would like to give him this scribble. (and I wanted to thank you for every heart, reblog and observation. it means a lot)

It happened again.

Curiosity led you towards the porch where for a long time, every morning, you found a flower lying there. Sometimes it was an ordinary wild flower like a poppy or cornflower, and sometimes a few daisies. And even though your mind told you that it couldn't entirely be safe, your heart melted every time you opened the door.

This time you found a lilac flower on the doormat and without thinking, you inhaled its intense scent.

Was it stupid? Unwise?

You didn't know who left you such surprises, but he definitely made your day. You went to sleep wondering if something new would appear on the wiper, and then you woke up excited like a child on Christmas Day.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Ellie's voice broke you out of your thoughts. You were walking through a meadow near Jackson, partly to look around and partly to kill time. The warm sun warmed your backs as you lazily walked through the tall grass.

"Did he show up again?" the girl lowered her voice, but couldn't hide her excitement. "Did he leave anything?"

You looked at Ellie's bright face, then quickly glanced over your shoulder. The girl's gaze followed yours.

Joel followed you a dozen or so steps and didn't seem to care about you at all.

"Shhh!" you hissed, but you couldn't hide your smile.

"He doesn't even listen to us." Ellie shrugged. "We could be talking about all your ex-boyfriends and intimate relationship details and Joel would still just find dangers around us. He doesn't care."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. He's wandering around looking for something to do. Jackson seems to be boring him. Anyway," she grabbed your arm lightly, "Did he show up again?"

"Yes." you replied quietly, "He left me a lilac flower."

"Damn! I thought he would finally invite you somewhere! Idiot..."

"Why do you say that?" you were outraged, although you didn't feel angry at the girl at all. "I think it's sweet and romantic. Besides, blind dates, in this day and age, are probably not a good idea."

"Maybe you're right, but that doesn't change the fact that he's an idiot. He could just talk to you. Say something like, 'Hey, girl. You look stunning. Do you want to go out together?' "

You burst out laughing and quickly glanced over your shoulder again. Joel still didn't seem to be paying much attention to you.

"You should stop reading those teen magazines. They're just bullshit!"

"Are you kidding me?! They're fantastic. Can you tell me about your first time?"

"About what?!"

"About your sexual experience." Ellie sighed as if explaining such simple things to you was boring for her. "I asked Joel, but he told me to shut up and he went somewhere again."

"And he was right. You're too young for this."

"And you're too old to play ‘throwing flowers on the doormat’."

You already regretted that you had even told Ellie about what you found in front of your door in the morning. However, you had no choice, one morning she caught you picking up flowers and wouldn't leave you alone until you told her everything.

You weren't even going to tell Joel about it. He would definitely tell you right away that all this was suspicious, and then he would lie in wait outside your house with a shotgun to catch whoever was visiting you. This was definitely not a good idea.

"Hey!"

You both turned towards the voice calling to you. Joel stopped and stared intently at the nearby forest.

"I think I saw a deer there. Maybe we should go that way?" he pointed to an unspecified place.

"Are you sure?" you asked as you and Ellie approached him. "Maybe he escaped?"

"Maybe, but it's always worth checking."

"Sure. There's nothing we can do anyway. At least Ellie will be quiet."

Joel smiled slightly. You liked this view. Those little sweet lines around his eyes and some warmth radiating from him at that moment.

You were already used to Joel and Ellie's presence in Jackson, and you were also glad that they found each other in this place. You quickly found a common language and after some time Ellie became a frequent guest in your home. Thus, Joel Miller also became your close friend.

You liked his presence. And although sometimes his response was a grunt, or he looked at you in a strange way that made you wonder if you had done something stupid. You recognized his silhouette from a distance. Tall, broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, hair streaked with gray and that smile hidden in a soft beard.

Yeah, you could keep your eyes on him longer.

You quietly closed the door and ran down the few steps onto an empty road bathed in the first rays of sunlight. The pleasant coolness that surrounded you immediately woke you up. Despite everything, all you wanted to do was lie in your bed and try to get some sleep. Molly's twins cried all night because their teeth were coming in, and you promised to help her so she could nap for a while. So that night was hard.

You were already close to your house when you suddenly saw it. There was a person standing on your porch.

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest, but you reacted quickly, hiding behind some boxes standing next to the nearest building.

Maybe it was stupid and you could have acted like a responsible adult, but still... Fuck! You didn't expect to catch him in a situation like this. Especially since you were so curious and...

The man withdrew and went down the stairs, the sun shining on his face.

You'd recognize this man anywhere.

You knew you wouldn't fall asleep again. Even though you were lying in bed and the window curtains were drawn tightly, you were staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. It was insane.

You would never in your life suspect that the person who left you flowers for so long was Joel Miller. Because how come? Joel?

You were friends, you spent a lot of time together, and Ellie treated your house almost like it was her own. But it seemed to you that he never took you seriously. To him, you were just like any other resident of Jackson, and you even had the impression that he became more gruff around you.

“Fuuuck…” you moaned, rubbing your face with your hands.

Your brain no longer functioned normally and only gave you a headache. You needed at least a few hours of sleep, but that probably wasn't going to happen.

After some more fidgeting in bed, you got up, intending to take a shower and eat something.

Joel. Why did it have to be Joel? After all, it changes everything. How were you supposed to look him in the face now? Would you act like nothing happened? And why was he doing it?

You didn't even feel like going to the bar today. You were sure you would find Joel and Tommy there, and that was probably the last thing you wanted.

A loud knock on the door echoed through the house.

"Y/N? Are you there?" Ellie banged on the door again, “Y/N?”

Did you just hide behind the kitchen cabinet? God! What the hell was that supposed to be?

Ellie's footsteps faded away and you finished your coffee sitting on the kitchen floor. You had only one way out of this situation, you could pretend that nothing happened, avoid Joel for a while until the matter resolved itself. Because he definitely just wanted to please you. Flowers are not a wedding promise, right?

"Pull yourself together, kid." you muttered to yourself as you got up from the floor. “It's just Joel. Just stupid flowers. Nothing more. Don't look for something in it that isn't there.”

You could have avoided Miller, but Ellie found you the next day. She wasn't happy when you told her you wouldn't be going on patrol with them for a while and you were taking on other responsibilities in Jackson.

"But it was so fun!" the girl groaned, leaning against the bar counter. “Even Joel had fun.”

"Right. But you see, we can't spend every free moment together, Ellie." you replied, placing the just-washed glasses in the cabinet.

"Why not?"

"Because I guess I feel awkward when Joel is around." of course you didn't tell her that and she couldn't read your mind.

"Do you have anyone?"

"W-What?!" the glass almost fell out of your hand.

"Maybe you're dating someone and that's why you can't see us?"

"Bullshit."

"And your flower guy? What about him? Did he talk to you? Did he show up?"

"Ellie, please. Can you get off of me?"

"I knew it! He must have been some hideously ugly and sleazy guy!"

"Ellie!" you interrupted her, placing your hands on your hips. “Stop it! I don't want to talk about it. These are adult matters, not for you.”

"Oh, sure! Joel says the same thing when I ask him where he's going alone this early in the morning. 'None of your business, kid.'" the girl mimicked the low tone of Joel's voice, "You two should meet up and talk about your adult stuff, because you're both acting weird." "

Was it easy for you? NO.

Did you feel bad for Ellie and Joel? Yes. Especially towards Joel.

Would you give anything to go back to the way it was before? Yes. You guess.

There was one big swirl of thoughts in your head, and your life had been like a game of hide and seek for several days. Flowers continued to appear on your doormat and you felt extremely guilty.

You liked Joel. Even very much. You could list a lot of his advantages and disadvantages, but it all made him what he was. You missed him so much, but you were afraid that if you went any further, your friendship might suffer. And then avoiding him in Jackson would be even more difficult.

It happened the day you were cleaning one of the warehouses. It was already starting to get dark outside when you, completely immersed in your thoughts, were arranging cans and jars on wooden shelves.

"I got you."

It was like a gunshot. A low and warm voice appeared out of nowhere, but you knew its owner perfectly.

You turned around. Joel stood leaning against the door, watching you warily. His denim shirt had a few buttons undone and his arms were folded across his chest.

"Oh, hi." you mumbled, "I didn't hear you come in. Do you need anything?"

"You." he replied and you felt your throat tighten.

You must have looked scared, because Miller added after a moment.

"I mean... Fuck." he cleared his throat, "I was looking for you because you seem to have been avoiding me lately."

"Where did this idea come from?" you tried to smile, but it probably came out too nervous. “I'm definitely not avoiding you. I've just been busy. Just busy.”

"I got a different impression."

You didn't know how to respond to that so you tried to go back to work, but Joel was still standing there. You felt his eyes on you and your cheeks burned.

"So everything's okay between us?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Definitely." you replied quickly, "Everything's great!"

"Okay then."

Silence again. It would be easier for you if he left, but he still stood there.

"You know, Ellie thinks you're seeing someone." he started again.

You turned to Joel.

"No, that's not true. I already told her about it." you replied, "I don't know why we're even bringing this up, Joel. I've had some work to do lately. I can't be with you all the time, even if I wanted to... It's complicated, Joel."

"I get it. It's a little complicated for me too, because I really like being with you."

You bit your lip because those words were really...nice. And comfortable for you. You missed him so much that it was hard for you to admit it, even to yourself.

“Listen, Y/N. I'm really bad at this.” Joel nervously placed his hands on his hips. "I haven't done this in years and it might seem embarrassing. Ellie would definitely say I'm acting like an idiot. I think I know why you've been avoiding me, and it's not because of work."

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

The ball was in your court. Joel stood in front of you, completely disarmed and needing your help to sort this all out.

"I know it's you, Joel." you started hesitantly, "Those flowers, I saw you the other morning. It kind of surprised me."

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I..."

"NO!" you interrupted him quickly. "It was the nicest thing that's happened to me in a long time. I was just scared, you know. We're friends, I don't want any of our bad decisions to change that."

“We're only human, Y/N. We'll always make bad decisions, but there will be good ones too.”

"But should we take the risk? I really like you a lot, Joel. I've missed you so much."

He walked towards you slowly.

"I missed you too." he said "God, every day I found myself wanting to look at you, hear your voice or laugh. And then I realized that you weren't with me. I didn't want you to feel trapped by me."

"I didn't feel like that! I guess I never realized what I felt. Having you next to me was just natural to me."

"Same here." he smiled "I guess we actually acted like fucking kids."

"I think so. Ellie wouldn't leave us alone if she found out."

"She'll find out anyway." Joel shrugged. “Because now I want to do it right, Y/N. I know we don't have many options, but maybe you'd like to... Fuck.” he took a deep breath. "Maybe you'd like to spend the evening with me? We can have a few drinks, talk, and spend some time together. Alone."

"Sounds really good."

His face lit up with a smile, and you realized how much you missed him. Maybe it was stupid, maybe you were acting like kids, but why wouldn't you?

When Joel left the warehouse, he seemed to be in a really good mood, and you felt a flock of butterflies in your stomach. You wanted to spend this evening with him, you wanted to see his wonderful and warm eyes again. You may have had a soft spot for him, but he definitely felt the same way.

And you were both like teenagers, and that was good.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[celuere]

Sprinkled heavy Arlejuno into this but can be read from an x reader perspective!

The door creaked as it was pushed open before slowly falling back into its locks. Yet no one seemed to have entered.

