Teddy Bear
Teddy bear, you were my teddy bear
You were comforting and quiet
How did love become so violent?
Oh, teddy bear, you were my teddy bear
Everything was so sweet until you tried to kill me
* Contains violence, character death, & sexual themes.
"The cookies, the cookies… they'll burn! Oh!" Oliver twisted around as he attempted to pass Alfred, feet skittering and tangling into the other man's. He began to fall, but Alfred caught him firmly, hand planted on the small of his back and lifting him up.
"Geeze Oliver, chill out, you're going to hurt one, or both of us," Alfred laughed along with his jab, pulling his hands back once the smaller blonde was stable in front of him. He brushed the front of his t-shirt off pointlessly and continued on with whatever he was bent on doing, most likely to make a mess of the painstakingly cleaned kitchen.
With his back to Alfred, Oliver clutched the rag in his hands to his chest, thumbing the torn fabric as his heart slammed against it. Where Alfred's hands had landed, a burn remained in the shape of his long fingers, spreading the heat wrapped around his entire body to his vibrantly red face. Oh Alfred, how could Oliver get anything done with your constant presence around, doing things like this? He was such a gentleman, in his own way, and he did not even know it.
"The cookies?" Alfred called, pouring a glass of milk in rude expectation, forcing the flustered man to rub his face with the rag and focus lightheadedly on his task.
"Oh right, right yes…" Oliver dashed toward the oven, feeling a wave of warmth hit his face as he stared in at the raised sweets, "Just in time!"
Oliver removed the cookies hastily, rag barely blocking the sweltering metal from his hand. He set the tray down softly, however, and wiped his hands in a show of completion, awarded with Alfred's slow clapping.
"You really didn't have to do this Oliver, it's just Arthur we're talking about," The impatient man reached for one of the steaming confections, but pulled back when the heat proved too potent.
"Well, it's one of your friends, I want to leave a good impression. I have to make myself useful," Oliver finished closing the oven and slapped Alfred's hand in its second attempt at a grab with his rag, frowning, "Go sit down, I'll bring one when it's cool."
"Aww, but your baking is so good Oliver, I can't wait! Ugh, unfair," Alfred stalked to the living room, nursing his glass of milk childishly. Oliver immediately turned away, gripping onto his face in delight at the compliment, smile creeping past his fingers. He would need to remember all of these moments for his journal tonight, he could not believe his luck so far!
With a giggle, he went to check the cookies, disappointed to find them barely settling. Flapping his rag, he willed a breeze to cool them as quickly as possible.
"Ugh, hurry!" Oliver hissed. He needed to get one to Alfred as quickly as possible! Or else Alfred would be disappointed, he would hate Oliver. How useless he would be, barely able to do anything at all for his friend. Alfred would scarcely be able to look at him, he would be disgusted.
Oliver had barely realized how violently he had been snapping the rag until the tone of the doorbell reached his ears. Alfred jumped from the couch, setting down his sweating glass without a coaster onto naked wood.
"Damn, he's here early," It barely took the tall man a second to reach the door, long legs taking him impressive distances in short times.
"Is that already Arthur?" Oliver called, with no response, watching innocently as the front door opened.
"Arthur! You look exactly the same!" Alfred blocked the doorway for a few seconds, obscuring Oliver's curious eyes, before stepping aside to allow the guest in.
"Well, it's only been a few months, so thanks I suppose…" Arthur Kirkland entered the house, removing his pea coat in a shy, yet comfortable manner. Oliver rubbed his hands nervously as Alfred took it for him, hanging it in the closet with ease, not having to balance on his toes like he had to.
Arthur was… pretty. Kind of. He was thin and waif like a fairy, or an angel, his mess of blonde hair incessantly messy against any styling. Oliver had only glimpsed his face before he had bent down to untie his shoes, but his green eyes were vivid, and his effortless cheekbones helped offset the childish roundness of his jaw and overall shortness of his frame. Alfred excitedly bounced around him, clearly annoying the man, but backed away when he began to straighten up.
"You wouldn't believe the traffic on the highway, unbearable really. I left early and I still barely made it in time," Arthur shook his shoulders in an attempt to welcome himself to the house, sputtering forward when Alfred clapped him on the back with his unrestrained strength.
"You totally made it in time for the best cookies in the world, warm!" Alfred looked up at Oliver, Arthur following his gaze. "Arthur, this is Oliver! He's my Mom's friend's son, he needed a place to stay for a little so he moved in with me!"
