l: drabble

“You know what I think?” I said, looking up at the sky.
“What?” He asked.
“Every time an artist dies, god lets them paint the sunset.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in god.” He questioned. I chuckled dryly.
“I don’t.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think I’ll get to paint the sunset? You know, when I die.” There was a beat of silence.
“Yes, yes I do.” He whispered.
I smiled.
—  // excerpt from the book i will never write // (#6) (23/365) by (DS)
Vegetta y Willy antes de que este se tire en paracaídas.

DRABBLE:


— Willy, yo sólo te digo que cómo te me mates… Ay, Willy…

Vegetta mantenía su teléfono móvil en la oreja en mitad del gran salón de su casa, mirando directamente a la vista montañosa que ofrecía el gran ventanal de la estancia.

— Si me mato hazme un bonito funeral.

Willy sonó jocoso desde el otro lado. La habitación de hotel de Dubai que compartía con su amigo estaba hecha un auténtico desastre pero poco le importó cuando se tiró en uno de los sofás para contestar la llamada.

— Willy…

El tono de reproche y desaprobación del otro lo hizo sonreír.

— ¿Eres tonto? Ya he saltado antes en paracaídas, Vegetta, no va a pasar nada… Hay que ver, entre tú y Frank me estáis dando el día. Vaya parguelitas…

Se estiró en el sofá buscando con la mirada a su amigo, el cual también hablaba por el móvil mientras entraba y salía de la habitación inquieto.

— Bueno, tú sólo ten cuidado y que te sujeten bien al chisme ese.

De nuevo sonrió e incluso soltó una carcajada. Vegetta desde el otro lado no aflojaba el ceño fruncido mientras jugueteaba a trazar garabatos con su dedo en el cristal del gran ventanal. Mierda, luego tendría que limpiarlo…

— Ese chisme es un señor profesional que sabe lo que hace. Ya hemos tenido esta conversación las otras dos veces que me he tirado. Madre mía…

Al pelinegro le gustaba reírse del otro y más cuando le daba esa vena de preocupación, la cual era a menudo debido a lo dado que es a vivir experiencias nuevas y diferentes.

— Madre mía lo que tengo que aguantar yo, chaval… Tío suicida.

Vegetta lo acusó sin pudor pero sonrió al escuchar otra carcajada de Willy. Casi podía imaginárselo riendo mientras se le empezaban a encender las mejillas. Cuando Willy calmó su risa volvió a hablar.

— Sólo hay una cosa que me preocupa.

El castaño se tensó y le dio la espalda al ventanal dando dos zancadas en dirección a la cocina. Si algo le preocupaba al otro a él entonces lo dejaría al borde del infarto. Pero qué bendita necesidad tendría de lanzarse desde un avión…

— ¡¿El qué?!

— Te has comido mis cereales en mi ausencia, ¿verdad?

Willy intentó aguantar la risa pero de nuevo no pudo. En su cabeza se pintó la cara que estaría poniendo el otro en aquellos momentos. Cerraría los ojos y negaría con la cabeza e incluso se mordería el labio inferior para no mandarlo a algún sitio sonantemente desagradable. Lo conocía a la perfección y así mismo estaba Vegetta al otro lado.

— Es que es tonto… Es muy tonto…

La sonrisita del chico tirado en el sofá pasó a ser una carcajada limpia que el castaño no pudo evitar acompañar. En ese momento la puerta de la habitación del hotel se cerró de un portazo que hizo que se reincorporara del sobresalto. Frank desde el otro lado del gran cuarto le hizo señas y gritó que debían irse ya porque los estaban esperando. Sobra decir que las señas y gritos estuvieron acompañados de aquella particular risilla con burlas pastelosas por la llamada de su amigo.

— Te tengo que dejar, ya nos tenemos que ir. Cómprame cereales.

Willy le anunció la despedida a Vegetta y pudo oír como este resopló.

— Que sí… Vegettita le compra los cereales al niño… Tú preocúpate de hacer todo lo que tienes que hacer en Dubai y así venirte ya pasado mañana que esta casa es muy grande para mí sólo.

De hecho miró la casa y se pasó una mano por el cuello mientras estiraba su espalda. Definitivamente si aquella casa era grande sin el pequeño revoltijo de Willy lo parecía aún más.

— Ya… La casa grande, ¿no? No es porque me eches de menos.

Ambos sonrieron como bobos al instante. Vegetta soltó otro suspiro y Willy se aclaró la garganta.

— Eso si no lo sabes tú ya…

La sonrisa ya esbozada de Willy se ensanchó y un plumazo de cosquilleos la quiso acompañar justo cuando Frank volvió a soltar otro grito desde la puerta de la habitación. Willy se reincorporó por fin y caminó hasta la salida.

— Me tengo que ir sino este se va a desquiciar todavía más. Te llamo a la noche y te cuento, ¡ciao!

Vegetta asintió como si el otro pudiera verlo y de nuevo otro suspiro se le escapó. Vaya, parecía que era la mañana de ellos…

— Vale, ¡ten cuidado! Hasta la noche, chiqui.

Chupetón. (Drabble Wigetta)

Lo único que veo, cuando cojo el móvil -el cuál no ha parado de sonar y sonar- son mensajes de Samuel.

“¿Ya me estás echando de menos?”- Escribo, antes de leer nada de lo que él ha escrito.

”- Contesta al segundo, y una sonrisa estúpida conquista mi cara, como si alguien estuviese tirando de mis comisuras.- “Pero veo que tú no mucho, ¿no?”- Es entonces, extrañado por sus palabras, que leo los mensajes anteriores.- “Willy, ¿qué tal estás? ¿Has llegado bien?”- Es el primero, y al que no contesté. Después, bajando y bajando hay algunos cuantos, pero mi vista se para en uno, uno especial que me hizo estallar en carcajadas, y es que solo a mi compañero se le ocurriría algo así.-“¿Qué es ese chupetón que tienes en el cuello, macho?”- Me lo imaginaba pronunciando eso en mi cara, con un tono reprochante, y una mirada oscura que echaría chispas.

Antes de que pueda contestarle al mensaje, Frank sale de la ducha, e intrigado por mi risa, se sienta a mi lado y me pregunta qué ocurre.

-Samuel.- Y eso es todo lo que falta para que él ría conmigo.

-¿Por eso la carita sonriente en Twitter?- Asentí, mientras ahora sí escribía mi mensaje para él.- “¿Celoso, Vegetta?”- Sé que lo está, pero me gusta regodearme, ya que él siempre dice que yo soy el celoso de la relación. Es bueno saber que no es tanto así.

-“Por supuesto, chaval, ¿no eres mío?”- Contesta a los segundos.

-“Bueno, Celosgetta, entonces será bueno saber qué ese chupetón me lo has hecho tú”- Y entonces, mis carcajadas resuenan por toda la habitación, mucho más fuerte que antes.- “Así que, antes de tener celos de ti mismo, es mejor que preguntes o te asegures, ¿sabes? Que luego pasa lo que pasa, y el mundo se revoluciona :)”- Aludí, sin abandonar la sonrisa.