Until Arlecchino dared to bend herself a little over the desk to spot a pair of blue-crossed eyes staring up at her with a pair of glasses that seemed too big for her face. Her two small hands holding a paper with suspiciously familiar figures scribbled onto it, her father‘s eyes focused on the black lines covering the skin up to the forearms like her own. So far it only appears as some kind of birthmark.

„Elide, what did I tell you about knocking?“, her voice was stern were it not for the softness rounding up the edges of her words. Little taps against the wood echoed through the otherwise quiet office as Elide rounded her desk. „‘m sorry, Papa… I drew you something…“, the white curls on her head bounced with each of her steps until she reached her father‘s chair before she held up her little artwork for her dad‘s inspection.

With now all of her attention fixed on her five year old daughter, Arlecchino set her pen down, temporarily forgetting about the important documents scattered over the wood, „Hm? My… is that supposed to be me, my flower?“, a gentle smile tugged on the corners of her lips as she took the painting from her hands.

„Yes… you and mama…“

„…why am I spewing fire, Elide?“, she lowered the paper to slightly narrow her eyes in obvious confusion, „and why does your Mother have me on a leash?“, the Knave wasn‘t often left in bewilderment. But Elide humbled her ever so often.

„I-It‘s your wing, Papa… and you listen to everything mommy says…!“

Wow. What a way to describe the relationship to her wife. She‘d never live the humiliation down if her wife got her hands on this… masterpiece.

Arlecchino couldn’t help the sigh escaping her lips as she turned the painting around and tapped the lower left corner with her fingertip, „and this dog with the piercing blue eyes is supposed to be Uncle Childe then?“, at first, it was supposed to be a joke.

„Yes!“, just where did she get these ideas fro- „you called him one last time!“, well, that explains a lot.

„You know what Elide, this… absolutely gorgeous work of art is way too beautiful for our wall in the kitchen… I would love to keep this one right here on my desk.“, her hand came down on her head to let her fingers run through the snowy locks, a few thick strands of black sprinkled here and there. It secretly pained her that her baby has grown up so much already. Not that she‘d ever admit it.

„Mhm! Please, Papa-!“, completely overjoyed by her father‘s suggestion, two way too small arms wrapped themselves around her waist- at least they tried as she pressed her face into her stomach, the glasses on her nose slipping slightly out of place.

It was moments like these that reminded Arlecchino of her humanity. That she wasn‘t as horrible as she always thought. That she was better than mother. Not perfect. Never perfect. But better. And that was all she needed. Knowing that her children had someone they knew was going to protect them at all costs, even if their affiliation with the Fatui won’t always allow it, was something that healed a little part inside of her heart. A heart that was forced to harden too quickly. She won’t allow it with her children.

„Papa…?“, her soft voice came out muffled against the fabric before she looked up at her through the sweetest eyes she may have ever looked at.

„What is it, dearest?“, a cursed hand came down to carefully fix the position of her glasses and put some lost hair strands out of her face. My, she truly was a beautiful girl, just like her mother.

„Can I have sweets…?“, to some degree are all children the exact same. She even had the courage to shove her lower lip out, like a lost puppy looking for a new home.

„Elide… did you ask your mother beforehand?“, and in almost an instant- her small hands came up to cover up those pointy ears of hers. A little… „lie“ told by her mother. Anytime she is being untruthful, her ears would start wiggling. Which of course was nothing more than a little hack to outsmart the girl. And so far it‘s been working out every single time.

„M-Mama said yes…!“, and if it weren’t for those covered ears, the Harbinger maybe would have believed her daughter. Yet, she merely crossed her arms in front of her chest, a finger tapping over her biceps as she stared down into that hopeful face before her.

„You know how I feel about lying, Elide. If your mother said no, then it’s a no.“, Arlecchino wore the leash around her neck on that damn painting with pride.

„Hmpf…“, the grip around her ears loosened before she let go of them completely, the shells now slowly flopping downwards at her defeat.

Just how could she tell?

Her walk of shame back to the door was dreadful. Accompanied by one last look back over her shoulder, big eyes on display, a pout playing around her lips. Her last triumph card.

„Sweetheart. I‘m sure one of your siblings will find the time to play with you. Go on.“, she fell for the face of sorrow and grief way too many times, but not today. Today, Arlecchino will be strong. Even tho her hand twitched on the table for the candies stored in the drawer next to her as she watched her daughter leave through the door like a kicked puppy.

Parenthood will always test her like no other hardship in the world.

[theseventhdimension]

loved the domestic hotch x male reader you wrote (think it was “Some Guy, in Hotch’s kitchen?!”)

imagine, Hotch, reader and Jack going on a nice vacation together, basically shocking the team once again when they find out that Hotch was actually going somewhere for his vacation?

Do Not Disturb (He’s Relaxing!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

DNI: Fem-aligned

Author's Note: Hotch on vacation is rare. Hotch relaxing on vacation? (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ Someone call security we have an imposter in our midst..! !

Hotch and Jack are absolutely perfect for writing domestic fics! They already have their cute vibe going on and. Well. Haley's dead so it's easier to insert the reader. But you didn't hear that from me.. ಥ‿ಥ

As always, all feedback is appreciated!! Hope you enjoy :))

Aaron Hotchner, in contrast to the serial killers he chased every day, was a serial over-worker.

Vacation days, for him, were never used for their intended purpose. No beaches, no sleep-ins, no fruity drinks with umbrellas.

Just an excuse to work from home — because hey, now he didn’t have to drive. If anything, those “rest days” gave him more time to review files, catch up on paperwork, and reorganise the already ruthlessly optimised spice rack (and not alphabetically — by culinary frequency, of course).

That was, at least, until you came into the picture.

You were just as hard-working, just as driven — but you knew when to step back. When to unplug. When to stand between Hotch and the printer like a security guard and say, “Aaron. No unsub is going to strike between now and Monday. But that crab in the tidepool? He's about to raise hell.”

So when you planned a quiet getaway — just you, Aaron, and Jack — Hotch surprised everyone, including himself, by agreeing. Not with his usual sigh and reluctant nod, either.

No. He’d smiled.

Now, here he was: in bed, on vacation, sleeping like someone who didn’t have seventeen open case files and a permanent crease between his eyebrows.

The morning light was warm across the sheets, honey-gold and slow. A breeze stirred the curtains lazily, carrying the scent of salt and sunscreen. Somewhere outside, near the dunes, a child’s voice rang out:

“Daaaad! Come see! There’s a turtle! I named him Steve!”

You blinked at the ceiling, grinning. An arm draped across your waist. A weight tucked in behind you — all warmth, all exhale.

You turned your head to see Hotch still dozing, face soft and half-buried in the pillow, peaceful in a way that made your chest ache.

You whispered, “Jack found a turtle.”

Hotch groaned. “Tell the turtle I’m off duty. He can leave a message.”

“Jack named him Steve.”

“…Damn it.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple and began to wriggle out of bed. He groaned again, reaching for you like a grumpy, sentient furnace.

“Stay.”

“You can join us in a minute,” you said, pulling on a hoodie. “Or explain to Jack why his emotional support turtle was neglected.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a reptile.”

You tossed a pillow at him. It hit him square in the face. He didn’t even flinch — just smiled into it, eyes closed.

Outside, Jack was already ankle-deep in tidepools, gesturing at a rock with intense conviction.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked.

Jack pointed solemnly. “He’s shy.”

You laughed. “Aren’t we all.”

By the time Hotch emerged — sleeves rolled, hair sleep-mussed — you and Jack were soaked and halfway through a sandcastle war with the sea. Jack ran toward him with a shout and leapt into his arms. Aaron caught him easily, laughing as water splashed up his legs.

You didn’t take a photo.

You didn’t need to.

You'd already captured the moment in your mind — that rare, gold-dusted sight of Aaron Hotchner letting go.

Back in Quantico, three days later…

The bullpen was unusually quiet.

Reid was scribbling theories no one had asked for. Garcia was working through a pink monstrosity of a coffee. JJ and Prentiss were watching Morgan try to wrestle formatting out of his laptop.

And then a package landed in the middle of the nearest desk with a heavy thunk.

From: Jack Hotchner :D!! (and Co.)

To: BAU Family

Garcia was the first to pounce. “Mail from the Hotchlings!”

Inside: a postcard and a handful of odd little trinkets wrapped in paper.

The postcard was hand-written, signed by both you and Aaron, but clearly dictated by Jack — who had also drawn what might have been a turtle, or a hamburger, or possibly Godzilla in a sunhat.

The postcard read:

Dear BAU, We are alive. Hotch has eaten three ice creams. He cried at a seagull and said it looked like freedom. Jack found a turtle named Steve. We are not bringing him home. Also, Hotch has been spotted smiling. In daylight. Multiple times. Love, The Vacation Survivors (+ Jack, who picked out the gifts.)

The team erupted.

Morgan opened his tiny package to find a small wooden shark carved out of driftwood. “Hell yeah. This lil guy’s got fight. Or should I say.. Bite?” He smirked as absolutely no one laughed at his joke.

JJ got a jar of locally made strawberry jam. “Jack said it matched your ‘vibe.’”

Emily received a keychain in the shape of a lizard holding a beer.

“Oh my god,” she said, nearly wheezing. “It’s me.”

Garcia held up a neon plastic bracelet with “HOT DAD SUMMER” printed across it in glitter font. “This is going on my shrine.”

Reid turned over a paperback book titled Tidepool Creatures for Curious Minds, with a note:

I told Jack you’d like it. He picked the one with the most tentacles.

He smiled quietly to himself. “He gets me.”

And then they read the rest of the card — the part in Aaron’s handwriting.

Please don’t panic. I’m fine. The sea is not a cult. Darling made me relax. Jack made me buy flip-flops. I hate them. Send help. — Hotch

Emily wiped a tear from her eye. “He wrote that like he’s being held hostage by joy.”

Reid nodded solemnly. “But he’s letting it happen.”

Garcia hugged the whole bundle to her chest. “They broke him. In the best possible way.”

Morgan smirked. “He’s not broken. He’s free.”

JJ smiled, gaze soft. “About time.”

Back at the beach, you caught Hotch frowning slightly as he flipped through his wallet. You leaned in.

“What’s wrong?”

He showed you.

Tucked into the fold: a second copy of the postcard. The one Jack insisted he keep. The turtle was colored in this time.

Hotch smiled, barely.

“I guess I just wanted to remember what it felt like,” he murmured. “To stop.”

You reached over. Took his hand. “Then let’s never forget.”

Hotch stepped into the bullpen with his usual briefcase in hand and a coffee that was, for once, not scalding. His tie was back. His sleeves were buttoned. The tan was already starting to fade.

But he still walked like someone who remembered how to breathe.

And yet.

There was something… off.

Not in a bad way. Just in a wait, is that relaxation on his face? kind of way.

Garcia noticed it first.

She froze mid-step, eyes widening behind her glitter-streaked glasses. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “He’s back.”

Emily glanced up from her desk. “Yeah, so?”

“No, Emily. He’s back from vacation.”

Reid’s marker squeaked to a halt on the whiteboard. JJ slowly lowered her coffee like she was watching a live miracle unfold.

Morgan blinked. “Wait, that was real? That wasn’t, like… medical leave disguised as a beach trip?”

They watched him walk — no, stroll — across the bullpen. Calm. Composed. Well-rested.

Garcia gasped. “He looks… hydrated.”

“Is that sunscreen I smell?” Prentiss whispered, horrified.

“I think he’s actually… tanned,” Reid murmured.

