okay listen i care about patrick stump and his mental/physical well-being very very much which i realise is probably creepy because he doesn’t know i exist BUT THATS NOT THE POINT HERE point is i care about the dude bc his mere existence means a lot to me, but i don’t treat him like some “smol pure lil bean who needs to be protected UwU” and neither fuckin should you
maybe it’s not happening as much on tumblr and i’m just seein’ all this shit on twitter but i’ve seen a ton of people all like “oH mY bAbY sOmEtHiNgS wRoNg” bc of him messing up lyrics like every night so far, this tour; people’re goin’ all tinfoil hat on it and tryina link it to the “family emergency” that happened the first night of the tour. and like, i get it, you’re concerned??? but there’s a thick line between “concerned for his wellbeing” and “iM SO WORRIED MY PRECIOUS LITTLE BABY I HOPE HES OKAY MY SON OH NO.” he’s a grown man with a wife and two kids, who’s come out the other side of a lotta shit; i can almost guarantee he’s probably fine. and even if he isn’t, dont fucking baby him, he’s a grown fuckin man who can handle himself not some kid who needs to be protected from the world.
us as a fandom have like a really bad habit of treating patrick like some lil kid instead of an actual grown man who’s - wait for it, are you sitting? cause a lot of y’all should be sitting, cause this is gonna shock the fuck outta you - capable of coping and functioning like a normal fucking adult. sometimes it’s fine, most times it’s fine bc it’s a joke or it’s done in part to comment on him doing something cute/being cute in general, but when it comes to shit like this take a step back and realise you’re kind of being a major piece of shit by treating him - even if he’s not gonna see it - like some fragile glass figure that’s gonna shatter at a moments notice. you literally don’t even know him, you just stan him, and it’s creepy to be that worked up about it.
The day they almost lost you - Batfam x Batsis (reader)
This is the PERFECT exemple of a request I received only a few days ago and will write before others I have received months ago purely because it inspires me a lot <3. Sorry if you send a requests like, six months ago and I still haven’t written it…Again, I really work on things that inspires me the most so it totally depends on the day and mood…Like for example right now, I miss my little 3 years old nephew and I could definitely write a story with a toddler in it ! So here we go, hope you guys will like it :
-Remember that time you lost me in the biggest mall in Gotham ?
-Oh my God (Y/N), how many times are you gonna remind that to us ?! Besides, you weren’t even two, you don’t actually remember it yourself…
You smile as you look at your older brother, Damian, mumbling something else you didn’t understand but that looked a lot like “and we found you anyway so…”, and shake your head.
You had heard that story a billion times, and you never really got tired of it.
Your brothers were suppose to keep an eye on you while your father was busy, and they had lost you in one of the busiest place in the entire city…Oh yes, how could you be tired of that ?
Whenever your four older brothers would annoy you, or be overprotective (which, not very surprisingly, happened a lot), like right now, as they were bitching about your boyfriend, Conner (Superman’s clone, and also your brother Tim’s best friend…needless to say, when your family heard you were dating him, they were a bit taken aback, arguing he was too old for you but…technically, you were actually a bit older than him, as when he was “born”, you were already four months old, and besides, you did whatever the Hell you wanted anyway), you would re-tell them the story as you heard it so many times (from Alfred mainly), and they’d instantly leave you alone, still feeling guilty about the all ordeal.
Sometimes though, you felt that maybe, it was that episode that made them so damn overprotective of you…Damian was right, you weren’t even two years old when everything happened, and you didn’t remember a thing but, even so, you still knew it was a big deal.
word count : 1774 words. genre : fluff (for once) synopsis : who knew a bar of chocolate could lead to a cute boy with blue hair and a sunlit smile? definitely not you. also cherry lip gloss.
✐ sfjjksdahfjaskdhf this one is revenge !!!! dedicated entirely to @fluffyyeollie who is the best person ever :^)))) !!! n who deserves some fluff so even tho ur girl be whipping out that angst like it was her money on svt albums ,,,, she be writing some fluff bcuz if ur angst is hurting me h o n e y , imma pull out the big guns of fluff ! :^)) ,, enjoy n suffer my beautiful stars. also gay bby fuckboy bestfriend! baek is probably my fav character i have ever written bye.