Retelling their origin story with excitement that made it seem as if it all had come into happening the day before, Alfred gestured toward the fidgeting man. Arthur kept eye contact, before it became apparent that Oliver was not going to speak or look away, and he coughed into his hand.
"A pleasure, I'm Arthur," The blonde walked to meet Oliver, extending his hand. Alfred's hand fell from his back, and Oliver let out a strained breath as it did, finally feeling his muscles unwind.
"I-I'm Oliver, the pleasure is mine," He giggled weakly, shaking hands with Arthur as his head swam worriedly. Too close, they were too close, Oliver could tell already.
"Did you make those cookies? They smell delightful, they remind me a bit of my own," Before Oliver could reply to the compliment, Alfred laughed boisterously, coming to meet the two.
"Arthur, there's no way your cookies are ANYTHING like Oliver's," Alfred seemed to find the comment hilarious, snickering into his fist. Unsure what exactly the implication was of the statement, Oliver swallowed in fear, until Arthur responded.
"Bugger," Arthur slapped the giggling man's shoulder, making it clear he was the one being insulted in the end. Alfred continued to laugh freely, leading the group into the living room, falling into his favorite recliner.
Oliver was not pleased, even if Alfred had complimented him, too stuck on the thought of the closeness the intruder and his dearest Alfred shared. With a better view of Arthur now, the fidgeting man felt a hot rush of fear, paranoia, and jealousy, able to appreciate just how handsome he was.
Handsome, not only, but Alfred must have thought he was cute, he certainly was. The Brit's ever-present blush was a sweet aftermath of the frigid weather outdoors, and, could it be, from Alfred's presence? How adorable.
Oliver had wrung the rag in his hands so tightly it left irritated scratches along his fingers, pink fabric ragged.
"Could we have some cookies, Oliver?" Alfred looked over his shoulder at the small man, causing him to scuttle away wordlessly.
"Dear God, don't tell me you treat him like a slave," Arthur sent a testing look toward Alfred, who waved his hand.
"'Course not, Oliver loves baking. I had to double my workout routine when he moved in just so I wouldn't gain weight," Alfred recalled lightly, eyes full of unrestrained delight as Oliver brought a plate of the gooey treats over. "You're the best, Oliver!"
The blonde pat Oliver's hand, a cold feeling the only twisted happiness the recipient relished in. With a polite thanks, Arthur took one himself, blind to the poison in the baker's eyes.
"Would you like some coffee or tea? I can get some while I'm up?" Aware his voice was uncommonly flat, Oliver forced a smile onto his face when the pair glanced his way.
"I- Actually, I could do with a cup of tea, if you don't mind. I could get it myself-"
"No! Don't worry, I'll get it ready," Setting the flower painted plate down, Oliver headed for the kitchen, smile vacant as he left their line of sight.
Clearing a bit of crumbs out of his throat with a cough, Arthur looked to Alfred, "How has school been going? Still working at that mechanics on the weekend?"
"S'all been good, rich people give wicked tips if you treat their cars right," Alfred continued to shove cookies into his mouth, leaving only one left for Arthur to eat. "Schools different, I have some English classes this semester so it blows hard."
"Let me take a look at your assignments later and I'll see what I can do," Arthur nibbled on the last cookie, unable to hold his composure against the aroma of the fresh treats.
So he was selfless too, how wonderful. Oliver watched a stream of steam escape the teapot, whistling against the onslaught of thoughts in his head. Before he had poured the water into his favorite teacup, he had already decided on his course of action.
"Tea's ready!" His voice resumed the cheeriness of its regular tone, balancing the porcelain saucer in his hand. In front of Arthur was a rug, impeccably cleaned but bunched perfectly near the edge.
"Oh, that was quick. Than-" Arthur began, but was interrupted as Oliver lurched forward, gasping as the aromatic water flew from the cup. Sizzling, it covered Arthur, making him yelp in genuine pain.
The teacup bounced across the floor, staying together, allowing Oliver a sigh of relief. He had been so worried the cup would shatter, but it went swimmingly.
Forcing a horrified expression, he scrambled to reach Arthur, hands flying about in uncertainty, "Oh, I am so, so sorry! I tripped, I-I," Oliver could feel tears appear in his blue eyes, barely able to choke back a smile in response.
"It's alright, ouch," Arthur had jumped to a stand, peeling his scorching, wet shirt from his chest.
"I-I'll get a towel!" Oliver dashed to the kitchen, making a show to trip slightly over the carpet again.