-“Bueno, pues entonces, marcaré aún más mi territorio cuando vuelvas, que te echo de menos…”- De fondo escuchaba las burlas de Fran y es que estaba sonrojado hasta las orejas por culpa de Samuel, que incluso a la distancia, hacía que mi corazón fuese más rápido de lo que yo podía controlar.

-“Yo también lo estoy deseando z4”.

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write a fic where tiny de-aged Loki, but with his adult mind still intact somehow ends up falling asleep on Thor &/or Odin's chest

Yeeeeah, couldn’t resist this one. My six-month-old twins were inspiration for this. Written too fast. No editing. Pure crack.

***

Thor strides with purpose into the throne room, his long sought after prisoner in tow, captured at last. “Father.” He is breathless from both excitement and worry. The words tumble out in a rush. “Something has happened.”

And oh, how Loki wants to murder the great idiot. To phrase his dilemma so ineffectually—as if something has simply gone amiss with the weather or the baking of a cake—is unforgivable. He seethes, anxious little hands working at the fabric of Thor’s cape, wishing he possessed the power to rip it to shreds.

There is a pause and then comes the All-Father’s voice, strangely soft for all the memories of his rage. “… Loki?”

Loki might have clenched his teeth were he in possession of any, but all he is capable of is the strength to push at his brother’s ridiculously oversized chest and rear around to glare at his adoptive father. He rather hopes the heat of it lights the old man on fire. They will all suffer for this grave injustice.

Odin has descended from the throne. The look on his face is startled, but there is also something else. Something Loki does not want to name because it should not be trusted. It lights up Odin’s face, but he does not smile. Whatever he feels goes far deeper than that. “How? It cannot be.” He reaches out, intending to take his youngest son into his arms.

Loki pulls back to evade him. “I had much the same reaction myself, I assure you,” he bites out, so filled with ire, he can keep his silence no more. “And yet here we are. Go on, old man. Have a good look at my shame and be done with it. Yes, my physical body appears to have regressed in age a number of years, but do not assume for a moment that my mind is not my own. My wits are as sharp as ever. So I advise you, Odin All-Father, to address me with the respect due my true stature, else pay dearly for the oversight.”

This speech might have left more of an impression were it not delivered from the lips of a six-month-old infant. But as it stands, all Odin and Thor hear is a very long stream of furious baby babble. Loki is tiny, wrapped up in his brother’s cape, and beneath it, clothed only in the green tunic he normally wears under his armor. His little head is crowned with the first promise of shiny, black curls, and his tongue has lost the ability to enunciate words. He has only discovered and made use of the sounds “oooo” and “ughh” but has yet to master a single consonant.

“It happened on Midgard, in the heat of battle,” Thor explains, bouncing his baby brother in his arms to soothe his fussing. “He was in the midst of a working, and something went wrong with his seiðr.”

“How dare you imply I did this to myself, you insipid waste of air,” Loki says. Or means to, at least. In reality, it comes out in the form of a ten second raspberry aimed at Thor’s face. Loki then begins to flap his arms and legs in a desperate attempt to escape the palace grounds.

“Why is he so agitated?” Thor asks.

“Most likely, he is in need of food and rest,” Odin says. “Those needs should be seen to first, before any attempt to solve this mystery. Now may I have my son, please?”

Loki rubs furiously at his face with his fists and kicks both legs together as he’s passed from Thor to Odin.

“Yes, I think a nap is in order,” Odin says, cradling the boy to his chest.

Loki tries to bite him, but all he can manage is to coat the All-Father’s tunic in slobber—at which point Loki becomes distracted by the sight of his own foot and forgets about everything else. He has no idea why, but he wants that foot. With his mouth watering in anticipation, he reaches out to claim it, and oh, the frustration he feels when he tries to bring it to his lips! It simply won’t reach, no matter how much he pulls.

“This is intolerable!” he declares.

Left with no other option, he pops three fingers into his mouth and proceeds to suck on them noisily. After a moment, his eyes drift downward, and he thinks, Oh, yes. Yes, that is good.

He settles down then—forgetting why he was angry, forgetting everything except the slow, gentle rub of a warm hand on his back—and falls asleep in his papa’s arms.

Family

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Where do babies come from?”

Dean manages to choke on air, his spit and his own tongue at the same time, coughing violently, while his six-year-old daughter watches him patiently as if it’s a day-to-day occurence to see her father almost dying.

“Where …?” Dean finally croaks. “Where the he- … where does that come from?”

Hope tilts her head and she looks so much like Cas in these situations it always makes Dean’s heart swell. Every single fucking time.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” she asks, sounding more curious than actually concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Dean brushes her off instantly. “So how does it come you want to know … well, that?”

“It’s just …” She bites at her bottom lip.

“What, sweetie?”

“Rusty, from school,” she says. “We were talking about families and he said that you and Dad bought me in a Walmart!”

Dean frowns, confused. In his daughter’s mind her words propably made total sense but he’s got no clue what she’s trying to get at.

“What are you talking about, Hope?”

She sighs the exact same way Cas does when he is irritated by Dean. “He said that only Mommies and Daddies can have babies together. And since I’ve got two Daddies you can’t be my real Daddies and instead …”

“Bought you in a Walmart?” Dean huffs. “Really? That kid’s got some nerves!”

Daddy …” Hope looks quite upset now, obviously affected by the words of a boy not older than a fly.

Immediately Dean takes her onto his lap and brushes through her hazel hair. “Okay, listen, baby, I won’t lie to you. Dad and I … we didn’t exactly um, well, made you. We’re not from the same blood. But it doesn’t matter,” he hastily continues because Hope doesn’t look too happy about all that. “A family is so much more than that!”

He kisses her temple softly. “You remember Bobby and the stories I told you about him?” He waits until his daughter nods. “He was one of my best friends, my favorite uncle and a father when I needed one. And he always said: Family don’t end with blood!”

Dean feels a lump in his throat by the reminder of Bobby, even after all these years.

“I loved him so much and he loved me and Uncle Sammy as if we were his own sons, you know? Nothing else mattered.

And it’s the same with us, Hope. We found each other! We chose each other! And that’s more important than anything else, you understand? We love you so much - me and Dad and Uncle Sammy. Don’t let some kid tell you otherwise, sweetie!”

“We’re a family …” Hope whispers.

“That’s right, baby! Always have been, always will be!”

She blinks a few times, obviously trying to process Dean’s words. Finally she looks up, right into her father’s eyes, just like Castiel. She is so much like the former angel that Dean has no fucking clue how she could doubt for even a second if she’s part of the family.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“But where do babies come from?”

“Um …”

Porno- Wigetta - Drabble Lime

Dedicado a la señorita @dally-in-real-life Que me dio esa palabra para que escriba 7u7 Toma un corason gey ♥

-Willy, préstame tu ordenador un segundo, él mió esta actualizando- Dijo Vegetta entrando en la habitación de su compañero -Claro, está prendido, yo debo ducharme- Dijo levantándose de su cama y entrando al baño.