He made it three steps before Garcia gasped theatrically from across the room.

“He returns!” she cried, throwing her arms in the air. “Behold, the man, the myth, the Sea Dad himself!”

He paused.

“…What?”

JJ waved from her desk, where a small jar of jam sat proudly next to a photo of her family. “Welcome back. We missed you.”

Emily sipped coffee from a mug with the lizard keychain dangling off the handle. “We’re just glad you survived the wilds of leisure.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, flicking the wooden shark between his fingers. “Tide looked good on you, Hotch.”

Reid, flipping through Tidepool Creatures for Curious Minds, looked up and said sincerely, “Did you know octopuses taste through their arms? I did, but it's a nice reminder. You can never refresh on your current knowledge too much.”

Hotch blinked. “...Okay.”

Then he looked around.

One by one, he spotted them — all of them.

The bracelet looped around Garcia’s desk lamp.

The shark.

The jam.

The paperback.

The lizard.

All of it, scattered like proof. Little reminders. Tokens from a time he’d almost convinced himself wasn’t real.

You appeared beside him, all warm grin and raised brows.

He glanced down at you, then back out over the bullpen.

“…They kept the souvenirs,” he murmured.

You nudged him lightly. “Of course they did.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

Then, without another word, Aaron Hotchner walked calmly to his office…

…wearing flip-flops?

[theodorenmyth]

American! Reader who accidentally calls mattheo “Matthew” sometimes. Maybe even one time mattheo grabs reader by their shoulders, shaming them saying “MATTHEO! MY BLOODY NAME IS MA-TH-OOO!”

(Totally didn’t just get this idea all because my keyboard autocorrect mattheo to Matthew)

Getting It Right

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x GN! Reader

Summary : You have a habit of calling Mattheo Riddle "Matthew," much to his exasperation. Despite his frequent corrections, you continue to slip up, turning it into a playful inside joke. Over time, what started as an annoying mistake becomes a unique bond between you two, culminating in a heartfelt moment when you finally get his name right, revealing the deep connection you've formed.

A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : nothing!

Word count : 1k+

You had a habit of being absent-minded, which often resulted in amusing mistakes. The most recent victim of your distractedness was none other than Mattheo Riddle. You had a tendency to call him “Matthew,” a name he clearly despised. Yet, despite his frequent corrections, you continued to slip up.

Today was no different. You were sitting in the library, scribbling notes for your Potions essay, when Mattheo approached you. His dark hair fell messily over his eyes, and he wore that familiar smirk that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Matthew,” you greeted, not looking up from your parchment.

Mattheo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of exasperation. “It’s Mattheo,” he corrected, emphasizing each syllable.

“Right, right. Sorry, Matthew,” you replied absentmindedly, your quill still scratching across the parchment.

With a dramatic sigh, Mattheo dropped into the seat next to you. “How do you manage to forget my name every single time?” he asked, leaning closer to peer at your notes.

You finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. “It’s not on purpose, I swear. You just look like a Matthew to me.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in them. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I try,” you replied with a grin.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next time you saw Mattheo was in the Great Hall during breakfast. You were in a rush, as usual, trying to grab a quick bite before your first class. Mattheo was sitting with his friends, laughing at something one of them had said.

“Morning, Matthew!” you called out cheerfully as you passed by.

Mattheo’s head snapped up, and he shot you a look of pure annoyance. “It’s Mattheo!” he called after you, but you were already halfway out of the hall, oblivious to his frustration.

It wasn’t until later that day, during a particularly boring Transfiguration class, that you found yourself seated next to Mattheo again. Professor McGonagall was droning on about the intricacies of human transfiguration, and your mind was wandering.

“Psst, Matthew,” you whispered, nudging Mattheo with your elbow.

Mattheo turned to you, his expression one of incredulous irritation. “Are you serious right now?”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Mat-the-o,” he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “My bloody name is Mat-the-o!”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Sorry, Matthew.”

Mattheo groaned, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. Exasperation, yes, but also a hint of affection. “Why do I even bother?” he muttered under his breath.

“Because you secretly love it,” you teased, poking him in the ribs.

He batted your hand away, but you caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re the one who keeps sitting next to me,” you pointed out.

“Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment,” he replied dryly.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Time passed, and your habit of calling Mattheo “Matthew” became something of an inside joke. Despite his initial annoyance, Mattheo seemed to find your constant slip-ups endearing in a strange way. He would roll his eyes and sigh dramatically, but there was always a trace of a smile when he corrected you.

One evening, as you were heading to the common room, you spotted Mattheo sitting alone by the fireplace. He looked up as you approached, a resigned expression on his face.

“Hey, Matthew,” you greeted, plopping down next to him.

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed. “Mat-the-o,” he corrected automatically.

You grinned at him. “Right, sorry. Mat-the-o.”

He studied you for a moment, then did something unexpected. He reached out and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you closer so that your faces were just inches apart. “Listen to me, and listen well,” he said, his voice low and intense. “My name is Mattheo. Ma-th-oo. Got it?”

You couldn’t suppress your laughter. “Got it, Matthew.”

He groaned, but his grip on your shoulders softened. “You’re impossible,” he repeated, but there was a warmth in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“I know,” you said, still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, releasing you and leaning back in his chair. “Unfortunately, I think you might be right.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling softly in the background. Despite his protests, you knew Mattheo didn’t really mind your little mistake. In fact, you had a sneaking suspicion that he might actually enjoy it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

As the weeks went by, your friendship with Mattheo deepened. He continued to correct you every time you called him “Matthew,” and you continued to do it anyway. It had become a part of your dynamic, a playful banter that neither of you truly wanted to change.

One day, as you were walking to Herbology together, you felt a pang of guilt. Maybe it was time to finally get his name right. You glanced at him, taking in the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the way his hair fell over his forehead in that endearing way.

“Mattheo,” you said softly.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you with surprise. “Did you just…?”

You nodded, feeling oddly shy. “I figured it was about time I got it right.”

Mattheo stared at you for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I try.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Well, thank you. It’s nice to hear my name pronounced correctly for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, nudging him with your elbow. “Old habits die hard.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, and there was a softness in his voice that made your heart flutter.

As you continued to walk, you realized that, despite your playful banter and his frequent corrections, Mattheo had never once asked you to change. He had accepted you, quirks and all, just as you had accepted him. And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many times you called him “Matthew,” he would always be Mattheo to you.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Found Pt. 2 | 141 & Reader

Summary: Your second day at the new foster home is eventful, to say the least. Kyle shows you the chickens, and teaches you some harpy biology.

Word Count: ~ 5.9k

Warnings: old religious trauma (homophobia), reader having a lil girl crush, implied gazsoap, past trauma, baths, stealing, little panic attack, non sexual shirtless kyle, trauma, mentions of old parents and counselors

A/N: well, here’s part two, a very gaz-centric one. i think the next part will have more of the other boys, but pretty boy kyle is too temptinggg, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You didn’t sleep well in new places.

It was a common thing you’d come to accept by now, the fact that you never slept well in new homes. Whether it be the little grandma who’d welcomed you into her warm and stuffy house full of cats, and the thick blankets she’d ushered you under, or the lawyer-man who’d been looking for a child to replace his late wife. It didn’t matter who it was.

The walls still felt like they were closing on, hot breaths still felt like they were behind you, whispers and creaks in the night that you weren’t sure if you were imagining or not. Houses all seemed to have a life of their own in the night.

The animals, wandering around, the windows breathing while the floor groaned and rubbed its aching bones and joints. The doors muttered to themselves as the fans spun round and round, singing their own clunky melody. ACs or heaters hummed to themselves.

Every house had its own chorus of sounds in the night when things that were too shy to come out in the morning dared to venture out. It was just a matter of how long it took you to get used to it without being frightened. Without thinking someone was in the walls or floors.

You had curled up in the corner of the bed, blankets thrown haphazardly around, an old hoodie that still dwarfed you even now on your figure as you’d glanced around until your eyes closed on their own. You hadn’t slept well. You blamed it on the house.

People you’d seen a long time ago drifted through dreams, with strange things accompanying them. A flying fish. A man-sized axolotl with a talking triangle. A strangely round man in a jumper. A ghoulish mask that had been worn before in completely different parts of the world, but the two had never met.

Your dreams were always vivid. Maybe that was why you kept a dream journal still, if not inspired by the strange movie you’d seen in the cat-queen grandma’s house with a girl dressed in red and a boy with sharp, spiky hair. Your old school’s counselor had also suggested it.

“For processing old traumatic memories,”

She’d tried to explain, but you’d been more focused on the framed pictures on the wall. Faces. Bodies. Her family, probably.

They weren’t pretty.

But you’d remembered that one sentence, and so, opening the little book while the sun began peeking through the window’s curtains, you’d pulled a black crayola marker from your backpack and began scribbling down in the worn, tattered book. It was small, smaller than your average little diary, but not small enough to where you needed to get a new one because of filling it up. You could squeeze words in somewhere.

As you put down all you could recall, you wondered what school you’d be going to next. The switch was always somewhat jarring, and most of the time you ended up going to the closest public school.

The lawyer-man had tried to send you to a private school. It hadn’t ended well.

Since you were in a completely new county, it would be another new school, you assumed. You might make a few new friends before you switched again. Maybe not. Friends were usually made with you when an extrovert saw you hiding in a corner and decided to pick you up and drag you along into their friend groups. Not that you were complaining.

Today was a Sunday.

They might send you tomorrow for the first day. The school year was already a month in, late enough for a few friend groups to have formed, but not too late for you to join in.

You decided to focus on today.

John and Johnny had been praying at the table, Kyle had muttered something, making you wonder if they went to Church or not. You’d gone to a Church once. It had been old and tall with lots of delicate carvings and colorful windows with the woman in blue and the man in white.

There had been a lot of kneeling and standing and sitting while they repeated phrases and things you hadn’t understood at the time. They’d given you a thin piece of bread and a small glass of grape juice that you’d eaten and drank. It tasted old.

And that had been the first and only Mass you ever went to.

Then there had been the second time you’d gone to a Church. It had been on a Wednesday, in a rectangle-shaped building that was old and hummed like a refrigerator. There had been a lot of older kids there, a girl your age named Carol, but with a K.

Karol had been nice. Her hair had been flat and short and brown, like a mouse, you thought. Her eyes had been a chocolate brown like Simon’s, but she hadn’t had the same blond lashes he had.

All the kids had gathered in a circle, holding hands. Your palms had been sweaty, but Karol hadn’t minded, giving you a reassuring smile as they began reciting verses from their Bibles, verses you didn’t know. You didn’t bother to look at the Bible Karol had borrowed to you. You were more focused on the fact that her hand was in yours, and you couldn’t stop looking at her, and you’d felt warm and fuzzy.

And that was when you understood something was wrong with you.

There was a reason you’d never seen two women holding hands in a Church, whether it was shaped like a rectangle, or tall, old, and sharp. Your then-mom had stopped taking you to Church on Wednesday after you’d told her about it.

The sun had gotten tired of peeking over the ledge of the window and fully emerged when you were done sitting and thinking. You held the journal pages up to study, to see your handiwork.

Your handwriting was messy but recognizable. The one thing that remained constant in your life. There was a doodle of the fish-man, a messy skull pattern, a triangle with a bowtie, a big axolotl head, and the fat man in the rainbow jumper. You decided you liked this page.

But the sun was up, so the journal was closed, marker cap out back on, and both were shoved deep into your backpack, covered with clothes and headphones you hadn’t taken out yet. You’d do it tomorrow, you thought, despite knowing you wouldn’t do it tomorrow. Maybe the day after, then.

