Obsessed Fangirl

24 she/her Requests or suggestions are open! Especially if I haven’t posted in a couple days

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[plagued-roses]

MAGIC POTATO GO!🥔

[thaumbody]

here we go again

reblogging the golden potato

hoping it will work

that my life will get a perk

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Always reblog the potato.

[wreneddieilysm]

Rebloged.

[hellhoundfarts]

I need some good luck right now (I need money)

[hellhoundfarts]

Hi!! Is everything fine with you? Your last story was very good! Your Portuguese was also great! Thank you!

💞😽

-🌺

I’m great!! Currently trying to get back into art, so I’ve been focusing on that for a few days. Thank you so much, I’m glad you liked it!! 💕💕

-Ry

[njghtiee]

why didn’t you let me drown with you sooner?

⋆˚࿔ when you find out you're pregnant you're so excited to tell jason, you want to make everything perfect as you can already picture the emotion on his face and his joy. but when you get mugged and lost your baby before you had the chance to tell him you can't give him this pain, so you hide it from him as long as you can, suffering alone as the purest act of love

⋮ request

You wake up in Jason’s bed, curled into the warmth he left behind, his side still clinging to the heat of his body even though he’d slipped out at dawn for patrol follow up with Bruce. He kissed your forehead before leaving, he always did, murmuring a sleepy “Be back soon, sweetheart” before his boots carried him away. And you had smiled into the pillow, your fingers curling around the pregnancy test hidden beneath Jason’s t-shirts in the drawer.

Three weeks. You were three weeks along. Barely a whisper of a life, barely the smallest flicker of existence, but it was there, and you’d been holding the secret so carefully, keeping it tucked inside like something sacred. You had planned to tell Jason tomorrow night. You had planned everything. You’d even cooked an actual dinner reservation, not something you ever do lightly, not something Jason ever did without teasing you, but you wanted it to be special. You imagined the look on his face when you told him, the widening of his eyes, the way his breathing would stutter, the complicated twist of emotions, shock first, of course, then fear (he always felt fear when he cared too much), and then finally that softening he never let anyone see except you.

You imagined his hand trembling when he touched your stomach. You imagined him whispering “We’re gonna be parents?” with that gravelly wonder in his voice. All of that swirls inside your chest as you spend the morning at work pretending everything is normal, even though you’re smiling more than usual, even though you keep touching your stomach in distracted gestures, even though you feel strangely light despite the exhaustion you’ve been carrying for days. You should have known nothing good stays untouched in Gotham, you should have known that even tiny miracles are fragile in this city. You’re walking home after your shift, taking the shortcut Jason always tells you not to take, but the only reason you take it is because you want to get home sooner, you feel nauseous, dizzy, but you tell yourself it’s normal, it happens, it’s early. You don’t notice the men following you until it’s too late. Three of them, shadows peeling themselves from the alley behind the shuttered florist shop.

They don’t look like the usual Gotham scum, they’re too intentional, too quiet, too clean for the chaotic criminals who usually roam the city. The tallest one blocks your exit. “You shouldn’t walk alone this late” he says, but the way he says it tells you this isn’t about robbery. It isn’t even about you. It’s about who you’re connected to. “I don’t want trouble" you manage, stepping back, hand instinctively going to your stomach even though they don’t know. They shouldn’t know. They can’t know. “No trouble,” the man says, too calm. “Just a message.” You try to run, you really do. You fight, too, Jason taught you well, taught you how to kick your way out of a grab, taught you where to aim when someone bigger grabs your arm, taught you to never freeze. And you don’t freeze.

But three against one, and you haven’t eaten properly all day, and nausea hits you like a fist in the gut. They shove you down, your back hits concrete, a foot drives into your ribs. You hear one of them say, “He’ll get the picture.” The world splinters into noise, a ringing in your skull, the cold scrape of pavement against your palms, the jolt of impact when a boot catches your side so close to your abdomen you scream without meaning to. Everything flashes white, then black, then somewhere in between. They leave you there, of course they do, because they’re not trying to kill you, they’re trying to hurt him.

You drag yourself up eventually, shaky and trembling, vomiting once in the gutter from pain. Your hands are shaking so violently you can’t get your phone out at first. You want to call Jason, god, you want to call him so badly, want him to find you, want him to hold you, want to feel safe. But something stops you, because you know what’ll happen if Jason sees you like this. He’ll burn the city down. And worse, you’re terrified of what you already know deep in your bones. You’re terrified something is wrong, terrified that the ache low in your stomach isn’t just bruising, terrified that the small miracle you carried this morning might already be gone.

You get home on autopilot, stumbling into the apartment you share with him, locking the door with hands that don’t feel like your own. You go straight to the bathroom. You barely get there before the pain hits you in a way that steals your breath. It’s sharper than anything you’ve ever felt, an internal collapse, a tearing grief you’ve never known. Blood comes too fast, too much, too bright. You bite your hand to keep from screaming. You know. You know. You know. You slide to the floor and curl forward, forehead against your knees, gasping through the pain and the horror and the realization that the tiny flicker of life didn’t survive the violence you took. You cry, silently, violently, painfully, shaking until your whole body feels hollowed out. And all you can think, again and again, is you were going to tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow. And now there is no tomorrow.

When you finally crawl to the sink to clean yourself up, you stare at your own reflection. You look like someone else, someone emptied, someone scraped raw. You shower until your skin burns, you scrub away the blood, the dirt from the alley, the smell of fear, but nothing takes away the ache, nothing closes the wound inside you. When you step out, the apartment is quiet. Jason isn’t home yet. You’re grateful, you’re terrified, you’re destroyed. You put on one of his hoodies, the big gray one you always steal, because it makes you feel like you’re wearing armor. You sit on the couch and stare at nothing, hands wrapped around your middle.