[2017/30/09] 9.01 pm .: new message from byun kid
⇒ oh my god where are you?
⇐ at the party duh
[ read 9.01 pm ]
[2017/30/09] 9.07 .:
⇐ why the hell aren’t you answering bacon?
⇒ sorry i just FACEPALMED for 6 minutes there.
⇐ oh shut up you piece of shit, come by the kitchen, i am trying to steal some of minseok’s chocolate.
⇒ could you have not told me that before? i am coming, give me like a minute.
[ read 9.08 pm ]
Sighing, you put your phone down, knowing that your best friend would probably get here in half an hour than the minute he promised because of something he probably found more delicious than pizza rolls, like a boy’s lips. Problems of befriending the fuckboy, you supposed. A really gay one at that, like that boy could be some good use for spotting hot boys in a crowd but when he left none for you, it didn’t help.
Lady Lysa and Lord Petyr had the third-story bedchamber to themselves, but the tower was small … and true to her word, her aunt screamed.
Something niggled at Sansa’s insides, making her stare off into the crowd living jovially into their cups. Sansa had spent so long trying to drive the emotion from herself, chase it off for her own survival. Like a loyal pup, it would sniff its way back to her, tugging at her skirts with it’s teeth, reminding her of it’s existence. Each time, she’d look down at it and nudge it away, it’s big sad wolf eyes pleading her to let it return to her side. Sorry, she’d apologize. There was simply no other way to live amongst the lion, but to cast her emotions out into the dark lonely weirwoods. Fear was always the strongest, and best at catching up to her before she’d have to steel herself to it and abandon it all over again. What she felt when her aunt screamed on her wedding night, however, was not fear that she felt deep in her belly, but it left it unsettled all the same.
It had begun to rain outside, driving the feasters into the hall one floor below, so they heard most every word. “Petyr,” her aunt moaned.
Sansa darted a glance to either side of her, looking for how the others responded. She’d been doing that a lot lately, waiting to learn the reaction of others, before she dared share a sentiment. He did that too, she noticed, Lord Petyr.
He acted so kindly towards her, at a time when it was unfavorable to do so. He risked much to pull her from the lion’s den, and tuck her away up high where only the birds could reach.
She touched her hand to the tiny lump in the pocket of her skirt. It was hard and unbending, though it ought to be, being that it was made of silver. It was a beautiful thing, and Lord Petyr would own no less. He was older, though quite fashionable. It was a contrast to the men Sansa had the misfortune to be around, and not an unpleasant one. Her cheeks would tug a little, pulling her lips into a smile whenever she noticed him in a new robe or cloak, it’s fabric rich and smooth. She didn’t know why something as simple as a wardrobe could have such an effect on her, other than because it so prominently displayed his differences from other men.
She closed her eyes trying not to think of the many times she’d bruised at the hand of other men.
“Oh, Petyr, Petyr, sweet Petyr, oh oh oh. There, Petyr, there. That’s where you belong.”
Her aunt’s shameless chorus in the background called upon the image of Petyr’s eyes. They were unlike any other, green with a touch of grey in them, cooling them, calming them. They were not the bitter frost-blue of her family or the searing wildfire-green of the Lannisters that surrounded her, but instead neither extreme climate. They were a steady stasis one could actually thrive in.
And hadn’t she done just that?
In all the time she had looked into them, as much as she felt her hands fidget and her stomach jump, she felt the safest. It was while in his ever attentive line of sight that she’d survived so many times over. He brought her here, for her safekeeping. He told her she belonged with her family, and with his same smooth voice and entrancing eyes, told her aunt that she was not her family, but in fact, his. Did he mean to imply that she belonged with him? Lord Petyr and Alayne. Her body shivered at the idea that she was to be with him and him alone. Had she ever felt that way with anyone before, or was it simply the lure of his eyes that made her feel thusly?
Lady Lysa’s singer launched into a bawdy version of “Milady’s Supper,” but even his singing and playing could not drown out Lysa’s cries.