Vegetta se sentó el la silla y comenzó tranquilamente a hacer lo que debía… Hasta que abrió la pestaña minimizada de Internet…

Vegetta sonrió pervertido al ver el título de la página “Porno Gay España

-Madre mia…- Susurro con una sonrisita en los labios. Vegetta quiso ver que tan lejos había llegado su novio con eso del “Porno”, abrió el historial de búsquedas y tipeó “Porno” para ver muchos resultados. En que anda Willy? Pensó con malicia.

El mayor de los dos chicos comenzó a leer los títulos:


-Trio Marica- Porno Gay España

-El dildo más grande- Porno Gay España

-Dando por culo a un joven- Porno Gay España

-Follando en el trabajo- Porno Gay España

-Mamadas grátis- Porno Gay España

-El Puño más salvaje- Porno Gay España

-Orgía de rubios- Porno Gay España

-Dos guardabosques- Porno Gay España

-Sobre la mesa de mamá- Porno Gay España

-Disfraz de Gatito- Porno Gay España

Mmh… Veamos que tal con “El puño mas salvaje”. Pensó Vegetta tocando el link.

El vídeo era sobre dos chicos de entre 20 y 24 años, follando sobre una cama. El chico que se veía mayor de ambos, tenía practicamente la mitad del brazo dentro del cuerpo del otro.

Vegetta sintió una punzada en su entrepierna, por lo que bajó la vista ¡Madre mía! Estaba duro!

Podríamos intentar algo así con Willy...Pensó poniendo su mano sobre el bulto de su pantalón. Vegetta cerró la página y fue hacia el armario de Willy, donde guardaban todos sus “juguetes” para sacar un lubricante, tampoco quería lastimarlo y dejarlo con ese insoportable dolor que viene después de un puño…Lo decía por experiencia propia…

Comestible? O neutro?” Se preguntaba Vegetta “Comestible con sabor a fresas! El favorito de Willy!” Gritó mentalmente.

Tras esconder el lubricante debajo de una de las almohadas de la cama, se sentó en la silla de la computadora, a esperar a que Willy salga de bañarse


Un par de minutos después….


Willy salía de bañarse y Vegetta lo esperaba en la silla, intentando disimular el bulto que había crecido imaginándose besando la entrada de Willy, lubricandolo metiendo sus dedos, apretándolo para meterle la mitad del brazo por el culo…

El menor se sentó con las piernas cruzadas en la cama -Vegetta, quieres que salgamos a comer algo?- Preguntó sin saber que le esperaba dentro de un par de minutos.

-Claro- Dijo dándose vuelta para mirarlo -Pero primero, explícame algo, pilluelo...- Dijo sentándose en la cama y alzando a Willy para sentarlo sobre él. El menor se removió al sentir la dureza en los pantalones de Samu. -Qué es eso de “Porno Gay España”, eh?- Dijo tomando los brazos de Willy para hacerlos rodear su cuello. -Q-Que dices?- Dijo Willy totalmente rojo y nervioso -Ay, Chiqui, no te hagas el inocente…Estuve viendo tus “videitos”- Dijo abrazándolo por la cintura y atrayendolo hacia sus labios. -Ah, si?- Preguntó Willy notablemente menos nervioso -Y que te parecieron?- Interrogó moviendo sus caderas en círculos para provocar al mayor. -Pues… Me gustaría recrear uno...- Dijo con una risita pervertida -Cual de todos?- Preguntó chocando sus labios sobre los del contrario-…Haré lo que quieras…- Agregó mordiendo el lóbulo de la oreja de su novio- El del puño, chiqui…- Dijo atrapando sus labios en un beso que dejaría a los dos con los labios hinchados -Mierda…-Susurro Willy sonriendo.-Trae el lubricante…-

Los mil y un orgasmos | Wigetta Lemmon

Sexto Orgasmo: Actores


Guillermo después de darse una ducha y ponerse el atuendo dado por la producción, repasaba como tendría que ser el video de hoy. No tenían un dialogo pero él como su compañero tenían que seguir un guion echo por el director aunque podían jugar un poco si quisiese. Miro sobre la mesa y tenía la famosa pastilla azul, podía tomársela solo si el actor con el que participaba no le gustaba mucho pero hoy le tocaría con Samuel De Luque, había visto ya videos de él y no necesitaba nada que lo ayudara a excitarse teniendo semejante Dios Griego.

Salió al lugar de grabación con ropa deportiva, lo primero transcurriría al aire libre y lo principal en las duchas del gimnasio. Como si fueran a entrenar.

Ellos se saludaron con un pequeño abrazo de compañeros, no se conocían en absoluto ni tuvieron la suerte de encontrarse en fiestas de la empresa por eso su conversación fue casi nula. Samuel llevaba solo un short negro y ninguna camiseta, en diferencia de Guillermo que si llevaba una de color blanco que se ajustaba a su torso.

— ¡Acción! — el directo grito dando la orden que cada camarógrafo se pusieran en el lugar exacto para que esto pareciera lo más real posible.

Samuel y Guillermo hacían ejercicios de rutina los cuales practicaban diariamente pero esta vez era diferente porque era el primer momento donde ellos concedían en el mismo horario y no podían no empezar lo hermoso que era el otro. Se encontraban a una distancia importante pero sus ojos estaban conectados en todo lo que el otro hacía. El menor había llegado mucho antes que el por eso siguió con los ejercicios de estirar cada musculo que trabajo, miro de reojo como la atención de su compañero seguía sumergido en cada paso que daba. Giro su cuerpo dándole la espalda, separo lentamente un poco sus piernas y tiro su cuerpo hacia abajo, haciendo la pose básica para estirar sus muslos. Cuando su torso lentamente subía siento una mano en su trasero.

 

—Ven vamos a un lugar más apartado, pequeño. — susurro en su oído poniendo la voz mas ronca que podía salir. Guillermo mordió su labio sonriendo y se alejo para que lo siguiera.

Mientras caminaba Samuel admiraba el hermoso culo de su compañero de actuación, y sus largas piernas. Y no eso no estaba en el guion. Pero el director no se quejo.

 

La grabación se detuvo por unos 5 minutos hasta que pudieron volver a acomodarse en el nuevo set, ahí iba a transcurrir la magia.

 

Samuel llevo sus manos a la cintura de su acompañante acercándolo a él para que sus erecciones chocaran, Guille soltó un hermoso suspiro tirando su cabeza hacia dando acceso a los calientes besos del mayor en su cuello. Caminaban sin separarse, besándose, recorriendo con sus manos cada espacio del cuerpo del otro. Samuel se alejo solo un poco para poder retirar la camiseta de su compañero, tenia un torso mucho mejor de lo que Samuel se imaginaba. Estaba leventemente marcado y su erección creció mas, esto no le había pasado con ningún actor.

 

A la mierda el guion.

