#Confession of Love

[deancasbabyy]

november 5th you will always be famous

[autocrats-in-love]

Prompt (440)

The hero clicked the handcuffs over the villain’s wrists. “You’re done terrorizing the city. Any last words?”

“I think I’m in love with you,” the villain said.

The hero turned the villain around. “What?”

[unformula1]

hugs, pouting and kisses (LN4 x reader)

hugs, pouting and kisses (LN4 x reader)

valentines day series

Lando pouting, him regretting it. You kiss him.  “You’re messing up my hair!” He says before pouting and crossing his arms.  It makes you smile more, seeing him like this, it’s adorable. He turns his head away from looking at you.  masterlist || word count: 644 || valentines’ day countdown: -5 pairing: lando norris x reader

“I love you.” Lando says, snuggling his head into your personal space.

“Mhm, well I love you more.” You reply, patting his fluffy curly hair.

“No you don’t.” His voice is slightly muffled as his head dives into your chest.

“You’re particularly touchy today.” You chuckle.

You can’t lie. You love it. You love it when Lando just takes away whatever definition of personal space there is and holds tightly onto you. 

You hug him back, the positions are awkward but you don’t care, Lando’s touch feels surreal. 

His head slowly falls onto your lap and he looks up to the ceiling, beaming from ear to ear. His smile shows all his teeth and it looks innocent and perfect. 

You smile at him and stroke his face, ruffling his hair a little. It makes him chuckle, which sends your heart wild every time. 

“You’re messing up my hair!” He says before pouting and crossing his arms. 

It makes you smile more, seeing him like this, it’s adorable. He turns his head away from looking at you. 

You kiss his cheek and he turns back to face you. He doesn’t turn back and continues to pout. You see a small grin sneak its way onto his face but Lando fights to keep it in.

You shrug and lift his head off your lap, getting up from the couch. 

A look of horror fills Lando’s face as you stand up and stretch. His eyes widen and his pout disappears. He quickly grips onto your waist and holds onto it, pulling you back, not letting you walk away. 

“Don’t go. I’m sorry.” He says, tightly gripping onto your waist.

You give him silence as a response. 

“I’m sorrrrrry…” He drags the ‘sorry’, his grip doesn’t loosen, “I won’t pout anymore. I promise!”

You continue to ignore him, taking one step away from the couch.

It doesn’t go well for you as Lando violently pulls you back, making you fall back onto the couch, the cushions breaking your fall. Sometimes you forget how strong Lando is. You turn to face Lando, who looks horrified.

“I didn’t mean to pull that hard.” He looks panicked, as if he’s pissed you off, “I’m sorry.”

You try to keep a straight face but this is too cute. A smile breaks through and the laughs you’ve been holding back finally come out.

Lando’s body stiffens up, his face filled with confusion.

You shift yourself closer to Lando and hug him. 

His body relaxes slightly, “You’re not mad?”

You shake your head, “How could I? You look so adorable.” 

He smiles and blushes, “Really?”

Your hug tightens, “Mhm.”

He hugs you back. You kiss the top of his forehead which causes his face to flush bright pink. 

----------------------------------------------

“I love you.” He says, snuggling with you.

“Well, I love you more.” You reply.

“Debatable.”

He chuckles and you find yourself instinctively looking at his lips. Your gaze is filled with soft romance. 

It looks…perfect.

You don’t hold anything back as you lunge at him. He falls backward onto the couch and you gently kiss his lips.

He kisses back.

It’s messy, but it’s tender.

“Okay maybe you do love me more.” He says as your lips pull away.

You smile.

“I know.” You reply, licking your lips.

Lando lets out a rough sounding ugh and pulls your face back in, kissing your lips. You instinctively kiss back. It's definitely passionate on his part. 

Your hands run through his hair, messing it all up. 

When the both of you are done, you get off him and he sits up. Both of you lock gazes for a second and it’s silent around you. It’s you and him, you and Lando Norris. 

“Still mad I messed your hair up?” You ask mischievously.

He shakes his head and lays on your lap. You stroke him.

It’s perfect.

[lettertoholly]

when she texts "ily" but basil hallward would've said "from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When I was away from you, you were still present in my art."