Sansa squeezed the hard lump once more before she worked the pleats of her skirts aside, feeling for the gap to her pocket. She needed the reality of the metal again, as she had when he gave it to her to hold.
The wedding was rushed, Petyr scarcely had a chance to object. Not that he would. Sansa’s lips tightened and she wondered why she would have such a reaction to the circumstances of Lord Petyr’s matrimony. He was the one tying himself to Lady Lysa, why should she care how he went about it?
It was so different from her own wedding to Tyrion. Almost savage. Yet, Lord Petyr, of the soft silks and polished rings, embraced it. He chuckled as he was shuffled up the stairs towards his bride.
“Come, Alayne! Help us with your father!” The ignorant ladies beseeched her, tugging at his tunic. His clothes were not the kind to carelessly pluck and grab at. Did they not know that? They were lady’s maids, surely they understood the value of the material they gripped. She felt irritation bubble beneath her skin, threatening to surface.
His eyes found hers, and again she was caught. They laughed and pushed him towards his bride, peeling at the wrapping of his clothing. She followed along to appear more helpful than she had the courage to be. The second lady nudged her freely as one would a bastard, and exclaimed, “Help us!” They plead her as Lysa plead him.
“Make me a baby, Petyr,” she screamed, “make me another sweet little baby. Oh, Petyr, my precious, my precious, PEEEEEETYR!”
Sansa remembered laying a tentative palm on his shoulder, applying absolutely no pressure. She would not truly insist him to her aunt, a woman so disappointing in comparison to her mother, a woman she knew he loved.
He felt warm and solid under her palm and a familiar ache developed low in her belly. She had grown accustomed to the sensation whenever they made contact. She had felt it when Joffrey kissed her, before she knew better. She felt it when Ser Loras asked her to walk with him in the gardens. Where Lord Petyr was concerned, however, she felt it often and indiscriminately. Whether it was a polite kiss on the back of her hand, or when he brushed her hair over her shoulder, her breathing hitched in response. Whenever he whispered to her and let his lip accidentally graze her ear, she felt it the most, a warmth growing in her most intimate places.
Sansa was no babe. She understood what that feeling meant, having discerned it in her time as a lady. What left her confused and rubbing the pads of her fingers over the bumps and divots of the finely crafted jewelry, was how she could feel that way with a man so many years older than her. A man that had loved her mother, had married her aunt. It was absurd of her to allow a blush to color her cheeks at the private smiles he gave her.
He watched over her in a fatherly way, that was made clear enough when he picked their roles so distinctly. He may have traveled with her, but he settled with another. Aunt Lysa.
Her last shriek was so loud that it set the dogs to barking, and two of her aunt’s ladies could scarce contain their mirth.
As if they had when they were peeling his tunic down, exposing more of him than Sansa had ever since before. She knew what a man looked like without his shirt on, having seen the fighters in the yard strip and wring the sweat from their clothes before putting them on. Fight practice under Ned Stark’s insistence was grueling at times and often times required men to shrug free of the linen that heated them.
Lord Petyr lacked the barbaric traits of military men, and though society told her to value those strengths, Sansa had only ever wanted to shy from them. Lord Petyr appeared unperturbed by the way the women giggled and exposed him with each step up the stairs. Was he not embarrassed by his thin and pampered frame? Perhaps not in front of a daughter.
Sansa felt her teeth grind as she looked out at the feast. The ladies had pulled so much of his clothing free, carelessly in their levity over delivering him to Lysa. Care had not been taken to relieve him of the silver Mockingbird Pin that he’d used to fasten his clothing. The competent man he presented himself as, Lord Petyr pulled it from the tunic that lay hanging around his waist. “Alayne,”he requested specifically.
She moved to be seen by him. “Yes, father?”
His hand outstretched to give her something. Without thinking, she accepted what he offered, unsure of what it may have been. The weight of his small mockingbird pin landed in her palm and she stared back at him in question.
His smile was for the ladies that surrounded them, of that she was sure,because his eyes were for her alone as he said, “Look after this for me, will you?”