 

Guillermo lo miro confundido porque esto no era lo que seguía, Samuel estaba desnudándose completamente pero nadie de la producción lo detenía entonces el “Show debe continuar”, copio la acción de él y también quedo desnudo ante sus ojos. El mayor sonrió y lo tomo fuertemente de los muslos alzándolo, lo puso contra la fría pared de ese baño logrando que Guillermo soltara un gemido muy ronco.

Ambos se movían buscando mas, se besaban con desesperación con lujuria pero sin cariño, necesitaban sacar toda esta excitación que tenían en sus cuerpos. Se habían olvidado que eran actores que casi siempre fingían todo lo que hacían esta vez lo disfrutaban de verdad y  que les den a los demás.

 

Dejo a Guillermo en el suelo, y lo giro abruptamente para que quedara de espaldas a él. Este respondió abriendo sus piernas y tirando sin vergüenza alguna su culo hacia atrás, dejando que Samuel hiciera lo que quiera.

 

—Follame ya por favor. — rogo el menor.

 

Samuel le dio una nalgada por querer adelantar las cosas pero solo logro que este tuviera más placer. Se arrodillo, y separo con sus manos para poder admirar el hermoso botón rosa que poseía, sin dudarlo llevo su lengua hasta el dándole el mejor beso negro que había recibido en su vida.

El menor inclinaba sus caderas buscando más placer, mientras era follado por la lengua del otro actor. Su mano izquierda estaba solo para auto complacerse. Cuando Samuel vio que eso había sido suficiente escupió en su mano para lubricar su miembro, abrió un poco más las piernas del menor y con dos estocadas se encontraba adentro de él.

Esta vez no usaban condón por orden del director.

 

Aunque los dos estuvieran acostumbrados a saber lo que era ser penetrado, el mayor prefirió esperar un poco repartiendo besos en la espalda de Guillermo para no lastimarlo. Sintió como las caderas de este se movían buscando darse placer, pero Samuel lo freno sosteniéndolo fuertemente de su linda cintura y penetrarlo lo más fuerte que podía.

 

Los dos eran solo gemidos y maldiciones, buscaban quitar toda la excitación que se habían producido por un simple juego. Cada uno de la producción estaba fascinado por la escena que les estaba quedan, el mayor no dudaba ningún segundo en tocar ese pálido cuerpo y Guillermo no podía parar de buscar los labios del mayor fundiéndose en un beso lleno de lujuria.

El menor abrió la canilla que tenía enfrente de él pero solo la fría, la sensación que le dio a sus cuerpos fue de pura satisfacción, sentían que ambos quemaban y nada podía parar eso. Samuel soltó un gruñido por la acción de su compañero y cambio un poco la posición. Encontrando el punto dulce de Guillermo

 

— ¡Oh Dios s-si ahí!

 

Samuel siguió con sus embestidas fuertes y estaba cegado por el placer que le estaba dando ese pequeño.  Ya no pensaban en el otro solo buscaban acabar, paso menos de un minuto cuando se oyó el gemido de Guillermo y que su cuerpo casi se desplomara contra la pared. Había acabado sin tocarse, nunca le paso mientras grababa. El mayor a ver tal escena, saco su miembro para seguir estimulándose con la mano y en unos cuantos pero pocos movimientos soltó toda su esencia en la cintura del menor. Este con las pocas fuerzas que le quedaban por vivir un estupendo orgasmo, giro para fundirse en un beso de agradecimiento.

 

— ¡Terminamos, excelente día de trabajo! Ustedes ya son libres. — Cada uno de la producción se fue retirando del lugar para llevar dirigirse al siguiente lugar que era la edición pero ellos ya no participaban en ello.

 

Buscaron una toalla cada uno para secarse y limpiarse, los dos estaban en silencio porque sabían que lo de recién no había sido actuación, y lo disfrutaron como nunca.

—Espero volver a trabajar contigo compañero. — dijo Samuel guiñando el ojo y retirándose del lugar. Y Guille también esperaba que eso sucediera.



Espero que les guste! Gracias por leer

Twitter: willyftlouis

Wattpad: Sabri_wigetta 

headspacedeficit asked:

I think Tim's handwriting would either be utterly unintelligible because his brain is going too fast for his hand to keep up or as beautiful and precise because Janet Drake didn't raise her son to look messy to outsiders. By which I mean Tim got stuck doing calligraphy lessons every Saturday from 10 to 12 from ages 4-10.

Okay, so I got this ask more than a week ago and I’ve honestly been thinking about it A LOT so…


When Tim first starts learning his letters, he runs home after school to grab at the hem of his mother’s skirt to show her two sheets of paper, both lined, and filled with the alphabet in a child’s scrawl.

“Mommy! Mommy!” He calls out until she finally looks down and takes the papers from his hand. “Look! Mommy, I can write with both hands! My teacher said it was very neat and rare!” Tim’s beaming. His teacher had looked so impressed with him, had used a big word he couldn’t quite remember right now, but he knew it began with an ‘a’. He wanted his mother to be impressed too.

It didn’t turn out that way.

She says ‘that’s nice, sweetheart’ just as she does with everything else, puts a hand on his head to smooth out his hair, a light smile on her lips. The papers don’t end up on the fridge like how he imagined they would. Other kids talk about how their parents put important things on the fridge at home. Special things. He’s seen it on tv and he wonders why his mother and father only put his special papers on the counter top and don’t touch them again.

Tim’s shoulder’s slump. His mother doesn’t notice at all and Tim can slink upstairs to his room easily. He finds a box of crayons spilled out in his desk drawer and holds one in his hand, switching it from left to right, right to left, and wonders if he’s not as special as his teacher had said he was.

Later, his mother gets him a tutor. She hadn’t liked the progress he was making in school, had told him his letters weren’t legible enough, and so Tim finds himself spending two hours after school everyday with a pencil in hand writing and rewriting over and over again. He works on math too, on reading, science, but it’s the writing that’s most important. He’s good at everything else, but his writing isn’t perfect and, as his mother likes to say, all Drakes have perfect handwriting for all occasions.

He tries to learn it quickly, for his mother, but it’s hard when she barely looks at any of his progress.

Instead, Tim learns other things. Like how his tutor doesn’t like when he switches hands– he does it when one gets cramped up or just because he wants to– and his pencil is quickly slapped right out of his left hand any time it land in it. He’s scolded, said that his right hand is stronger, that his right hand is the right hand and soon whenever Tim thinks about picking up a pen or pencil with his left hand, he shakes.

Neither his mother or father seem to care when he mentions it to them, quietly, over dinner one night. His mother only asks if his cursive is getting better and his father questions on if they’ve started to practice his signature yet.

Tim feels defeated. He doesn’t say anything about his tutor to them again and silently learns that being right-handed is much easier than being ambidextrous.

By the time he’s ten his writing is flawless. He doesn’t need a tutor anymore. All his teachers praise his perfectly neat handwriting, both print and cursive, and are far too impressed when he actually signs his name on documents that ask for it. His parents barely notice. The fridge is still completely bare.


Dick’s staring at him. Tim can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from where he’s quickly writing down notes on a napkin before he forgets anything. Dick’s still staring at him.

Tim sighs. “What?”