[yanderejustforyou]

The Mark of a Stranger

Fandom:The Penguin (2024) Pairing: Sofia Falcone x Reader

You woke to a throbbing ache behind your eyes, a dull, persistent reminder of the previous night's festivities. The echo of laughter, the rhythmic pulse of bass, and the strobing kaleidoscope of club lights still swirled like phantom sensations in your head. It had been a typical Friday night - an escape orchestrated with familiar ease beside your friends. Good music, potent cocktails, and that ephemeral, dizzying freedom that always felt a little too short-lived. The city's energy had been a palpable force, a siren song pulling you deeper into its chaotic rhythm. You'd surrendered willingly, dissolving into the sea of bodies, the cacophony of sounds, and the intoxicating feeling of being momentarily untethered from reality.

But as you pushed yourself up from the tangled bedsheets, your fingertips grazed your neck, and a jolt of unease, cold and unfamiliar, shot through you. There was a strange sensation there, not quite pain, but a persistent, foreign pressure—an unfamiliar warmth that radiated from a specific point. It was subtle, at first, easily dismissed. But then your fingers explored, tracing the contours of your skin, and you realized: there was something there. Something raised, with a jagged, almost deliberate edge, chillingly unmistakable. A bite. The skin around it was angry red, inflamed and tender to the touch. The two puncture marks, small and sharp, seemed almost... intentional. Placed. Something cold and predatory, like the fangs of a wolf, had touched you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the blood draining from your face as a whirlwind of panicked thoughts took hold. You were certain there was no bite from the previous night - no feral alley cat, no drunken stumble into a rosebush. You had left the club with your friends, the walk home a blur of shared jokes and tipsy laughter - none of them had noticed anything amiss. A quick memory check: no strange encounters, no unexpected contact. Nothing - but this. You stumbled to the bathroom, peering into the mirror, a growing sense of dread coiling in your stomach. The mark was small, concealed just beneath your hairline, at the nape of your neck. It looked… almost like a brand, a warning etched into your flesh. A possessive claim.

The mark itself was small, almost easily hidden under your hair, but it radiated a strange power, a claim, like something had carved itself beneath the skin, changing you in a way you couldn't understand. It felt alien, unnatural. You shook your head, trying to dispel the creeping unease, the primal fear blooming in your chest. You went through the motions of starting the day, a shower, coffee, but the normal routines felt… off. The air seemed to thicken around you, a suffocating blanket of awareness, and a prickling sensation of being watched from every corner. The usual city sounds, the distant rumble of trucks, the chatter of pedestrians, seemed to amplify, echoing much louder in your ears. The weight of the world felt heavier, pressing down on you from all sides, and the sense of being hunted grew with every passing moment. Every now and then, you’d catch a flicker in your peripheral vision – a shadow that darted too quickly, a figure obscured by the crowd, too illusive to pin down. Just a hint of darkness, a vague unease settling in with every glance.

The day passed in a state of anxious paralysis, a constant battle against the mounting feeling of wrongness. That night, after another restless day of unease, your phone buzzed. A message. Plain and to the point: “We need to talk.” The name at the top sent a jolt of cold dread through you: Sofia Falcone. Just the name alone felt like a weight on your chest. A wave of sickening unease washed over you, the dots of fear connecting. You tried to push back the feeling that this all must be a mistake, overthinking, a bad dream, but the fear, the bite, felt solid and real. You knew Sofia, or at least, you thought you did. She was an enigmatic woman, a captivating presence with long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see through you, and an undeniably dangerous air that shimmered beneath the surface of her composed exterior. But this? This was something else, something you couldn't fathom, something terrifying in its unknown nature.

You tried to rationalize, to find a logical explanation, to convince yourself it was all a misunderstanding, but deep down you knew this feeling wasn't something that could be explained by rational thought. There was no escaping it, you were caught in this web. You had been marked, and the familiar world that surrounded you was about to shift into something completely alien.

When you arrived at her penthouse, the door opened before you even had the chance to knock, as if she had been expecting you. The cool, calculating gaze of Sofia Falcone met yours immediately, sending a shiver crawling up your spine. She was standing in the dimly lit entryway, the soft glow of candlelight casting long, unsettling shadows around her. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face, her expression unreadable.

“Come in,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, but laced with an edge of something predatory that sent an icy chill down your bones. “We need to have a conversation.” The words were polite, almost casual, but there was a definitive authority in their tone, an unspoken command that brooked no refusal.

As you stepped inside, your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence. You tried to ignore the subtle burning sensation at the back of your neck, the insistent throb that was a constant reminder of what had happened. The atmosphere inside the penthouse was thick, a heady mix of expensive perfume, polished leather, and a faint, lingering smell of something old, almost like cigar smoke, a ghost of a previous life and history clinging to the air.

