thalia

Leon had the briefing in his lap, looking over the details a final time before he drifted off to a restless sleep. He never slept well the night before a mission. Whether it was because he knew what he was getting himself into each time, or it was the too real possibility of the fact that he might never see your face again.

You, curled up into Leon’s side, back resting against the headboard as you watched his face focus on the papers in front of him, tilted your head down to plant a kiss on his bare shoulder.

“Hey, you’ve read that thing ten times front to back now. You need to sleep,” your lips murmured against his skin, a hand rubbing his chest in soft circles. Leon sighed, and folded up the briefing and placed it on his nightside table.

“Yeah okay,” he muttered tiredly, a yawn escaping out his mouth as he spoke. He switched off the lamp next to him and settled further into bed, you doing the same. 

Leon was on his side, arms wrapped around your waist as you snuggled deep into his chest, your nose digging into his collarbone. Leon always held you tighter before parting; memorizing every dip and curve of your body, the smell of your shampoo, the soft sound of your voice in his ear.

You inhaled the scent of Leon’s skin, freshly clean from a shower but still had a hint of his pheromones that drove you wild. You nudged your nose against his neck, placing a gentle kiss to his pulse.

“If I don’t hear your alarm wake me when you get up, okay?” You whispered against his neck, exhaustion beginning to creep into your body. Leon kissed the top of your head, keeping his face nestled in your hair.

“It’ll be too early for you, baby. I’ll let you sleep,” he whispered back, another sigh escaping his nose as he went to shut his eyes. You pulled your head back just enough to look at his face, and frowned.

“I have to say goodbye, I’ll fall back asleep once you leave.” Leon’s head rolled when you pulled yours back, his eyes blinking back open only slightly. He was exhausted, to say the least. His brain was consumed with the case, under eyes dark from lack of sleep. All he could do was lean in, slotting his lips into yours like they were made for each other.

The kiss was deep, trying to communicate the words he couldn’t come up with. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his arms pulling you impossibly closer to his body.

“Love you so much,” Leon whispered, words trailing off as he succumbed to sleep. You only kissed the tip of his nose, nestling your head back into the crook of his neck before allowing sleep to pull you in.

Your head was buried in your pillow when you began to stir awake. Face practically suffocating in the silk pillowcase, hair in all different directions on your head. You felt strangely well rested, muscles relaxed and battery fully recharged. 

Your eyes still closed, you flipped over in bed and extended your arms to reach for Leon, and was met with the cold mattress. You frowned, arms flailing as you tried to search for even a little bit of warmth.

That was when you opened your eyes, immediately squinting from the morning sun.

Wait, the sun? What time is it? 

You lifted your head, eyes adjusting just enough to read the digital clock on Leon’s nightstand. The time read 8:57am. 

You sat right up, head whipping across the room as you noticed Leon’s duffle bag was gone, briefing missing from the nightstand, and jacket removed from the back of the door. 

Leon had left. And didn’t say goodbye.

Your immediate reaction was to be enraged. You had told him to wake you up if you couldn’t yourself, and now you’ve been left to wake up alone without giving him that comforting farewell you always did. You felt your face get hot, eyes filling up with angry tears. 

You hopped out of bed, and made a direct route to the phone. You knew that you shouldn’t be doing this as you dialed Hunnigan’s number, but your mind was too groggy and frustrated to think clearly.

It only took two rings for Hunnigan to answer her headset, “y/n, what are you-”

“-What’s Leon’s status.” Your tone was flat and direct, not daring to let your voice crack as those hot tears fell from your eyes.

“He said this might happen,” Ingrid muttered to herself, “you know I can’t tell you that, y/n.”

“I’m not asking, Ingrid. What’s. Leon’s. Status.” 

The line is silent for a moment, you almost thought she had just hung up until you heard a deep sigh from the other end.

“He is on route to the location. If everything goes accordingly, he should be back to base by the end of the night. You really don’t need to worry-”

“-Thank you,” you hang up the phone before Hunnigan is able to finish her sentence. You let go a shaky breath, and wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand. 

The anger subsides as you stand in your bedroom, fingers running through your hair, and the fear settles in.

Maybe the reason why waking up alone hurt you so much is because of the first time he ever came back home to you. The first time Leon came back injured, you hadn’t even known he was on a mission.