She nodded absently, too caught up in his gaze, trying not to allow her eyes to wander down his exposed flesh. The scar was not as frightful as she feared it would be and the smattering of greying chest hair only tended to minimize it. Sansa squeezed the pin in her hand, mindful of how it could prick her, if handled incorrectly. Out of everyone there, he made sure to give it to her specifically, his eyes soothing as he did. She wondered if he ever looked at anyone else similarly, and then instantly wondered why her muscles tensed over the idea of it, should he.
Her fingers touched to metal and she felt some small relief in verifying the existence of it. Lord Petyr would be pleased to see that she’d taken so well to the task he’d assigned her.
More one shots with multiple ships…skip the ones you don’t like.
It wasn’t really something she wanted or planned, but quite frankly, it knocked the wind right out of her and she didn’t object to it. It was more like their relationship hadn’t seemed like the intimate type until now…Sure, they held hands and cuddled, but they never kissed, and were fine with that, or…at least she thought they both were.
But now here she was, pressed down against the couch as N was kissing her quite roughly and sloppily (making it quite obvious that this was his first time, and he had absolutely no idea how to do this) when not even five minutes ago, they were half way through a movie. It…it wasn’t bad, or gross, she just…she just didn’t expect it. Quite frankly, she didn’t think N even knew what kissing was until this very moment.
It was when he stuck his tongue in her mouth that it startled her enough to push him off of her.
“T-Touko…” N whimpered, crawling off of her obediently.
“N..I…just what was that? Where did that even come from? I mean, it was bad of you or I disliked it…but you haven’t even expressed interest in that before.”
“But…but…Touya said that since we haven’t kissed before that it meant we weren’t a real couple, and didn’t we didn’t really love each other, so…I panicked! I started kissing you because I love you and want to be a real couple!”
Touko inhaled sharply. “Oh, honey…you know that’s just Touya being the stupid butt of a brother he is, and trying to mess with you. He’s still mad we’re dating since you left…”
“Then…” N whimpered, looking up at Touko with lillipup eyes, “we are a real couple?"
"Considering the fact we have shared romantic attraction, are exclusively seeing each other, and we LIVE TOGETHER…I’d say yes, N. We are indeed a real couple.”
“Real couples don’t have to kiss?”
“No they don’t, but it is typically a perk that comes with a relationship along with other intimate activities as long as both parties are willing.”
“C…can we kiss, though? …I liked it.”
Touko exhaled through her nose, and smiled softly in response. “Yes we can, Champ, Thanks for asking this time.”
Wally sat up on the roof of the school, clothed in a cream colored lacy dress, light pink flats, and a pink ribbon tied in his hair. He pulled his knees into his chest and buried his bright red face in the stiff garment where he let out a couple of tears.
This was so embarrassing…and proved that he was nothing more than a joke to his classmates. He legitimately couldn’t believe he had been cast as the princess in the school play. Did they not know he was a boy? Sure, he wasn’t as strong as the other boys, but it wasn’t his fault he was sick. He ripped the ribbon out of his hair and clutched it in his palm. This was so completely unfair.
There was a light knock at the door to the roof, followed by “Wally, you up here?” which was easily identifiable as May’s voice.
He then heard footsteps, followed by May kindly asking “do you mind if I sit next to you?”
When he didn’t answer, she just plopped down next to him anyway, not saying anything.
Eventually he cracked, and sneaked a peek to see her dressed as his prince with a red military jacket, white pants,and black boots, complete with a stage sword in it’s hilt, strapped to her waist. He teared up a little bit more, remembering how it was even more embarrassing that the girl he so obviously liked got cast as his knight in shining armor to even further emasculate him.
“Oh, Wally…” May cooed, tuning to face him, so she could pull him into a hug. “It’ll be alright…I know it’s embarrassing, but I got cast as a boy, so maybe it’s an artistic choice, like in Kabuki theatre, and–”
“No, it’s not!” Wally cut her off, raising his voice, and revealing his bright red,tear streaked, runny nosed face. “You got cast as the prince because you’re cool and charming and dependable! But…but I got cast as the princess because I’m being made fun of! I’m wimpy and awkward, and I look like a girl, and I’m not cool or manly at all! Plus I have this big, stupid crush on you that everyone knows about, which is just icing on the cake for our stupid classmates!” He shouted, breathing heavily due to the fact his voice was almost never raised.