Sofia closed the door behind you with a soft, deliberate click, each movement graceful and controlled, like a panther stalking its prey. You felt small and vulnerable, insignificant in her presence, like you were in the presence of something far older and more powerful than yourself, something that could devour you whole without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with fear. “What’s happening to me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the fear bubbling uncontrollably to the surface.

Sofia tilted her head slightly, her eyes scrutinizing you. Her gaze flickered to the bite mark on your neck, a spark of something knowing, something almost triumphant, flashing behind her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, then,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, like the stillness before a storm. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you’d be too oblivious to understand what happened.” Her words were a subtle taunt, a challenge to the fear that was clearly visible in your eyes.

You took a step back, shaking your head, trying desperately to piece together the words, the situation, but it was all blurring together into an incomprehensible nightmare. "What do you mean? What is this bite? Why is it—why is it hurting?" You ran a hand across your neck, the tenderness of the skin a sharp reminder of the violation.

Sofia moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, narrowing the distance between you. Her presence was suffocating, like a thick fog that robbed you of air. Before you could protest, she was close enough to touch, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin around the mark, her touch light, almost affectionate, but there was a chilling coldness in her eyes, the calm gaze of a hunter who has cornered its prey.

“I’ve marked you,” she said softly, her voice a hypnotic whisper, a silken thread that bound you to her word. “And it’s more than just a bite. It’s a symbol. You’re mine now.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, a wave of cold shock that paralyzed your body. You couldn't move, couldn't pull away from her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into your very core. The heat of the bite on your skin began to intensify, spreading across your neck and chest, filling you with a strange and unfamiliar warmth, but it wasn't the comforting warmth of a fire. It was a consuming heat, like you were being devoured from the inside out. Your heart pounded in your chest, hammering out a frantic rhythm against the silence.

“I’m… yours?” you managed, the words foreign and forced in your throat, tasting like ash. You couldn’t believe what she was saying, what was happening, yet the truth of it rang loud and undeniable.

She smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was full of something dark, something predatory, a flicker of malice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. A wolf showing its teeth before the kill.

“You’re more than you think. More than you were. You’ll understand in time,” she murmured, her hand lifting and stroking your cheek, her touch a strange mix of fondness and malice. “This bite isn’t just a mark. It’s a bond, a promise that we’re connected now.” Her voice was soothing, but the undertone was unsettling, like the murmur of a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security.

“No one else can take you from me now,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. “No one. The bite means you belong to me—body, soul, and every last breath you take. You are mine.” Each word was a claim, a chain forged in the depths of darkness, binding you to her.

A shudder ran through your body at her chilling declaration, your heart racing in panicked flight, trying to escape the truth that she was weaving before you. You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but no words came out, your voice caught in the web of her carefully wrought words. The heat, the overwhelming sensation of being bound to her, of being claimed, choked you. You had to close your eyes, unable to meet her gaze any longer, the horror of what she was saying washing over you like a tidal wave.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Sofia said softly, her fingers trailing down your cheek as if offering a twisted comfort, the light touch almost a brand. “But you’re mine now. And this… this is your new reality.”

The pressure at the back of your neck grew stronger, the bite throbbing, your body trembling with an agony that wasn’t physical, but emotional, as the weight of her control settled deep into your bones. You were hers now—marked and bound in ways you couldn't yet comprehend, a puppet dancing in her hands. 

[robeca-black]

Our love is forbidden as sin, as the fire that burns in the bowels of hell, we are the cursed lovers, who consume their passion in the stars. -Shadowheart and Lae'zel

[applepixls]

"every time i go against impulse i lose. ... i'm wrong every time we're split cause he is the better one."

-skizz in his most recent phasmo vod ("we got scar back!" at 1:37:40)

[samazing0831]

Jealousy Sparks a Confession - Peter Parker x Reader

Peter Parker x Reader

Peter never told you how he felt - until he saw you on a date with someone else. Jealousy forces a confession, and you're not sure whether to believe him... not until he finally tells you everything, including the biggest secret he's ever kept. Now he has one chance to prove his love is real. Rooftop hotdogs, awkward truths, and a kiss under the city lights - can Spider-Man make things right before it's too late?

810 words

The bell above the café door jingled as Peter stepped inside, but the warmth of the space didn't reach him.

He shouldn't have been here. He shouldn't have followed you.

