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shawnxstyles · 2 years

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panty stealer

DATE: JANUARY 14, 2023

summary: flash forces peter to sneak into the girls sorority and steal a pair of panties as a dare. stumbling into the nearest room to save himself from being caught, he doesn’t expect you to be there, and to let him steal the panties you’re wearing.

request: yes!

words: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, oral], praise kink, slight dacryphilia kink, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, alcohol, mentions of weed, and a bit of fluff.

note: frat!peter x sorority!reader / peter masterlist / PART 2

—

“are you serious right now, flash?” peter groans with a pinch to his nose. his eyes screw shut in annoyance at flash’s obnoxious behavior.

“of course i am, penis parker!” flash shouts, shoving peter towards the large, white sorority house. “you have to do the dare or else.”

peter groans again, hating himself for ever agreeing to do this stupid game with flash.

the night had started calm and for once, peter was grateful. friday nights were the craziest day at the frat house, but this week, everyone was a bit too busy with schoolwork. except flash apparently.

like all of his other roomies, peter loves a good party. he doesn’t mind thrashing his house every week if that means he can have fantastic parties at his place (okay, maybe he minds a little bit. it gets tedious cleaning up garbage after a while). he knows he won’t be young forever, so what the heck, right?

people never would have guessed that peter was the leader of the frat. shocking, right? everyone would assume it’s flash for his obnoxious and party boy persona or brad for his attractiveness and charm. but what do those qualities have to do with being a leader? everyone else (besides those two) agreed that peter should be the head of the house because he is responsible and smart, unlike those boneheads.

peter often asked himself if he was attractive and if he had charm.

he did, right?

brad was good with the ladies. one glance and a wink made the girls melt into puddles at his feet. every morning when peter woke up early to go to class, a different woman would waltz down the stairs with a glowing, uncontrollable smile in nothing but a t-shirt. peter knew without a doubt that every one-night stand that stumbled down was brad’s; it was rarely flash or the others and ned had a girlfriend who was in the sorority across from us.

peter hooked-up once in a while. he found it more difficult to be like brad when he had college to concentrate on and lives to save inbetween it all. being spider-man in high school was overwhelming at first because it was impossibly hard to hide it. but now, having more freedom in college made everything a bit simpler. just a bit.

flash being spider-man’s “#1 fan!” still made him chuckle every time it came up.

speaking of flash, when peter stumbled through the door in the evening expecting a chill friday night, flash just had to crank up the energy. as per usual.

“what is this?” multiple bottles of liquor were splurged across the dining table when peter walked into the kitchen. flash crossed his arms with a huge smirk plastered onto his face, while ned looked concerned and stressed.

“i tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” ned shook his head in disappointment before walking away to his room.

“we’re having a party. it’s friday, penis,” flash said with an obvious tone. peter could easily have him removed from the frat, being the leader and all. yet he still keeps him here. why must he do this to himself?

“flash, i said no parties today. everyone is tired and stressed, and has a lot of work to do—”

“stressed? i think that’s the best reason for a party. you need to get laid, my brotha,” brad interrupted with an arm around peter’s shoulders and a firm pat to his buff chest. brad is way taller than peter, which some might think intimidates him. but peter is mainly intimidated by intelligence, and brad had the iq of a stick.

peter rolled his eyes at the predictable statement. flash rambles on about how parties are a tradition on friday nights and peter sharply cuts him off with a strict tone.

“ugh, fine! no party, party-pooper parker. but we will be drinking tonight. or else i’m sending an invite to 50 people.”

—

peter had no choice but to comply. flash, ned, brad, himself, and the other boys are seated on the furniture with the drinks displaced in the center. flash gave peter an ultimatum; play truth or dare or he rings the entire sports program of a party. peter growled and folded.

soon later, there is a sharpie drawing on flash’s ass, a ruler that measured brad’s dick, a flushed ned from downing too many denied truth shots, and laughter bubbling throughout the whole room. peter is the only one who hasn’t gotten asked anything yet and he honestly feels a bit left out. but he also just wants to do his homework and then go to sleep.

“what’ll be, penis parker?” flash inquires with a mischievous look on his face. “truth or dare? or should i say drink or dare?”

peter, not caring at the time, chose dare. “dare.”

“oh, you’re so in for it.”

—

so in all, peter was basically held against his own will to sneak into the girl’s sorority house. even though he denied the dare profusely and took three shots to make up for it, flash still dangled the party invites over his head like an iron weight waiting to drop.

peter snarled as flash nudged him again impatiently. he thought of an idea that might work. peter would have to do this dare, but would he have to do it alone?

“if you come with me, i’ll give you $50 bucks—” peter sells with raised eyebrows. he licks his lips as the cold breeze rustles the trees and sends slight shivers up his arms. the sky is pitch-black as the heavy clouds cover all the stars. peter felt a storm brewing and he really didn’t want to sneak into the sorority soaking wet.

“pfft, parker, please. i have enough money—”

“—in weed.” peter finishes, causing flash to halt his words. peter knows that flash can never find a good supply because he complains about it all the time. marijuana wasn’t legal on campus, let alone in the state. the trade had the cogs turning in flash’s head.

“alright, deal,” flash gives in and elbows peter as a form of agreement. then flash motivates brad and ned to join, heading straight for the zone as a group.

their goal was to grab a pair of underwear and leave without being caught. as spider-man, that should be easy, right?

—

for some odd reason, the back door was unlocked. you’d think girls would be more secure and observant than guys, but maybe they forgot. after hopping over the trimmed gardening hedges, the four boys crept through the door and into the kitchen.

unlike peter’s frat, the sorority girls had two big rules that they made known to everyone; no hook-ups allowed and no frat guys. ever. the girls didn’t throw parties like peter, they only went to them, so their place was like a holy sanctuary.

when the guys tiptoed into the kitchen, peter wasn’t surprised the place was damn-near spotless. most of the interior was pearly white; couches, love-seats, tables, counter, cabinets— it was like walking into an insane asylum with minor color accents.

it was at least midnight by now, so the girls had to be asleep. tiptoeing as silent as possible up the stairs, peter leads until they’re all standing in the middle of the large hallway with rapid, contained breaths. flash, being the scaredy-cat he is, follows last and nervously trips over the final step. he slips, tumbling down multiple levels with nosy thuds and bangs of his elbows and knees. all of the guys sprout wide eyes and strained, silent gestures to warn him to stop falling and making an absurd amount of noise.

peter gets goosebumps, hair rising on his skin as he gets a shiver down his spine. his hearing intensifies, picking up mumbled whispers and light footsteps with his spider sense. his eyes wander frantically as he scatters his brain for an idea. nothing comes to mind fast enough, as a door down the hall creaks open. brad and ned drag flash up the stairs, but freeze when they hear the door. out of instinct, peter sprints to the nearest door, slyly slipping inside. he closes the door gently, contradicting the pounding of his heart, without a noise being made. he releases a sigh as his forehead rests on the doorframe.

“what are you doing?” peter nearly shrieks when you casually question him. he stares at you, eyes impossibly wider than before. your arms are crossed as you sit on the side of your bed. peter swallows harshly, gazing at your appearance.

your legs look smooth and supple, and very much bare. he assumes you have underwear on under the t-shirt you’re sporting, and is proved correct when you shift to dangle your legs off the bed. his eyes are drawn to the small sight of your panties that tease underneath your shirt. you smirk, arms still crossed as you let him check you out.