May let him calm down a bit before she mumbled “I think you’re cool…”
“I said I think you’re cool!” May squeaked as her face heated up, “I think you’re cool, and attractive, and gentlemanly, and you make me feel like a girl, which NO ONE does, and you’re super smart, and kind, and you’re just really cool, okay?” she took a deep breath, “but…even if you weren’t all those things, I think I’d still love you.” She whispered to him before giving him a quick peck on the lips.
She was about to pull away, but the adrenalin filled Wally pulled her back for another kiss, only longer.
When he let her go, May squeaked out with her face completely flushed “see? You’re super manly.”
Wally, mimicking the color of her face replied “m…maybe I am.”
Silver recalled his unconscious crobat, and rolled his eyes as he hissed “Oh, I give up. At this rate, I’ll never beat you.”
Lyra huffed and walked past him, giving him a good “boop” on the nose before she released all her injured pokemon from her pokeballs and trurned to face him. “Oh cheer up, Silvy. You managed to put a hefty dent in all my Pokemon. That’s never happened before! You’re improving.”
“Not enough” he growled, fishing through his bag for max revives, and other healing items of the sort so he wouldn’t have to make a trip to the pokemon center.
It was now Lyra’s turn to roll her eyes as she assembled her pokemon in a line, and walked to the furthest pokemon from Silver. “Alright.” She announced, placing her hands on her hips, “it’s time for Momma’s healing kisses. Whose ready?”
Her Pokemon cheered in response as Silver scoffed, like kisses would actually do anything.
“First up, one for my typhlosion.” she stated, before giving him a quick peck on his forehead. He smiled smugly at Silver who was currently pretending not to be jealous.
“One for my slowbro.” Lyra continued before giving him short, but sweet kisses on both of his paws.
“One for my vileplume…” Lyra then bent down and kissed her on the cheek, and the vileplume blushed like she always did.
Silver scrunched his nose and turned away as Lyra continued her kissing train as if he were completely repulsed. Jealousy was one thing he would never admit, because it was completely stupid, ESPECIALLY in this situation.
He continued to act like a grump until something caught him off guard. Lyra wasn’t calling her pokemon by their nicknames, she always called her “precious little babies” by the nicknames she oh so proudly came up with. Lyra was clearly up to something, and just as he turned to see what it was, Lyra had already made her way to him and proudly exclaimed “And last but not least, one for my Skitty!"
She then pulled him in and planted on on him real quick. Sure enough, the moment she let go, Silver went rigid and flopped to the ground as Lyra cackled mischievously.
This was the third time this week that little Cheren had heard Bianca crying in their secret base (that was really just the overgrown shrubbery between the two of their yards that had a tunnel system that everyone knew about, but only they used, cause they were the only ones small enough to fit) and this time, he had decided that enough was enough, and he really needed to get in there and see what the matter was.
He got on all fours and crawled through the small hole down a short path that led to a little circular area that was littered in blankets, toys, leaves, and a little crying Bianca in the corner.
The scene was more heart breaking than he imagined, and he timidly shuffled over to her before he put his small hand on her shoulder. "Bi…Bianca?”
“Cheren!” the small girl cried out, before she clung to him and cried into his shoulder.
He timidly pat her back. “What’s the matter, Bianca? Did your dad yell at you again?”
She nodded softly in the crook of his neck before looking up at him to reveal her teary eyes and runny nose. “I..I left some Legos out and daddy stepped on one…when I tried to say sorry, he just yelled at me and told me I was a very bad girl, and…and that I wouldn’t get any dinner!”
Cheren gasped at the severe punishment.
“Mommy tried to talk to him, but he only got madder and started yelling at her! Lately Daddy has bad breath and gets mad really easy…what if I lose so many dinners that I starve?!”
She started crying again, and Cheren pulled out his pocket tissue pack and instructed her to blow in one…she did, it was loud and gross, and he dropped the tissue immediately. He then took both of her tiny hands in his.