When the door finally unlocks, your body jerks like you’ve been shot. Jason steps in, tossing his helmet onto the table, shoulders stiff from patrol, hair damp from rain, eyes tired but still sparking when he sees you. “Hey, babe” he says with that softened grin, walking over to kiss you. You go still, frozen, but he doesn’t notice. Not yet. He kisses your temple, warm and safe and so heartbreakingly gentle that it nearly knocks the air out of you. “Why’re you up?” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “You okay?” You nod, you lie. “Yeah. Just… long day.” Jason sighs, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Tell me about it.” Your throat tightens. You can’t. You can’t breathe the words, you can’t watch his face fall, you can’t watch hope die for a baby he’ll never know existed. So you lean into him instead, carefully, so carefully, resting your head on his chest while he wraps his arms around you without hesitation. His heartbeat thumps steady under your ear. Strong. Alive. Warm. And you break silently against him, eyes burning, throat tight, grief swallowing every corner of you while you keep your body perfectly still, perfectly calm, perfectly composed. He doesn’t know, he has no idea his arms are around someone who is bleeding on the inside.

You bury your face deeper into him so he won’t see the tears slipping down your cheek. He strokes your back and murmurs, “I missed you.” Your lip trembles. You force it still. “Missed you too” you whisper. Your voice cracks, barely, but he doesn’t push, he doesn’t know to push.

You want him to know but you can’t let him know. Not now. Not like this. So you cling to him quietly, sinking into his warmth, while inside you grieve alone for a future that vanished before it ever had the chance to bloom. And Jason holds you, completely unaware that tonight, in the safety of his arms, you are breaking beyond repair.

The days after the attack become a blur, a slow suffocating fog that never lifts, no matter how much sunlight touches the windows, no matter how often Jason reaches for you, no matter how many times you tell yourself to breathe. Every morning you wake with a bruise deep inside yourself that no one can see, every night you lie next to him with your back pressed to his chest, feeling the weight of his arm around your waist and swallowing down the sob that claws up your throat. He sleeps peacefully, unaware. Unaware that you lost something he never even got the chance to dream about, unaware that every time he kisses your stomach absentmindedly, like he always does when he pulls you closer in bed, your entire chest caves in. You get good at pretending. Too good. You laugh when you’re supposed to, you answer when he talks, you smile when he looks at you with those blue eyes that always saw straight through everyone, everyone except you now, because you’re blocking every window, every crack, every opening.

You don’t let him see. You can’t let him see. You tell yourself it’s to protect him. You tell yourself the guilt will destroy him. You tell yourself that if he knew, Jason would blame himself until he bled for it. But the truth is simpler and more selfish: you can’t survive watching the devastation on his face. So you bury it, deeper and deeper, until it feels like you’re walking around with a secret grave inside your ribcage.

Jason notices something is wrong almost instantly. He’s Jason, hyper observant, hyper attuned, made of instincts sharpened by trauma. He starts small. “Babe… you’ve been quiet” “You’re not eating much” “You okay?” “You’re jumpy.” “Did someone bother you?” You brush him off every time and every time it chips at him. He’s patient at first, trying to coax you in those soft ways he only ever shows you, sitting close, resting his hand on your thigh, brushing your hair back behind your ear, murmuring, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” But when weeks pass and you still stay curled inside yourself, he starts pacing more, starts clenching his jaw when he thinks you’re not looking, starts watching you with that particular kind of tension that only Jason Todd can carry, like he’s preparing for a battle he can’t see.

The problem is that Jason doesn’t know how to deal with secrets between the people he loves. He can’t. He’s lived a life full of them, used as weapons against him, used to hurt him, used to betray him. So every day that passes with you shutting him out feels like another betrayal he can’t name out loud. And you feel it. You feel the distance tightening like wire between you both.

Eventually the strain becomes something alive in the apartment, something you both tiptoe around. You start sleeping with your back turned to him, he starts getting home later, staying out longer on patrol, throwing himself into danger with more recklessness than usual. You hear it in his boots when he walks in at 3 am, the heavy, tired, angry stomp of a man who doesn’t want to be asked where he’s been. He still kisses you goodnight, every night. But sometimes the kiss lands on your cheek instead of your lips because you’ve already turned away. Sometimes his hand hovers over your hip but doesn’t settle, like he’s not sure if he’s welcome. And sometimes, those are the ones that break you, he lies down beside you but leaves a few inches of space between your bodies, breathing slow and controlled like he’s holding himself together with nothing but stubbornness. The worst part is that he doesn’t say a word about it. Not one. Jason stays silent, because silence is the only weapon he has left that won’t hurt you. But it hurts anyway. It hurts so much.

A month passes. Then two. Then three. And you think maybe you can just keep pretending until eventually the grief dulls enough that you can tell him the truth without breaking apart. But grief doesn’t dull, it grows teeth, it gnaws at you at unexpected moments, when a child laughs on the street, when you pass a maternity ad, when Jason puts his hand on the small of your back and the instinctive picture of a family flashes before you like a ghost. You start losing sleep, you cry in the shower so he won’t hear, you cling to him at night like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. And he knows. He knows something is wrong but you still say nothing. It gets to the point where he pulls away from a kiss one evening and murmurs, “You don’t want me anymore, do you?” You freeze, your lungs collapse. “What? No, Jason, no—” “Then why won’t you touch me?” His voice cracks on the last word and you realize you’ve hurt him more by hiding the truth than you ever would’ve by saying it. But still, you can’t. You can’t. Not yet, not like this. “I’m just tired” you whisper, lying again, hating yourself for it. Jason nods, jaw tight, eyes hollow. “Right. Tired.” He walks away, you curl into the couch and shake.

Two more weeks pass. You don’t see the explosion coming, not until it hits. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed folding laundry, staring at nothing, drowning in the same grief you carry every day, while Jason storms in, helmet still on, shoulders rigid, breath unsteady like he just barely survived a fight. He pulls off the helmet and slams it onto the dresser so hard the wood cracks. You jump and he notices, his eyes narrow. And something in him just breaks. “Just tell me,” he says, voice low, too controlled. “Tell me what I did.” Your stomach drops. “Jason—” “No.” He steps closer, running a hand through his hair, pacing in small, agitated circles. “No more. No more of this—this silence. This distance. You flinch every time I touch you. You look like you’re drowning and you won’t let me help. So just—fucking tell me what I did wrong.” Your throat closes completely, you shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Then why won’t you let me in?” His voice breaks. It shatters something inside you.