“Aren’t you right-handed?”

This makes Tim take pause. He looks from the napkin to his right hand, wrapped up tight in a cast, broken. He’s barely able to wiggle his fingers still. He looks to his left hand, holding the pen a little awkwardly, his writing nearly unreadable as all the jagged letters press together in far too quick hand movements. Tim shrugs, feeling the spasm of muscle down his left arm, but refuses to let his fingers actually tremble.

“I’m actually ambidextrous.” Tim throws out, goes back to writing before he forgets the thought in his head. “My tutor didn’t appreciate it though. Pretty awful with it now, but…” Tim shrugs again, feels like that finishes off his sentence properly. It doesn’t bother him. It shouldn’t.

“You’re awful with your right hand too,” Dick grins. It’s meant to be a joking little tease, but Tim still feels some sort of ache in his chest over it. “You write like a doctor.”

I was angry, Tim wants to say. It was some sort of rebellion. My mother died. I’m sorry. Not like there was anyone around to care anymore. He thinks of his mother. He thinks of how she’d be disappointed, then reconsiders and wonders if she’d actually have noticed. Tim frowns, doesn’t say anything back, and just continues on in his left-handed scrawl, trying to ignore the way his hand shakes. 

Daycare Drama

“What did you just say to me?”

Barry was completely still as he stared at the woman in front of him. He had simply come to pick up Michael from daycare because Len was off dealing with some business, and this… this… person was giving him a hard time.

“I said, Sir, that this is a respectable daycare facility and your… boyfriend… is not welcome here. He makes the other parents nervous and frankly I’m about half a second from calling social services because I’m fairly certain that a criminal” at that she sneered, “is in no way suitable to care for a child.”

Barry was shaking he was so enraged and to make matters worse she was holding their son out of his reach. Barry reached out for Michael because the three year old was reaching for his daddy but the lady kept him out of his reach as she instructed her coworker to call the CCPD. Barry looked at her incredulously,

“Excuse me. What?”

“I’m afraid we aren’t allowed to just turn over children to strangers, especially ones with apparent criminal ties.”

“Where is Mrs Marigold? She knows me. Please your upsetting my son!”

She snorted,

“Mrs. Marigold is on vacation and your son? Doubtful, probably a kidnap victim who is too young to know better.”

Was this woman for real? A kidnap victim seriously? Michael had begun to cry at this point and Barry was about ready to cry as well. He didn’t even know this woman she was obviously new, a fill in for Mrs Marigold no doubt. At that moment the sirens and blue lights announced the arrival of CCPD’S finest. Eddie Thawne and Joe West walked in guns drawn and Barry really did start crying at that point,

“What’s going on?” Eddie said a bit frantically,

“We got a call about a kidnapping in progress and we knew this was Michael’s school… Barry? What are you doing here?”

Before Barry could even open his mouth the woman, and he should really get her name was right in Eddie’s face,

“Thank god officers! This man is attempting to take this child off the premises and I have reason to believe that he has known criminal ties.”

Eddie looked from between her and Barry and nodded,

“Uh…huh. OK Miss…?”

“Van Buren, but you can call me Jessica.”

Eddie looked highly uncomfortable at the moment,

“Ummm right. Well let me take the child… alright? ”

She handed Michael to Eddie giving Barry a triumphant look as he went willingly

“Unca Edy!” Michael cheered grabbing Eddie’s ear causing the other man to laugh,

“Hey there champ. Let’s get you back to your daddy ok?”

And Eddie handed him over to Barry much to the dismay of Miss Van Buren…

“But officer! This man is…”

“My brother in law,” Eddie cut her off,

“And a CSI for the Central City Police Department, and this child’s father, which you would have known, had you checked the records before casting your harsh judgemenal attitude due to what you think you know about my other brother in law. ”

Speaking of… the door to the daycare crashed open and Len walked in, in full Cold gear. Joe walked in a bit sheepishly behind him,

“I called Len.”

Barry facepalmed,

“I can see that.”

But Len just walked over to Barry and kissed his head then leaned down to kiss Michael’s.

“What. The. Hell. Is going on here?”

Barry smacked him in the chest,

“Len! This is a daycare!”

“Could’ve fooled me. Looks more like a circus? Look,” He gestured over at the slack jawed teacher,

“They even have monkeys!”

Miss Van Buren gasped,

“How dare you!”

Len advanced on her, towering over her smaller frame easily,

“How dare I?! How dare you! You caused my husband undue stress. My son was crying. My father in law had to call me from the parking lot to tell me some teacher at my child’s school was accusing my husband of kidnapping our own child! You’re lucky I don’t ice this entire place!”

His outburst had gotten louder and louder and suddenly Michael was crying again. Barry attempting to shush him and Len looking over a bit guilty. He hadn’t meant to get so worked up but this was exactly what he was worried about when Barry had suggested daycare. People judging them based on his former life. He hadn’t been Captain Cold in a while and Commander Cold was a hero in this city.

The woman was looking properly cowed and Len gave her one more glance before moving back over to his family pulling Michael into his arms and wiping his tears,

“It’s ok buddy, daddy’s not mad at you. Not ever. OK? We’re leaving. And I’ll be having a discussion with Mrs Marigold about the… type of teachers they are employing.”

With that Len steered his family out of the daycare. Everyone inside let out a sigh of relief that was short lived as the sound of the cold gun going off had them rushing to the window,

“Ummm” Eddie said, “who drives the toyota camry?”

Miss Van Buren rushed outside and let out a scream at the sight of her frozen car. Everyone looked at Joe who smiled a bit,

“I may have had dispatch run her tag number and I may… have passed it on to my dear son in law… maybe?”

Eddie had to sit down he was laughing so hard,

“I can’t wait to tell Iris”

anonymous asked:

Re-reading the PA verse for the 4th time (I'm obsessed, you're amazing), and sort of near the beginning there's a line that says: "That is the night that kisses on the mouth become a real reward, though, so all in all, good night." But a scene in which kisses on the mouth become a real reward isn't included. Any chance you could shed some light on what their first kiss was like?? Thanks!!!

The boys are being loud in the living room, sound of a game filtering into the kitchen. Harry hums to himself, chopping onion and trying to convince his eyes not to water. Needless to say, it’s not really working.

The sound of the fridge opening doesn’t really distract him from his task. The boys raid his fridge all the time.

“Ugh, why do you have such gross hipster beer?” Louis complains, slamming the fridge shut.

Harry blinks down at cutting board. “It’s Carling,” he says blankly.

Louis scoffs, boosting himself up onto the counter beside Harry. “Exactly,” he says triumphantly, as though Harry has proved his point.

Harry blinks again, going back to his chopping. From the corner of his eye, he can see the swing of Louis’ feet, knocking into the cabinets. “Stop that,” he says mildly, nudging Louis’ knee with his elbow. “You’re gonna mess up the paint.”

“I want tacos,” Louis says abruptly. He bangs his knee against Harry’s side. “Make me tacos.”

“Poof, you’re tacos,” Harry says emotionlessly, tossing a handful of onion into the waiting pan.