But he had.

And now, staring at the back of the coffee shop with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, Peter watched you laugh - really laugh - across the table from someone who wasn't him. Someone who didn't flake on plans, who didn't vanish for days at a time with nothing but a vague apology and bruised knuckles as an excuse.

You weren't his. He had no claim. He'd never said a word about how he felt. But as he watched you push your hair behind your ear and lean into conversation with a smile he hadn't seen in weeks, something burned in his chest.

Jealousy.

He didn't mean to interrupt - but the moment the guy got up for the restroom, Peter's feet were already moving.

"Didn't know you were seeing someone," he said, trying to sound casual as he approached your table.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Peter? What are you doing here?"

"Just passing by." A lie. "Didn't realize you were dating."

Your expression shifted, wary. "I was on a date, yeah."

"And?" The question escaped before he could stop it.

You tilted your head. "And what?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, guilt already starting to gnaw at him. "You shouldn't be with him."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?"

"He's not right for you," Peter said quickly, stumbling over his words. "You deserve-"

You cut him off with a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Are you serious right now?"

"I know I don't have the right to say anything," Peter said, voice tight. "But seeing you with him - seeing anyone with you - I just..."

You crossed your arms. "You just what, Peter?"

He stared at you, heart racing. And then, with a breathless kind of courage, he took the leap.

"I love you."

The silence that followed was deafening.

You blinked. "You don't get to do this."

"What?"

"You don't get to ignore me for weeks, make me feel invisible, and then drop this on me the second I start moving on."

Peter stepped forward. "I didn't mean-"

"Do you even mean it?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Or do you just hate the idea of someone else loving me when you're too scared to?"

"I mean it," he whispered.

You searched his face for the truth. And when you found it - hidden behind guilt and fear and longing - you took a breath and said, "Then prove it."

Peter froze. "I - I don't know how."

"Then figure it out," you snapped. "Because I'm done playing guessing games. Either prove it, or I'm walking away."

Peter's voice cracked. "I know I've screwed up. I know I can't make this easy. But I love you. And I don't want to lose you."

"One condition," you said, your voice soft but stern. "If you want a second chance, you tell me the truth. No more disappearing, no more dodging questions. You want me? Be honest with me."

Peter hesitated - then nodded.

"I'm Spider-Man," he said, the words falling like stones.

You stared at him, stunned. "Peter - why didn't you tell me sooner? You think I can't take care of myself? I live in New York, I've been taking self-defense longer than I've had a driver's license."

He laughed, relieved and still breathless. "Okay, fair point. You're probably tougher than me."

You crossed your arms, but your expression softened. "So, what now?"

He smiled, tentative but hopeful. "Now? Now I take you on a date. And I start making up for every time I let you down."

A short while later, you sat together on a rooftop, sharing a stolen hotdog and the city skyline. The lights of New York shimmered below you, but Peter only had eyes for you.

"So," he asked, nudging your knee, "does this make up for some of the damage?"

You smiled, leaning into his side. "Almost."

He grinned. "Guess that means I've got some wooing to do."

Then, you teased, "Well, you could kiss me. That'd probably seal the deal."

Peter flushed, but leaned in anyway, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that said all the things he never could. It was warm, tender, and real.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "That was definitely the icing on the cake. Do I get full points now?"

You laughed, your voice soft. "Yeah, Peter. Perfect date."

He beamed. "So... you're still up for dating your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?"

You nodded. "Trust me, Pete. I'm right here."

Peter squeezed your hand, smiling like a man who'd finally found his way home.

[cherrylippedkisses]

i long for your love like a dog for a bone. i wear 3 pieces of rose quartz on my person at all time, trying anyway i can to bring you into my life. i smile too wide and let my eyes linger too long. i'll hold your bag, even if i'm already holding my own, just because i want you to feel my desire to be useful to you. i hold my breath around you ever since you mentioned i breathe too deeply. i twirl my hair, laugh too loud, try sit still. i dream of your touch, but avoid it in person so you won't feel my hands, slick with sweat from the intoxicating atmosphere that follows you wherever you go. i strive for your approval and validation, but will demean myself around you if it means making you feel better about yourself. i'd kill myself if it made you happy, and force myself to stay alive in endless pain if i knew you'd be heartbroken. i fell for you like the cherry blossoms swirling through the wind; hopeless and desperate for a lifetime with you.

