camilo-him

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Audrey Bradford x Camilo Him.

anonymous asked:

could you write a quick story about the kids you said Reaper brought home to Widow one day? I've wanted to write about them too!

I took a break from Maid of Aspect Bright to write about WidowReaper children and it just slays me. It kind of got away from me, and please forgive me if the Spanish is wrong, but i hope you enjoy it, doll!


The Lost Boys

WidowReaper. Children. Negligence. Fluff. 

In the center of the hideout, the lights are left off. It casts the room into darkness but yellow lights from the street just outside brings the dark to a dim setting. Widowmaker waits in the hideout set in Dorado. Any passerby would have mistaken her for a statue. Muscles cold as stone as she stands still. Her thoughts occupied with Reaper’s quick objective.

The door slams open, and she turns to face him. Relief filling her lungs as she stares at the dark man hidden behind a skull like mask. He flips on the lights. She takes one step forward, before her eyes settle on the two children holding onto his claws. Both hiding their bodies behind his cloak, the one on the left peeking out at her.

“Reaper?” She speaks, and is amazed she can. Tearing her gaze away from the children to look up at her chéri.

“There was a gang battle that stopped me from scouting out the power plant. One of those men found them in an alleyway. They were about to be killed.” His growling lowered for her. “They are lost…”

The people conversed of both peeks their heads out now. Tan skin, and dark mops of hair upon their head. Little boys with dirty faces. The left child bares a small pink scar lining the right side of his upper lip and drags an inch more up onto skin. The one on the right has a mole decorating the center of his left cheek. The small features the only distinct between the identical faces.  

“What are you doing then?” She questions. At her glance, the child on the right hides behind Reaper’s cloak. The left one holds her gaze with a stubborn set to his lips.

“They don’t have anything.” He says, but the pleading tone is audible to her. Her brow tightens at this.

“¿Quien ese so, señor?” Says the child with the scar, he tugs slightly on Reaper’s hand.

She watches with silent marvel as he lowers his head, speaking just as he speaks to her. His gestures slow and careful, not meant to be threatening. His tone calming.

Ella es mi pareja.” He answers, and she gives him a raised eyebrow when he looks back at her.

“I told them who you are.” He answers, his voice quiet and she realizes for the first time, sheepish.

Her brow draws as she shifts her stance. Her movement causing both children to flinch. She looks over them. Their dirty cheeks. The ripped clothing. Ripping her gaze from their exposed toes on the cold ground, she settles back on Reaper.

She knows of his past with bringing in orphans and caring for them. He denies it when she calls him out on it, but he has a soft spot of misfits. Lost kids that need guidance. His days on Blackwatch a time that he has told her of. Jesse McCree is still a sore mark to hit, so she avoids any mention of him. Yet, Reaper stands with two little children attached to his hands.

Her mind is burning in this chaos that he has thrown upon her, but she knows he won’t just leave it be.

The child with the mole slips around Reaper’s cloak to glance up at her. One hand clutched between dark fingers, the other clutching the dark cloak. His shining eyes are piercing right through her. She wishes he’d look away.

“Where are they’re parents?” She asks, but before Reaper speaks, the child on the left takes one step forward.

“They’re gone.” He answers, his words tumbled in a thick Spanish accent and childish tones, but understandable. “Señor said he’d help us. Said we didn’t have to sleep in the cardboard boxes tonight.”

She looks over his hard set stare with gold irises. His mouth still held firmly, and looking back at her as if challenging her. Widowmaker shifts back to Reaper.

“Gabriel…” She whispers, her brow knitting together in concern. Every negative outcome searing through her mind.

“Amelie, I won’t leave them out here to die.” He answers, firm, but quiet. The dark man soft and gentle with the children holding his hands.

She stares back at his mask. His tan skin mixed with smoke and holes hidden. For a moment, a foolish thought of these being his children brushes through her mind. She already knows he won’t abandon these two kids, but she doesn’t know how it will end up for all of them. If Talon found out…

She closes her eyes one moment, before snapping back to attention.

“Let’s get you two cleaned up. You can’t eat with filth on your clothes.” She speaks, turning around and walking to the bathroom without a second look.

 Reaper gently tugs the children forward, and they follow meekly. Widowmaker waits for them to come to tiny bathroom the safe house holds. A small counter holds a sink. There’s enough space on either side of it to fit the two kids. She puts herself almost near the shower head just to give Reaper and the children enough space to fit inside. With careful movements, Reaper speaks softly to them in their native tongue. Then, he takes the first child, and he flinches at his touch. The mole on his left cheek flashing at Widowmaker as Reaper sets his small body on the counter. His little legs dangling off the side. Then, Reaper takes the other child, this one having less fear as Reaper sits him down.