The floor was a bit cold when your feet pressed against it. It didn’t creak under your weight as it had under Johnny’s, which made sense since you were considerably lighter. You took light steps, feet rolling to be quieter. You wouldn’t want to wake any of them up.

The smell of something hit your nose as you opened the door, it quietly creaking. Eggs. Bacon, maybe? Some kind of meat. With how large they were, they probably ate a huge amount of food. No wonder the fridge was so large.

You heard voices from the kitchen as you slowly padded down the hallway, sticking close to one wall, hoping they didn’t see your shadow or notice you.

“I wanna do it—“

“You’ll scare her, Soap.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you wanna wake the lass up!”

“No, I’m just concerned for her best interests.”

A low growl that made you stiffen. You couldn’t tell whether it was friendly or aggressive.

“Ye sayin’ I ain’t in her best interests?”

He was mad. You heard Kyle’s exasperated sigh, you could’ve heard it from a mile away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re just…”

A beat of silence.

“Just what?”

Another beat of silence.

“Loud. Really loud. I’m just scared you’ll scare her off, okay? I’ve gotten her to warm up a little bit—“

“—I’ve helped too—“

“—right, like your claws are so heartwarming—“

“You’re burnin’ the bacon and scarin’ the kid.”

The newspaper rustled after Simon interrupted their argument, and you felt blood rush to your cheeks as Kyle peeked out of the kitchen from the stove where he’d been standing, seeing you standing in the hallway, just around the corner from the kitchen.

Johnny peeked over next, seeing the slightly guilty look on your voice, and exchanging a reluctant glance with Kyle. How Simon had noticed you wasn’t clear.

“Nosy,”

Kyle said in amusement, a glimmer of worry in his eyes as he took in your tired look.

You walked into the kitchen, seeing Simon and John sitting at the table, the wraith giving a little grunt in acknowledgment as he read the newspaper next to John, the bear-hybrid working on a crossword puzzle with an old pen.

John raised his brows, patting the seat next to him in an invitation, and after glancing at Kyle, who gave a little nod, you padded over and crawled into the wooden seat, settling, eyes going to the crossword.

“How’d you sleep?”

He rumbled.

You made a little sideways thumbs up. Or a sideways thumbs down. Same difference, really.

The crossword had lots of names of celebrities you didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Random things, too. There were a few in Morse code that John had filled in.

“Figured. No one sleeps too well in a brand new place.”

He answered, chuckling at something he found funny that you didn’t. Johnny and Kyle were now speaking in hushed whispers over at the stove, seemingly having gotten over their earlier disagreement, Kyle standing behind Johnny, his arms wrapped around the werewolf’s hips, chin resting on his shoulder.

They looked like a couple.

You must’ve been staring too long, because John glanced over, letting out a hum at the sight. Johnny flipped the pieces of bacon, the plate of cooked pieces lying to the right. Simon glanced over as well, and you couldn’t tell whether he was jealous at the sight, or happy. Maybe both.

“We gonna show ‘er around the farm today, Cap?”

Another pet name. They seemed to have a lot of them around here. Simon was occasionally called ‘Lt.’, an abbreviation you hadn’t figured out yet. Kyle was ‘Gaz’. John was ‘Cap’ or ‘Price’. Johnny was ‘Soap’. You assumed they were just inside jokes.

John seemed to consider Simon’s question before nodding.

“Don’t see why not. Kyle can show her the chickens.”

You perked up at that. Simon noticed.

“You like chickens?”

He asked, his gruff tone holding a mild amount of curiosity. You gave a little nod. They might be a little bit stupid, but you liked all their feathers and their beaks. You’d had a few friends that were chicken hybrids, they’d been very social and been followers and not leaders, but you’d liked them.

Pack animals were usually the friendlier hybrids.

Johnny carried two plates in his thick hands, one full of sausage, the other full of eggs. Half of the eggs were fried, and the other half were scrambled.

Kyle came next with the bacon and toast plates. Some of the toast was buttered, some bare.

The plates were set out on the table, as well as fresh ones for everyone, silverware, and cups. They had their usual tea, Johnny preferring his morning coffee, you having a glass of water.

Everyone grabbed their food, Johnny and John getting a large serving of fried eggs, buttered toast, and sausage. Kyle got himself scrambled eggs, a helping of bacon, and buttered toast.

You and Simon were the last to get food, waiting for everyone else to get their food. Willing to take the scraps that were left. It was just something you did without thinking now, not wanting to look rude or selfish.

He made eye contact with you across the table, glancing down at the plates of food to gesture for you to get something. He was bigger. He’d need more food. You were human and hardly even up to his ribs, you could survive with the leftovers. You glanced down at the plates to gesture for him to go first.

Both of you recognized the strategy. Maybe you and him weren’t so different.

John shared a glance with Kyle, before Kyle elbowed Johnny, giving the werewolf a look. Johnny quickly began filling Simon’s plate up at the same time as Kyle, who started filling your plate up.

The next glance you and Simon shared was one of bewilderment as the food was piled on high.

“Never thought I’d meet a lass as stubborn as you, Lt.”

Johnny said with a loud chuckle, while Simon didn’t look amused, giving him the look only an angry wet cat could muster.

You looked at the bacon piled on your plate, picking up a piece and maintaining eye contact with Simon while nibbling on it, the wraith picked up a sausage, took a bite, and slowly chewed, staring dead at you, slowly blinking as you did it back.

“Like two kittens, they are.”

John muttered while Gaz let out a hum of agreement, chewing on some sausage.

They eventually moved on, laughing about a joke you didn’t understand, something about missions, and a lot of code words you didn’t even bother to decode. Maybe you’d figure it out the longer you stayed here. If you stay here long.

Everyone devoured their food, plates being deposited in the sink with silverware, Simon wiping the table off with his superior wingspan.

You lingered, not sure whether to help with dishes or not. John was on them.

Kyle took one look at you, before waving a hand for you to follow him out the door. You followed.

The air outside was crisp but also a bit cold. Winter was coming in. You wondered if they got snow around here, you hoped so.

His wings tucked in as he led you out of the crunchy grass and into the chicken coop, where his feathered friends were clucking and chirping away. There were a few little ones, but most were large and fluffy, different colors from white to black, some a brown like Kyle’s feathers, some had speckles of color and some had gradients.

He watched your eyes light up before you crouched down and picked up some seed from the ground, holding it out in your hand until a few of them approached. They were friendly; and well domesticated after years of providing eggs. You winced as their sharp beaks reached your skin, picking up the seeds through the process, but didn’t move to take your hand away.

Kyle smiled warmly in a way that almost made you sick, before moving into the actual coop area. He shifted the chickens that were warming their eggs up gently, picking up the eggs as quickly as he could to place them in the little basket he held. He managed to gather a total of 9 eggs, a good amount for the day.

When he emerged, you’d managed to get a chicken on your lap, now fully sitting on the ground despite the sawdust and droppings there. It was one of the older chickens, more docile than the rest, who’d decided to plop down on your lap. Her beady eyes blinked while you let gentle fingers smooth through her white speckles feathers.

“You like her?”

Kyle asked, glancing down at you.

You nodded.

“Fluffy.”

You stated, tone too matter-of-factly for him to keep a straight face as he laughed a bit, head tilting back.

“We’ve got some cows and goats if you want to see them?”

He offered, watching as you thought the offer over, gears turning in your mind. You gave a nod, giving the chicken one final pat until you gently picked her up, placing her back on the ground and getting up.

The sawdust and strands of hay clung to the backs of your thighs and shorts, but you didn’t seem to care. It we then that Kyle realized you hadn’t changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing yesterday. As he took a look at your matted hair, hay, and feathers also in it, he realized that they hadn’t done the greatest job of ensuring your hygiene.

But that was something to worry about after the cows and goats.

You followed eagerly as he walked to the barn. It was a good fifty feet from the coop, not too long, nothing you seemed to mind despite the chill in the air.

The chill.

You were tiny. Of course, he hadn’t noticed it, his feathers keeping him warm. But you were in shorts and that thin shirt and raggedy jacket couldn’t be doing much.

He didn’t want to push boundaries, but he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.

You didn’t notice when he slowed down the pace of his walking, long strides shortening to keep up with your tiny ones. But you did notice when his wing slowly began to extend, feathers puffing out a bit and flattening, stretching out until the first feather brushed your shoulder.

It didn’t make you uncomfortable like most touches did. It might’ve been because instead of the skin-to-skin or fur-to-skin contact you usually had bad memories with, it was just fluffy, silky feathers.

The wing curled slowly around you, Kyle watching as you tensed at first, before relaxing into it.

You both reached the barn, hearing the goats bellowing as the smell of wet, soiled hay and animals reached you. Familiar. Too familiar.

You stopped.

Kyle’s wing immediately retracted, thinking it was him. He thought he’d overstepped boundaries and pushed too far too soon, but when he looked into your eyes he saw the look. One he’d seen before in one or two of their past fosters, some of the more “damaged” ones.

Something was reminding you of something unpleasant. He’d been there before. Whether it was the barn, the animal sounds, the smell, or anything else, he didn’t care, he would let you process it, and get away from it if you wanted.

A beat of silence.

When you took a hesitant step back, he went into action, trying to redirect your thoughts. His wing flexed to cover the sight of the barn from your eyes, your vision being that of golden brown feathers speckled with blond parts instead.

“How about we go inside and get cleaned up?”

He asked, voice smooth as butter, purposefully a bit deeper than normal, just barely, an instinctual thing that only worked to soothe other hybrids. But it seemed to work well enough on you, as you dazedly nodded, stumbling to follow him when he turned.

His wing slowly spread again, curling once again around your shoulder to guide you, steps slowly growing more certain as you two reached the house. Johnny was out digging in his garden, Simon was tending to the cows in the fields (cuddling with them), and John was taking stock of everything for the next grocery trip.

Kyle opened the door, letting you step in, watching as you almost tripped over the step, catching yourself, and continuing to walk.

“Careful,”

He murmured, walking up and carefully closing the door to not let it slam. The hinge had broken a few days ago. He really should remind Price to fix it.

His wing continued guiding you until you both reached a bathroom that was next to Price’s room. The one that the older man usually used. His talons clicked against the floor as he walked into the room, hands reaching for the tub’s knob to turn on the water before realizing he didn’t know what you wanted.

“Shower or bath?”

He asked. You pointed to the shower head. Fair enough.

“Alright,”

He replied.

“This is for the hot, this is for the cold, but the cold can be a bit finicky during the colder seasons, so you might have to turn a bit harder.”

He explained, watching as your eyes slowly took everything in. All of John’s beard care products were in the shower in one little shower rack that was in the corner. The second layer of the shower rack held shampoo and conditioner. The third held all the body wash components with a rag and sponge hanging from it.

“Here’s shampoo, conditioner, and the body wash. You got it?”

John was usually the one to give all the bathroom tours, considering he was the more fatherly figure in the household. But Kyle didn’t mind, it was just new, was all.

“You want me to wait outside?”

It was a basic assumption that you wouldn’t want him in the bathroom with you showering, but he didn’t want to leave you completely alone. What if you fell, or had some sort of accident? He could wait behind the door.

You nodded, watching as he stepped outside, closing the door. You turned the handles of the faucet, the colder one being a bit stiff like he’d mentioned. But after putting a good bit of muscle into it, the thing obeyed and turned, and you turned the hot water knob as well. They mixed into a good warm temperature that rained down from the shower head.