[jadedanddark]

I dreamed Tumblr introduced a "sotto vocce" messaging and comment feature, where you could type something and send it but the recipient/person you're replying to would not be able to see what it was. Everyone else could though. OP would also get a note saying that you had sent something sotto vocce, but you'd get the "bloop, nothing here" if you tried to open it.

Absolute chaos.

[ghostorbz]

Dirty rotten girl

[unformula1]

“it’s going to go perfect.” (OP81)

“it’s going to go perfect.” (OP81 x reader)

read part 1 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Synopsis: “I’m sorry, okay!” He shrugs and playfully punches your shoulder, “The last time I did this, it didn’t exactly go well…”

“Well this time it’s going to go perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boy, you got me hooked onto something

Who could say that they saw us coming?

-double take (dhruv)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist

word count: 657 words

pairing: oscar pisastri x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oscar Piastri was a pretty reserved driver, wouldn't say anything if he didn’t need to. He just sat in the corner of the room and kept quiet. He isn’t exactly the type to start conversations or the kind to continue them. Truth be told, conversing was one of his biggest weaknesses, he never knew if he was going to accidentally insult someone or say something stupid and ruin their friendship.

***

“Do you-” He stumbles on some of his words, “like…you know, like me back?” 

You think for a bit. 

Do you?

Do you love Oscar Piastri?

“I-” You hesitate, who were you kidding?

His head bows lower, his feet shuffling a little. 

“Yes.”

His head lifts and his eyes light up, “Really?”

You don’t reply to him but instead shift yourself closer to him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for a hug. Oscar gets taken aback by your sudden motion, his body tensing up. 

It takes him a few seconds to realise you’re hugging him and just like that, his body relaxes, his arms slowly moving around you, hugging you tightly back. 

“I love you.” 

His eyes water up, and you hear quiet sobs.

“Are you crying?” You ask, chuckling a little as you release the hug

Oscar rubs the tears that rolled down his cheeks, “No. I’m not.”

“I thought you were supposed to be cold and insensitive-” You tease him, gently poking the sides of his stomach.

“I’m sorry, okay!” He shrugs and playfully punches your shoulder, “The last time I did this, it didn’t exactly go well…”

“Well this time it’s going to go perfect.”

He looks at you, with a spark in his eyes you never knew he had. They water up again and tears brim in his eyes. You don’t mind, you look back at him with a wide smile. He looks beautiful, he looks perfect. 

It takes him a few moments more of walking and ice cream licking for him to finally gather his emotions and string together a proper sentence. 

“Do you want to…” He eats the rest of the ice cream cone, “go out for dinner… sometime soon?”

The rest of the conversation went exactly how you would want it to. A date, a day, a place, a time and just for the both of you.

***

You walk along the pavement, finding your way to the address Oscar sent you. 

Oscar: Im here You: im getting there if i dont get lost

You turn a corner and see a familiar figure – tall, blonde hair, perfect eyes and perfect ass. You keep your phone in your pocket and take a slow jog over to Oscar, who’s leaning against the window of the restaurant, looking at his phone.

“Good looking.” You startle Oscar, who jumps at your voice.

“Hi-” He says, slightly nervous, he keeps his phone in his pocket and presents to you a bouquet of flowers.

You feel blood rush to your cheeks as it turns red. You’re shocked, in a good way, and you gasp. You smile and take the flowers from him.

“Well, aren't you a charmer?” You comment, smiling widely at him while taking the flowers.

“I- I thought it would be nice.” He says, his hands still visibly shaking, “Do you like them?”

“Of course I do!” You say, smelling the flowers.

He outstretches his hand for you to hold, which you do. His firm is grasp, shaky but firm. He’s gotten slightly more confident over the last few minutes. He holds your hand and leads you to one of the tables, which has a vase of roses in the middle. It’s romantic, really.

The both of you sit down and for a moment, the entire world slows down and you glance into his eyes. His perfect, glowing eyes. He looks back, looking lost in yours. 

He looks beautiful.

He looks perfect.

He is Oscar Piastri.

And he is your boyfriend.