"Are you okay? I'll get you some clothes," Alfred placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, but walked away when the other shook it off. Oliver felt Alfred come up behind him, and he sniffled into his pale hand, not facing the other.
"Hey, it's okay Oliver, it was an accident," Alfred rubbed Oliver's back soothingly.
"Oh, I hurt your friend, I've ruined everything!" Oliver whispered pathetically, turning to push his face against Alfred's chest. Surprised, Alfred blinked as the small man nuzzled his face into his t-shirt.
"It'll be okay. Arthur can hold a hell of a grudge, but if it's an accident he'll totally forgive you," Alfred wrapped his arms comfortingly around Oliver, not able to feel the pace of the others heart quicken frighteningly.
"You think so?" Oliver looked up, eyes puffy and wide, lips wet from then tears that had dripped onto them. Alfred felt his face go red at the admittedly adorable sight, pulling back instinctively.
"Uh, yeah, of course. I'm gonna- I'm gonna go get some clothes for him," Alfred walked off, scratching at his face curiously. Oliver was jarred by his quick exit, but could not ignore the warm feeling that filed his body once again from Alfred's touch.
Had he been alone, he naturally would have begun humming, unable to contain the bliss that thrummed in his body. He would have danced, wrapping his arms around himself to retain the remaining warmth there. A hug! Such a strong, caring gesture, it made Oliver shake in the knees at the memory.
He could not wait around, however, he had to tend to Arthur, who may have just seen what conspired between the two. Keeping that wish silently inside, Oliver made his way back over to the soaked Brit, rag in hand.
"Here," Oliver walked up to him, not deterred when he flinched slightly. "I cannot apologize enough, I couldn't have been more stupid to trip on a carpet I knew was there."
"Oh, don't apologize, it was an accident. It didn't hurt too bad-" Arthur hissed instinctively as Oliver pat at the red skin of his neck, causing the other to pull back in panic. "I can do it myself, here."
Arthur took the rag from Oliver's hand gently, as if he were working with a terrified dog that shook at each of his actions. Oliver stepped back meekly, hands working over each other in front of himself.
"I got some old stuff, sorry it'll probably still be big," Alfred reappeared, carrying a t-shirt and pair of his flannel pajama bottoms. When Arthur saw the makeshift outfit he rolled his eyes, but took the clothes gratefully.
Arthur… was going to wear Alfred's clothes? Damn it, damn it, couldn't Oliver think his plans through before? Of course he couldn't, rarely was he ever so malicious. All he had wanted was for Arthur to leave, let him and Alfred continue on with their private, two person happiness, maybe even mess up his lovable face a bit. But Oliver had calculated wrong, and the unexpected outcome made his eyes fill with tears again.
Arthur turned back to him and waved his hands in a flustered manner at Oliver's tears. Unsure what to do, idiotically assuming the tears were for him, he reached out and pat Oliver's shoulder, spreading a retched coldness throughout his body.
"It's really okay, I don't think it burned me very much," Arthur twisted his neck to display the redness, free from blisters, as an assurance.
"Accidents happen," Alfred walked over, noticeably keeping some distance between himself and Oliver. This made a sob catch in Oliver's throat, confusing the pair who thought the issue at hand was Arthur's burn, not a twisted miss at love.
"I-I'm going to go to my room for a bit, feel free to catch up," Oliver rubbed his hand viciously across his eyes, stumbling to his room in a rush.
A few hours had passed since the incident, and Oliver had not emerged from his room at all. Alfred had attempted to bring him a plate of phone ordered dinner, but Oliver politely declined, not feeling hungry at all.
Instead, he went through the 5 journals he had completely filled over the months, beginning the day he began to live with Alfred. He chronicled each day meticulously without fail, a weather report, an overview of the day's events, and most importantly, Alfred. First it was just their interactions, the corny jokes he would crack, the stories he would tell, but then it became something more.
It became every step he took, every action he executed, time-stamped and recorded. Oliver would gush at it all, at the extra 30 minutes he spent exercising on Sundays, or at the crack he left open in the bathroom door when he showered.
Looking through it all, it was obvious Alfred cared for Oliver, was his conclusion. It would be unbelievable to think otherwise, with all of the history between them. All of his sweet actions, they were all for Oliver.
But Alfred was confused now. This Arthur had come, with more history and more wit, he had interrupted the blessed cycle the house held. Alfred was surely enticed by this exotic, new intrusion, but that's all he was, an intrusion.
In his new, fresh entry, Oliver crossed the intrusions name off of the page for the 75th time, before the reality of what he needed to do fully sank in.