“I can’t lose you” you whisper, trembling, because it’s true, the moment you tell him, you’ll have to face it again. You’ll have to relive it. You’ll have to watch him bleed for something he didn’t even know he’d lost. Jason stares at you, chest heaving. “You’re already losing me.” The words cut through you like a blade. “Jase, no—” “You don’t trust me.” “I do—” “No, you don’t.” His eyes are burning now, blue and furious and heartbroken. “You shut me out. You don’t talk to me. You’re scared of me touching you. And you won’t even tell me why. So maybe you should just say it. Maybe you should tell me you don’t want to be with me anymore.” It’s too much, your chest crumples, the grief twisting so violently you can’t hold it back anymore.

“I lost our baby” you choke, and the words rip out of you like they’ve been waiting, festering, clawing through your throat for months. Silence. The kind that swallows the world. Jason goes absolutely still, every muscle, every breath, every flicker of expression freezing at once. His mouth opens, closes. No sound comes out. Everything pours out in one long, strangled flood. “I was going to tell you the next day—I had everything planned—I was so excited—Jason, I was so happy—and then I was attacked, and I tried to protect them, I tried—” Your body shakes so violently you can barely speak.

“I lost it in the bathroom while you were out on patrol. I was alone. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to hate yourself. And I just—I couldn’t—” Jason’s breathing is uneven, ragged, like someone is squeezing the air out of him. He steps back, a full step away from you like the weight of your words physically pushed him. His chest rises and falls too fast. His hands are shaking. You’ve never seen Jason shake. “We…” His voice cracks. He swallows hard. “We had a baby?” You nod, tears streaming down your face. Jason looks like someone just shot him. “And you… you went through that alone?” You sob, he scrubs a hand over his face, pacing backwards again, eyes wide, horrified, shattered. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was scared.” “Of me?” “No. Of course not. Of watching you blame yourself.” He lets out a broken, humorless laugh. “I blame myself anyway.” “Jason—” “I wasn’t there.” His voice is getting louder, wilder, trembling with grief he doesn’t know where to put. “I should’ve been there.” “You didn’t know—” “I’m Red Hood. I’m supposed to protect the people I love. And you—you were out there alone and—god—” He turns away, pressing a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking. Your heart cracks open watching him break. “Jason,” you whisper, reaching out.

He flinches, not because he doesn’t want you, because he doesn’t believe he deserves to be touched. “I can’t—” his voice fractures, “I can’t look at you right now.” The world stops, your knees go weak. Jason sees it instantly and the horror on his face deepens. “I didn’t mean—fuck—no, baby, I didn’t mean that, I just—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shaking. “I’m drowning.” “I know” you whisper, “I know, I am too.” “Why didn’t you let me drown with you sooner?” The question guts you because he’s right, because you kept him outside the pain and now he can’t find his way in. You sit on the bed, covering your face with your hands. Jason stands across the room breathing like he’s trying not to break everything he can reach. And for a long time, neither of you moves. It feels like the end, it really does, like something between you is splintering under the weight of everything you didn’t say.

Hours pass in silence. Eventually Jason sits down beside you, not touching, just close enough that his presence warms the air. His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not mad at you.” You nod weakly, still crying. “I’m mad at the world. At myself. At them.” He swallows. “But not at you.” You look up at him and his face softens in the way only Jason’s can, fierce and grieving and full of impossible love. “We almost lost each other tonight,” he says quietly. You nod. “I don’t want to lose you” you whisper, voice breaking. He reaches out, finally, hesitantly, and cups your face with both hands like you’re something fragile but precious.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs. “I’m angry and I’m hurting and I’m fucked up, but I’m here.” You break all over again, leaning into his touch, and he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you so tightly you can feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest. He buries his face in your shoulder and you can feel his tears. Jason Todd does not cry easily but he cries for this, for you, for the child you both lost without ever having the chance to know. “We’ll get through this” he whispers into your neck, voice raw. “It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna take time. But I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

You cling to him like he’s air, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the world. And slowly the fracture between you begins to close. Not perfectly, not immediately, but together.

[hellhoundfarts]

Hey, quick question, what the fuck? I’m totally not sobbing

[hellhoundfarts]

Damian x Brazilian wife reader. (Translated with Google Translate so it’s probably not 100% correct) I hope you like it 🌺, if you want something different just let me know!!

Not proofread so there’s probably mistakes.

Damian looking at you, his pregnant wife. His beloved, carrying his babygirl that will be here in less than a month. (GIRL DAD DAMIAN)

You look beautiful, in a yellow sundress that accentuates your bump. He admires you as you walk to the freezer in the kitchen. He’s leaning on the counter, just watching and waiting just in case you need help with anything.

He prefers you sit down and rest. You’re tired, sore and just cranky as hell. But you’re nine months pregnant, it’s to be expected.

So when you open the freezer and find your ice cream gone? You turn to him with a glare. It was there last night, you sure as hell didn’t finish it off. The culprit, is staring at you lovingly while leaning on the counter.

He should’ve known better than to eat the last bit of your ice cream and not replace it. To be fair, he meant to go out shopping but he wanted to stay home with you today.

And now here you are, scolding him in your native language.

Você acabou com o sorvete que eu estava desejando e não comprou mais?! (You finished the ice cream I was craving and didn’t buy anymore?!)

You throw your hands up in the air in frustration as you speak. Your bottom lip juts out and your eyes get watery as you rub your bump.

Eu queria muito aquele sorvete, Dami. (I really wanted that ice cream, Dami)

All he does is smile and embrace you while mumbling an apology into your hair. He loves when you speak to him in Portuguese. Of course when the two of you first started talking, he learned it immediately.

He loves when you do it, doesn’t matter if you’re scolding him or praising him. He thinks you sound so beautiful when you do it.

The past nine months, you’ve asked for a lot of things that you’ve been craving. He has brought home every single one of them.

He left in the middle of the night to go ask Alfred if he could make you spinach and artichoke dip. When he came home with it, you kissed him happily.

Meu homem perfeito, eu te amo. Obrigada. (My perfect man, I love you. Thank you.)

He smiled and brushed your hair behind your ears. Pecked your forehead and went to sit on the couch with you as you ate the dip with some chips.

Minha linda esposa. (My beautiful wife)

He muttered, staring at you. You smile at him, you feel your babygirl kick and you quickly grab his hand to place it in your belly. He places a kiss onto your bump as he mutters.

Meu mundo. (My world)

[hellhoundfarts]

Hi pretty girl! How are you? Happy Pride Month!!