Louis kicks him. “Tacos,” he repeats insistently.

“I have a great idea,” Harry says, stirring the veggies in the pan, “why don’t you go out and buy yourself a taco.”

For a second, Louis is quiet, clearly contemplating his options. “If you make me tacos I’ll let you kiss me,” he bargains.

Harry snorts, setting his spoon down on the counter. “Not gonna fall for that one again.”

“On the mouth,” Louis says. The spoon clatters as Harry’s hand knocks into it. “For two minutes.”

“Are you being serious?” Harry demands, turning the heat off abruptly. He can’t have this conversation while there’s food cooking.

“Tacos in exchange for a kiss,” Louis says, bobbing his head. “I’ll even let you have the kiss first.”

Before he can change his mind, Harry’s surging towards him, cupping Louis’ face in between his hands and kissing him. It’s off center and hard at first, until Harry inhales through his nose and tips his head a little, and then.

Christ, Louis can kiss. He lets Harry lick inside his mouth and pushes back against every swipe of tongue, and before Harry knows it his hands are in Louis’ hair, holding him still and pressing him back so far he’s practically flat on his back on top of the counter with Harry’s hips cradled between his thighs.

Louis tastes a bit like beer, tongue slick and hot against Harry’s, making low noises in the back of his throat. Harry’s so into it, so into him, that he doesn’t even notice Liam walking into the kitchen.

“I fucking knew this would happen!” Liam shouts. Harry blinks slowly, dazed, rubbing his thumb across the curve of Louis’ cheekbone.

Louis clears his throat, but his voice is still husky when it comes out. “I’m gonna slap you if you don’t get off of me within the next five seconds.”

Harry goes, holding his hands up peacefully. He resolves to do everything in his power to get more of those kisses before the night is through and even more in the next few days.

And to keep from Louis the fact that he had been making tacos all along.

Flash freeze fic challenge

A blizzard is hitting the East Coast this weekend and you are going to want to hole up indoors.

It’s the perfect excuse to write a quick fic.

So @scribblscrabbl and I thought: imagine your OTP caught in a blizzard. 

And I thought: Write a shortfic. Post it to tumblr for us all to enjoy. 

No votes, no rules, no limits.

And even if you are far away from the snow, have a go anyway!

calling writers: @scribblscrabbl, @chasingriversong, @involuntaryorange, @my-citrus-pocket, @myk-myk-myk, @earlgreytea68, @bookshop, @ladyprydian, @teacuphuman09, @kedgeree11, @roosterbox, @burning-up-ao3, @consultingreaders, @conversationswithbenedict, @glasswing-butterfly, @haeronwen, @katiewont, @mary-jane221b, @bethagain, @sendryl, @sofia-gigante, @sibilantly

i just went through my list tagging people I know or think write. Anyone join in! Any fandom!

Shall we try to post by the end of the weekend?

rescue pt. 1

“What, no chaplain?” Levi drawls when Nile visits in the morning.

“Sorry,” spits the man at Nile’s side. “Maybe if you hadn’t tortured and killed Pastor Nick he might have shown up to save your sorry soul from damnation!”

“You have a visitor,” Nile says, ignoring his associate.

“Since when does the Commander of the Military Police escort visitors to Humanity’s Greatest Traitor?” Levi asks, holding up his shackled hands.

“When the visitor is the Queen,” Historia says stepping out from behind Nile.

She looks different from the Farmer’s Queen that Levi remembered who built an orphanage for children. Now she’s a noble’s queen. Zacklay has dressed her in fine silks and lace, but Levi knows her true garb is a green cloak. She knows it too.

“Leave us,” she orders.

They don’t. She doesn’t give commands. Her role as a Queen is limited to what Zacklay tells her to do and say and these men report to him.

“I wish to speak to the Captain in private,” she says, growing irate but Levi can still see that small little girl cringing there.

“Sorry your majesty, he’s dangerous, what if he hurts you?”

“Can’t do much with these chains,” Levi indicates.

“Are they treating you well Captain?” Historia asks. “Are they feeding you at least?”

The last meal Levi had was one of the rats that dared bite him while he slept. The guard moves the lantern closer and Levi’s flinches at the bright light.

“Oh Captain,” Historia gasps and then she has her delicate handkerchief out and makes to wipe at the dirt on his face.

Her fingers barely make it through the bars when he seizes her wrist and twists it. She gives a sharp cry and the guards quickly stick their bayonets through the bars. He releases her.

“You were just a scared little thing and now look at you,” Levi hisses through the bars. “Don’t forget, I helped make you what you are!”

Historia turns away hiding behind Nile, her whole frame shaking.

“Let’s go Your Majesty,” Nile says, escorting her from the room.

“Enjoy the dark, Captain,” the guard sneers.

“You ever wonder what happened to Sannes’ teeth?” Levi asks and the guard stops short, fists curling.

“Laugh all you want you Underground Rat, but they’re fixing to hang you by the end of the week.”

Ah so that’s when it is. Levi sits back and closes his eyes as they shut out the light. He rests his head against the wall and swallows heavily. When they’re finally gone, he gets up and wiggles the one loose brick, the one that allows him the smallest bit of light and he unfurls the silk handkerchief.

Don’t lose hope. They are coming.”

He truly hopes so. He really does.

“Because Chat Noir would be more than disappointed to see who I really am underneath the mask.”

– – – 

It was an odd string of events that led Ladybug to a young blonde boy’s room on a crisp fall evening; but there she was, having a heart-to-heart with green eyes that melted her soul. 

At least she was maintaining a conversation with him for once, something Marinette could never do.

It started with an akuma attacking the school. Before Marinette could successfully evacuate everyone, an explosion had injured Adrien and a few other students. Filled with frustration for not protecting the one she cared about most, Marinette took off and Ladybug made a quick appearance on scene.

Chat Noir didn’t show up, but he didn’t necessarily have to. Marinette’s failure drove Ladybug’s fury with the akuma. A white butterfly was released shortly after she had shown up. Her miraculous cleanse took most of the chaos away, making injuries far less severe than they had been.

Ladybug helped the injured students as much as she could, but was interrupted by the low beeping of her miraculous. She took off, leaving the rest of it in Marinette’s hands for the time being, already planning to pay a visit to a certain classmate’s place later that evening.

Keep reading

He Said Yes.


(Spoilers from 11x10)


His fingers clutch the steering wheel, unable to catch his breath after his brief but explosive run in with Lucifer, who Dean just found out is living inside of his best friend. He can’t escape the sound of his voice, Cas’ voice, as Lucifer sneered at him, telling him his plans, his reasoning as to why he’s needed against the Darkness, but the worse part, the one that stings is, Cas did indeed say yes. 

He said yes. Cas said yes. 

And it was Cas’ own voice telling him why. Why he would even do something so goddamned stupid as letting the devil wear him. “He felt useless. That no one would miss him. There wasn’t anyone telling him otherwise.” 