“Bianca, listen. I’m going to be 5 soon, I’ll then be 6, then, 7, then, 8…eventually I’ll be old enough to marry you, and take you away from this place. It’ll be just the two of us, and you can leave your toys out, and even if I step on them, I’ll never yell at you or make you miss dinner. Does that sound good?”
“It sounds wonderful!” She beamed, embracing the four year old boy in a hug. “I wanna marry you now, Cheren!”
Cheren then gripped her by the shoulders, “I wanna marry you too, Bianca…but we cant until we’re 18. It’s against the rules. But until then, I’ll always be on your side, okay?”
“Mmm..promise me, we’ll get married when we’re 18?”
“I promise.” He stated, preparing his pinkie for a pinkie promise.
“Not this time, Cherry. We need to seal it with a kiss.” She said in the most serious voice a 4 year old could muster.
“Oh…ok,” Cheren squeaked, his glasses fogging up from the heat emanating off his face.
And so, the two shared an awkward, duck-faced, 4 year old kiss. There was no sparks, fireworks, or romantic tension; but at the age of four, the two knew they’d be together forever.
Now, most 13 year olds play hard, but few play as hard as childhood friends, Hugh and Rosa. The teenage girl with a hair style suspiciously similar to Sailor moon arrived at her best friend’s house at noon, played tabletop games till 3, LARP’d with foam swords, pillow shields and nerf guns till five, Ate a large dinner, cause they accidentally skipped lunch, had a tea party with Hugh’s younger sister till 7, played videogames till 9, and watched re-runs of Hoenn Rangers until they passed out.
That left Hugh to jolt awake at 11:45 in a cold sweat, remembering that his parents said they’d be home at midnight, and what would they find? Hugh and his FEMALE friend still over. He started sweating harder, this would look suspicious, Hugh would get in trouble, and Rosa wouldn’t be allowed to come over anymore!
He. Could. NOT. Let. That. Happen.
Hugh then scrambled over to his sleeping friend’s form and tried to shake her awake. “Rosa? C'mon, Rosa! Our parents said we’re too old to spend the night at each other’s houses anymore! If my parents find you here when they come home, we’ll be in big trouble!”
Hugh’s little lecture did absolutely nothing to stir Rosa awake, and a little bit of drool peeked out of the corner of her mouth.
“Stupid heavy sleeper!” Hugh hissed, going through this stress alone. He then decided to shake her more roughly in hopes to get her up. “Rosa? Rooooosssaaaaa!”
His friend’s eyes fluttered open groggily and she smiled as she saw him. “Oh, hey…it’s Hugh…hi, Hugh. I love you, buddy…!” she then lifted herself up to give him a light smooch before she drifted back to sleep.
Overcome by embarrassment and shock, Hugh passed out right on the spot.
The two woke up to find pancakes for breakfast, that neither of them were in trouble, and Rosa didn’t remember a thing of last night’s events, and Hugh had convinced himself he was dreaming.
A/N: I’m still unsure on if I want to put smut into this story. I mean, there will be smut in it at some point, but I’m not sure if I’m going to write it or just imply it. *shrugs*
The gentle roll of the ocean below was waking you peacefully from your slumber, your head burrowing deeper into the pillow. With eyes still closed, you stretched wide, each muscle gladly accepting the feel. At least until a large hand pulled you in closer to a warm body, a soft murmur groggily being spoken from Connor while still in a quiet rest. His words were inaudible as he shifted you against him, his other hand coming around to hold you. You wanted to melt, to wake him with a sweet kiss, but instead you inhaled sharply, the noise causing Connor’s grip to tighten. You couldn’t be doing this. No matter how good it felt, you couldn’t be doing this. Oh, but he smelled of nature and of the sea, of longing and of comfort. No, control.
“Connor.” You hissed, nudging his thigh with your knee.
He muttered something, his entire body turning so he could tuck his head into the crook of your neck. Despite your will to leave, you couldn’t help but react to the action, your body pushing itself ever closer to the heat of Connor. He sighed happily, the breath warm on your neck. You almost moaned, your teeth trapping your lip in between them to keep the noise from coming out.
“Connor.” You repeated, louder this time.
