would you like some cake? (pt 2)
forethoughts: if you want to read part one it's would you like some new toys :D. i'm literally going to go home in a few hours and pull for arlecchino i'm so excited so happy so on adrenaline i can't ahhhh
notes: gn!child!reader, but fem!reader in mind. NOT AN X READER, READER IS A CHILD!!!
You don’t remember when was the last time you stepped foot in the playroom again. Father said she would take you to a different playroom, away from the others. You spent every day in that new playroom with Father. Father always gave you an option to go back. The door was always wide open. Distant sounds of the other children laughing and cheering rang in your ears.
Father said you were getting better day by day. Much more used to your new toys. Father even allowed you to bring your toys with you everywhere. One inside your boots, one strapped to your belt. Father even allowed you to bring one to your room.
Your room. Instead of the room you shared with the others, Father had moved you. Closer to her office. You have your own room now. Father had decorated it herself, she said. The mattress felt like three of the mattresses in your old room stacked upon each other. The room made you feel tiny. Alone. But Father was always there. Father was always with you.
Father said you were almost as skilled as the guards that stood outside the orphanage.
Father was proud.
Father was proud of you.
Father always read you bedtime stories. Tucked you in, planting a soft kiss on your forehead before turning off the lights. Father always taught you to not listen to what the other children said. That the only person you should be listening to is her and yourself.
You don’t remember when was the last time you felt eyes casted on you and words piercing your heart when you ate your meals. You still ate your meals in the hall with the other children; Father was adamant that you would still have some interaction with the others. But you didn’t care.
Father made sure you knew your worth.
~
Using your chopsticks, you fished up a bundle of noodles, putting it in your spoon and then in your mouth. You chewed, and then fished up another bundle of noodles. The children behind your back were loud and rowdy as usual. Father said to pay no mind to them. This time was different.
They were talking about Father.
It was Father’s birthday tomorrow.
Father was always secretive and didn’t reveal much about herself. They were planning on surprising her with a big party in the playroom. Of course, you weren’t part of it.
Father was always there for you, you thought. Never shy from giving you gifts and words of advice on the days you needed them.
You stood up from your seat, carrying your empty udon bowl to the sinks, giving it a quick rinse before putting it on the racks. You walked out of the hall, letting your feet take you where your mind wanted to go.
You closed the door to your new room, taking a seat behind your desk as you took out two sheets of paper, and some crayons Father had gifted you. While the rest played and had fun, you were in your room, scribbling away as best as you could with your black crayon. With your second piece of paper, you took out more colors from the box.
Father was always there for you.
You’d be a bad kid if you didn’t do the same, right?
The other’s idea of a celebration was tricking Father to go to the playroom, then cheering and singing happy birthday to Father while they played with Father. That meant that Father was unavailable to give you your daily lessons on how to properly play with your new toys. Fortunately you were busy too.
You entered the kitchen the moment you heard everyone else chant happy birthday in all different keys, the wide empty space with high workstations and cabinets sending doubt into your head. You shook it away, closing the door behind you with two hands, before taking a small tour around the space you would work with. Seeing that dinner was just served, all the cooks were done, leaving you a window of time to carry out your plan. Using a nearby stepping stool, you climbed onto the counters, reaching the high cabinets that were attached to the roof. Just as fate intended it to be a cooking book fell onto your lap, flipped to the page you wanted to go on. You closed the cabinet door, placing the cooking book by your side as you placed your boots on the stepping stool.
Father said you were good at looking for what you needed.
Father said you were good at doing what you wanted to do.
You prayed Father was right.
With the big book set on one counter, you scurried around the kitchen, gathering all the required ingredients and items you needed next to the book. You found two more stepping stools, allowing you to move around on each stool like different stations.
Father said your academic level was higher than the rest; you were doing exams meant for ten year olds.
“Pour… flour… in a bowl…” You muttered, finger on each word. You did as the instructions said, scooping out some flour and dumping it into a bowl.