Alfred and Oliver could never reach their love's full potential in a world like this. A world where other sluts came to their home and messed with Alfred's poor brain, a world where it was anyone other than the two for all of eternity. The thought of anyone coming near Alfred made Oliver ice over, eyes violent and not his own. He was sure Alfred felt the same way of course, but it was okay, he did not have to say it. Just like Oliver cleaned, cooked, and took care of them both, he could consummate their love on his own. Because it was for Alfred, to make his life easier, so he did not mind.
Slowly, he emerged from his room in complete silence, creeping down the hallway with a practiced ease. When he reached the kitchen, he peered in curiously, making sure unruly pink hair did not break his cover.
At the dining table, Arthur sat, glass of wine in his hand. Alfred was across from him, beer against his lips, seeming suspended as he waited for his friend to speak.
"Allen called me yesterday," Arthur spoke finally, after finishing a sip of red wine. Oliver recognized the bottle it was poured from, one Alfred kept in the cabinets but never touched, much preferring a can of beer to the sour wine. He had opened it for Arthur, even if the Brit enjoyed beer more, to keep the mysteriously adult aura about him, and Oliver held his breath to prevent any sound from escaping his mouth.
"How'd he sound?" Alfred seemed just as hesitant to respond to the comment as Arthur was to make it, drinking to cover the sliver of distaste across his face.
"I really… I really don't know," Arthur set the glass down with too much force, unable to steady his hands. "I thought maybe, maybe going to jail would finally wake him up. Maybe it would, oh I don't know, finally make him realize he can't keep living how he is, that I can't keep living with him if he lives that way."
Arthur had begun to cry, hands flying up to cover his face, shoulders vibrating with each sob, "But he sounded exactly the same… He didn't sound sorry or… sad to be away from me for so long. He didn't even care"
Allen, that was Alfred's brother no doubt. A delinquent, always causing Alfred and his family so much stress, Oliver had no warm feelings for him. He must have finally done it and got himself arrested, good riddance in Oliver's mind.
But it seemed… It seemed Arthur was his boyfriend, or at least in love with him, adding a layer to the story. Hearing the man cry, Oliver had half the heart to feel pity for him, but kept his feelings at bay until the scene before him was resolved.
Arthur had fallen into crying so quickly Alfred was frozen in diffidence, hand tightening around the beer can. The blonde began to clear his tears away when Alfred slammed his fist against the table, jaw twitching as his teeth ground together.
"That fucking idiot," Alfred pushed himself to a stand, chair scraping rough against the tile. Circling the table, he came to Arthur's side, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.
At first, Arthur reacted poorly, using all the strength in his thin arms to push Alfred back. However, when it failed, he let himself relax, arms falling to his sides as Alfred held him.
"I'll never be important to him, in the way you're supposed to be to the person you love. That's all…" Oliver could barely make out the pathetic whisper over the roar of blood in his ears, face getting darker with each second that Alfred held the person that was not him.
"That's a lie Arthur, and you know it. You know he cares about you," Alfred's words caused Arthur's hair to ruffle, hot breath moving past his ear. "I'm sure you know him even better than I do. He can't say what he means, and he can't grow up, he's worse than me."
Arthur nodded, weakly pushing back at Alfred again, and the larger man relented, moving back but keeping his hands on Arthur's fragile shoulders.
"But I'll kill him if he makes you cry like this again, I promise," The tear stained blonde could only laugh, clearing his face with the backs of his hands.
"Please don't, I'm sure that will only make me cry worse," Arthur returned to his regularly rigid stance, back ramrod straight and shaking Alfred's hands off.
Oliver, unable to stand anything else, stood and entered the kitchen without thinking, facing the two. Arthur quickly continued to clear his face while Alfred stood from his stooped stance to meet him.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I just wanted some warm milk before bed," Oliver smiled pointedly at Arthur, walking to the fridge with a bounce in his step.
"It's alright, I think I'll head out now," Arthur began to stand, but Alfred interrupted, voice causing Oliver to flinch.
"You shouldn't drive this late, you can stay in the guest room." Alfred offered while Arthur steadied himself with a hand on the tabletop.
"Oh no, I won't intrude anymore, I'll be fine driving," Arthur insisted, but received only strong opposition from Alfred, and surprisingly, Oliver.
"It's fine! That's my room, but I can sleep on the couch. It's been snowing quite hard, driving would be a poor choice," Oliver closed the refrigerator and sighed internally, regretting another person needed to be added to his plans.