He stirred once more, lips moving against your skin as he spoke lowly, the words too quiet to hear. You couldn’t suppress the shiver that skittered down your spine, your hands fisting the material on his back.
Before you lost all semblance of control, you yelled, “Connor!”
That seemed to do it, his head moving away from your neck as two bleary, wide eyes looked to you, the normal chocolatey gaze darkened with exhaustion.
“(Y/N)?” His voice was husky and laced with sleep, his arms going limp around you.
Confusion followed by embarrassment flashed in his eyes, a red stain tinting his cheeks. Even with the look of mortification, he still didn’t move. You swallowed your pulse, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before meeting his gaze. A flash of pink appeared as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, his hands momentarily strengthening their grip.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” you breathed, pulling yourself closer to him.
The hands that were looped around his neck were tugging lightly on the edge of his hair, eliciting a small groan from him. The seconds dragged on as you inched closer to his mouth, your body stopping its movements when you were only millimeters away. You really, really shouldn’t be doing this…
All caution was thrown in the wind as you pushed up, closing the gap between you. It was nothing more than a press of lips against lips, his chapped ones against you too frozen to move. You pulled away, releasing your worry with a breath.
One word from him broke your restraint, your hands bringing his head back down to you. You rolled his bottom lip between your teeth, urging him to part them. He obliged hesitantly, his mouth moving cautiously against yours like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. You took full control, leaving no inch of his mouth unexplored as you swirled your tongue around his, untangling your hands from his hair. Your newly freed limbs pushed on his shoulders, prompting him to lay back without disconnecting your lips. His low groan was lost in your mouth as you attempted to throw one leg over his hips, a hiss being soothed by his tongue at the sharp pain in your leg.
“Connor.” You pulled away, both of your hands now on his chest to restrain him. He paused immediately, waiting patiently for you to react.
“Is something wrong?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Am I… doing something wrong?”
You wanted to melt in his embrace, his unsurity the most adorable thing you’d ever heard. You didn’t think you could love him any more than you already did, but his need for assurance made you do just that.
“No, it’s,” you winced, shifting your weight back to one side, “my leg.”
You were torn between cursing your leg and thanking it. With each breath you took, control seemed to be coming back. But it didn’t stop the desire building in your core. You needed him. If your leg hadn’t caused you so much pain, you were more than sure that you would’ve kept him in this room for at least a day. The sympathy in his gaze was shining above the lust, his arms unwrapping themselves from you.
“I am sorry.” He said.
You sighed heavily, resting your head on his chest. His heart was beating rapidly beneath your ear, a hand coming up to tuck back some of your hair. Though he seemed unsure if his affection would be welcome, he did it as lovingly as possible.
“I can’t stop myself.” You admitted after a beat of silence, the tension overbearing.
There was no way you’d ever love anyone as much as you loved him. So why was it so hard for you to be selfish for one damn minute? Because you wouldn’t stop, your mind supplied. It had a point. You wouldn’t stop, you’d do everything to be with him. Hell, you already are.
“Why must you?” Connor’s voice held honest curiosity.
He didn’t understand the implications surrounding your predicament. If you were to mess up one thing, it could have apocalyptic effects. You had to be careful and he was making it way too hard.
“Because I l-” You stopped short, closing your eyes. You couldn’t tell him. You weren’t brave enough. Sighing, you continued. “I left my time behind. Everything that you’re living right now, it’s already happened for me. It’s been hundreds of years, Connor. If I mess with the past, I could change the future.”
Silence followed, the sound of Connor’s heart speeding up almost as if he was preparing to say something. You were readying yourself with a basic overview of the details of time travel when he asked his question, the inquiry taking you entirely by surprise.
“Because you what?”
Your body tensed, eyes opening to look up into his brown orbs. He was holding his breath, waiting for you to speak. The silence was deafening, a million excuses running through your head. You could lie, could tell him something else, could do anything. But instead of all of that, instead of getting out of it, instead of making it easier, you told him the truth.
“Isn’t it obvious?” You asked wryly, a bitter smile on your lips.
You wanted to run, the instincts you’d adopted long ago urging you to flee. You didn’t do emotions, you did action. Mustering up every bit of courage you could, you spoke again.