“Egg…Sugar…Mix… Bake…”
For the rest of the day, you buried yourself in work, making what they called a ‘batter’. You had nearly dropped your hard made batter when you had to place the mold inside the oven, a new lesson learnt the hard way. After as much time as the book said, you took the mold out, this time wearing the funny shaped gloves on top of the counter next to the oven. With all your strength, you lifted the baked circular batter into a cart, before wheeling the cart back to your workstation. As the batter was baking, you had prepared a frosting, as they called it. Using a flat rectangle shaped object that had its corners rounded out, you spread the frosting over the top of the cake, before adding a fresh cherry to the top.
The celebration had stopped.
You heard Father’s voice tell the children it was time for bed. You gripped onto the counter, trying not to get shaken by the earthquake created by the hoard of orphans storming up to their room. Holding your breath, you waited until you couldn’t hear Father’s footsteps anymore, before letting out a sigh. You placed your finished cake on a pretty plate, using two hands to hold each side before exiting the kitchen.
~
You let out a deep breath, looking at the gold and crimson ornate double door in front of you. With the papers in your pocket, cake in hand, you used your shoulder to turn the doorknob, stumbling into Father’s office.
“Y/N?” Father. You turned around, facing Father. Father was behind her desk, hand moving from her forehead to her chin as she looked at you with a playful grin. Since your back was still turned to her, she couldn’t see the cake you made.
“I was worried sick about you, my dear. I didn’t see you at the celebration the others held for me.” Father chuckled. “Where were you? Not even the caretakers or workers could find you.”
You opted to not answer her question, rather hobble your way over to Father’s desk with your little legs. You placed your creation on the same place Father had set you when you got injured. Father looked at the cake, her eyebrows raised as she tried to conceal the grin that was spreading on her face. She pointed at the candle that was stabbed into the cake next to the cherry with her index finger, and the wick was instantly lit on fire.
“U-Umm…. I overheard it was Father’s birthday… so I wanted to do something special for Father…” You mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you tried to maintain eye contact with her. “I-I made you a cake. I t-tried my best. Would Father care to try my cake?”
Father let out a chuckle, looking at you with a soft and warm gaze. “You made a cake? All for me?”
“I-I wrote a c-card too…” You pulled the card and the second piece of paper out of your pocket, placing it next to the cake.
“Y/N… I…” Father chuckled, the corners of her mouth reaching her eyes. You’d never seen her look at you like this. Yes, she was always happy and cheerful. But never this much. Even as she tried to conceal it, you had spent enough time with her to know that she was feeling much more than a simple grin.
“Of course I would love to try your cake.” Father took the fork that was placed next to the cake, digging out a portion of your creation before putting it in her mouth. You could’ve sworn you saw a glimmer in her eyes. She took another bite, nodding her head and smiling at you.
“D-Does Father like it?” You asked with a worried tone.
“I love it, my dear.” Father hummed, forking out another chunk of your cake, putting the fork in front of your mouth. “Why don’t you try your own creation?”
“But it’s Father’s cake.”
“I insist.”
“O-Okay.” You wrapped your mouth around the fork, chewing on the cake you made. A smile crept on your face as you swallowed the bite. Thank the gods you had actually made food and not poison.
“Come here, my child.” Father patted on her laps. You walked around her desk, climbing on her laps as you looked up at her. She continued to spoon feed herself and you, wiping away any crumbs on your lips with her finger.
“H-Happy Birthday, Father.” You exclaimed.
“Thank you, my dear Y/N.” Father smiled at you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “I loved it, my little cook. This was the best birthday present ever.”
You could feel serotonin rush through your body. “R-Really?”
“Yes! Why would I ever lie to you, my dear?” Father hummed. “Thank you for such a wonderful birthday gift, my dear.”
~
Arlecchino sat on her chair, a sigh exiting her mouth as she looked at the card you had written, as well as the piece of paper. She had read a quick bedtime story to you, tucking you into bed before going back to her office. Arlecchino opened the letter, as the words entered her heart, fueling that flame of hers she carried and protected.
“Father,
haqqy dirthbay. I hoqe you hab a goob bay anb are haqqy. thank you for everything you bo for me. i really like my new toys.
Y/N.”