“Vamos a limpiar te,” He explains softly, his growling Spanish making Widow’s eyelids tremble for a moment.

Pulling out two rags from the cupboard, she gives one to Reaper. At the exchange of fingers overlapping, he leans into her ear before whispering, “Thank you, arañita.”

She purses her lips before brushing her mouth against the side of his mask. The entire exchange done out of view of the children.

She faces them, before getting the water warm from the sink. Reaper does the same, but she faces the child with the mole on his cheek. Reaper gets the child with the small scar.

“Little ones, we’re going to clean you up. We’ll just wash the dirt off your skin, understand?” She repeats in English. Partly to see if they would understand her, and partly because she needs to talk to them. A small piece of her mind still not processing the reality that they’re entering.

They both give quick nods, watching them carefully. Little ducklings trapped on a stormy sea. These two strangers possibly the clear skies, or simply the eye of the storm.

With slow, carefully movements, she takes the arm of the child in her fingers. Raising it up to expose the dirty skin. Everyone watches her movements, the children and Reaper. The rag touches the child’s skin, and he breathes out softly as she begins to smooth it back and forth. Working the grim off. The child pulls his head back slightly from her, but his eyes watch her hands carefully. Occasionally flicking up to her face.

Viewing Reaper out of the corner of her eye, he sets to carefully cleaning the child. He is already holding his arm out for Reaper, watching him openly and with close inspection. Using his claws carefully, he begins to wipe the dust out of the child’s elbow cease. He closes his eyes for a moment at the warm touch of the cloth, before going back to staring at Reaper.

“Tell me, little ones.” She speaks softly, but still causing the child she cleans to flinch at her words. “What are your names?”

Their heads turn to exchanged looks. The child with the scar setting his mouth tightly while the one she cleans ushers a quick and breathy ‘No’.

“Andrés,” he blurts out, then leans back from Reaper’s touch slightly. As if expecting a bomb to explode.

“Andrés is a powerful name.” Reaper says, waiting for the child to lean back towards him so he can continue wiping away the dirt on the other arm. Slowly, he allows Reaper to continue. His mouth slowly relaxing.

“And you?” Widowmaker asks, looking into his eyes but his head is ducked. Silence passes for a moment, and she sighs softly.

“Name’s are important. You are important enough to have one, no?” She asks, taking his other arm and noting how discolored the rag already is. The shades of tan varying severely, causing a bad taste to fill her mouth at the negligence.

He lifts his eyes for a moment, meeting her gaze. Her fingers gently rubbing the cloth along the inside of his forearm.

“C…Camilo…” He breathes out in an almost inaudible whisper.

She glances up at Reaper. He looks back at her. Even with the mask hiding his face, she knows he’s sharing the same expression of uncertainty and mild panic at what they’ve gotten themselves into.

She turns back to Camilo. Gently taking his palm and wiping away grim that seemed to have been layered on for weeks.

“Since you told us your names, we’ll tell you ours.” She says, looking Camilo in the eyes when she speaks. He still doesn’t look back, and that concerns her. Eye contact is important, especially for trust. If he will not allow her to give it, how could he possible receive it? His brother seems to be more blunt and confident, but that doesn’t mean he’s unscratched.

She breathes out softly, before saying, “I am Amelie. This is Gabriel.”

He turns at the mention of his real name, but she’s not honestly expecting these two children to call him Reaper. They’ll both have to deal with their first names, whether they like it or not.

“Amelie,” Camilo whispers under his breath, glancing up at her. She gives a soft nod. His gaze darts over to Reaper, before murmuring, “Gabriel.”

“Señor Gabriel?” asks Reaper’s child while he still attempts to clean his fingers.

“Yes, Andrés?” He speaks as quietly as he can, not wanting to scare him with his rough voice.

“¿Es señorita Amelie tu esposa?”

Reaper stills at this, and Widowmaker looks to him for clues as to what was said. Her name the only obvious part of the sentence.

Algo asi.” He answers after a pause.

“¿S…señora Amelie?” Camilo trembles softly out.

“Camilo?” She acknowledges him gently.

“My face… is dirty.” He mutters, barely lifting his head towards her.

“So it is. Shall we change that?” She soothes him softly until he finally faces her. His brown eyes still piercing through her as she washes the dirt and grim from the rag. Soaking it once again in warm water, she returns to the child. His eyelids flutter at her hand’s approach, but she keeps her movements slow and gentle. Wiping against his cheek, she takes a layer of dirty off, and the child watches her silently now.

As she continues washing his face, her mind rumbling through every possible way this could end for them and the lost boys. Silently wondering what she and Reaper have just gotten themselves into.  

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Big Shows by Camilo Him @ Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week New York