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment, halfway through a movie you’d already watched twice because Leon was supposed to be home three hours ago. At the time, you were still learning what it meant to love someone like Leon Kennedy.

You knew he worked for the government, that he traveled, and you also knew there were things he couldn’t tell you. But you didn’t understand what that really meant.

Every time he left, he’d brush a kiss against your forehead and tell you he’d be back in a few days, and every time, you’d believe him. 

That night, the knock at your door came just after midnight. You remember being more annoyed than anything; annoyed he’d forgotten his keys, annoyed he scared you, that he made you wait.

You marched across the apartment ready to lecture him, and opened the door. 

You froze.

Leon was standing there swaying on his feet, shirt torn, blood stained sleeve of his jacket. There was a cut across his cheek, and another disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His face was pale and exhausted. 

The moment he saw you, some invisible thread holding him upright snapped. He stumbled forward, and you barely caught him.

“Leon?” Your voice had sounded strange; small and terrified. You helped him inside, heart pounding so hard you could hear it. He kept saying, “It’s not as bad as it looks,” which only made the vision of your eyes get blurrier and blurrier. 

You remembered kneeling on the bathroom floor while he sat on the edge of the bathtub, your hands shook so badly you almost dropped the antiseptic. Leon had laughed softly, actually laughed despite the blood and bruises, despite the split skin over his eyebrow. 

You’d glared at him through tears, “Stop laughing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You could’ve died,” the words escaped before you could stop them. Leon stared at the floor as the bathroom went quiet. For the first time that night, he had nothing to say. 

Because you were right. You sat between his knees, still clutching the first aid kit. After a long moment, Leon reached out and brushed away a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I’m here, though.”

You hated how broken your voice sounded when you answered, “But what if next time you aren’t?”

The question lingered between you too honestly, too uncomfortably. Because you both knew that it was a real possibility. Leon didn’t answer immediately, instead he leaned forward and pressed a tired kiss to your forehead. Then another, as though trying to prove that he was real. Still breathing, still alive.

You remembered grabbing the front of his shirt before he could pull away, holding him close to you like you needed to feel him.

“Then promise you’ll always come home,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as you rested your forehead on his. Leon had smiled, small, tired, but genuine.

“I promise.” 

The next time he left for a mission, you’d kissed him goodbye at the door. And every mission after that. Neither of you said it out loud, but somewhere along the way, the goodbye kiss stopped feeling like a habit. And started feeling like a promise. 

You stared at the silent phone in your hand. Leon had kept that promise every single time, until this morning.

It was Leon’s first mission back from the events in Spain. He had been forced on a leave for a month after suffering from night terrors every night the moment he came back. Even after the leave, they had put him on straight office work for a few weeks to make sure he didn’t lose all of his progress; they can’t ruin their best agent, right?

You spent every night taking care of Leon; calming him down after each nightmare, making sure he ate and showered, even hid all of the knives and unloaded his guns in case he sleepwalked again.

You had been told that this mission wasn’t anything compared to the one in Spain. It was a simple gathering of intel, he shouldn’t have any need to even fire a weapon. But after everything you watched Leon go through, and the very little he told you that happened, you were still apprehensive about this mission.

That was why when you woke up alone this morning it pained you more than usual. You were afraid that Leon would lose all his progress, something could trigger a memory or feeling and he could lose his guard and then-

Before your own thoughts could spiral further you shook your head vigorously, and decided that there’s no good in dwelling on what’s already been done. All you could do was try to distract yourself until Leon came home, supposedly by the end of the night. 

So that’s what you did. You did everything imaginable to keep yourself busy; got showered and dressed, cooked breakfast, started a load of laundry, got groceries, cleaned the whole house, did more laundry, even washed your bedsheets so Leon could come home to a clean bed.

You were washing the dishes from dinner when your mind started to betray you again. The sun was just about set, the sky glowing shades of pink and orange, and all you could think about was what if Leon didn’t come home tonight. 

You thought about calling Hunnigan again, but decided against it as you really weren’t supposed to ask for his status and you wanted to trust that she would be right about his departure home. You packed up the leftovers, making a plate and leaving it on the stovetop just in case Leon came home hungry.