You quickly stripped out of your old clothes, covering your underwear and little bra with the other clothes. It wasn’t like someone would be digging through your things, but still.

Stepping into the shower, the hay and sawdust and everything that had been clinging to your skin and hair began melting away and falling off, meeting the drain and washing down if not just getting stuck there. You’d pull it out later.

You pulled the shower curtain out and used it to cover yourself, feeling just a bit too exposed without it, and you didn’t want to get water outside the tub, anyway.

You reached for the shampoo first, wanting to get the nightmare of a hair cleaning over with. Your hair was matted and knitted and hadn’t been brushed thoroughly in at least a week, but you’d at least try to wash it.

Clicking open the bottle, you squirted the thick product out, rubbing it together in your hands before moving the lathered-up product in your hands to your hair, rubbing it in, before letting it dissolve away under the water. The conditioner was next, being put in the rest of your hair, and you let it sit there as you used the liquid soap from the bottle and scrubbed it into your skin, washing it away.

The shower hadn’t felt long.

You washed the conditioner out, turned the water off, and grabbed a towel that Kyle must’ve put on the bathroom counter right before stepping out. You unfolded the towel, wrapping it around yourself, before opening the door.

Kyle was there, holding some clothes that had been in your bag.

“Here, I just grabbed the first ones I saw, I didn’t go through it.”

He reassured, probably having seen the way your face had soured slightly, before relaxing again. It still wasn’t the greatest knowing this man had been touching all your personal belongings, but you could get over it.

Stepping into the bathroom, you changed into the much warmer clothes he picked out. A pair of grey sweatpants, and a shirt that had thicker material. Hell, even the bra was one of your thicker ones.

When you were done, you opened the door again, and he made a little happy bird noise, almost like a chirping purr, at seeing you all bundled up and cozy. Johnny, whose hands were covered in dirt, claws out, had been walking past and heard the noise. He’d poked his head around the corner, grinning when he saw the scene.

“Mother hen!”

He called as he continued down the hall, hopefully, to wash himself off. Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, particularly because he knew it was true.

He was a mother hen, but they had bigger issues to be handled.

Such as your hair.

“Do you want me to help with your hair? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You figured that nothing could make your mess of hair worse at this point, and nodded. Kyle preened at the confirmation, almost literally. Something warm and gooey, like the center of a freshly baked brownie, filled his eyes as he led you to his room, practically beaming.

You figured it must be the bird in him talking. Maybe helping with hair was considered grooming and preening to him? It made sense, now that you thought about it. It could be why he acted so weird when you pulled that pin feather out after just meeting him, he’d been surprised because he hadn’t considered you family yet, and it was a family activity.

When you both arrived at the door you assumed was into his room, he opened it, leading you inside, leaving the door just a little bit cracked open. His room was warm and smelt like lavender and jasmine.

He had a lot of pictures on the walls, some being obviously family photos, others being him in a military uniform with other men in uniform.

He led you over to a little chair in the middle of the room with a low back, having you sit in it, and he pulled out a detangling brush from a bag on the floor full of jars and brushes and razors that he used often. He pulled out a jar next, taking a scoop of the thick white cream and spreading it across his hands, before applying it on the outside of your hair, trying the best he could to get it all in there.

“My mom used to do my hair like this when I was little.”

He said, talking to you, but also somewhat to himself. You weren’t much of a talker, anyway. He knew that.

He began using the detangling brush, starting at the ends of your hair, immediately meeting resistance and melting right through it as he worked his magic with the brush and cream.

“I could never sit still, though, so she’d always have to talk to me or tell me a story while I sat down to keep me there long enough.”

Oh. So that was what he was doing.

His hands worked through your hair, applying more cream, rubbing it in, and brushing through the matted and tangled areas of the damp hair. Soon enough, he was in the middle of it. Then, he had reached your scalp. Then he was brushing out all of it.

He’d been rambling on about something the entire time. You hadn’t minded. You might not need the entertainment or distraction, but he was just doing what he’d seen his mother doing before.

“It was worse when she had to help me clean my wings, it was too ticklish at the time. Of course, I’ve gotten used to it now, and well—I guess I should clean them today, huh?”

That caught your attention.

You’d heard your hybrid friends mentioning preening and grooming their wings before, but never actually seen it. You swallowed, hoping to not be rejected, as you spoke.

“Can I help?”

His heart nearly melted in his chest at your tiny little voice, or it was at least tiny compared to what he was used to. He wouldn’t mind an extra hand in cleaning his wings, he usually had Price or Soap help, but the way they touched his wings was certainly not a way he wanted you touching them.

There was a joint bathroom connected to his room for this exact reason.

He closed the lid on the cream, placing it and the brush back into what you now thought was probably a makeup bag. You followed him into the bathroom, letting out an undignified squeak when he pulled his shirt off. Your hands covered your eyes, and he giggled for a moment.

“I’m just taking my shirt off, honey, you can open your eyes.”

You peeked out, still trying not to let your eyes wander to his now-exposed chest and torso. Hell, he had a bigger chest than you. His honey-brown skin was muscled despite how lean he was. You’d seen boy’s bare skin before, like when they would pull their shirts up to wipe the sweat off of their foreheads in gym class, but you’d never exactly enjoyed it.

His wing bases looked exactly how you thought they would under the shirt. Feathers spread over the base, fanning out slowly as it melded into his normal skin.

He got in the tub, turning around to have his wings face you as they untucked from his back and slowly relaxed. He pulled the shower head down, turning on the water but to a very low pressure so it wasn’t spraying everywhere, and offered it to you.

“Just spray down my wings, from the base, then the top, then the very bottom.”

He instructed. You took the shower head and tried as he said, starting at the base, where the feathers were reluctant to get wet, but eventually obeyed, then slowly moving to the top, watching as he shuddered slightly when the warm water trickled down to the bottom of his wings. The feathers looked almost black when they were wet, and his wings looked much skinnier now. Still pretty, just a lot less dramatic now.

After a few minutes of soaking the feathers, he nodded, hand reaching for the shower head to turn it off and put it back up.

“Good, now we can dry it off, then apply the oils.”

You didn’t really know what he was on about. You were just happy to know you’d done a good job.

“Grab the hairdryer out of the cabinet. It’s bright pink, and has a few doodles on it.”

You moved over to the cabinets under the sink, opening it, and shuffling around before finding a bright pink hairdryer just like promised. It had a few stains from past hair dye, which made you imagine the men in bright pink hair (an image you quickly tried to forget). There was a doodle of a little skull face and a rectangle with a few bubbles next to it.

You plugged it into the outlet next to the toilet, and turned it on low heat, not wanting to accidentally burn or hurt Kyle. You started with the top of his wings, figuring that it would be most efficient. Next, you made sweeping motions over the base of his wings, gradually moving to the bottom of the wings, the feathers puffing back up fluffier than ever before.

You watched as he gave a few test flaps, deciding that it was good enough, as he nodded once again. He was smiling again.

“Good, now I’ll help you with the oil part. You can put the hairdryer on the counter.”

You unplugged the hairdryer, setting it down on the pearly white counter, watching as Kyle got up and opened the secret cabinet that was behind the bathroom mirror. There were jars and medicines inside, and the harpy grabbed a jar saying something in a cursive font you couldn’t read.

“See,”

He began.

“Normally, a harpy has a gland that produces the oils for them, it keeps their feathers waterproof, clean, and healthy.”

You understood the basic concept he was explaining. He sat down on the edge of the tub, and you sat down on the carpet, ignoring the wet fuzz soaking into your knees.

“But mine is damaged, and doesn’t produce those oils, so I have to manually do it, which is very….annoying.”

You cocked your head to the side, wondering what had damaged his special gland so badly, but he didn’t answer your silent question. Instead, he opened the container, which had a sticky, thin brown fluid in it. It almost looked like a thinner, stickier version of Vegemite.

He dipped two fingers in, rubbing it over both hands.

“I’ll show you how to do it first.”

He said, as his hands began fluffing up and rubbing the feathers nearest to the base of his wings first, rubbing the thin substance in, patting it to ensure it wasn’t still sticky, before moving on to the next round of feathers. You thought you understood the basics of it.

Dipping a finger into the strange thing, you also rubbed it on your hands, tentatively rubbing and fluffing it into the bottom feathers of his wings like you’d seen him doing. He let out a hum of approval, and you continued, slowly getting more confident.

A few minutes of silence passed, all of his feathers being oiled appropriately until your hand moved to his inner wing, and this time he was the one to let out a squeak.

You pulled your hand away almost immediately, and he turned a shade of bright red in the cheeks.

“Don’t touch there, that’s really sensitive.”

He said, trying to wave it off with a grin and a little awkward laugh. You raised a single brow.

“Johnny touched you there.”

A single statement, but one that was correct. Johnny had his hands all up in Kyle’s inner wings this morning when they’d been making breakfast together. You had noticed.

Kyle turned a brighter shade of red. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“It’s…different, for different pack members—“

“Dinner!”

“Yup. Yeah. Dinner time, let’s go, kiddo.”

He led you out of the room, newly washed and oiled feathers puffed up in what you assumed was mild embarrassment. You didn’t know why he wasn’t explaining it to you, considering you were just going to look it up later.

John raised an eyebrow at Kyle’s behavior, watching as he sat down while fidgeting, staring into his plate. Simon and Johnny both took one look at Kyle’s fresh wings, then at you and guessed what happened. A smirk pulled at Simon’s lips. Johnny snorted. Kyle had forgotten to put his shirt back on.

Dinner passed quickly. It was the leftovers of the pot roast. They were tired from whatever work they’d done today but still lively. You watched.

When it was over, you slid your plate into the sink, not sure what activity was coming next.

“Bedtime for you, cub.”

John rumbled, leading you back to your room, listening to Kyle accuse Johnny or Simon of stealing his shirt, not able to find it after taking it off in the bathroom while they both insisted he’d lost it.

You crawled into your bed, with clean hair, a clean body, and mildly clean clothes. John took the blanket and tucked you in, even as you lay down in a strange position.

“Sleep good, and sneak me that shirt in the mornin’, I’ll tell Kyle I found it in the bin.”

He said, smiling with a wink, giving you an Eskimo kiss while his beard tickles your face. You found that strangely, you didn’t mind the closeness. You smiled back at him, returning the wink, pulling out Kyle’s missing shirt that was bundled under your shirt, and bunching it up.

You held it against your chest, curling up around it and the familiar scent of honey and apple pie that it held. The scent of Kyle.

No, you didn’t usually sleep well in new places, but as the light turned off and John closed the door behind him, you found that you couldn’t help but drift into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

Tags:

@theartgremlin

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

[notablenotions]

The Masks of Nobility- Chapter 4

Jitka scribbled in her notebook as she studied the chamomile in the herb garden. The regional variations were subtle but noticeable to a discerning eye. When there were fewer eyes on her, she would have to return for a more detailed analysis. She made a mental note to do so.

Behind her, George yawned, clearly exhausted from the previous night's festivities. He followed her, grateful for the brew she had given him that dulled the worst of his hangover. She wondered if, after experiencing the true aftermath of merriment without her remedies, her family would regret marrying her off to the first person—well, persons—her uncle could find who would take her.

George leaned over her shoulder, watching as she jotted down her notes.

"Are you not sore? I heard for women it hurts," he asked bluntly.

Jitka continued writing. "I'm fine, George. Honestly."