"See, it's all fine!" Alfred clapped Arthur on the back, this time leaving his hand to rub a small circle in comfort.
"Oh well- if you really don't mind," The microwave rang out as the milk bubbled, accompanied by a smile from Oliver.
"Of course not, let me tidy up a bit and I'll be set," The mug seared his hands, but Oliver scurried from the kitchen, blowing soft breaths against the thick liqud.
No cleaning was necessary, naturally, Oliver's room as spotless as he left the entire house. The only thing left out was a single journal, purposely turned to the page where Arthur's name was scribbled into illegibility nonstop.
Oliver positioned it perfectly on the bed, finished his milk, and crawled into the closet with ease.
The knife he had smuggled underneath his sweater poked into him incessantly when he crouched down, but he ignored the minor pain as Arthur entered the room. He called out Oliver's name softly, and when he received no response, assumed the other had left the room.
Closing the door behind him, Arthur let out a ragged sigh, clearly emotionally drained from the day's events. The shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders slipped as he bent down to pick up the leather book sitting in mock carelessness on the comforter.
He froze instantly at the page it was turned too, manners escaping him as genuine fear set in. He thumbed through the crisp pages, shock setting on his weary face, covering his mouth when it fell open.
Before Arthur could turn to even think of telling Alfred about his discovery, Oliver emerged from the closet, knife in hand.
"It's very rude to look through people's personal things, isn't it?" Arthur dropped the book as Oliver approached him, hand moving to allow him to scream. Oliver quickly replaced the gaping mouth with his own hand, pushing the unprepared man onto the bed.
Killing Arthur was much too easy, but Oliver knew it would be from the start. A knife in the side, edges rough as he ripped it out before plunging it back in.
Arthur was letting out an onslaught of breathy screams against Oliver's hand, and the other could not even bring himself to smile at the fruitless gesture, hilarious in its pointlessness. Frankly it was annoying to have to kill an extra person, especially one as worthless as Arthur.
As if he could ever be a threat to Oliver and Alfred's happiness. What a joke, to think he could come in and play the hurt and helpless routine, like Oliver would be dumb enough to ever let that happen. To argue oh so stubbornly against staying here, but really relish in wearing Alfred's clothes, planning to sneak into his bed at night.
The joke was on Arthur entirely as he lost consciousness, and eventually his life, against Oliver's hand. He fell still against the bed, once thrashing and clawing limbs now limp at his sides.
Attempting to clear his hands of blood, Oliver crawled off the bed, looking down at his clothes. His pants and sweater would have to come off, but that was absolutely part of the plan anyway, leaving him only in an innocent button-up and underwear.
Wiping his hands off on his removed clothes, Oliver eyed the knife in Arthur's side. He would have to hide it in the back of his underwear with the elastic, hoping it refrained from scratching his skin at all.
Once he was clean and fully prepared, Oliver snuck from the room in exercised silence, not bothering to close the door on the murderous scene he left behind. At the opposite end of the hall, Alfred's door was shut, no light shining beneath it.
When he reached the door, Oliver put his ear up to it, listening intently for any sign of movement. He heard none, and assuming Alfred had already got into bed, he entered slowly.
Moonlight washed the walls white, illuminating Alfred's face as he stared up at the ceiling, clearly entranced in thought. When the door made a squeak, he cast a startled look at Oliver, shooting up.
"Is something wrong Oliver?" He asked, gaze still absent, and the obtruding man shuffled his feet.
"I couldn't sleep on the couch," A childish explanation, but one Alfred believed. Ignoring the selfishness he had shown by kicking Oliver out of his own room, he instead lifted his covers up.
"Kind of weird for two guys our age to share a bed, but as long as you don't sleep talk we'll be fine," Oliver's face lit up under the moonlight, and he bound toward the bed, crawling into the warmth with unbridled excitement. His body buzzed as he settled into the sheets. Sleeping in Alfred's bed, next to Alfred, it was incredible, but still happening. Of course he had spent his fair share of time laying in the bed while the other was out, but to have Alfred next to him now, it was like a dream. All because of Alfred's kindness, it made Oliver wiggle, burying himself in the sheets that smelled only of Alfred.
A clean smell, like the middle of the ocean, it washed over him and pacified him to motionlessness. Alfred was hushed next to him, laughing under his breath at the man's eccentric actions.
"Thank you," Oliver rolled over, wrapping his arms around Alfred, who sat propped up on his elbow. Oliver's bare leg passed by his own, wearing only his boxers, causing Alfred to jolt. He could not move away as Oliver hooked his leg around him and pressed himself even closer, inhaling into Alfred's t-shirt.