Do you think you could do a Damian with a foreign reader when you have time? (In my case, I'm Brazilian! But you can choose.)

thanks! <33

-🌺

Hi lovelie!! I’m good 😊, I hope you are too. Happy pride month!

I’m currently working on it, I wasn’t sure how to start it but I’ve figured it out!!

(To anyone that wants to make anon requests/suggestions. Please choose an emoji you’d like to be referred to as.) 🌺 is obviously taken.

-Ry

[hellhoundfarts]

Tim walking past the coffee shop you frequented years ago. He glances inside the window as he carries on.

Until his eyes glaze over you, and his heart stops.

He stops in his tracks and turns to look back through the glass almost desperately. Searching for you.

He thinks he hallucinated, until he sees you typing on a laptop. He stares. His hand lowers the umbrella that he was holding. His movements automatic as he closes it.

The rain hasn’t stopped, It’s pouring. But he’s too stunned to see you. The rain soaking his hair and his clothes.

You look the same to him, just a bit more refined.

Fucking ethereal

He’s trying to get the courage to actually go in, say hi. Catch up. Something

But he’s stuck in that spot, reminiscing of what could have been if he didn’t dump you years ago.

You were too good, too sweet, he cared so much about you but he became robin. He couldn’t juggle you and being robin. He was hurting you. He kept lying about his whereabouts.

You brought it up to him. He lied. You could tell, but you didn’t say anything. He was young, he didn’t know he could have both.

His thoughts are interrupted when your eyes meet his through the coffee shop window. Yours widen in shock, as you witness the man you love, standing there. You tried to date, a little over a year after he left you. It never worked out.

He was it for you and now he’s outside. Staring at you, like you’re going to slip away. He is soaked, head to toe and it doesn’t even seem to register in him.

You wave him inside, a bit worried he’s going to get sick. He comes in and makes his way toward your table.

He sits down across from you and is at a loss for words.

“Hi, Tim”

He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Hi….wow, look at you!”

You chuckle awkwardly, heat rising to your cheeks.

“I didn’t realize I had that effect.”

You tease lightly.

“On me? Yeah, that never went away”

He spoke earnestly. You raise an eyebrow, a bit shocked at the honesty coming out of him.

He smiles as he combs through the hair on his forehead. Still as handsome as ever.

He stares, like he’s memorizing every bit of your face.

He did that before he dumped you. He catalogued every line, every freckle, every small scar, the specks in your eyes. He hasn’t forgotten you. To see you in person again, god his heart is beating out of his chest.

“You okay Tim?”

He clears his throat and looks down at his hands on the table.

“Yeah I uh— I just want to be honest about everything….Can I?”

You smile softly and reach for his hand.

“Took you six years”

[hellhoundfarts]

Oh my god, thank you so much!! Your writing is incredible!! Thank you so much for fulfilling my request!

-🌺 anon

I’m glad you loved it!! 🌺

-Ry

[hellhoundfarts]

Damian with a Tall partner! I hope you like it 🌺

That man is so secure and confident, even if he was average/below average height for a man, he’d have no problem with a tall partner.

So when you first started dating, you wanted to wear shoes that you loved, but gave you an extra inch or two. The second his saw those thoughts run through your head, he put a stop to it.

“Beloved, you don’t need to worry about being taller than me…” he spoke gently.

You stare at him blankly for a minute, you really wanted to wear the ones that gave you a bit of height, they matched your outfit really well.

He can tell you’re still doubting it.

“If not for yourself, then for me beloved”

Your heart practically stops. You slip them on, awkwardly staring at your feet before looking him in the eyes.

He’s leaning against the door frame to your room, smiling at you.

“You look stunning, let’s go show you off”

———————————

Honestly I think he loves having a tall partner, he can put stuff in his eye level and not worry about them getting mad they can’t reach or can’t find it. (Personal experience right there)

When you two decided to move in, you were both annoyed at the height of the counters in the kitchen. What do you mean you have to break your back just to chop some vegetables?

Bathtubs? Yeah yall need a custom one. Can’t really lay down to soak. Couches? Same dilemma. A lot of things are made for those of average height and it’s a problem. (I’m putting my husbands frustrations to good use here)

So custom build a house was a decision the two of you made. A new beautiful house, that was made perfectly for the two of you. The fact that it’s the coziest house ever. The big ass couches that are essentially day beds, the huge blankets that lay around.

You tried so hard to find really big blankets, you would go to order after looking at all of these really good reviews only to realize after it came in, that yes the blanket is huge….for short people. So the minute you found one that actually fit, covered your legs all the way to your chest and had room for Damian too, he told you to order as many as you wanted.

Damian making sure yall got an Alaska king bed, the two of you trying to lay comfortably in a queen bed was not working. Someone’s limbs would be off the bed if not both of yours. He immediately ordered the Alaska king. He just wants to lay in the bed comfortably with you.

I know that both of you love not having neck/back pain trying to lean down to kiss each other.

Oh god and just thinking about how this man would come home with custom tailored outfits for you!

Literally just bringing home clothes in your favorite colors and then colors that he thinks look phenomenal on you. CUSTOM MATCHING OUTFITS!!!!

Because let’s be real, clothing that fits perfectly is hard to find for anyone but especially for tall people. The waistbands of pants, the length of dresses. It’s uncomfortable in certain areas. You just know this man would be like, no, it needs to fit you perfectly. You’re not pulling at the seam under your arm pits anymore. You’re not buying a shirt that says it’ll fit but then it’s kinda cropped even though it wasn’t supposed to be.

As much as you see that there are men that love short partners, in my head, Damian is 1000% loving having a tall partner. He sees it as just one more understanding the two of you have together, another way to be close. I fear this may be canon in my head and nobody could convince me otherwise. That man would be a devoted loving partner and to have his partner have one more thing in common with him, he’d love it.

————————————————

[hellhoundfarts]

Hi! I don't know if you accept requests, but I'd like to suggest one with Damian X tall!reader. Thank you so much for your attention.

Also, I'd like to know if I could get an emoji to represent me (🌺 maybe). Thanks again!

I really should put that I 100% will be okay with requests!