George frowned. "Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand? Did he treat you kindly?"

Before he could continue, Henry of Skalitz stormed into the garden, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel path. Behind him, Hans trailed closely, clinging to Henry’s presence like a child hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

George raised a quizzical eyebrow at the ridiculous display.

Jitka sighed. So much for finishing her study of regional herb variations.

Henry bowed, his formality at odds with the obvious irritation in his stance.

"Milady, I apologize for the intrusion, and I mean no offense by my words."

George straightened, stepping protectively in front of Jitka, his back straight and shoulders squared to rival Henry’s stance. The entire situation became even more farcical.

Jitka shoved George aside. "George, you’re being ridiculous. Go fetch the brew for after-merriment."

George hesitated but begrudgingly obeyed, muttering under his breath as he stalked off.

Now alone with her husband and his ever-loyal bodyguard, Jikta glanced at Henry, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Then, at Hans, peering over Henry’s shoulder as if using him as a shield.

Honestly. Her husband was a fool.

Henry exhaled. "Ladyship, as Sir Hans’s bodyguard, his safety is my priority."

Jitka nodded along. "As it should be. That’s reasonable."

Henry blinked, clearly not expecting such a cordial response.

"You see... Sir Hans believes you may have poisoned him on, erm… your wedding night. Sir Hans can be—" Henry hesitated, searching for the right word. "Suspicious."

George, who had just returned with the brew, choked.

"Sakra, Jikta! What did you do?!" He grabbed her arm as if to shake a confession out of her.

Unnecessary. As far as Jitka was concerned, she had done both of them a favor.

"Yes, I did."

Silence.

Hans gasped, the sound scandalized.

"See, Henry! I told you!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

More silence. As if they all expected her to elaborate.

George pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ, Jitka. Why? …Wait. Did he hurt you?"

Hans gasped again, this time in what Jikta could only assume was utter indignation.

"I would never hurt a maid!"

Henry raised a hand, signaling for the conversation to slow before Hans could launch into another melodramatic outburst.

"Jikta, please explain."Henry retorted rubbing his temples in frustration.

She tilted her head. Oh, that’s what they wanted?

"Perhaps we should go somewhere private, my lord. Wherever my lord feels safest?" Jitka said calmly, her tone collected despite the chaos surrounding them.

----

Apparently, her husband lacked the cognitive ability to pick up on subtlety, because now they were all crammed into Henry’s humble lodgings.

Silence fell. They all looked at her.

George cleared his throat. "Jitka, I think they—"

"You were going to explain," he reminded.

Jitka nodded, fidgeting with her hands. She couldn’t exactly say, I saw my husband and his bodyguard in an intimate embrace, especially not in front of George. She had no idea how Hans or Henry would react, and any misstep could reflect poorly on her—and that she couldn’t afford.

"What you described as poison," she began slowly, "was what I would call a... sleeping draught."

She glanced down at her hands again, trying to avoid the intensity of their focus. This entire situation required tact, diplomacy—things she was utterly ill-equipped for.

"My lord," she looked briefly at Hans, "you seemed tired... the bags under your eyes, the distress… perhaps from drink? I felt you needed rest."

Hans leaned forward, clearly not buying it, his brows furrowed in doubt.

She panicked, her words tumbling out in a rush.

She had to fix this.

A husband bedding his guard meant a husband who left her be. An arrangement she found agreeable. A husband who hated her or thought her a witch could bring far worse hardship.

She cleared her throat; her mouth felt dry as sand.

"You see, my lord, I... might be described—politely—as odd. Ill-fitting for my noble blood."

George tried to interject. "Jikta, that’s not—"

But she pressed on, ignoring him.

"I struggle to be touched. By anyone. I have no romantic inclinations."

Hans interrupted, eyes wide. "What—none? Not even after seeing me?!" His voice was full of bewilderment, as if her very existence challenged the natural order.

Henry choked on his breath, unable to suppress a laugh. The irony of Hans's inflated ego never failed to amuse.

Jitka remained serious. "None at all. And you may have noticed I’m utterly hopeless in social situations. The noise, the fabric of the dress, the entire day was... unbearable. And bedding, with a jeering crowd outside... it was too much." Her voice faltered into a whisper, eyes fixed on her hands, burning with shame.

She risked a glance at Hans.

To her surprise, there was sympathy—almost empathy—in his eyes. And... relief? Perhaps to him, her issues were far easier to stomach than the alternative—a demon summoning witch.

She pressed on. "When I saw what I perceived as similar grief in you, and unwillingness, I—"

Henry stepped in, voice steady.

"Decided to take it upon yourself to protect both of you."

Hans looked at Henry thoughtfully, his expression unreadable. He’d gone still—no longer the panicked, petulant prince, but the lord he’d been raised to be: measured, guarded.

Hans pressed a finger to his lips in thought. "I appreciate the intention..." he murmured, clearly lost in deeper considerations.

Henry added, "You didn’t know how milord would react, so you spiked his wine."

Jikta nodded, staring at her knees, feeling like a child being scolded by her old nursemaid, Nan.

"Despite being wed, my lord... I do not know you. A husband can treat his wife as he sees fit."

Hans nodded, acknowledging the imbalance. Then, suddenly, he laughed—a bright, incredulous sound.

"Christ, woman," he wiped a tear from his eye, chuckling. "I can see the sound logic behind such a ridiculous plan that even I, Hans Capon, am left without words."

He sprang up, still chuckling, his tone laced with amusement—and something else: warmth.

"Fear not, wife. We will talk later. Henry, come."

His voice was light, but not unkind.

At the door, he paused, voice softening into a tone Jitka had heard her father use to comfort her as a child. Reassuring. Gentle.

"I’ll come to your chambers this evening. Just to discuss how we might wear out the nose of this marriage."

With a flourish, he strode out, Henry following after.

George sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Fucksake, Jitka."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured VIII

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: There's an emergency

"Alexia...Alexia...Alexia!"

Alexia comes back into consciousness slowly. It's still dark out and her alarm clock proclaims it to be nearly two in the morning.

Olga is standing over the bed and even in the dim light, Alexia can tell something is wrong. Olga is saying something but Alexia is still waking up and only tunes in at the very end.

"-Already called Jenni. She's going to meet us there."

Alexia sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Meet us there? Jenni? What's going on?"

She flicks on the bedside light. Olga is still in her pyjamas but she's wearing her coat over the top and a pair of shoes. She's got Jaume on her hip.

He's got old little red pinpricks all over his neck and arms.

"Is that chickenpox?"

"No," Olga says, babbling at rapid speed as she shoves the sheets off Alexia's body," I thought it was but I saw some article on my feed about how to make sure it's not anything else and-"

"Olga? What is going on?"

"I think it's meningitis," Olga finally says," And we need to take him to the hospital."

Alexia's up like a shot, hopping around on one foot as she grabs the first set of shoes she can find. "It can't be," She denies," We got him vaccinated. I remember it!"

"That's what I thought!" Olga says back," But the rash doesn't go away when I press a glass to it and you know how he's been lately!"

Alexia nods, pulling on a Barca issued jacket. She pauses as she moves. "Bambi," She murmurs before raising her voice," Shit, Bambi! She was running a bit hot after her ballet class. But I just assumed it was all the movement. My phone...Where's my phone? I need to-"

"I used it to call Jenni," Olga says as they both go running out the door," She's going to meet us there."

She and Olga get there well before you and Jenni do.

Jaume is taken to get a spinal tap but the doctor is confident that it's meningitis so puts him on antibiotics as soon as the procedure is done.

"I don't understand," Alexia says," My kids are vaccinated! Both of them! They're up to date. I took Bambi to all of her boosters! Jaume's scheduled for another one when he hits a year!"

"Sometimes vaccines aren't one hundred percent effective," The doctor says, clearly used to calming enrage parents," What matters is that you saw it and you got him in tonight. The spinal tap should confirm the diagnosis but we've already got him on an IV." The doctor turns to leave before stopping. "You've got another child?"

Alexia's head frantically nods. "Yes. A girl. She's four. She's being brought in now."

The doctor nods, scribbling something on his clipboard. "As soon as she's here, have someone page me. Older children find it harder to stay still for the spinal tap. I'll contact anaesthesia and get someone to bring a mask."

Alexia's head changes from nodding to shaking furiously. "No!" She says it a bit louder than she meant to that even Olga looks shocked.

"It'll be better," Olga tries to explain," If they put her to sleep-"

"No, I mean..." Alexia shakes her head, the words spilling out of her mouth naturally. "She's allergic! To Isoflurane! That's the gas anaesthesia, right? Right?"

She looks around wildly as the doctor's face turns grim.

"I'll get some local," The doctor says," I know we made you wait outside for Jaume but it would be best if you came in for your daughter, if we're only using local, to keep her calm."

It's a waiting game until Jenni arrives with you and Alexia finds herself doom scrolling. She's dived into whatever article she can find on meningitis in children and the more she reads, the worse she feels.

They're yet to be allowed into see Jaume as the staff work to get him a bit more comfortable but Alexia can see him through the window and he's completely passed out asleep.

"I didn't know y/n was allergic to anything," Olga says softly.

Alexia laughs. It's more a nervous chuckle than anything else. "I don't even think Jenni does. My father was allergic. It skipped me and Alba but I wanted to check for Bambi, just in case."

"It's a good thing you did," Olga says.

Alexia looks down at her phone. "Where are they? They should be here by now."

"They'll be here soon. It's going to be okay."

It takes another ten minutes for you and Jenni to arrive.

You look infinitely worse than Jaume. The rash is completely obvious, taking over your whole body and Jenni looks just as distressed.

It takes another ten for the doctor to return.

You don't understand what's going on. Your Ma-Jenni woke you up super early before the sun has come up. She didn't get you dressed or brush your hair how you like it.

She didn't explain much at all...or, anything really. She just put you in the car and didn't say anything.

You'd tried to ask but your throat felt all scratchy and your tummy hurt.

All you know now is that you're at the hospital with Ma-Jenni, Mami and Miss Olga. There's a strange man with cold fingers that takes your shirt from you and makes you curl up on your side.

"Ma-Jenni?" You ask, trembling," What's going on?"

"Ssh, Bambi," Ma-Jenni says. Her tone is harsh, harsher than you've ever heard her speak to you and your tummy ties itself in a knot at her words.

You can hear the strange man talking nonsense to the adults and your eyes go wide at the tray of tools that's wheeled in. They look pointy and sharp, like the tools from that silly doctor show that Tia Alba likes.

You suck in a harsh breath when you feel a pinch at your back. You yelp and instantly try to wiggle away.

"No!" You cry," No! Off! Stop it! I don't want to! I don't want to!"

You force yourself to uncurl. You don't want this strange man touching your back. He makes it hurt and you got want any more of his sharp tools in your skin.

There's a grip on your legs though, forcing them back into position. You turn your head to look at who's got you against your will.

It's Ma-Jenni.

Her grip is firm and hard as she forces your kicking legs still. One of her arms has clamped them together, forcing them to stop moving while her other hand is on your hip, forcing your down onto the table until you're immobile.

You want her hands off you. Ma-Jenni has big hands that are perfect to hold you but not like this, never like this. You don't want her touching you like this.

"Ma-Jenni," You sob," Stop it! Stop it, please! Please!"

She doesn't stop though, merely readjusts her grip and pushes you down further until you well and truly can't move your bottom half.

"Stop it!" You continue to say," Stop it, Mama! Mama, stop!"