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Remember that this is not the proof that they love each other

That was a last-ditch attempt from Crowley to get Aziraphale to stay

This is the proof that they love each other

Their love wasn't just made real because they kissed

It always existed

[yanderejustforyou]

I love your Sofia Falcone one shots and no one is writing for her for some reason. I'd like to request a bodyguard and client type ordeal. Us being a bodyguard for Sofia. Her best bodyguard while also being one of her only friends she trust after getting out of Arkham. They start to form feelings for each other despite the arrangement they're in making any follow through with it unprofessional, and also an element of Sofia never having feelings for another woman before. One scene you could have is bodyguard reader taking a bullet for Sofia, then sofia takes care of her wound which leads to an intimate moment. Of course other fears and stuff hold them both back, making for a slightly angsty and heartfelt confession of love to each other. Idk if this is a lot lol I don't usually request stuff.

Guarded Hearts

The narrow alleyway was steeped in an eerie silence, broken only by the distant hum of traffic that buzzed like a distant swarm of bees. Sofia Falcone stood beside the sleek, black car, her sharp, discerning eyes darting around the dimly lit surroundings, scrutinizing every shadow and flicker of movement. You trailed a step behind her, each muscle in your body coiled tightly, instinctively ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger. Being Sofia’s bodyguard was no ordinary job—it was a perpetual state of alertness, a relentless watch over a woman who had clawed her way up from the depths of Arkham, surviving against all odds.

You had earned her trust and respect, becoming her steadfast shield after the tumultuous ordeal that had marked her escape. On the surface, she presented a powerful facade, exuding confidence and authority, but you had learned to see the cracks beneath the surface. Sofia was a complex blend of vulnerability and danger; her strength often masked a deep-seated fear. Though she would never admit it, you sensed that she leaned on you more than she had ever leaned on anyone else in her life, seeking solace in your unwavering presence.

As the evening deepened and shadows danced under the flickering streetlights, an unease settled over you. The night air felt thick with unspoken threats. Suddenly, danger erupted like a storm—swift and unrelenting. A glint of metal caught your eye just in time, sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.

“Gun!” you shouted, urgency propelling you forward as you pushed Sofia down behind the car just moments before the sharp crack of a bullet shattered the silence.

Pain erupted in your side as the bullet found its mark, but the rush of adrenaline dulled the ache, propelling you into action. You returned fire, your hands steady as you aimed at the attacker, the shot ringing true as he dropped to the ground. The immediate threat was neutralized, but as the world around you began to blur and spin, you felt your strength waning.

“Stay down,” you barked, clutching your side, trying to suppress the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm you.

But Sofia was not one to obey orders easily. With determination etched on her face, she rushed to your side, her hands finding the wound that was now seeping blood.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, her voice cracking in a way that made your heart ache. It was a sound you had never heard from her before—a blend of fear and desperation.

“I’ll be fine,” you managed to reply through gritted teeth, even as you felt the warmth of your own blood against your skin, the world tilting precariously around you.

Sofia didn’t wait for your assurance. In a flurry of urgency, she took control, barking orders at the driver to get you both out of the chaos and to safety. By the time you arrived at her penthouse, the adrenaline had begun to fade, and you felt each step grow heavier as she pulled you into the living room.

“Sit down,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was already peeling back your jacket, her hands moving quickly and decisively as she examined the wound. She worked with a mix of efficiency and tenderness, cleaning the injury with trembling hands that belied her composed exterior.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured, her voice low, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place.

“Taken a bullet for you?” you quipped, wincing as she applied pressure to the wound. “It’s literally my job.”

Her hands hesitated, and for a moment, the air was charged with unspoken words. Her gaze locked onto yours, intense and searching. “You’re more than just my bodyguard,” she said softly, the weight of her admission hanging heavily between you. “You know that.”

The gravity of her words settled over you like a warm blanket, igniting a flame of hope and fear in equal measure. For weeks, an unacknowledged tension had simmered beneath the surface of your professional relationship, a connection that neither of you had dared to address, wrapped in layers of duty and uncharted feelings.

“Sofia...” you began, your voice tentative, but she silenced you with a shake of her head, a plea for silence.

“I’ve never...” Her voice faltered, and she looked away, vulnerable and exposed. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Especially not a woman. It scares me.”

Your heart ached at her admission, an urge to comfort her swelling within you. Reaching out, you took her hand in yours, the warmth of her skin grounding you amidst the chaos.

“You don’t have to be scared,” you said gently, looking into her eyes with sincerity. “I’ve got you. Always.”

Sofia swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. Then, as if the weight of the moment became too much to bear, she leaned in, closing the distance between you. The kiss that followed was tentative at first—soft and hesitant—but it quickly deepened, infused with all the unspoken emotions that had been building between you.

When you finally broke apart, her forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart against your own.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin.