But yes let me get to that!! Thank you 🌺

-Ry

[hellhoundfarts]

Hi! How are you? I just wanted you to know that you're one of my favorite Tumblr authors!! I love your writing! <3

HI!! I’m pretty good now that the family drama has settled! I hope you’re doing well :)

Thank you so much, that means a lot more than you could imagine and has definitely motivated me to continue to post more! :’)

-Ry

[hellhoundfarts]

I had a rough day the other day, may have been mild inspiration…I’m laughing so hard, I re read this HOURS after I posted and found two errors. I fixed it though!!

Damian coming home to find you staring blankly at the wall. Curled up under a blanket on the couch. You don’t even process that he’s home.

You look drained….lifeless. He’s never seen you like this before, god is he worried. He racks his memories as he closes the door behind him. His heart clenching at the sight of you. You still haven’t spared a glance. He doesn’t remember upsetting you. He doesn’t think it’s his fault…but boy is he worried it is.

He sits on the couch, in front of your view of the wall. You’re not looking at him still. This isn’t normal. He’s normally greeted with a big smile and questions and a few kisses. He reaches out to caress your face, a call of your name alongside it.

Your eyes find his slowly, but they’re so empty. Glazed over. You’re looking right through him.

“Beloved” he speaks gently, a hint of worry escapes with it. He’s almost desperate to have you look at him normally, smile. Anything.

He sees the moment your eyes focus onto his, realizing he’s there. There’s a gloss that coats them, tears building up in the corner and your mouth turned into a frown.

Your hands quickly cover your face. He moves, pulling you into his chest. Arms wrapping securely around your body.

His heart shatters as the sobs break through you.

His partner, his world, his beloved.

The rest of the night, he caters to you. You ask him to let you off the couch so you can go to the bathroom? He’s carrying you there himself. He has any drink you want, ready and in your hands in a few minutes.

He’s scratching your scalp and massaging your back. Complimenting you every few minutes.

You tell him that you should probably cook the food that’s been thawing in the fridge? Nope he’s ordering your favorite take out.

He saw his beloved with the weight of the world on their shoulders and wasn’t going to let that stand. He didnt do anything wrong, you explained that. He was happy to hear but he came home to a shell of his world and he had to fix that.

He washed your hair in the shower that night and scrubbed your body. He booked a two week vacation in another country. If you didn’t want to go where he originally booked, he changed it immediately.

[rhysspiecez]

Hello everyone,

Recently, I was accused of using artificial intelligence to write my work — more specifically, that my writing was created with the assistance of AI.

Writing has always been something I take great pride in. Throughout high school, I received academic recognition for my writing abilities and dedication to the craft.

Fanfiction and creative writing have also always been an important part of my life, as I know they are for many others in this community.

I understand that technology has advanced significantly, and some creators choose to use AI as part of their writing process. Personally, I am not one of them, nor will I ever be. I will always remain an anti-AI creator and strongly value authenticity within creative spaces.

False accusations like these can be incredibly damaging — not only to a creator’s platform, but also to their credibility, reputation, and confidence as a writer. I stand by my work completely and will continue creating content that is entirely my own.

AI generated content has become so normalized online that it’s starting to replace the value of real human creativity.

Art, writing, music, and fan works come from lived experiences, emotions, practice, and passion — things a machine cannot genuinely feel or understand.

Many AI programs are trained on the work of actual artists and writers without consent, often copying styles and ideas from people who spent years developing their craft.

Supporting ‘ human-made’ content matters because creativity is more than just producing something quickly; it’s about connection, individuality, and the effort behind it.

Creative spaces should continue encouraging real people to learn, improve, and express themselves instead of rewarding shortcuts that remove the human element from art.

- Rhys💕

[hellhoundfarts]

The way I was going to go into a whole rant and it honestly would’ve come off as rude.

I’ve read plenty of Rhys work, not once has it come off as ai written or “assisted”. I fear people see certain punctuation used and assume it’s ai. Like Rhys said, ai was trained on actual writing from humans, of course it stole the proper punctuation. But ai is not 100% right, it’s not creative, it is not original. So you would be able to spot those differences in writing.

Writing as well as this creator does, takes hard work and often times, years.

Fuck ai, please don’t ever sell yourself short by using ai to help you. You can create something beautiful and original. It takes time.

[hellhoundfarts]

Damian is smart. Incredibly smart and extremely observant. He had to be, it’s just how he grew up. League of assassins to being robin.

So he’s able to read you before you even know what you want. He’s always prepared.

He notices you’re quicker to frustration and agitation? A bubble bath is drawn with rose petals in the water and some epsom salt. He’s got your favorite wax warmer on, lights turned off with food and a drink on the tray for the tub. Your nice, fluffy, robe all ready for when you decide to come out of the tub.

If you’re out shopping or just having a date night, there’s always an extra pair of clothes and shoes in his car. He’s had spares in the car since your very first date where you knocked over a glass of wine onto yourself.

You never run out of your shampoo, conditioner or body wash. He notices before you do, it’s always under the sink in the bathroom. There’s been multiple times where he’s brushing his teeth while you shower, you’re talking about your day and you pause as you try to squeeze out some body wash. You’re about to open the door to ask him to grab you a new bottle but it’s already open and he’s handing you the new one while throwing the old in the trash.

You’re about to ask him to change your laundry to the dryer because you forgot? It’s already done. He knows you don’t like laundry and it slips your mind a bit, so of course he makes sure you have clean clothes for the next day.

Don’t worry, you can read him really well too. You notice the taught shoulders, the lips in a thin line, the glare at nothing in particular. You drop what you’re doing, pull him into you and lay down on the couch. He protests, saying he’s “fine” but you don’t let him up. You just continue to run your fingers through his hair, he eventually falls right asleep on top of you.

Or those moments where he just stares at you, gently, eyes never leaving you. You look at him confused for a moment, until you realize he’s just admiring you. You give him a smile, bring your hands to his face and kiss him softly. It doesn’t matter where or what you’re doing, when you see those beautiful green eyes staring at you with such gentle admiration, of course you’re going to be enchanted enough to give him a kiss…or five.

[hellhoundfarts]

There were very few moments where Damian didn’t think of you. It was impossible really.

Even if you weren’t directly on his mind, it would always go back to you, one way or another. Everything after you came into his life, was compared to you.

He wouldn’t say you have taken over his life, but you most certainly have. Alfred baked his favorite cookies? Yours tasted better. Exact same recipe, exact same ingredients. But yours, tasted. Better.