Keep reading

Pregnancy drabble #14

14. Shaving (full list)


20 weeks pregnant (belly about this size)


The hot water runs down your wet body, the steam from the shower fogging up bathroom. Justin’s as the studio yet should be back any minute now. You’ve been relaxing most of the day then decided to take a shower before Justin’s gets home. It hasn’t been the easiest for you to let him see you naked, you’ve been slightly insecure but he reassures you everyday you’re still the same beautiful girl he married. Turning the silver knob, the water immediately turns off, cold air rushing on your skin once you open the shower door.

You shiver, small goosebumps forming, while you wrap the microfiber towel around your body. Waddling over to the scale, you step on it on foot at a time, making a mental note of your current weight. Stepping off, you amble into the squeaky clean master bedroom, pausing at a full length mirror. You open your robe, your eyes scanning your body, your head titling to the side in amazement. You look better than you feel, you hear front steps near you, Justin’s cheerful laughter curling a smile on your lips. You slowly close the towel around your body, his body stepping into the frame of the door way. His eyes reflect over you. A wondering expression upon his face.

“Yeah, I’ll call you later Za,” He chuckles, standing straight up, leaving his lazy posture off the wall. He presses end, your fingers fumbling with the towel. “Hey baby,” He cooes, his lips merging against yours a moment later. “And hi my little man,” He grins, rubbing his palm against your belly. “Why are you in a towel,” He laughs, pulling the at the top with a smirk on his face.

“I was in the shower,” You giggle, swatting his hand away from the towel. He hums, trying to get peak at your bare body under the towel. “Can you do me a little favor actually,” You say, indicating the little favor with your thumb and index finger.

“Anything,” He smirks, tugging your slightly wet body to him. You shake your head at him in a playful manner, giving him a gentle push away from you.

“Can you shave my you know for me?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Your legs sure baby,” He shrugs, tugging his black hoodie over his head, his white shirt ridding up his torso, revealing his perfectly sculpted abs.

You lick your lips, twisting your lips to the side at his confusion, “No not my legs babe,” You pause. “I was going to in the shower but I can’t really see past my belly,” You babble, opening you towel, his head resuming to its upward position instead of tilting.

Oh you mean your,” He points with a small chuckle. “Sure that too,” He kicks off the all black vans on his feet. “Where’s your stuff?”, You point behind you to the bathroom, he wanders into the bathroom, your feet patting over to the king size bed, laying the towel out. He walks out momentarily, holding a razor in his hand and shaving cream. “Hold on, I need to get a cup of water.” He says, setting it down on the nightstand. You smile at your adorable husband, laying down on the towel. “So does this mean you’d shaved my balls for me if I needed you to,” He jokes, dipping the razor into the water.

You choke on your spit, wiggling your eyebrows at him, “When would you ever need me to do that,” You laugh, relaxing your head on the silk pillow.

“I don’t know, I could break my arms something,” He shrugs, many giggles leaving your lips.

anonymous asked:

aomine and his s/o move in together and while his s/o is rummaging through boxes she finds some kinky toys and aomine walks in on her staring at them so he teaches her about each one

Well, you didn’t mention nsfw so…here’s my attempt to un-NSFW this.

“Why do you have so many things?” You huffed, plopping down yet another box of Aomine’s things. He only chuckled and waved it off. But really, how did he have so many things to bring? “And what are these? Frames?” You shook the box marked ‘Closet Shit’. Aomine didn’t seem to have heard you because he went on humming as he unpacked his dishes.

Obviously he had been excited when you agreed to move in together, it had been something he’s been looking forward to for so long. And there you were, in your shared living room.

You ripped off the tape and opened the box to find all sorts of odd junk in there. “Dai, what are these?” You lifted some of them up, staring at them with confusion and curiosity.

A smirk spread across his face. “You don’t know what these are?”

“Is this to dust the tables?”

He burst out laughing at that. “That’s a flogger, baby.” He took it from your hand and slowly stroked it down your arm. Then he whipped it.

“Ow,” you jerked back more in surprise than pain. “What the hell was that for?”

“That’s what it’s used for.”

You narrowed your eyes at his dumb smile and grabbed it from him, whacking him with it.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

“Payback.” You touched the fluffy parts of the tool and grinned. “I was thinking of getting a new duster but this will do.”

“No.” He growled, snatching it away from you. “This is for the bedroom.”

“You expect to use that with me?”

“Yeah, thought you’d like to try it out.”

“What have you been using it for then?”

Pause. “To clean my tables.”

A round of laughter erupted from your lips. “I knew it! See! We can use that to dust the place.”

After going through a few more things, you grinned and picked up one last item. “Oh, this I know.”

“Don’t play with it. You’re going to regret it.”


Half an hour later, Midorima blinked at the two idiots standing in front of him with dumb grins. And handcuffs clicked around both their wrists.“How do you two manage to get stuck in the weirdest positions?”

“Luck?”

Tristeza y Dolor - Drabble Wigetta
Atenção: Podrias llorar con esto.
Escuchar con musiquita aqui

El amargo sonido del violín resonaba a su alrededor, envolviéndolo con una triste melodía que le llegaba hasta el alma mientras se encontraba parado al frente de la tumba de su gran amor, el puño cerrado tan fuertemente que la circulación se escapaba de sus dedos y la sangre comenzaba a brotar en el lugar donde estaban sus uñas; no sentía la lluvia, no sentía el frio, ni los pequeños copos que bailaban alrededor de su aliento; no sentía nada, no había sentimientos, no había dolor, no había perdida.

Las lagrimas caían pero él se sentía congelado en el tiempo, tieso y frio como los arboles que lo miraban quietos y taciturnos, quizás ellos si podían sentir su dolor, quizás no, quizás estaban cansados de ver a tantas personas que llegaban al cementerio a enterrar a alguien que amaban, o llegaban a llorar su dolor o solo llegaban a platicar con ellos, con las personas que se habían muerto, pero que seguían vivas dentro de los recuerdos. No lo sabía. No importaba. El, su amor, estaba muerto. Y aunque él seguía en el maldito mundo de los vivos, estaba tan muerto y enterrado como cada cadáver que se encontraba ahí bajo una fría lapida.

Cayo tan fuerte de rodillas, que el dolor subió hasta sus muslos, pero no lo sintió y así, bajo la nieve insípida y el sol oculto, lloro su dolor.

Despertó cuando las lagrimas calientes y saladas llegaron a su boca. Con el corazón oprimido y los ojos muy abiertos se paró de la cama. ¿Dónde estaba? Su respiración se acelero y su estomago subió hasta su boca un segundo antes que reaccionara y escuchara la música que se colaba de la sala hasta la habitación; reviso la hora; 3:40 de la madrugada.

Abrazándose a el mismo camino con cautela abriendo lentamente la puerta, camino hasta la sala sin hacer ruido y lo que vio le apretó el corazón. Samuel se encontraba parado frente al gran ventanal que daba una vista de toda la ciudad, con el violín en el hombro, tocando una desgarradora melodía, su silueta recortada por la temprana luz del sol, lo hacía ver como un ángel, los dedos se movían rápidamente sobre las cuerdas, mientras que con el arco daba golpes precisos, era perfecto.