“i-um-uh,” cheeks wildly red, he swallows and averts his eyes to the ground. how does he explain such a stupid thing without sounding like a jackass? i was dared to invade the sorority house. sorry. oh, also, can i have your panties? “it was a dare.”

“to sneak into my room?” your head tilts as you lift yourself off the bed and stalk towards him. peter’s cheeks grow redder while his heart pounds brutally in his chest.

besides the embarrassment flowing like blood through his veins, you were the simple kind of gorgeous that made his knees weak. the kind that is stunning in their own skin and that radiates beautiful energy like magical fairy dust. and peter nearly fainted when he saw your lack of clothes.

he’s seen you many times before; you share a class with him and came to some of his parties. he never talked to you in fear of rejection, but now he doesn’t really have a choice.

usually, he has more confidence with girls, but this is a very unfortunate situation where he lost every skill he’s ever known. even talking.

“no—” ear-piercing screams interrupt peter’s stuttering from the other side of the door. footsteps run all over the wooden floor as low profanities leave the guys’ mouths. “i think she found them.”

“you think?” you clip with raised eyebrows. peter inhales, losing some of his anxiousness at his thoughts of the boys being caught.

poor ned. betty’s going to kill him.

flash deserved it, though.

brad is probably getting one of their numbers.

peter shakes his head and sets his thoughts straight.

“okay, look. flash dared me to do this… stupid thing and i convinced them all to do it with me. i wanted to do nothing but relax tonight,” peter admits with a stressed exhale. you glare at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what has him so worked up. it’s not like he got screamed at and kicked out like the other guys. knowing some of your roomies, they might be a lot worse than just kicking them out. you get closer to him and ponder what he said.

“what was the dare, parker?” you shoot a harsh glare at him, daggers that force him to answer. your head tilts with curiosity as your heartbeats sporadically. you’ve never had a guy in your room before, and for that first guy to be peter parker has your heart bouncing around your chest like a boomerang. you’ve had your eye on peter for a few months now; not crazy obsessive, but you won’t deny the blood-rushing crush you’ve grown for the frat boy.

how did you stumble that low? a frat boy? jeez.

peter can’t be too shocked that you know his name, let alone his last name, but you saying it still causes him to forget some of the words on his tongue. many shouts are heard from outside the door, but your chests are nearly touching as you gaze up at him and then the outside world is practically silenced.

“i had to steal some… panties,” he mumbles, voice low and quiet. why does it sound so dirty?

“panties?” you repeat in a hushed voice as your surprised eyes blink a few times. you swallow, clit beginning to throb at the word out of his mouth.

“yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “do you have any that i can…borrow?”

your mind hazes at his question. you tried to remember where your underwear was and if it was clean. but as a clear opportunity lies in front of you, you decide to run with it. you look down with a racing heart, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.

“i…i have these ones,” you lightly ball up your t-shirt, revealing your laced panties to peter. he quietly coughs, cock starting to harden behind the zipper of his jeans. you glance up at his reddening expression through your eyelashes, devilish eyes hiding behind an innocent facade. confidence and lust ease your anxiety. “will these work?”

“um, yeah,” peter coughs again as rosy embarrassment crawls up his neck and blood rushes to his cock. you strut over to the mattress, rocking your hips teasingly, and peter instinctively follows with his heart in his throat. you lie on your back and spread your legs, arousal dripping from you at every movement. peter watches from a side angle, holding his breath as the tension rises.

“well, you’re not much of a panty-stealer if i just give them to you. come and steal them, parker,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster up. your heart was so loud in your ears you almost couldn’t hear yourself. speechless, peter walks to the front of the bed and kneels down, eye-level with your pussy.

he crumples the shirt over your hips, your legs automatically spreading wider. his senses heighten and pick up on the scent of your arousal. a small patch of it can be seen in the middle of your underwear, sending painful pulses down to his forever hardening cock. his thumbs dance around the laced hem, teasing you to see how much he can go.

he would say some of his confidence is back now.

he hooks his fingers under the band, sliding the flimsy fabric down while sticky arousal slings to you. he stuffs the damp material in his back pocket. both of your hearts rack and hands tremble at the extreme intensity, waiting for someone to do something. anything.

peter decides to be that person and resumes his fingers to your hips where the hem used to be. your folds glisten with pent-up arousal, just begging for him to touch you. your puffy clit throbs, neglected, and your thighs subtly spasm trying to remain open. peter grinds on his molars, nearly moaning at the glorious sight. his rough pads trace your smooth skin as he drags lower, dangerously close to where you’re yearning for him.

“peter,” you whisper, holding your breath, so you don’t move a muscle, even though they’re involuntarily shaking with need. he hums, the dirtiest thoughts flowing through his mind. “d-don’t you have to go? what if you get caught?”

“i can spare a few minutes…” his gaze is hazy and distracted, voice gravelly with lust. you clench desperately around nothing as you quietly plead for him to do something. his thumb tests the waters and finally begins circling on your clit, sending electricity up your body. you yelp at the sudden pressure, naturally grinding your hips for more friction. “hmm? don’t you want me to spend a few minutes with you?

his words are taunting and condescending, making your mind go blurry while the words disintegrate from your tongue. the rough pad of his thumb rubs faster while you clench around nothing again, chest heaving.

“i want more than a few minutes,” you moan as his middle finger pets along your soaking slit, teasing you painfully until your eyes roll back. you can sense the smirk growing on his face based on the satisfied hum he responds with.

“more? greedy girl,” peter slides his middle finger into you without warning causing you to release a long string of moans. “shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you? then we’ll both get caught.”

you shake your head.

“then be a good girl and be quiet for me,” peter demands softly. you nod shakily, as another finger pumps into you rapidly. he thrusts brutally into you, fingertips brushing over your g-spot. you melt as bliss laces throughout your body.

“it’s always the quiet ones who are the loudest,” a devilish and dirty smirk dances on his lips while your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip. you slap your palm over your mouth to remain quiet as thrilled moans threaten to pour out of you. your revolving hips are halted by his strong forearm, allowing him to curl his digits deliciously into you. you mewl with screwed eyes, back arching at the immense pleasure.

“i’m so close, peter,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder your moans will betray you and alert the whole neighborhood. peter subtly grinds his hips into the front of the mattress, cock dangerously hard from your whimpering and whining.

“can i taste you? been dying to since you opened your legs for me,” peter asks while your thighs tremble and your pussy contracts tightly around his digits. you mumble out a shuddery please before his mouth is devouring you.

he never removes his fingers, pumping ruthlessly while his mouth explores your slippery folds. he sucks harshly on your throbbing clit, a muffled wail escaping through your hand. warm and soothing, his tongue glides curiously and sneaks into your undeniably soft cunt. the moan you release is unholy and way too loud. at least right now.

peter wants nothing more than to hear your sweet, sweet moans crying his name while he makes you come in several different ways. but tonight was not the night. he wasn’t trying to get reported and have intruder as a new notch on his belt.

he had a good feeling you wouldn’t run off and report him though.

the idea of it all got him off much more than he would have ever thought. and looking at you, he could say that same.

his mouth plops off of you, lips swollen and puffy from sucking.