His fancy expensive sheets that he used to be very particular about? Nope. Your sheets. He made sure to get the exact set you have and now that is on his bed. Washed in the very same detergent you use.

A cologne he hadn’t worn in years, it just wasn’t his scent. A bit too, earthy, for him. But the first time you went over, you tested his colognes. You said you liked that one the most. He began wearing it around you, eventually he just wore it all the time.

He was at a family dinner but you couldn’t make it. He moped. Picked at his food, interacted with his family but the second you texted him saying you finally got home. He excused himself from the dinner early and practically raced to your place. He pulled you into a hug and inhaled your scent.

Your presence over anyone else’s, you almost constantly on his mind. The man is infatuated, if not obsessed with you.

[hellhoundfarts]

Damian associated you with laying in a sunroom and reading a book, while it’s storming.

The rain brought a sense of comfort, laying under a blanket hearing the pitter patter of the rain on the windows.

The thunder that you can’t predict when it’s going to happen. Beautiful in its loud way, moves you a bit in your seat once you hear it and makes your heart beat just a bit faster.

The chill that the cool rain brings to the windows, bringing goosebumps to your skin.

All of it enough to be relaxing. All of it reminding him of you. You’re his rain, his thunder and his chill. You bring him comfort, you make his heart beat a bit faster. You give him goosebumps when you give him even the slightest touch.

Some people love the sunny, warm days. Not Damian, he finds solace in the storms. Finding you, his solace in human form, he knew you were it.

[hellhoundfarts]

Blackmail?

Life got a bit crazy, pipe burst and finally got my car fixed. Reminder to be kind, I’m not the best writer but I’m trying to pick up old hobbies again. This was a bit rushed (im sure you can tell) due to bad things happening and I will be busy for the next two weeks. I’m incredibly thankful for love the first two parts got. Also I am finally getting the hang of writing on this app again, kinda lol.

Part one Part two

Aged up!Damian Wayne x reader

No. Just no! You actually don’t want to talk to him. You huff and crush the note in your hand, tossing it in the trash can at your feet.

He didn’t care to listen when he accused you of blackmail, so no, a vase of beautiful pink roses with a stupid little note won’t work on you.

You’re not even sure what caused him to accuse you of it, all he showed was a picture of the two of you kissing in his office. How does that make any sense? You don’t have access to the camera in his office.

If he really wants to talk, then he’s going to have to try a lot harder.

You drag your hand over your face and into your hair. Scratching your scalp out of frustration as you huff out air.

Stupid, stupid man!

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at your door. You glare at the door, your fingers stopping their attack on your scalp. Your heart stopped beating for a moment there. Who in the hell is at your door? You didn’t order anything.

As you stand there glaring at the door, there’s another knock. You take a moment before walking cautiously over to your door. You unlock it and your hand hovers over the handle.

Please don’t be Damian. Please please-

You pause as you open the door, it is him. He’s standing there, his green eyes meet yours and you feel your heart jump.

He looks good-nope. Shut up.

“I hope you received the flowers with the note. I would like to speak about…everything.” He was tense as he spoke, his shoulders taught, his eyes piercing right through you.

“No.” You say sternly, shutting the door in his face and locking it.

You feel a bit guilty, you should be kinder, you should let him explain. But you’re justified in your frustration and flowers don’t make up for it, you shouldn’t receive flowers just because a man fucked up. You deserve flowers as a gift, not an apology!

“Please? Just let me explain.” You hear through the door. You scoff, unlocking the door and opening it with force.

“Explain what Mr Wayne.” You spit out a bit harshly.

“Damian-“

“No. You are Mr. Wayne. You made sure to correct me the last time we spoke. No, my bad, since you spoke and I listened to your absurd accusations of blackmail!”

Your brows furrow in anger as you cut him off. Your body blocks him from entering your apartment.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about. I understand I went about things the wrong way and I would like to fix them.”

He takes a step forward, reaching his hand out to touch your face. You quickly take a step back and glare at him.

“The wrong way?! You accused me of blackmail, you essentially broke up with me even though you were just ‘courting’ me. And to top it off, you fucking fired me. I was your assistant for a year and a half! You have some deep rooted trust issues for you to just believe that I would do that.”

You spit out, your hurt and anger lashing out at him. You laugh in disbelief.

“And now you want to talk after two weeks of nothing and you sent fucking flowers with a stupid note? I don’t want gifts of guilt sent to try to get me to talk to you!”

You walk away from the door and go grab the vase. He takes a step in as you walk back to him with the vase of flowers in your hand. You shove them into his chest as you gently push him back out the door. You rub your hand down your face out of exhaustion.

“I don’t want them, just take them and go. If you really want to talk, explain and apologize then you have to put the work in. But I need to be ready and right now, I’m not.”

He grasps onto the vase, green eyes boring into yours as he stands in the hallway. He gives a slight nod, his shoulders drop in dearest as he lets out a breath. He taps a finger against the glass vase.

“When you are ready, I will explain and apologize….I hope you have a good night.”

“Goodnight.”

You close the door slowly and lock it. You place your forehead gently against the door as you close your eyes.

Should I have just forgiven him, was I too harsh?

You wonder if you made the right choice. It was a bit petty treating him the way he treated you. But he was unfair, and to think that it is that easy to gain forgiveness, he must be insane.

Heading into your room, you spot the dark blue dress you wore on the very first date with him.

~~wooo flashback~~

You were organizing the files on your desk, it was almost time to clock out for the day. Wayne enterprises was empty, everyone else had already gone home except for you and Mr. Wayne. It was 10:30 p.m. and you were ready to just go kick off these flats and lay in bed for the next few days.

His meetings ran later today and that is why you weren’t able to leave at 8 like everyone else. You double checked the schedule for tomorrow before logging out of the computer. Resting your head in your hand and leaning your elbow on the desk, you close your eyes and yawn.

A clearing of a throat startles you, you jump and turn. It’s only Mr. Wayne.

God how do eye bags look so good on him. Get a grip, he’s your boss.

“Mr. Wayne! Hi. Sorry.” You let out an awkward smile as you sit up straight. He stares at your face for a moment before looking around.

“You could’ve left hours ago.” He spoke, almost robotic, as always.

The man hardly shows emotion.