Hands curve around your shoulders and these are familiar hands too.

Mami's hands are perfect to hold in yours. They're always warm and they always hold you so gently. But now they've got your arms pinned to your chest and are forcing your shoulders firmly into the examination bed.

"Mami," You cry," Please stop. Mami, please. I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mami! Stop!"

Mami's lips ghost your hairline. "I'm sorry, Bambi," She says, her voice a whisper that you can barely hear over your panic," I'm so sorry. It's going to be okay. You just need to be still. I'm sorry."

You can't move and the strange man is doing things to your back. You can't feel any pain but you can feel pressure and you can feel when he sticks something beneath your skin where things aren't supposed to go.

The only thing you can do is move your eyes and they focus on Miss Olga, the only adult in the room that's not actively hurting you.

"Miss Olga," You sob," Make them stop."

Her eyes nervously dart to the door like she wants to run away but she doesn't. She steps closer to where the adults are holding you, crouching down until your heads are almost the same height.

"I'm so sorry," She says to you," It's going to be okay, I promise. They're just making sure you're healthy."

"Miss Olga, please," You reply. You try to kick out your legs but Ma-Jenni just grips them more tightly," I'm sorry. I can be good. I can be better!"

"Hey," She says softly when your eyes dart towards your Mami," You are being so good. There's no one being better. Do you know what's going on?"

"No."

"You're very sick," Miss Olga speaks gently to you and brushes away a portion of hair that's covering your eyes," And we need to know what's wrong. Do you remember a few months ago when we came here and they put a needle in my arm?"

You do remember that. It was on one of hospital visits that you went on to see baby Jaume in Miss Olga's belly. They took some of her blood that appointment.

"They takin' my blood?" You ask shakily.

"They're taking a little bit of fluid from your back," Miss Olga explains," And they're going to test that for the illness they think you have. Like how they took my blood to make sure I was healthy."

You sniffle.

Mami and Ma-Jenni's hands are like shackles around your limbs, wrapped around your flesh and unwilling to even give you an inch.

"I'm scared," You whisper.

"That's okay," Olga whispers back," It's always okay to be a little scared. But you're doing so well. You're being such a brave girl. I'm sure it won't be much longer now."

You can feel the thing in your back moving and you try to shift with it but Ma-Jenni's hand clamps down on your hip and anchors you to it so you can't move again, not even a little rock back and forth.

"Hey," Olga says, pulling your attention away from what's happening at your back," Your Mami told me that you've moved up in ballet. I'm sure it's so much fun."

"It is."

"That's great! Do you want to tell me about it?"

Actually, you find that you do what to tell Olga about your ballet. Your words come out stilted and stuttered but you force them out of your mouth.

Olga smiles at you. She's got a pretty smile, you think. Mami must really love girls with pretty smiles.

"That sounds so cool," Olga says to you," You must be so talented." She leans a bit closer to you and you don't even feel the man taking the pointy thing out of your back. "Hey, maybe when you're all better, you can show me some moves. Only if you'd like to."

You duck your head down as the hands slowly leave your body. "Yes, please."

You're rolled onto your back but you keep your head tilted to look at Olga.

You don't know much about her apart from the fact that she's marrying your Mami and they had baby Jaume together.

Mami and Ma-Jenni are still talking to the doctor so you can fully focus on Olga.

She and baby Jaume look alike, you think. They've got the same eyes and nose and face shape. You think that baby Jaume might get her pretty smile when he's older too.

Her hand is gently resting on the side of your bed and you very gently move your own until your fingers are touching.

She hasn't got big hands like how Mami and Ma-Jenni's are big but they're still bigger than yours. They're safe too. You know this because she's never once dropped baby Jaume, even when she once tripped over and fell on her butt. She didn't drop Jaume once.

She smiles her pretty smile and you smile too, not even noticing when the nurse hooks you up to an IV.

"Hey, Bambi," Mami says," Everything's going to be okay now. I'm so-"

You stubbornly don't look at her and she frowns.

"Bambi?" Ma-Jenni asks," How's your back?"

You don't even deign her with an answer. It's still early and you're very tired. You don't want to talk to them, not when they pinned you down like that.

"I'm sorry," The nurse says," But I'm going to have ask you all to leave. The legal guardians can sleep over but that's all."

You don't know what legal guardians means but you do know that Ma-Jenni isn't one. She lives in Mexico for most of the year so she can't be your guardian because you don't live there with her.

She looks like she's going to argue but she doesn't. She reaches to give you a kiss on the forehead but you flinch away and she stops before her lips can press against your skin.

"I love you, Bambi," She says," And I'll be back to see you as early as I can."

You don't answer her.

It's just Olga and Mami left.

"I'm going to go sit with Jaume," Olga says and you frown.

"Jaume's sick too? Did I get him sick?" Your bottom lip wobbles.

"No, of course not." Olga says firmly," You and Jaume just got sick at the same time. It's very sad but it does happen."

"Really?"

"Yes." She heads to the door. "I hope you feel much better later. Maybe, if you feel up to it, you can tell me about your trains? Your Mami says that you love them a lot."

You nod. "Yes."

Then, it's just you and Mami left.

The nurse has set up a little bed next to yours for Mami to sleep on.

Mami seems a little nervous with you, pulling at the sleeves of her pyjama shirt. She looks at you.

You look at her.

You only saw her a few days again, when you painted pottery together and you asked her if you were wanted.

Mami doesn't sit in her bed, she pulls up a chair next to yours. She tries to reach for your hand but you pull it away before she can touch you, cradling it against your chest as you stare.

"Bambi," She begins before shaking her head and stopping. She takes a few moments before opening her mouth again. "I'm very, very sorry."

Those weren't the words that you were expecting.

You still don't answer though. If you blink, you can still feel her phantom hands over your body and the iron grip she had on your limbs.

She scoots the chair closer.

"I love you so much and I'm so sorry that you're sick."

She looks like she wants to say more but you don't really want her to keep talking.

"Bambi, I...I have not been a very good Mami to you," Alexia has to force the words out of her throat even if you give no indication that you can hear her," And I'm very, very sorry."

You still don't say anything. You just lie on your back with your eyes wide open.

"I'm sorry for what happened at home and I'm sorry for what a few-"

"I'm tired, Mami," You say, your voice quiet and exhausted.

"Right," Alexia says, scolding herself inwardly at keeping you up. It's still the middle of the night. "You go to sleep, Bambi. I'll be right here if you need me."

The stress of everything tonight seems to knock you out quickly but Alexia doesn't move to her own bed. She doesn't move. She doesn't sleep. She just stays in that seat even as a nurse pops their head in to confirm that both you and Jaume have bacterial meningitis.

A week hospital visit and IV's full of antibiotics is what awaits you both, baring any complications.

Jenni returns as soon as visiting hours begin again, pulling Alba and Eli in tow.

Eli diverts briefly to check on Olga and Jaume while Jenni and Alba come straight to you. You're still asleep when they arrive, lying on your back with a cannula in your hand to administer your medication.

"You look exhausted," Alba says in greeting, handing off a cup of to-go coffee to her sister," Did you sleep at all?"

"No." Alexia continues to stare at you, focussed on the soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep.

"I'm surprised you're still here," Alba continues and, for once, her tone isn't biting. She seems genuinely surprised. "Haven't you got training?"

"I called off for the week," Alexia replies," And next week. It's more than enough time for them both to recover."

"You're taking time off?" Alba looks even more surprised than before. "Like, actually?"

Alexia doesn't know why that's so confusing. "Of course. My kids are sick. They need to be looked after."

Alba's mouth opens and closes a few times before she settles on something to say," How is Jaume?"

"Good, better. The doctors said that it's good we caught it when we did. The longer the rash is there for, the worse he could have gotten. It came up last night. We caught here as quick as we could."

Alexia's glad for that. She has no idea what could have happened, how much worse Jaume could have gotten if they had left it a few hours, let alone a few days.

Jenni is strangely silent at her words, reaching out to gently brush some of your hair out of your face.

"How long of a hospital stay?" Alba asks.

"About a week for both of them. The doctors said that they're going to do a hearing test with Bambi in a few days and then four weeks after she's recovered."

"And Jaume?"

"The same," Alexia confirms," Olga is with him now."

"Mama's with her," Alba says," We picked her up on the way."

There's a rustle of sheets as you blink awake. A yawn takes over your whole face as you wake up.

Mami, Ma-Jenni and Tia Alba are all looking at you and you pull your blankets up until they're over your nose.

You don't like the fact that Mami and Ma-Jenni are in the same room together. You can still feel their weights on you, pinning you to the bed as you struggled to get free.

You don't want them here. Not within arms length of you, in case they take your top away again and pin you down.

"Tia," You croak out and Alba pushes past Ma-Jenni to take your hand.

"You're not looking too good there, Bambi," Tia Alba says," How are you feeling?"

"Is Jaume still sick too?"

"He's getting a lot better. Your Abuela and Olga are with him now."

"Is Abuela and Olga going to get sick too?"

"No, don't be silly. Adults don't get sick like that." Tia Alba's teasing you. She's putting on a silly voice and it shocks a little giggle out of you. "I'm sure once your Abuela is done with baby Jaume then she'll be right in to see you."

"And Olga too?"

Alexia goes rigid in her seat. "Olga doesn't have to come in if you don't want her to."

You don't even acknowledge she's talking to you.

"No one has to come in that you don't want to," Jenni promises you but you don't give any indication that you heard her either.

"Olga thinks that I'm talented," You say to Tia Alba," She asked me about my ballet and my trains. She wanted to know more. Did you bring any of my trains?"

The bag on Jenni's shoulder is passed off to Alba. She digs through it, pulling out a spare change of clothes as well as a few model trains that had been shoved in there this morning.

"I want to show Olga my trains," You say," When she's done with baby Jaume." You run your trains over the bed, making little chugging noises with your mouth.

"I think that's a great idea, Bambi," Alexia says but you don't answer.

You haven't acknowledged her or Jenni since you woke up and it's put her on edge. Even when you were scared a few days ago, you still acknowledged her.

But your focus is purely on Alba but even that is hit and miss.

Whenever Alba reaches out to play trains with you, you flinch away. You look up at her in shock each time before glancing back down at your arms as if you can't believe you flinched.

"How are you feeling, Bambi?" Eli asks as she comes in.

You shrug and raise your hand. "They put a thing in my hand."

"They put one in your brother's too," Eli says," It's to give you your medicine."

"Did they put the thing in Jaume's back too?"

Eli nods. "They did."

Your eyes are haunted as you stare at her. "Did they pin him down too?"

Whatever bubble that the room was in bursts and Eli notices the way Alexia and Jenni both exchange a wide eyed look, like two little children caught red handed.

Eli has to think over her words carefully. "You're both very sick," She settles on eventually," Do you know why they had to put something in your back?"

You parrot back the words Olga told you and Abuela nods.

"That's right," She says.

"Olga says I was very brave even though I was crying."

"I'm sure you were the bravest little girl in the world," Abuela kisses your forehead but her lips feel too much like Mami and Ma-Jenni's and suddenly you can feel their hands on you again.

You kick your legs out and move your arms to shake the phantom hands off and they're gone as quickly as they appeared.

"Alexia, Jenni," Abuela says," Can I talk to you out in the hall?"

As they all leave, you look through the windows of your room.

Olga is lingering outside, looking into your room every so often before looking away.

"Tia Alba," You say," Can I still show Olga my trains?"

"Should I bring her in here?"

"Yes, please."