“come all over my tongue. let me taste you, sweet girl,” his tone is euphonious and seductive, yet demanding. his fingers savagely thrust into your seeping hole that clenches tightly around him. your back arches off the mattress as your thighs shake from the upcoming euphoria.

peter’s words send your body into overdrive. your muscles contract and your stomach tightens as your orgasm ripples through your body like a heavenly wave. cum oozes out of you and onto his tongue, slurping up every ounce of your juices until there is nothing left.

“such a good girl,” peter praises while he licks away your arousal from his rosy lips. heat crawls up your neck at your sudden vulnerability. you attempt to close your legs to hide, but he keeps them spread with his rough hands. “you’re going to hide yourself after i just ate you out? we’re just getting started, baby.”

peter pulls his shirt off deliberately, showcasing his bulky abs and muscles that made your clit pulse with desire again. he looks like he was man-made, a real-life sculpture with chiseled muscles and perfectly ridged abs. you were insatiable to this man, who snuck into your room to steal something— you should be mad at him. furious. but when his boxers fall down his legs, only dirty and needy emotions and thoughts are left.

your eyes widen at his impressive length; you’ve only been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. you were scared, yet excited to feel his cock stretch you out sinfully. you imagined how long you would feel him inside of you afterwards, soreness like a good workout at the gym.

“you’re so big,” you mumble, not hiding the fact that you were blatantly eyeing his raging cock with hunger, fear, and lust.

“it’ll fit. don’t worry, doll,” he hovers over you, smoothing your hair away from your worried eyes. “do you have a condom?”

you stretch out your arm into your night stand, blindly grabbing a tin-foiled package. you seductively rip it with your teeth, causing peter to groan in impatience. he snatches it away from you and swiftly slides it onto his sturdy cock.

“such a fucking tease,” he hisses, running the tip of his cock along your folds, which were already soaked in arousal again. “are you ready?”

you nod your head surely, more than ready for him to fill you up.

“you’re one to talk,” you sass, rolling your eyes, which were no longer as worried, but full of needy anticipation. he huffs out a single chuckle, eyes strained on his dick rubbing around your wetness tediously.

“speaking of talking, don’t,” peter thrusts into you savagely, making you gasp and shriek. your hand immediately goes to his shoulder for leverage, nails digging desperately into the meat of his skin. the other tightens securely onto your mouth to keep quiet, even though it’s probably useless now.

hoarse profanities fall from his lips as he shifts around your snug hole. your velvety walls choke his cock so fucking good, he doesn’t think he’ll last any longer. and then you clench even tighter around him, sending peter’s eyes rolling back into brain.

“you’re so fucking tight,” peter groans in your ear, flicking his hips upwards into you. your body trembles in overwhelming pleasure, muffled whines begging to be released.

slapping skin and hushed moans fill the air. peter fits a hand between the two of you and rubs your throbbing clit perfectly. his lips travel down from your ear to your neck, kissing along your skin. his tongue discovers your soft spot, sucking harshly until you’re clutching onto him for dear life.

“you’re so good, peter. so deep, too, oh god,” you can’t help the lusty wail that tumbles from your raspy throat when he rapidly rolls his hips, repeatedly touching your sensitive g-spot. he growls at the praise, every action being intensified by the comment. you notice this and smile with a hint of devilishness behind it.

“you may be smiling now,” peter pants, muscles popping and flexing from the position. “but you’ll be crying soon.”

if possible, his thrusts got harder. and deeper. and faster. he was pounding into your cunt like there was no tomorrow, buckets of arousal leaking from you and all around him. peter would pull his cock fully out just to slam it back in, and it made you wither away into another dimension. his balls beat against you harshly with every brisk thrust of his body. his skilled thumb pets your clit, electrifying all your nerves into blissful flames.

there was so much to feel; the biting of his kisses on your neck, the rough texture of his thumb pad on your clit, the long, thick length plunging barbarically into you, and the heaviness of his weight above you. you were so overwhelmed by the pleasure, water brimmed at your tear ducts. soon, full-blown tears are streaming down your face from the euphoria running through your veins.

that familiar wicked smile curls on peter’s face with your appearance; wild hair, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips. he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful in front of him.

his cock twitches when you whimper loudly underneath the palm of your hand, begging to let you come. contracting on his shaft, your nails stab his shoulder blade until crescent moon marks appear. a strangled moan leaves him when your body rolls up towards him, back arching harshly.

“need to come. so bad, peter,” you whine. his name from your lips drives him mental.

“fuck, y/n,” he sighs heavily. “come around my cock like the good girl you are.”

with those words, your second orgasm tumbles through your body like a thunderstorm. peter slams his lips against yours to keep you quiet, all your pent-up moans turning into needy hums in your throat. stars spot in your vision and you thought you might pass out from being fucked into oblivion. you wouldn’t even be mad— it was worth it.

summoning all your energy, your muscles tense as the liquid floods out of you. your back arches, making your bare breasts push up against peter’s chest. at the same time, peter comes with a string of curse words against your plush lips. he shoots his load into the condom, balls tightening while his eyes screw shut. he steadies his pumps and slowly pulls out of you, never wanting to leave.

you whimper at the emptiness, already missing his cock. he ties the knot and tosses it into the garbage under your desk. peter slips into his boxers and immediately finds the small box of tissues on your night stand. grabbing a few, he cleans you delicately like an antique doll as if he didn’t just ravish your body and soul.

you were beyond dumbstruck as he wiped you up. the few people you have been with never stayed long enough for aftercare, and even though it should be a necessity, the action still made your heart lurch for peter. speaking of your heart, it was beating a mile a minute. sex was a physical activity, yet having a huge crush on someone felt a lot more physically demanding. but you really liked the feeling.

a million thoughts brisked through your head; how does he feel? does he feel the same? did he hate it? did he love it? you shake your head. if you didn’t stop yourself, you would ruin any chance you might have by overthinking too much.

when you refocus your eyes to the moment, peter has his jeans fully on and his shirt in his hand. he slides it on and then looks at you worryingly, seeming as though you’re still naked and haven’t moved.

“are you okay? did i go too hard? fuck—”

“yes—i mean no! shit,” you stutter after interrupting him and close your eyes in embarrassment. “yes, i’m fine. i’m more than fine. that was… really good, peter. like really good.”

peter’s tensed shoulders relax as his face melts from a concerned expression to a soft one. you slip your large t-shirt on and stand up from your bed. your legs are a bit unbalanced and wobbly, and peter can’t help but chuckle as he holds you steady by your hips.

“stop laughing! you did this!” you whisper-yell with a faked angry face.

“oh, i know. next time, i’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone stand,” he winks with an arrogant smile cascading his lips. familiar heat creeps up your neck and ears, making you all tingly inside at the idea of a next time with peter.

“next time?” large rings of hope surround your irises as you stare into peter’s. his arrogance slightly fades as he itches with nervousness.

“yeah, if that’s what you want, of course,” why is he holding his breath? why is his heart beating so unhealthy fast?

“if i say yes, does that mean you’re going to try to steal my panties again?” you try to hold back your grin as you joke, peering up at him with squinted eyes.