Your thoughts are interrupted as his eyes pierce back into yours. You fumble a few words until you finally look down at your feet and reach for your bag under the desk.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was right. I double checked your schedule for tomorrow and it seems you only have one meeting. It is with your brother, Mr. Grayson, but he did not say what it was about and then you are free after Noon tomorrow.”

You stand up as you inform him, smoothing out your pencil skirt and blouse. (I couldn’t think of anything else, sue me)

You both walk to the elevator, your purse dangling from your finger tips. He allows you to step in first and then presses the Lobby button. It’s not really an awkward silence, you’ve been in the elevator alone with him a bunch of times. Small talk really isn’t his thing, so you just opt to stay quiet.

You dig through your purse to find the keys to your apartment. His voice cuts through the air, he seems… nervous?

“Forgive me if I am overstepping” you look at him confused, his eyes are staring straight at the elevator doors.

“I would like to inquire about a…date.” He tenses as he speaks.

“What date? Like a day this month or next, did you want me to fix something on your schedule?” You ask confused as you open the calendar on your phone.

His head turns toward you quickly, furrowing his brows.

“A date with you.” You shake your head and scroll through the calendar.

“No there’s no specific day I have requested off.”

He lets out an amused grunt.

“I meant, Can I court you?” His eyes are staring at your face as you slowly realize. You stare at the numbers counting down to the lobby.

“Oh…. Oh. Court me?” You question as you slowly turn to look at him as you shove your phone back in your purse.

“Yes.” He gives a slight nod of his head and you see his lips twitch.

“Really?” You slowly smile.

“Yes. I would like to learn you more intimately- no I meant personally. More personally.”

He fumbles and quickly averts his eyes. You cover your smile with your hand and try not to laugh.

“Then yes, I would like that.”

You see his shoulders relax as he looks back at you.

“Tomorrow evening, meet me on the roof.”

“Yes- yeah I’d like that” You blurt out a bit too fast for your own liking. Luckily the ding of the elevator saves you from any further embarrassment.

You both walk quietly to the front doors, your fingers fiddling with the strap of your purse and your knees a bit wobbly.

“Have a goodnight. I will see you tomorrow at 7.”

“Goodnight Mr. Wayne.” You breathe out in disbelief as he gets into his car.

“Damian.” He corrects. You test his name on your lips with a smile. You see a slight change, almost warmth, in his eyes and a twitch to his lips.

~~~end flashback~~~

You drag your fingers over the dark blue dress you wore on that first date. Your heart clenches as you recall that night. He was attentive and had a kindness you’d never truly seen before.

~~~Date night flashback~~~

You push on the door to the roof and a gust of wind hits you. You twirl a ring on your pointer finger nervously as you look around for Damian.

Your eyes landed on him and a breath of relief pushes out.

What if this is all some rouse to push me off the building- don’t think like that.

Your thoughts are interrupted when his head lifts and his eyes meet yours. You smile a bit anxiously as you make your way to him. The gentle breeze is sweeping some locks of his hair off of his forehead.

“Good evening” He greets softly.

“Good evening, Damian.” You reply with a smile.

He pulls out your chair, you sit down and thank him. A small breeze blows against Damian. He clears his throat quickly.

“You smell divine….as always” He admits as he sits across from you.

Heat creeps up your neck as you do your best to hide a smile.

“Thank you. I just use a simple vanilla perfume” (vanilla perfume reminds me of cookies which is why I love it)

“You look beautiful as well. The dark blue really suits you.”

“You are going to give me a heart attack if you keep complimenting me…” you mutter. He cracks a smile.

Oh my god, bite me- WHO SAID THAT

~End date night flashback~

———————————————————

It’s been four days since Damian showed up at your apartment. You don’t know what to do, you’re hurt and want to keep him at arms length but he wants to try to fix things.

You deserve some time to calm down and come at this with a more reasonable mind. He deserves to sit and stir in the mess he made. You curl further under your blanket on the couch. The tv runs some show you tried to get into but your mind is too busy.

You feel your phone buzz on the cushion, you ignore it. It’s probably your mom or a friend, asking how you’re doing and frankly, responding to any message right now would drain your battery further. So you opt to ignore it, until it buzzes for a second time.

You flip over your phone to look at the screen, checking to see who was bugging you…..oh.

Two messages from Damian (Pisshead) ((that is actually my old bosses contact in my phone))

The sun shone through my office window and I was reminded of the way the light would glimmer in your eyes and bounce off your hair, enhancing your beauty….

How captivated I had become every time you walked through my doors.

Your throat dries and your heart skips a beat. That was incredibly sweet. Taking a shaky breath, you respond.

As kind as that was, I don’t think I’m ready to have that talk. Thank you though.

I understand, I was not trying to push. I only realized I had taken for granted the sight of you that I was blessed with for the year and a half you were working for me. I wish to show effort that I care for you in ways other than purchasing things, like you had asked.

You turn your phone off and run your hands over your face. A few tears slipping out as you take a deep breath. He’s respecting the boundary and that’s all you could ask for but why is it so hard to not cave in?!

——————————————————————————

Everyday for the next week, he sends a text or two during the day. Sending pictures of obscure things that reminded him of you, he had sent a few recipes for baked goods that he thought you’d like. He would find ways to effortlessly compliment you. Just this morning he sent,

If you were back in ancient times, people would look at you and think you’re a goddess walking amongst the humans. Statues would be carved in your honor.

As you’re strolling through a store, trying to find a simple new dress for your friends birthday party, you spot a beautiful green dress. It reminds you of his eyes, those emerald green eyes that always made you lose your train of thought. You glare at the dress, as if it had been the one to do you wrong.

You take a breath and pull out your phone.

I’m ready to talk.

Where are you?

Shopping but I can meet you when you’re free, I’m sure you’re busy at work.

I’ll see you in 10 minutes at your place.

Aren’t you working??

I’m the boss, I can leave whenever I please. Especially when something as important as you comes up.

10 minutes, if you’re late you’re buying me a coffee.

I will pay for whatever you want, as long as I get the chance to apologize.

You quickly pay for the dress and make your way back to your apartment.

Your nerves are shot, you still don’t understand what had led him to think you blackmailed him. Granted, he’s about to explain, will it be a good enough reason though?

Your mind races as you unlock your door, clutching the bag with the dress in it. You’re about to close the door behind you, but a throat clears, soon after a gentle voice speaks.