Ma-Jenni and Mami stay outside with Abeula for a long time but you don't even notice.

You've never talked with Olga like this before, not really. There had been a few moments when she was pregnant with baby Jaume where you watched things together and you helped her cook but you had never been like this with her before.

You hand her one of your trains and smile when she plays with you, gently moving the trains around your bed together.

"Is Jaume going to be okay?" You ask her because she's Jaume's mami and she knows things like that.

"He's going to be just fine," She promises you," And so are you. Just a few more days."

"I'm going to miss ballet," You say," That's bad. Mami never misses her training so I shouldn't miss mine."

"Your Mami's missing training now," Olga says," And she's missing it until you get healthy again. That's what you should focus on. Getting healthy again so you can go back to ballet."

"Mami is missing training? Why?"

"Because she wants to make sure you're okay," Olga says," Because she loves you."

You don't believe her but Olga looks very serious so you think that she must think that's true.

"Olga," You say," I'm hungry. When's lunch?"

She laughs a little bit about your blatant change of subject. "A few hours still," She says," How about I go to the shop and get you a snack?"

Olga slips out into the hallway where Eli is still lecturing Jenni and Alexia about their treatment of you. Your sobs and begging still rung in Olga's ears, the way that you cried and cried and begged and begged.

"She's hungry," She says, interrupting the lecture," I'm going to get her a snack."

"I'll come with you," Jenni says," I need a coffee."

The trip to the little shop was awkward, made even more awkward when Olga selected a plain chocolate bar only to have it plucked from her hand and replaced with one with caramel.

"She thinks the plain ones are too hard," Jenni says, almost carelessly," She doesn't like how they feel on her teeth. She prefers caramel."

Olga stares down at the chocolate in her hand, noting down another new thing in the column dedicated to you in her mind. It's painfully bare with only a few things - trains, ballet, the allergy she found out yesterday and now your favourite kind of chocolate.

She had told Alexia she wasn't threatened by Jenni and that's still true but that doesn't mean that Olga isn't intimidated.

Jenni just looks a bit intimidating with her tattoos and her height and the stern look on her face when it comes to you.

"Thanks."

It's silent for a moment as they both wander through the winding hallways back up to the peds wing.

"No," Jenni says eventually, shaking her head like she had been fighting with herself," I'm sorry, Olga. But I have to know...How could you let this happen? With Bambi, I mean? Stuff like this doesn't happen overnight."

Olga wants to bolt, to run and escape this but she holds herself firm as she scrambles to find something to say, knowing exactly what Jenni is talking about. "I didn't notice," She settles on eventually," It is wrong to say but it is true."

Jenni can't seem to understand though. "But how? Bambi is...How could you just not notice?"

"I just didn't," Olga says," And that was wrong of me. It was wrong of Alexia. We've talked about it...a lot...We're trying to move forward, for y/n."

Jenni looks at her, long and hard and Olga suddenly understands what rival players feel when they see Jenni come onto the pitch.

"Don't let it happen again," Jenni says firmly before taking off again, leaving Olga to scramble to keep up.

You're exactly as they left you, sitting in the middle of your bed. You're making chugging noises with your mouth as you run a train over Eli's arm.

Alexia is back in her seat next to your bed but you've scooched away from her as far as you can get.

"Caramel!" You cheer when Olga presents your food," That's my favourite! Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

You munch happily on your food a little but before you stop to scratch at your rash.

Automatically, like she did a few days ago when she first noticed it, Jenni takes your hand to stop you scratching.

You violently flinch away, tearing your hand away from hers. You scrunch your eyes closed firmly as you suck in air.

You can feel the hands on your legs again, forcing you to go immobile as the strange man pokes and prods at your back.

"No!" You cry out, turning away and curling up under your blanket," Stop it! Stop it, Mama! No bad touches! No more bad touches!" You kick your legs out. "No! Stop it!"

"Out," You can hear your Abuela say.

Eli-"

"Out, Jenni! Alexia, you too! Olga-"

"I'll go and see Jaume. He should be up from his nap by now."

"No! No! No!" You continue to chant as the blanket is pealed back.

It's not Ma-Jenni though. It's Abuela with Tia Alba hovering over her shoulder.

You sniffle if you sit up again.

"What happened, huh, Bambi?" Abuela asks," What was that about?"

"Mama hurt me," You say," When the strange man touched my back. I asked her not to! I asked her to stop!"

"I know," Abuela says," I know, Bambi."

"I didn't know what was happening," You say," It was scary and Mama wouldn't tell me what was going on."

It was very scary. You didn't think Ma-Jenni would do that to you, would pin you down and not explain what was happening. Mami could be harsh sometimes and you know she can be rough on the pitch too. She even said she was sorry while doing it but Ma-Jenni didn't.

Ma-Jenni told you to shh and pinned you down and didn't say sorry. You can still feel her hands on you, constantly pinning your legs down and pushing you further into bed.

She didn't say sorry at all and that's what scares you.

"I'm sorry that scared you," Abuela says," I'm sure Jenni didn't mean to."

"She didn't say sorry," You say," And she hurt me."

"Bambi-"

"She did! I'm not lying!"

"No one says' you're lying," Tia Alba assures you," I think you're telling the truth but, Bambi, you needed to have that done, so you can get better."

Ma-Jenni comes back when it's dark. There's no lights coming through your windows and the moon is out so you know it's night time.

Mami is meant to be sleeping on the bed next to you but she's not there.

The door to your room opens though and Ma-Jenni steps in.

But she doesn't look like Ma-Jenni though. There's something different about her. Maybe it's her too sharp features or her too pointed teeth. Maybe it's the curve of her nails or the way she's looming over you.

You can't move and Monster-Jenni's sharp claws dig into your legs easily.

You shriek but she's pressing her whole weight down onto the hand that's got your legs while her other one pins you down by your chest. You can't move. You can't stop her no matter how much you plead and beg and sob.

She's still holding you with bad touches and the strange man appears again. He's got too sharp teeth too and a massive needle that looks even scarier than before.

"Mami!" You cry as you jolt awake, gripping your bedsheets and screaming.

Mami's up like a shot, looking around like she thinks someone's hiding in the shadows. You're scared that Monster-Jenni is there too.

"Mami!" You sob, reaching desperately for her, your mind recycling her apologies as she held you down.

This time though, you crawl into her arms and sob, burying your face in her shirt as you cry.

For a moment, Alexia is in shock at your willingness to touch her. Whatever you had dreamt about must have been bad because you've curled your body around hers and Alexia very carefully curls her arms around you.

"It's okay, Bambi," She whispers," It's okay. It wasn't real. None of it was real. I've got you. Mami's got you."

"Mami," You whimper," Mami, it hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Everything!"

"I'm so sorry, Bambi," Alexia says and she knows that you know what she means, just like how you know she knows what you mean by everything," It's all going to be okay. I promise, this is all going to be okay. No matter what happens."

"I'm scared, Mami."

"I know, Bambi. I'm going to help make it better."

[ageingfangirl2]

Hazbin Hotel x Child Reader Series

PART 20 - HAZBIN HOTEL X HOMEWORK

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN NINETEEN TWENTY-ONE TWENTY-TWO TWENTY-THREE TWENTY-FOUR TWENTY-FIVE TWENTY-SIX TWENTY-SEVEN TWENTY-EIGHT TWENTY-NINE THIRTY THIRTY-ONE

You stomped into the hotel, looking miserable, clutching a stack of homework papers.

Charlie greeted you cheerfully, ‘How was your first day of school?’

You groaned, flopping face-first onto the couch, ‘Awful. I had to sit still for hours, and they gave me this stupid homework!’ They dramatically waved the papers in the air. ‘It's so boring!’

Charlie giggled, ‘Come on, it can't be that bad! Let's take a look!

Charlie took the first worksheet, humming as she read it. Then she stopped. And blinked.

‘Uhhh… Vaggie? Can you come here a sec?’

Vaggie walked over, curious, ‘What’s up?’

‘Do you know how to do this?’ Charlie showed her the sheet.

Vaggie squinted. It was… basic math. Like fractions and word problems. Vaggie frowned, ‘I mean… I think so.’

She picked up a pencil. Then hesitated. And stared harder at the problem. And harder. The kid watched as Vaggie’s expression slowly turned to panic, ‘Wait… what the hell is this?’

Charlie peered over her shoulder, ‘I thought you were good at math?’

‘I was! I just… hold on, let me think—’ She scribbled an answer.

Charlie immediately frowned, ‘That looks wrong.’

Vaggie scowled, ‘You don’t know that!’

‘I do, actually. That’s not how you divide fractions.’

‘Oh, so you know how to do it?’

‘Well… no.’

You snicker from the couch, watching the two go back and forth hopelessly. ‘You guys are hopeless.’

At that moment, Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Sir Pentious and Niffty all poked their heads in, curious about the commotion.

‘What’s all the yelling about?’ Husk grumbled.

‘I brought homework, and these two can't do fractions,’ you say, giggling.

Alastor’s eyes gleamed, ‘Oho! A challenge, you say?’

Angel cackled, ‘Oh, this is gonna be good.’

‘Alright, everyone,’ Alastor clapped his hands, grinning wildly. ‘Let’s see who can solve the problem first!’

And just like that, it became a full-blown competition.

Sir Pentious slithered over to you and shook his head, ‘Are you going to let them do your homework for you?’

You bite your lip at his disappointed tone, ‘Not all of the questions. But it’s funny to watch them freak out over simple math.’

Sir Pentious rolls his eyes and leaves the room, not wanting to be a part of this chaos. You sit back and watch each resident go through their own method.

Alastor doesn’t write anything down at first. He paces the room, muttering something about ‘elegance of numbers’. Out of the blue, he explains an absurdly complicated formula that makes no sense. 

He then draws a voodoo sigil on a napkin, ‘The spirits whisper to me that the answer is seven-thirds.’

Everyone stops and stares at him before Charlie grumbles, ‘Alastor, that isn’t even close.’

Alastor huffed, ‘Nonsense! Maths is subjective.’

Husk takes a different approach, treating the homework like he was gambling. Squinting down at the page as if it had personally offended him, ‘This is why I dropped out of school.’

He starts mumbling about poker odds and writes down a random number, talking about horse betting, ‘Okay, the answer is two-point…uh six.’

You giggle and shake your head, which makes Husk give up and walk back to the bar, ‘Whatever kid, don’t gamble with fractions.’

Niffty immediately picks up a pen and a piece of paper and smiles, ‘This is easy. Just multiply by the reciprocal!’

There was just one problem in her rush: No one could read Niffty’s messy handwriting, so they assumed the answer was wrong. But Niffty spent the next ten minutes arguing that she was right.

Angel took the easy way out and pulled out his phone, typing the calculation into a search engine, ‘boom. Done. 0.375. I win.’

Charlie shakes her head and confiscates his phone, ‘You’re out for cheating, Angel.’

Angel pouts, ‘but technically I answered, so I’m still in the running.’

After twenty minutes of pure chaos, you finally grab the textbook, flip to the back, and read the correct answer.

‘It’s 15/8, or 1.875.’

Silence. Then— ‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!’

Angel throws his pen. Husk facepalms. Vaggie groans. Charlie laughs nervously. Alastor just grins, ‘Well, well, well! It seems we’ve been bested by child math.’

You smirk and fold your arms over your chest, ‘Maybe I should be the one sending you guys to school.’

Angel pouts, ‘Oh, shut up, nerd.’

You giggled, satisfied. Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all.