“are you going to let me steal your panties again?” he clicks his tongue with his all too familiar smirk. he loves your playful demeanor and your attempts to withhold a smile.

you pretend to think, really debating. peter can’t help but stare at you in awe. you were beautiful, and he regrets not approaching you earlier because you were… well, he didn’t really know you yet, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. even if you told him to fuck off and never to see him again, he knew that he would never forget you or this night.

you push yourself closer to peter, chest to chest. you can both feel the rapid beating of your hearts through your shirts. however, you stand, gazing confidently at peter. he watches you as you lean right in like you were going to kiss him.

“mm maybe. you might just have to find out yourself,” your breathy words linger on his lips as you back away and casually get into the bed. you unfold the comforter and tuck yourself in, like you didn’t just give peter a semi-hard on in his pants.

suddenly a loud crash is heard from outside, alerting both of your heads to peer out through the window.

“my car!” flash cries so high-pitched and whiny, he probably woke up the entire neighborhood. peter isn’t surprised that one of the sorority girls destroyed his car because he deserved it. someone needed to humble him anyway. you both laugh behind the palm of your hands at flash’s girly scream.

with that, peter realizes that he has to go and that he no longer has any minutes to spare. flash, brad, and ned probably weren’t worried about peter while they were out-running the girls. but now that the girls had done the damage, the boys would soon realize peter’s absence.

“better hide your panties. this isn’t over,” peter walks over to the side of your bed and kisses your forehead delicately. he cracks open the window, turning to you with half his body out. with a wink from him and a gasp from you, he jumps down the two-story window without hesitation. your heart flutters at his gentle kiss that lingers on your skin, fingers pressed against the spot his lips last touched.

rain begins to splash on the glass as sprinkles of water drip into your room through the open window. you purposefully don’t close it, even when you know the carpet will get soaked throughout the night. you welcomed the idea that if peter wanted to come back, he could, simply by sneaking through the window the same way he left.

so many other thoughts cloud your mind, making you lie wide awake. you wondered if his heart was still thumping hastily like the rain pattering on your window and onto your floor. you wondered what he looked like when he was drenched in natural rain water. probably breathtakingly beautiful; soaking wet hair and a childish smile adorning his rosy face while he laughs wholeheartedly.

as you roll over to turn off your lamp with a wistful sigh, you remember that you never even got his number. while trying to guess which set of numbers fit peter parker the best, you fall asleep with a yearning heart, flapping its wings adoringly in your chest.

oh, god, you were down. and it was bad.

what you didn’t know was that peter was down too, but even worse than you.

—

tags: @raajali3

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falling-endlessly · 8 months

Text

Boomerang (part 1)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: When Vox proves incapable of cutting Valentino out of his sex life despite his many reassurances, you decide to break it off with him and leave for good. He doesn’t take it so well.

Just to be clear, reader is an artificial intelligence demon, looks super realistic and human-like, but is actually composed of nanotechnology. She was human once though, like all of the other sinners.

INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Part 2—> Chapter Index

"Y/n?" Charlie poked her head through your door. "There's uh, someone here to see you."

You narrowed your eyes, rising from your bed. A bone-weary sigh escaped you. It was obvious who your supposed "visitor" was. "Did you tell him I'm busy?"

Charlie pursed her lips, looking down. Great, so that meant he was throwing a temper tantrum. And she wanted you to sort him out.

"Alright, fine," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I'm coming." She was generous enough to let you stay, after all. The least you could do was clean up your messes.

When you finally reached the main floor, Vox and Alastor looked about two seconds away from clawing each other's faces off. Cyan blue electricity was sparking along Vox's entire body, and Alastor's shadows curled dangerously behind him, ready to attack at his call.

Seeing him made a hot fury like no other claw its way up your throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" You growled lowly, balling your fists at your sides.

At the sound of your voice, Vox immediately broke away from Alastor, a giant smile spreading across his screen. "Sweetheart! There you are!"

You stormed up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him harshly into a corner. You let go of him once you were sufficiently out of earshot of the others, crossing your arms and leveling him with a furious glare. "You have five seconds to explain yourself."

"Okay, let's just calm down for a second here," he chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Is it really that weird for me to want to check up on you? After all, you kind of just disappeared," his smile strained.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you couldn't find me was because I don't want to see you?" You smiled sardonically, patience running thin.

"Uh, what?" He laughed, but his smile was frozen. "Why would you not want to see me?"

That was the last fucking straw. "Are you that fucking delusional, Vox?" You snapped, poking him harshly in the chest. "When I said I was done, I meant it. This," you gestured between the two of you. "Is over. I'm done."

Vox twitched, electricity sparking off sporadically from his antennae. He stared at you in stunned silence, his breathing starting to pick up speed as he processed your words. His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were being untruthful, and when he found none, he glanced up at the small crowd of residents and staff gathered, only to lock eyes with a smug Alastor.

Vox's screen glitched, his features twisting in a rage. "So you're replacing me with the radio fucker now, is that it?"

"Oh, really?" You narrowed your eyes. "Just like you replaced me with Valentino?"

"That's different," Vox gritted out.

"Is it?"

"Yes, for one, Val isn't some archaic cannibalistic fucker with a vendetta against me!"

"Who has the vendetta against who here? Cause it seems like you're the one who can't let things go." You watched him splutter on his bullshit for a few seconds before you shook your head in exasperation, the pounding pressure increasing at your temples. "Alright, that's it, we're done here. Get out."

"Y/n," he narrowed his eyes. "You need to think about this."

"Oh I've had plenty of time to think," you grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to bare your teeth menacingly. "Now get out before I put a goddamn virus in your software Vox!" Your face pixelated from rage at the end of your sentence. You let him go with a harsh shove.

For a long moment nobody spoke, a tense silence blanketing over the two of you. You glared at him venomously, chest still heaving from your outburst. And him, he was looking at you like he'd never seen you before. Good, you thought spitefully. It's finally getting through to him.

Vox's mouth hardened into a thin line, his sharp claws nearly drawing blood from his palms. "Why here?"

You closed your eyes. "It’s not a forever thing. I just—I need to be away from everything for a little while, okay?" Everything that we've built together. Reminders of you. "No flashy shit, no fast life, no technology—"

"You're an A.I. model," he said dully.

"Yeah well, you win some you lose some," you sighed, rubbing at your temples. "Look, I don't want to say it again. Leave Vox, I'm serious."

For a hot second, it looked like you were ripping his entire world apart and stomping on the broken pieces, the way he looked at you so lost, before he hastily pulled himself back together. "Fine," he spat out. It sounded like it physically hurt him to say it.

He lifted his chin, adjusted his lapels, and stormed out of the hotel, slamming the door so hard it blew straight off of its hinges, blue sparks of electricity still sizzling from it.

For a few seconds, a thick tension suffocated the room, as everyone took the time to process the shit show they'd just witnessed.

"Well, that was fun!" Alastor's cheery voice punctuated the silence. You glared at him tiredly.

***

If you thought that he would give up like you so nicely asked, you were sadly mistaken.

Turned out it was just a pre-game warm up for this asshole.

At least thrice a week, he made sure to fuck up your peace somehow. Last time it was spray painting the entire hotel electric blue (how, you didn't even want to know). The time before that, it was trying to sneak some of his peeping gadgets in through the window. And the time before that, it was putting your name up on every billboard in the goddamn city with a red heart next to it.

Now, you stood incredulously in front of half of the hotel. As in, the other half was missing. Blown off by a fucking missile. You couldn't make this shit up if you tried.