Sin querer Willy movió una silla y un pequeño chirrido resonó en el lugar, Samuel dejo de tocar mientras que rápidamente volteaba la cabeza como un gato al acecho, sus ojos estaban muy abiertos y húmedos y las mejillas estaban manchadas de lagrimas; con el cuerpo tieso se acerco a Willy limpiándose la cara con los brazos, había sangre en sus pantalones y no llevaba camiseta.

― ¿Qué haces despierto pequeño? ¿Eh sido yo? ¿La música te ha despertado? Lo siento tanto, no pretendía…―Dijo rápidamente esquivando mis ojos.

― ¿Estas bien Samuel? ―Pregunte tomando sus muñecas y deteniendo el movimiento desesperado de sus brazos. ― ¿Por qué lloras? ¿Qué está mal?

―No es nada, amor yo…

Sentí el líquido tibio en mis manos antes de que pudiera reaccionar, la sangre se escurría de sus muñecas a mis manos y caía en el violín.

―Samuel… ¿Qué es lo que has…

―Willy, oh mi dulce Willy ―se soltó de mi agarre y tomo mis cara entre sus manos― Tengo tanto miedo, tanto miedo.

Junto nuestras frentes y cerró los ojos, respiraba de manera rápida, como si necesitara respirar el mismo aire que yo para saber que estaba ahí.

―Estoy bien, estoy aquí ―Dije mientras frotaba sus brazos y trataba de transmitirle toda la seguridad del mundo.―Sigo aquí contigo…

De manera rápida, junto sus labios con los míos, me beso con fuerza, con pasión, como si su alma se estuviera desgarrando y yo fuera su única salvación. No supe en qué momento del beso sus lagrimas se juntaron con las mías, y lo único que pude hacer fue seguir besándolo, entregándole mi alma, dándole todo lo que tenia dentro, tratando de curar su dolor.

El tiempo paso, y nos separamos hasta que necesitábamos aire, su frente pegada con la mía, el pulso de cuello latiendo bajo mis dedos.

―Soñé que te había perdido Willy ―Dijo Samuel con los dientes y ojos apretados―No puedo perderte, no sé qué maldita cosa haría si te perdiera, no puedo…

―Shh, silencio, mi amor. No vas a perderme, Samuel te lo prometo, estaré aquí siempre a tu lado.

―Promételo Willy, ¡promételo maldita sea! ―Dijo con rabia, dolor y furia mezclados.

―Lo prometo Samuel, lo prometo. ―Abrasé su duro cuerpo, y solo en ese momento note que estaba febril. ― Necesitas dormir, ven, recuéstate conmigo.

Lo tome de las manos y lo acompañe al lavabo mientras limpiaba la sangre de sus muñecas, sus ojos estaban perdidos; se estaba volviendo cada vez más difícil traerlo de vuelta a la realidad. Una vez en la recamara, lo ayudo a ponerse la pijama, y con cuidado lo recostó, rápidamente Willy tomo su lado de la cama y un segundo después Samuel estaba abrazándolo, mientras caía rápidamente en el mundo de los sueños. Willy no pudo dormir, no podía dejar de pensar en su sueño, no se lo diría a Samuel, sabía que no era buena idea decírselo.

El tiempo paso, pero los episodios cada vez eran más frecuentes, cada vez veía más sangre, cada vez había más dolor, se estaba volviendo difícil.

―Promete que pase lo que pase, seguirás adelante, promete que estarás bien, promete que no me olvidaras. Le había dicho Samuel con los ojos abiertos y con el alma desesperada esa mañana.

―Lo prometo, ¿Alguna vez eh faltado en una promesa? ―Le contesto tomándole la cara entre las manos.

―No, nunca lo has hecho pequeño. Samuel lo tomo de las manos y lo beso, como si se le fuera la vida en ello. Tiempo después se dio cuenta de que había sido un beso de despedida.

No recuerda mucho de ese día, las imágenes, los sonidos, las palabras se encontraban mescladas. En su cabeza solo se escuchaba la melodía que había tocado Samuel esa madrugada. El dolor sordo en su pecho no hacía nada más que asfixiarlo. El ya no estaba.

Con una rosa morada y los copos cayendo llego al cementerio, habían pasado ya, mas de 2 meses, pero todo sentía justamente igual que en el momento que recibió la llamada que lo destrozo para siempre. Los copos en el aire bailaban, pero a Willy le parecía que competían por llegar a la tierra para seguir tapando a su amor, ocultándolo bajo el frio invierno. Su sueño había sido una premonición. Aquí estaba bajo los silenciosos arboles, solo el cielo veía su dolor.

Willy cayó de rodillas, pero esta vez mientras lloraba y gritaba maldiciendo al universo por el dolor que le desgarraba el alma, sintió una calidez a su alrededor embriagándolo con amor y llenado el frio vacio, con las notas de un triste violín.


Creo que es la primera vez que escribo algo triste se podria decir(?

Espero que les guste y diganme que tal me salio u.u ¿deberia intentarlo de nuevo, hacer mas? 

Recuerden que pueden seguirme en Twitter y Wattpad como: NieveEnSaturno

Besitos :)

You don’t touch your brother because Sammy is goodness. Sam is innocence. Pure. Keep him that way, god just please let me keep it that way. 

But you see the way that Sam looks at you and you can’t ignore the burn that runs straight down your spine when you lock eyes with your baby brother in the darkness between your bodies in another shared bed.

Don’t look at him like that. Hands away from Sammy is enough, eyes away from Sammy is better, mind away from Sammy is too much to ask. 

New day, new motel, new bed, familiar only in the way Sam’s heat bleeds into the sheets, ramping the temperature up in the cave under the blankets until you feel like you might just catch on fire. Sam’s as afraid to touch as you are when he worms his way closer to you in a room filled with Dad’s snores, but you think he might want it even more than you do.

The barest brush of his little body against your front, and you roll away from him because you can’t do that to him. You can’t wrap yourself in his heat and his warmth and his love. That should be for someone else. Why is he offering it.

You drink to forget him. Another forty dollars blown at a dive bar would make you feel guilty as hell except you earned that cash at a part-time job, and if you need it to buy yourself a bottle to forget about how bad you need your hands deep in your little brother’s skin, well any price is worth paying to forget that. So you stumble the half-mile home back to the motel, the white line of the road dividing into twins and quadruplets the longer you force one foot in front of the other.

Barely time to kick your shoes off before you’re hitting the bed hard enough that you know there’s no way Sam slept through it. You feel Sam moving beside you at the same moment you realize Dad’s bed is empty, and the jerk of anticipation makes you dizzy.

In one smooth motion, Sam is hovering over you, a sharp silhouette against cool moonlight with his arms and knees caging you in, trapped. You seek out his features in the black shape of his face, but don’t know if you’re creating them from an eternity of memories or if Sam really is that beautiful. 

He leaves the sweetest kiss on your lips when he knows you can’t stop him, and you know you’re done for.