“Except everything,” you replied, a small, hopeful smile tugging at your lips.

The sound of your own labored breathing filled the car as Sofia sat rigid beside you. Her hand hovered uncertainly near yours, her usual mask of indifference cracking wide open.

"You shouldn't have done that," she murmured for the second time that night, her voice a ghost of its usual strength.

It wasn’t until you reached her penthouse and she insisted on tending to your wound herself that her composure finally snapped. The moment she saw the deep gash on your side, her hands began to tremble.

"You’re shaking," you teased weakly, your lips quirking in an attempt at humor.

Her glare should have been sharp, but instead, it was wet with unfallen tears. “This isn’t a joke. You could’ve died, and it would’ve been my fault.”

The words pierced through your chest deeper than the bullet had. Sofia, the unshakable queen of Gotham’s underworld, was falling apart in front of you.

“Hey.” You reached for her, gripping her wrist lightly. “I signed up for this. You didn’t force me.”

She shook her head violently, her long hair whipping around her like a tempest, refusing to meet your gaze. “Don’t. Don’t pretend this is just a job for you anymore.” Her voice cracked with emotion, each word trembling under the weight of something she couldn’t yet admit, something that hung between you like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. The air around you felt charged, electric with unspoken confessions and the fear of vulnerability.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You wanted to deny it, to brush it off with the professionalism you’d clung to for months like a life raft in turbulent waters. But there was no hiding from the truth—not when it hung between you, raw and unavoidable, a truth that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed barriers you both had erected.

“Look, I care about you, Sofia,” you said quietly, the admission slipping out almost involuntarily. “More than I should.”

The moment those words left your lips, the world around you seemed to fall away. Her eyes, which had been averted in refusal, finally met yours. They were brimming with unshed tears, glistening like fragile glass. “You think I don’t know that?” she replied, her voice breaking under the pressure of her emotions, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as if to mock the depth of the situation. “You’ve been the only person I can trust since I got out of that hellhole. But I—” She abruptly stopped herself, swallowing hard as if the truth had lodged in her throat, refusing to be voiced. “I’ve never felt this way before. Not for anyone. Not for a woman.”

The confession came out in a whisper, barely audible, and it felt like witnessing a dam burst open. Her walls, meticulously constructed to protect her, crumbled entirely, leaving her exposed and terrified, her vulnerability laid bare before you like an open book filled with unread pages.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to shatter the fragile moment. “Feelings don’t have rules. They just are.”

Sofia let out a shaky breath, her hands stilling against your side, searching for comfort and reassurance. “I can’t lose you,” she admitted, her eyes searching yours, desperate for affirmation. “Not to some stupid bullet. Not to anything.”

Your chest tightened at her words, the weight of her fear pressing down on you like a physical force. “You won’t,” you promised, though a heaviness settled in your heart, reminding you of how fragile your role truly was in this chaotic world. Every mission, every moment spent in the line of fire felt more precarious than ever, but her conviction lit a fire inside you that urged you to be strong.

Sofia’s hand slipped down to entwine with yours, her touch tentative but desperate, as if she feared you might vanish if she grasped you too tightly. “I hate that you’d risk your life for me. And I hate that I love you for it,” she confessed, her voice cracking on the last word, a single tear escaping her eye and tracing a path down her cheek. Without thinking, you reached up and brushed it away with your thumb, your touch lingering on her soft skin, feeling the warmth and the weight of the moment.

In the next breath, she surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was fierce and messy, a collision of emotions that held every unspoken word, every buried feeling you both had tried so hard to suppress. It was a kiss filled with urgency, as if you both were trying to convey everything you’d been too afraid to say.

When you finally pulled apart, her forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting from the intensity of the moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. “This can’t work,” she whispered, though her grip on you didn’t falter, her fingers intertwining with yours as if anchoring you both to this fleeting reality.

“No,” you agreed, your voice trembling with the weight of unacknowledged truths. “But maybe it doesn’t have to. Not yet.”

[alastordemon1]

[robeca-black]

I am not interested in sharing you even with a God. You are mine only mine, every caress I give you, every word I whisper, every kiss I give you, everything belongs to the bond we have created, my enemy, my ally and finally my wife, no one can love you as I do. -Lae'zel of K'liir

I don't need anyone else but you, wherever you go I will go, I will follow you and I will look for you in all the universes and lives we live, I am yours since our eyes met on the nautiloid and no one can love me like you, my githyanki warrior. -Shadowheart