"What the fuck is going on?" You gritted out, before taking a deep, calming breath.

Vox's electric laughter rang out from a speaker of unknown source. You turned angrily to face the open air.

"Pathetic," he jeered. "You still want to shack up with these losers, Y/n?"

You shook your head slowly, laughing in disbelief. "Wow," you said sarcastically. "You really showed us, didn't you? Feel better about yourself now?"

You punctuated your sentence with a glare, before turning and storming towards the remaining half of the building.

Vox watched you from twenty different angles across his screens. The moment you turned your back, his wide, toothy grin dropped, eyes squeezing shut. He slammed mute on his microphone.

“FUCK!” He banged a fist on the table, breathing heavily. It had been two weeks already, and you still hadn’t come back to him. He was getting desperate now.

A quick glance at the screen showed Alastor’s glitching picture. The radio bastard snapped his fingers with a raised brow, the missing half of the hotel repairing itself instantly.

“Fucking show off,” Vox growled raggedly.

He needed to change tactics. And fast.

***

Nothing. He had nothing.

No plans, no blueprints, no smart and suave moves to get you back.

Every scenario he ran through his head would inevitably end with you walking away from him. If only he could hypnotize you like with everyone else—but you were a tech demon, just like him. More advanced, even. Your firewalls were just too strong.

Vox poured himself another glass of scotch, solemnly glaring up at the ceiling in frustration.

A clawed hand clasped his shoulder, making him grit his teeth.

“You’re looking a little tense, Cariño,” Valentino purred, trailing his fingers up Vox’s neck. “I can help with that~”

Vox shrugged him off, annoyed. “Not in the mood, Val.”

But Valentino was undeterred. “Is this about Y/n?” He murmured, knowing he hit the nail on the head when the other demon tensed considerably. “What’s so special about that bitch anyway, hm? Is it the pussy? You know I’ve got whores lined up for you, baby. Just say the word and—”

“Fuck off, Val!” Vox exploded, electricity sparking in his eye. “I don’t want just any random bitch from the street, okay?! I want Y/n. I want her back,” he spat miserably.

Valentino went silent, his face twisting into a cruel expression. “Don’t you understand?” He growled. “She left you. Betrayed you. And she’s not coming back, ever. The sooner you see that and stop wasting your time, the better.”

He turned away, his heels clacking against the marble floors until the double doors swung closed behind him.

Vox let out a frustrated yell, arcs of electricity shooting out from him and shattering his expensive collection of drinking glasses to smithereens.

***

A tap sounded at your window, making you tense.

Slowly you approached it, generating a pistol from your nanotech and holding it tightly to your chest. You peered out of the blinds, only to find your ex dangling from the window sill.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, jumping back.

“A lil’ help?” he grinned lazily, reaching out for you. You grasped his hand, hauling him inside of your room.

The unmistakably pungent scent of alcohol invaded your senses, making your wrinkle your nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you drunk?” You dragged a hand down your face.

“No,” he hiccuped, shaking his head vehemently, which caused him to lose balance. You grabbed his shoulders, righting him before he fell and broke his screen.

“Oh yeah,” his face lit up in realization, before he reached behind him, pulling out a bouquet of slightly squashed roses. “For you,” he slurred, offering them proudly.

You looked at them in exasperation, before taking them gently from his hands. Bringing them up to your face, you closed your eyes, sniffing them slightly. A sweet floral scent filled your senses as you regarded them.

“They’re pretty,” you remarked quietly.

“Yeah,” he grinned, your eyes flickering up to catch his. “But you’re prettier.” At your lack of reaction, his grin faltered, and he looked down.

“I…” he started, swaying slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “Don’t do this.”

“Please come home,” he continued, expression drooping sorrowfully. He clasped your hand, looking up at you pleadingly. “I’ll…I’ll do better, I promise.”

The ache in your heart grew almost unbearable the more you looked at him, so you averted your gaze. “Why don’t you ever say that when you’re sober?”

Vox let go of your hand, sliding down the wall until he landed on his ass. “Scared,” he mumbled.

You crouched down in front of him, lifting his hanging head from his arms. “Of what?” You said gently.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and the raw emotion nearly stole your breath away. “You still won’t want me.”

“Vox…” You closed your eyes, pained.

“Come home,” he whispered hollowly. “Please.”

“You know I can’t do that,” you said thickly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He looked at you sadly, but resigned. “Yeah, I know,” he lowered his screen back into his arms. “…miss you,” he trailed off quietly, before soft whistling snores could be heard.

You dropped your face in your hands, breathing raggedly. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You had almost fucking caved.

After a moment to compose yourself, you searched his pockets, pulling out his phone (he didn’t even change his password) and dialing a familiar number.

“What the fuck do you want now, Vox?” An irritated feminine voice answered the line.

“Velvette,” you said cooly. “I need a favor.”

****

Part 2 —> Chapter Index

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delphi-shield · 21 days

Text

connection buffering . . . ↺

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 2

previous part

you weren't bluffing.

you'd made the sign. wrote his name in big block letters, too confident in how you wrote the first half of his name. the 'EDY' crowds together at the end. 'E' shoves 'D' close to the end, 'Y' drawn paper thin and cocked to the side, threatening to topple off the edge of the paper. leon finds he's not too tired to laugh.

he had the whole goddamn flight to figure out what to say to you, but when he sees you standing there with that sign in your hand, scanning the crowd for a man you expect to be two inches taller, it all flushes out of him to make room for the queasy feeling in his gut. when you finally spot him (thank god; the words had gotten lodged in his throat, your name running around his mind again, again, again, lodged so deep in the crevices that he couldn't pry it free and force it out his mouth) your smile nearly blinds him. he shields his eyes with a hand, watches you bounce on the balls of your feet.

he flicks your sign with a finger. the only words that make it past the lump in his throat are, "messed up the kerning, huh?"

you tip your head, puppy-dog cute. more adorable in person. "the what?"

"kerning." silence. you shake your head a little, blank look in your eye. leon tries to swallow, feels barbs jab into his throat. ten minutes on the ground and he's fucking up already. his gut turns. he tries to blame it on airplane peanuts. "the space between the letters."

he should get back on the plane. if he flashes his badge and declares it official business they have to let him on, right? brass wouldn't be happy with him, but what are they going to do? he's leon fucking kenn--

you laugh and his thoughts screech to a halt, plane crash on the concourse. footsteps pound past him - or maybe that's his heartbeat in his ears. your laugh is prettier in person, too.

"okay, all right." your face lights up, eyes squished to make room for your smile. "why do you know that?"

mentally, he flips through a rolodex of excuses. he moonlighted as a graphic designer (false), he was really into fonts (no strong opinions, really), it's classified (outright lie). he settles for the truth, shrugging.