“Hey”

You turn slowly, furrowing your brows until recognition sets in. He got here fast, oh god. You smile shyly and invite him in.

You hang the dress on the rack beside the door and slip your shoes off before going to sit down on the couch. You watch as Damian sits on the opposite side and turns his body toward you.

“I-“ he clears his throat and looks down at his shoes. Sighing softly before looking back at you and speaking again.

“I’m sorry….I reacted without thinking and I thought I had proof that you were the one trying to blackmail me.”

He admits gently. You close your eyes, trying to contain your frustration.

“But what proof did you even have that pointed to me in the first place?”

You ask, hurt lacing your words.

“The email that was sent-“

“What did the email say exactly, all I remember was you showing the picture of us kissing…”

“Yes the picture and it said, they knew I preferred my privacy, if I didn’t want that picture to get out to the world, I’d have to pay them to keep quiet.”

“Oh. So either pay them or we get leaked.”

You nod in understanding as you speak.

“I cared too much to keep the privacy we had, so when I looked into who was behind it and it had somehow pointed back to you. I lost my temper. Unfortunately ruining everything. Once I had finally dug deeper, I found the actual culprit and they were dealt with accordingly.”

“You found the person?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about any of it, just some low life criminal who wanted thousands of dollars and thought trying to blackmail me was the correct option.”

He speaks flatly. There’s a few moments of silence before he speaks again.

“I value my personal life, I have kept a lot of it private due to being in the spot light majority of each day. Which is why I was courting you in private. Why, every date, was on the roof where I could not only have a beautiful evening with you but to keep the you to myself. I am here to make amends and to hopefully, be with you again.”

You fiddle your fingers and bring your legs up onto the couch, resting your head against the back of the couch.

“Do I also get my job back or have you permanently replaced me?”

You question with a teasing but curious tone.

“I tried to have someone take your place but quickly fired her and haven’t hired anyone since.”

He admitted, staring directly at your face.

“Why?”

“They weren’t you.”

“You make it really hard to say no….”

“Say yes, and I will spend everyday making up for my stupidity.”

“Jesus, yes, of course.”

You reply, you feel heat rising to your cheeks, bringing a hand to your face trying to wipe the smile away.

“You got a new dress?”

You see he’s looking over at the bag hanging on the coat rack. You nod and pick some lint off of your pants.

“Yeah, needed a new one for my friends birthday party”

“I’m sure you’ll look exquisite.”

You snort.

“You haven’t even seen it.”

“I don’t need to see it, to know that you’ll be stunning as always. I would, however, still like to see it.”

You shake your head in amusement and go to unzip the bag. He stills on the couch before he cracks a smile.

“It’s green.”

“Well Damian, you’re just observant aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and smile before zipping it back up.

“You don’t wear much green. Let alone that shade.”

You squint your eyes and sit back down on the couch.

“It reminded me of your eyes.”

“That is why you texted me.”

“Don’t analyze me.”

You throw one of the pillows at him. He dodges it, smiling like an idiot. He scoots closer to you.

“I can’t get that kiss out of my head, it has been overwhelming to not be able to do it again. Is it asking too much, if I ask to kiss you?”

“I think it’d be okay.”

You mutter quietly with a smile. His eyes shine with excitement, his right hand comes to the side of your face, cupping your jaw as he leans in. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush gently against yours. He pulls away slowly after a minute, pressing his forehead into yours and keeping his eyes closed as he lets out a breath.

“I will spend every waking moment to give you whatever you may need of me. If I have any say in how the rest of my life goes, it will be making sure our souls stay intertwined, as long as you’ll have me again?”

“You ask as if you’re not actively speaking some kind of love poem. Of course I’ll have you again.”

You laugh softly and peck his lips. Yeah, he’s totally stuck with you for life.

—The end—

[hellhoundfarts]

Blackmail?

Part 2

Part one

Aged up!damian Wayne x reader

You don’t know what to do. He wants to talk and a part of you does too, but maybe ignoring it is for the best. He didn’t even let you get a word in the last time you saw him.

You didn’t blackmail him, obviously. You liked him!

~Flashback~

You stare at the photo on his laptop. Yeah it was the two of you kissing, late at night in his office, but he’s angry?

“Damia-“

“Mr. Wayne.” He corrects again.

You furrow your brows, a bit hurt. You’ve only called him Mr. Wayne at work. But since you two started seeing each other, he insisted Damian was okay.

You watch as he runs his hand over his face.

“I trusted you, I let you in and you blackmail me.” He scoffs.

“Damian I didn’t do that-“ You try to defend yourself.

“No. It’s done. What we had is done. Clean out your desk tomorrow.”

“What?!” You were shocked. You couldn’t even try to defend yourself to him, he wasn’t allowing it and now you’ve somehow lost your job.

All you can do is stare at him as he walks through the apartment door and shuts it behind him. Your heart breaking little by little.

~End flashback~

Why does he want to talk now? He didn’t let you speak last time, is it going to be more accusations?

You kind of miss him, he showed genuine interest in you. He was, as he put it, ‘courting’ you. That kiss. The one in his office before everything went wrong. That was your first kiss since seeing each other. He always seemed so put together, almost robotic.

~Flashback~

You knock on his office door a few times before letting yourself in.

“Mr. Wayne?” You look around, he standing at the window looking out into the night sky.

“Damian.” He corrects. You chuckle.

“We’re on the clock, you’re still Mr. Wayne as of right now” You tease as you place a few Manila folders on his desk. You feel his eyes on you as you straighten up his desk. He steps towards you with a few clicks of his tongue.

You finally look up at his face and soften your voice.

“It’s late, you need to rest.”

He looks lost in thought, his eyes stuck to yours. You furrow your brows as you speak.

“What is wrong with you today? You’ve been just a bit off all day.” You ask softly. His right hand comes up to the side of your face, his fingers gently brushing your jaw.

“I have been plagued by you all day. You are distracting.”

“I’m sorry…”

“A good distraction. You are ethereal. I wish to kiss you. Please” He breathes out.

“I- yes.”

His hand slips to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. You melt the second his lips touch yours, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

He pulls back breathless, you stare, wide eyed as you feel your skin burning under his touch.

~end flash back~

Authors note: shall be continued if it is wanted. Had some issues at home with a pipe leaking so that is why part 2 took forever.