"Uh- Oliver," Alfred began, but stopped as Oliver looked up at him. The full moon made his entire face visible, lips plump and eyes lidded. The top buttons of his shirt were artfully undone, revealing the dip of his collarbones, neck pulsing with a rapid heartbeat.
Alfred swallowed, hard, as Oliver pushed him onto his back, positioning himself on his lap. Both were tremendously aware where Oliver had positioned his ass, pressing down on the most sensitive part of Alfred's body, the stirring of his hips not deliberate, but carnal.
"You can fuck me, Alfred" Oliver's vulgar language made Alfred twitch, hands still at his side. Unhappy with his stillness, Oliver reached for his hands and placed them on his hips, putting more pressure on the throbbing beneath him.
"I want to make you happy," Oliver seemed to be having an easier time keeping eye contact than Alfred, whose face was red with genuine surprise. Testing lightly, he rolled his hips, receiving a low sound from Alfred.
"I'll do whatever you want me to, you can do anything you want to me," Oliver reached out and traced his hands along Alfred's face, feeling the noble build of his jaw beneath his palms. "I won't say no."
The randomness of the situation did not seem to catch the American off guard, most likely having seen this scenario play out countless times in pornos. He was a college boy after all, it was not that difficult to surmise what was on his mind the most. Alfred ran his hands up Oliver's sides, slipping beneath his shirt to let his short nails leave a trail against his white skin. The strength beneath Alfred's hands made Oliver whine in his throat, leaning forward instinctively.
Alfred caught his mouth with his own and began an onslaught of kisses. They started on Oliver's mouth, then moved to his ear, licking the shell in a tickling motion. Oliver could not help the soft moans and pants that escaped him, becoming embarrassed when Alfred bit down on his neck and he let out a relatively loud noise.
"Be careful, wouldn't want Arthur to hear," Alfred whispered to him, making Oliver giggle a bit too much. Alfred bit onto his lip, and Oliver shook his hips, pleased at the full hardness beneath him.
Alfred grabbed onto Oliver's ass and squeezed, making him squeak in delight. He moved to repeat the action, but felt his hand brush past something hard on the back of Oliver's underwear.
"What's that?" He inquired, breathlessness of his voice indicating he did not wish to stop. Oliver sat up, pulling his hands away and setting them on his face, holding it with sheer delight.
The warped smile on his face must have unsettled Alfred, as the lust cleared from his eyes and he attempted to sit up. Oliver's smile only continued to grow as the tan man failed, tongue coming out to lick the taste of Alfred from his lips.
"We'll always, always be together, Alfred" Oliver did not hesitate to pull the knife from behind him, plunging it directly into Alfred's heart, slick sounds all that filled his ears.
Alfred could not produce any noise, shocked and gasping for air. Oliver made sure their eyes held each other's gaze until the struggle stopped, blood covering his hands as it stained the sheets.
Though his soul was gone, Oliver held onto Alfred's body until the morning, curling his fingers through the soft hair atop his empty head. When the sun began to rise, Oliver left him, knife still severing his chest.
Oliver spent the morning baking cupcakes, rat poison the secret ingredient of the day. Making sure to not dirty the sheets with crumbs, he brought one into Alfred's room, putting himself under the covers next to Alfred.
Though he was never a competitive person, as he ate one cupcake whole, Oliver thought back fondly on the previous day's events, agreeing with himself that winning really was the best.
Good morning/afternoon/evening
This is actually the first thing I've written in a pretty long time, so please excuse the simpleness of it or any mistakes. I'm hoping I can get back to my old level of happiness with my work as I write this. It's hard to find time in college y'know.
So basically, this is going to be a series of oneshots involving the 2P's, an exploration into what it is like to love one of them, or to be one of them. All of the chapters will contain some sort of sex and violence, so there's that warning. They are going to be loosely interconnected, meaning characters that pop up in some chapters will likely show up in others, or have their own single chapter based story.
Because of this, I have a few ships planned out, but definitely not enough to make this as long as I'd like to. So, if you have an idea or ship request, feel free to leave it in a review, or send me a message on my tumblr, aphparker! I can't promise I'll automatically do it, but if it sounds interesting I'll definitely give it a shot.
That's about it, so if you enjoyed please leave a review and let me know!
See you soon,
Parker
(P.S. The song at the beginning is Melanie Martinez's 'Teddy Bear'. If you haven't heard her, go listen, she's basically 2P England.)