"late night wikipedia dive."

you laugh again. his heart is a bird, fluttering in his chest, battering itself against his ribs to get to you. what the hell is wrong with him? he hadn't felt like this in years, thought he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore. when you were an adult you grew out of this sort of giddiness. he'd choked it down every time he'd checked his phone under the table at an intelligence meeting, dismissed it as heartburn. he's supposed to want. it's supposed to be a blaze that swallows him up. confident and bold and all-consuming. not fidgety and desperate.

he's not anxious. he's a grown man. he's met presidents, plural. he doesn't get nervous meeting people, even if they're stunning, even if his hands twitch to hold theirs.

does he hug you? kiss you? slip his hand into your back pocket and guide you out of the terminal, lead you blindly to a car that isn't his, take you to an apartment he's only ever seen portions of on a 15 inch screen, ask what he can make you for dinner in your own home? that's what he wants. skip over all of this and slide right into familiarity, fly right past all the work it takes to get there. you've done the leg work, right? you know how you feel about each other. he's here. that says enough, doesn't it?

he's eternally grateful that you reach through his thoughts and pull him into a hug. your face stuffs into his shoulder, words muffled. "i'm so glad you're here."

you inhale deeply and he swears his heart does a backflip. jesus, he needs to get a physical. this can't be normal.

it's you who loops your arm with his, you who tugs him into motion. you rattle off questions that he answers as best he can. it feels like drowning, like he can barely keep his head above water. his flight was fine, thanks for asking. no, he didn't get any sleep. he never sleeps on planes. it's a long story. he didn't need a nap, but yeah, he could go for a coffee.

you know this great place, you reassure him. really low-key. he treads water in the parking garage while you dig for your keys. you drop them - twice - and he wonders if you're struggling to stay at the surface, too.

as a last act before sinking into the passenger seat, he rescues your sign from the trash, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

he looks up from buckling his seat belt, beckoned by the way you call his name. he's still smiling when you cup his cheeks and kiss him.

by day two, he's decided you need a new apartment. he hasn't told you that yet, figures it comes off too pushy, but he would fly back down to help you move if you wanted. (if he thinks it hard enough, won't you ask him to?)

don't misunderstand - he likes what you've done with the place. honest to god, you're a miracle worker with decor. you could really shape his place up.

it's just that your front door is less than secure. your locks are ran through. it would take him less than a minute to break in. he doesn't even want to think about your windows. other than being drafty, they're just another completely unsecured access point.

you'd invited him to sleep in your bed the first night, and he had every intention of doing so. he'd just passed out on the couch before he had the chance. leon had woken with a pillow stuffed under his head, thick, handmade blanket tucked over him. it was sweet. really.

but it wasn't the same as sleeping next to you.

leon has every intention of sleeping in your bed that night. you'd filled the day with a tour of your city, pointing out your favorite and least favorite spots, telling stories that let him imagine the streets as a stage, you as the star, top billing as far as he's concerned. everything had been optional, as you'd feverishly reassured him after every stop. he could change the itinerary with one word. the only mandatory stop had been lunch with your friends. a good sign, he thinks. if you're confident enough to introduce him to the people in your life, then you see this going somewhere, right?

by the time you hit your last stop, it feels like he's emerged from a war zone. leon would know. he's been run ragged on back to back operations before, but this - the pressure of trying to be right for you, to show you who he is, waiting on pins and needles for you to sour on him and push back from the closeness he craves - this is truly exhausting.

you must feel it too, offering to pick up dinner on your way home in lieu of cooking. he waves away apologies, reaches past you to hand the cashier at taco bell his card when you try to pay. the food is gone by the time you pull your car into the parking lot.

both of you have the same idea. you're just as worn out as he is (makes him wonder if you're doing the same thing, all anxious energy, making sure to put your best foot forward, always stumbling and falling into a better impression than the one you set out to make) and bed comes naturally to mind. he slips into the side closest to the door and you stop him immediately, voice teasing.

"uh, that's my side." you poke at his ribs. the awkwardness had melted over the course of the day together. you were playful, eyes bright and laugh loud. touch came easy between you now, both playful and lingering. the comfort that had been stirred up and tossed into disarray by physical proximity had settled back in.

leon's eyes flit to the door over your shoulder. it's not a big deal, he tells himself. the odds of something happening were astronomically low.

but he knows his luck with astronomically low odds. one in a million is too risky. he's got to be closer to the door, won't be able to sleep if he's not. his hands wrap around your waist, urging you on top of him. he doesn't miss the way you stiffen, the momentary hitch of your breath, but you let yourself get swept along all the same, drape yourself over him as he guides you to.

"just sleep like this." leon shifts lower to make more space for you. he presses a kiss to your head.

it takes longer than he expected for you to relax. slowly, when his hands still at your back and his breathing evens out, your limbs loosen. your weight thickens atop him, pressing him further into the mattress. it's all he can do to remind himself that he's tired, that starting something now would lead nowhere fast.

leon stays awake until he's certain you're out cold. the door remains unbreached, your home still safe. he can't bring himself to regret his caution.

when he's finally able to sleep, he sleeps hard. he wakes to your fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned against your chest, completely flipped around during the night. it's the best night he's had in years.

on day three, leon wonders if he should be more obvious.

he's been putting out all the signs, carefully curated his touch to be lingering, to make you burn for more, but each time you settle against him and offer up a contented "this is nice."

does there need to be a neon sign draped around his neck that says "take me for a spin", arrow blinking down toward his crotch? you'd let him press against your back during an afternoon nap, knee wedged between your legs, arm curled around your stomach to keep you next to him. he woke from dreams where he was bolder, where he wasn't afraid of losing you with that lingering confidence, pressed kisses to the back of your neck until that gauzy empowerment lifted.

hell, he'd woken up that morning laying half on top of you, his head nestled in the valley of your chest. you'd pet his hair til he woke from nuzzling your tits in his sleep.

he abandons subtlety during the credit crawl of eight-legged freaks, a 'classic' you had insisted on making him watch. (you'd laughed when he had commented he could keep you safe in the event of giant spiders. he hadn't been joking, but he still hasn't grown tired of hearing you laugh.)

"hey," he asks, hand curling around your thigh. his thumb smooths an arc across your skin, traces the path again and again. "do you wanna..?"

smooth, kennedy.

you look over at him with that same puppy-dog confusion that he's growing familiar with. instead of moving his hand, you draw your legs up and lay them over his lap. how the fuck is he supposed to interpret that?

"do i wanna..?" you parrot back, drawing the words out into the form of a question.

leon hates himself. he wishes he could back out of this. he clears his throat. how the hell do people broach this topic smoothly? he searches for the words, the silence stretching a little too long for comfort. finally, he says the first thing he can.

"like, sex."

real mature, kennedy, he thinks. he wishes he could backpedal, take it all back. he's certain your face warms. before he can issue a take down for his words, (maybe cut out his stupid goddamn vocal cords, if he has the time) you fumble out, "oh. like- right now? uh, i mean, do you want to?"

continuing with the maturity, he turns it back on you.

"i asked you first."

"i don't not want to."

leon shakes his head. his hand cups your ankle. "i really only take 'yeah' or 'hell yeah'."

"i just didn't think giant spiders got you in the mood."

"hey, the more legs the better."

leon knows deflection when he hears it. he's the reigning champ, after all, could play this game with you all day. but he has mercy; he chuckles, lets you get away with it and grabs the remote, declaring it's his turn to pick another movie since your choice was a mood killer.

later that night, curled up in bed with a video playing mindlessly from your tablet, you turn around to face him. he widens his arms to accommodate the movement, circles them tighter once you settle in.

"you're not mad?" you ask, pressing your face into his chest, already hiding from the answer.

"about what?"

"y'know."

"spell it out for me, sweetheart."

he can feel your breath puff against his chest, an exasperated huff. people have done this same thing to him time and time again. he always hated it, being forced to be forthcoming and earnest. (vulnerable, some people call it, but that always made him feel like a wounded bird.) now that he's on the other side, he sort of sees the appeal.

"'cause i don't wanna have sex yet."

there's a 'yet'. that's promising. he saves that little victory for later. his hand rubs slowly, reverently across the planes of your back.

he knows what he's got to say. he knows that he means it. putting the words to it is different. he needs you to understand, has to do this right.

"i didn't come all this way just to hook up."

you hum. "but you still want to."

christ, he's got to man up and say it.

"of course i do." you burrow closer to him, hands fisting against his side. he taps your back firmly. "hey. i'm not finished. i'm attracted to you, okay? like, really attracted to you. it's not- it's not just physical. i want to see if we can make this work. if what we had on the phone was real."

"is it?"

"yeah. i think so."

"sex isn't important to you?"

"it is. it's just not more important to me than you."

you pull your face from his chest, look up at him with big wet eyes. he brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek tenderly, afraid you'll splinter and those tears will cascade down if he's anything but gentle.

"i think so, too."

you curl back into him, your touch melting from desperate to serene. leon can't help but feel accomplished - as though he's threaded the needle perfectly, cut the right wire just before the clock hit zero. gradually, his breathing falls into step with yours.

"besides," he murmurs, half-asleep. he drops a kiss against the top of your head. "your walls are thin. i don't want you catching a noise complaint."

day four is a glimpse of the life he could have, but it makes him realize what he needs to do to obtain it. the sickly feeling pools in his stomach, leaves him picking at the dinner you made. it's good, he swears. then the lie - just all the travel catching up to him.

he knows by day five that he's got to tell you everything. it's no longer a want - he needs you in his life. he's resolved to come clean.

he nearly does it over breakfast. you set his coffee in front of him, muss his hair before you take your own seat, and it almost comes spilling out onto the table.

i work in national security. i'm a federal agent. there's so much i can't tell you, but it's dangerous. god, it's dangerous. there's so much blood on my hands. it doesn't scrub off but i'm worried it will stain your skin. i think i could love you, if you'll let me. please don't say it back.

"plans today?" he says instead, sipping his coffee.

maybe tomorrow.

day six leaves him melancholy.

you'd insisted that today was for him. whatever he wanted, you would accommodate.

leon worries that his answer is boring. he wants a day in with you. an imitation of what it could be like to come home to this. the idle sounds of you milling about the house could lull him to sleep if it weren't for the words lodged in his throat.

you were doing the laundry. not yours, not his, but the, the definite article that's never felt intimate until that very moment. it silenced him to hear you refer to it that way. he's so tired of reading into every word you say, clinging onto every nuance. he'd forgotten how exhausting this stage of a relationship is. you couldn't send him home with dirty clothes, you explained, and he had no argument against that. his eyes traced after you as you puttered around, busying yourself with tidying. you're so at home. of course you are. it's your apartment. but he wants that. he wants to lift you from this place and into his own home, to watch you make yourself at home and busy yourself with the mundane.

he's got to tell you today. he can't do it over text. it's wrong.

when you finally settle down next to him on the couch, drawing a blanket into your lap, you breach the topic gently, give him a chance to do it himself. leon doesn't realize how obvious he is when he gets that look on his face, all forlorn as if he'd collapsed onto a fainting couch, hand over the back of his forehead. drama queen.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting close - but infuriatingly distant, not quite touching him yet.

"nothing. just looking at you."

bless you for trying to make it easy on him. it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk. he's trained to resist torture and coercion, should know better than to melt under a gentle hand or the way your body fits against his side.

you hum softly, disbelieving. so that's it, then. the silence, the 'i'm respecting your distance until you break' tactics. damn, you're good. leon takes a deep breath, chest aching with the weight of what he has to say. now or never.

"look- i'm not who you think i am."

you don't miss a beat. "in what way?"

he has to force the words out. he's acutely aware that this could ruin everything. you could kick him out. block his number, never speak to him again. good. it was safer that way. you deserved a normal life.

"i lied to you. about my work."

"yeah, i know."

"i work in security. national security."

"leon. i know."

his brain reels back a few steps, trying to process your words.

"you know?" he repeats, almost offended. how could you know? was this a set up?

you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping a quick query in. you turn the phone to him. article after article, a few interviews pinned to the top. every link is purple, clicked on and read through. the one that draws his eye is tucked at the bottom of the screen, makes his skin crawl to remember.

KENNEDY, HARPER CLEARED OF CHARGES

"i googled you." you set your phone down on the coffee table.

"and you still let me into your house?" he was serious, but you laugh. leon's brow pinches. "how long?"

you shrug, as if this conversation is about the laundry. "a couple months. ever since you told me your last name."

"months? why didn't you say anything?"

"i was hoping you'd tell me yourself. and you did, sort of."

his mind is still reeling. the drama of it all had his wound up tight. where does he put that energy?

he must look as thrown-off as he feels, because you chuckle, sweep the hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"i get why you don't tell people upfront. just don't hide stuff like that from me again, okay? seriously. i'll be mad."

it's more grace than he deserves. your acceptance churns his stomach. is there another meaning behind your words, a resentment coiling in the pit of your stomach?

you crack open your book and lean against his side. he settles his arm around you, moving slow, scared to frighten you away. only one chapter in, you pass him your phone, a take-out app order, asking what he wants. if you're mad, you hide it well.

day seven is a funerary procession. you help him scour your apartment for things he may have left behind, packing them neatly in his suitcase-shaped coffin. it's amazing how his things had flooded into your apartment during the short course of his visit. he had spread out, made himself comfortable. part of it had been testing how his belongings felt next to yours, how it all fit - the final test he had constructed in his mind. you'd passed that with flying colors, clearly. he's lost track of a shirt somewhere along the way, but he isn't concerned about it. he'll be back. he can look for it another time.

both of you linger at your front door. excuses are myriad, flowing from both sides. reasons to double back, reasons to keep his hand on your waist, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his.

but eventually the time becomes too urgent, the threat of missing his flight too real. he'd joked in the car that if he didn't turn up for work they might just send a helicopter to pick him up instead, expecting a laugh. you only smile, a wry twist of your lips that fades too quickly. you reach for your sunglasses and shove them on. the air is tense by the time you pull into the parking garage, cherry scented car freshener cloying.

“you gonna cry?” he teases.

you sniffle.

“oh my god.” he is such a jackass. “don't cry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. it's okay. jesus.”

“i just don't want you to go,” you squeak. your hands fist the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white.

leon leans over the center console, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. he shrugs you closer to him, hushing you gently.

"let's plan another trip, okay?" he murmurs against your head, placing apologetic kisses there over and over. "c'mon. it's not forever. it's okay. i'm gonna call you when i land. we'll text, like we always do. it's my turn to pick the movie, so-"

fuck. his voice cracks. he clears his throat, blinks quickly to keep his composure.

"so, i'll pick a good one. wednesday night, okay? you, me, and a really good movie."

steadily, his promises slow your tears. the pressure of time detaches you from his hold. you're with him as far as you can go, waving him off to his gate. his heart sinks like a stone. he hates flights, never gets comfortable on them, but the way home feels longer than usual.

made it home he texts the second he's through the door. you're probably asleep. he hopes you are, at least. it's late for you, and--

yay

before he can bother telling you to go to bed, another message pushes through. his house felt empty before, but your message only deepens the feeling, hollows out the hallways and leaves his bed feeling too big, too cold.

i miss you already. call me tomorrow if you can.

leon squints at the screen.

"is that my shirt?"

you stop mid-sentence. caught red-handed - or, rather, grey-shirted.

it's your movie night since he made it back home. you're curled up in bed, your popcorn off to the side. he can fill in the gaps of your room now, knows what extends beyond the screen - and he knows that shirt. an old work tee of his that had mysteriously gone missing after you did the laundry. well-worn and soft. his name stamped on the back in big, block letters. possessive pride stirs in his chest to imagine you wearing his name.

sheepish, you promise, "i'll bring it back to you. how about next month?"

leon shakes his head. he pulls open his calendar, skimming through the busy weeks to clear the time for you.

"keep it. wear it to the airport for me so i know who to look for."

"you're not gonna make me a sign?"

"the shirt is the sign, sweetheart."

"are you gonna wear a matching one with my name on it?"

"i might." he opens another tab, googling how to make custom t-shirts. "you'll have to get here and find out."

connection restored -`♡´-

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #resident evil fluff #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x reader #sorry for doubling the word count of part 1 i daydreamed a little too hard.

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pearl-tarotist · 2 months

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₊˚ପ⊹ Chose a pile: PACs that I never ended ༻¨*:·.

In this Pick A Pile, I bring different piles of various tarot readings that I never ended/ write more than one pile each.

It's random piles that focus on various areas, none of them are +18. I hope all of you enjoy it!

Not all those who wander are lost.

PILE 1: What will your future spouse find beautiful about you?

They like how intensely you are you. They are at aw that no matter how many styles and physical changes you go trough, there’s something unchangeable.

They ardently enjoy the look on your eyes, they think that they are always recognisable. Firmly, on the quote “the eyes are the window of the soul”.

They do also enjoy the touch of your hands, they like how soft they feel and how they can engulf your hands with theis. They like how, sometimes naughtily , you trace their skin with the tip of your fingers.

There’s also a freckle, for some, close to the eye or upper lip, that they enjoy kissing.

With the moon card, they enjoy the part of you no one can see, yes, emotionally and physically-wise. Emphasis on the chest zone. Your future spouse is always eager to see you naked. They deeply enjoy seeing you in the “purest” way, naked, with no make-up, no clothes nor masks that can hide who you are.

They are fond of your curves, the softness and the reaction of your skin, they could enjoy hugging you so hard that they leave some redness on you. You are just too cute not to annoy a little bit.

They also see behaviours on you that they find beautiful. You are strong and mature. They will feel safe around you. They could see you and think you are the perfect person to build a family with.

“There is nothing more beautiful than seeing a person being themselves. Imagine going through your day being unapologetically you.” (Steve Maraboli)

(4oP - The Chariot - The Moon - 10oP - King of Shells - Queen of Gems)

PILE 2: Your life as a fairytale

i.-Your “new” self: skills, magic.

In a fairy-tale you would wake up in the middle of the night to be the underdog.

You would live in a big city, surrounded by commerce and loud noises, probably, a coastal city. Technology has no place in this city and you constantly hear stories of dangerous sea pirates and magicians. You like to watch through your window how people make business and speak to each other… to understand the real self of all of them… to not suffer the fate of being betrayed. Your skin holds a golden tone due to the sunlight and your cheeks are always sun-kissed. You dress with flowy clothes and leather boots.

You walk through people as a ghost, comfortable on seeing and on not being seen and when you found yourself involved in any drama you unroll the drama enough to end in the position that you want.

In dangerous situations you would be forced to use your cleverness and intelligence to survive the obstacles of your adventure. You would have to decide what you want and which option to choose even when both options are dangerous and unfavourable. There wouldn’t be time to smell the salty air of the shores nor to pay attention to the sand between your toes. Self-reflections and risking decisions are your thing. “For the skin of your teeth” would define your path and personality.

Surviving, barely, everything.

Your skills would involve: wittiness, the observation of details no one else sees, always being two steps in front of everyone and in general: finding the answers no one could have found. When someone asks for the answer to the riddle, you will be the only one answering.

“ What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

When everything’s lost, you save them.

ii.-Your group of friends:

You have lost friends along the way in this fairy-tale. Some adventures ended and you had to return to your normal life and your daily projects. You do not keep contact with them on the regular, but sometimes at night you stay under the moon’s gaze and think of them. To the ones you can see and the one you are not able to reach.

At least two of them are fine and you can see them from time to time. Once you saw him in the market corner, convincing someone to make an unfavourable business, you smiled and thought about how they have not changed.

Then, you saw her, dancing heavily and breathless in the bar with a little child, hair messy and a smile that reached her eyes. Her skirt flowed graciously at the sound of the music and the cracks of the fire. She saw you looking and asked you to dance with her but you were tired, so you just sat down in a chair drinking a soft drink.

To the ones you have lost, you think about them at night, thinking about if you could have saved them if you had done things differently. You know you need to stop this self-pitying, but you are not ready yet to let them go.

iii.-Your lover/companion of life:

Your lover was a breath of fresh air, he was the beginning that you needed to leave all the pain and sadness behind. He is happiness and a reason to drink… to cheer for the Gods that have put both of you together and have made your cups full of love.

He is a warrior, always ready to defend you and to take care of you. Reckless and unafraid, your lover stole your heart without doubts. In the same way he charges for battle, he charged for you… You love the warmness of waking up in his arms and the coldness that leave your body when he hugs you at night. He cleans your cheeks with affections when you get dirty and is not afraid to argue with you if it is for your well-being.

You have found stability and the person you do not need to convince to stay, he has chosen you.

2 of swords //The moon + 5 of Cups// Ace of cups + knight of wands.

PILE 3: Shufflemancy:romantic messages

۵♡۵ Let’s forget about the problems, worries and economical issues. I just want to party and enjoy this beautiful night with you. Let’s forget about anything else that’s just not us. (Time of our lives- Pitbull).

۵♡۵ I want to have a date with you at the beach, next to the water, let’s have the perfect summer date. (Water-Brad Paisley)

۵♡۵ I just want you to be mine, but I know we are not together. That’s why I hate when you keep secrets from me. I worry about every guy you set your eyes on. (Secrets-The weekend).

۵♡۵ I am going to try my best to earn your trust as it seems that you have trust issues, but I cannot do it if you give up and start going after every guy you want because you get bored of the routine. I am also getting tired. (Emergency -Paramore).

۵♡۵ If maybe…I stoped chasing you, would you come to me? Would you lay next to me? Just like butterflies… (Chasing cars - Snow Patrol).

۵♡۵ I don’t want to be friends, I want the all or nothing. I don’t know how to make it more obvious to you, please understand. ۵♡۵ I wonder why you let me get to close to you if you were just going to push me back. I do wonder too if all your words and what you said was a lie. (Fingers crossed - Lauren Spencer Smith).

In general there is someone kind of disappointed about the fact that you decided to break up with them or just stop talking to them; this person is definitly still into you but it’s unable to handle all of your trust issues. This person still thinks about you daily.

#Tarot #tarot reading #future spouse #pac #pick a pile #pick a card #pac tarot #free psychic reading #tarotblr #tarot pac #love reading #pearl

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