You settled on the couch in the living room, pyjamas on and wrapped in a fluffy blanket with a movie playing on the tv. You could hardly focus on the screen as you constantly checked the time, and twisting your head to the front door at every car that drove by or every creak you heard. 

The clock only read nine pm, meaning it would be quite a few more hours until Leon would be expected home. You thought about going to bed, skipping the agonizing hours and getting right to the part where Leon was pressed close against your back and head nuzzled deep in your neck.

But your brain felt so wired that sleep wasn’t even an option. You could feel your muscles aching to rest but your thoughts were so all over the place that it couldn’t shut off. You also weren’t sure how to handle the situation when he did come home. 

Your first initial feelings were angry. You wanted to yell, interrogate him as to why he would break a routine that was so important to you. But you also knew that Leon would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe his alarm never went off and he slept in? Or he was still half asleep as he walked out the front door and forgot?

After all, this was Leon’s job. You didn’t expect him to dote around every time you left for work, so maybe it was the same thing? Did you feel like a hindrance to him? So many conspiracies encircling your mind it began to create a pounding in your head. 

You laid sideways on the couch, blanket covering everything but your eyes as you tried to focus on the tv again. A tear betrayingly slipped past your eyes, all you could do was count down the hours until all of this would be over.

Your body jolted awake the second Leon’s keys fiddled with the front door. You didn’t remember falling asleep, or even how long you had stayed up prior. The sky outside was still dark, a quiet rain trickling down the windows.

You sat up as you heard the front door open, but didn’t turn to look. You could hear the squeak of Leon’s boots as he kicked them off, duffle bag being dropped to the floor, and jacket hung up on the coat rack.

Leon’s feet padded quietly on the hardwood floor, trying to make sure he didn’t wake you. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner when he stopped, seeing your back upright on the couch.

“Hey,” he sighed, walking closer to the couch. You almost flinched at his voice, your brain already trying to convince you that this wasn’t real. Finally, you rose from the couch, and turned to face him.

And there he was. Tired, hair messy like he had been playing with it, clothes a little wrinkled, but he was here. Alive, and not even a scratch that you could see. It almost made you more upset that he was fine. Like the routine that you had set up in your head actually didn’t mean anything. 

Your arms hugged around your chest tight, eyes already starting to brim with tears, “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Leon’s shoulders tensed, eyebrows knitting together on his forehead. He attempted to take a step closer, but you took a step back.

“Sweetheart, please-” 

“-I asked you to wake me before you left, and you didn’t,” your voice cracked for the first time all day, not ashamed of showing how hurt you were, “I kiss you goodbye every time you leave.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, arms tightening around your chest to stifle a sob. Leon sighed again, running a hand through his hair, your eye catching that faded scar over his eyebrow. 

“It’s four in the morning, y/n. I’m tired, you’re tired, can we talk about this in the morning-” 

“-No, Leon!” The words came out sharper than you intended. “I waited all day for you.”

Leon tensed, you could see the exact moment the frustration drained out of his face and the realization settled in.

“I called Hunnigan,” you murmured, now suddenly feeling embarrassed of what you did. Leon’s eyes widened, head tilting to the side.

“You did what?” That got Leon’s attention immediately. He had given you Ingrid’s number in case of an emergency. If he didn’t show up when he was supposed to, or god forbid something happened to him during a mission.

So him finding out that you had called her made him put together just how terrified you were. Leon forced himself to stay put in front of you, you had already backed away once and he didn’t want to stress you any more than you were. 

So he watched, watched as you rocked on the heels of your feet, nose sniffling as more tears fell down your face. 

“I thought something happened to you.” The words felt like something you had been avoiding to admit all day. You never usually think of the worst when Leon would leave, especially when you’d be reassured with that goodbye kiss and the promise that he would make it back safe. So when you didn’t have that safety net to fall back on, it triggered something horrifying inside you.

Your arms unfolded, dropping to your sides defeatedly before a choked sob escaped you. All it took was you shifting closer to Leon that had him breaking free of his stance, barreling towards you and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

He cradled the back of your head as you sobbed into his chest, your arms squished at your sides from Leon holding you so tight. You could feel his shirt dampening from your tears but you didn’t care; the mixture of anger and hurt only formed into relief knowing you no longer had anything to worry about.

Leon shushed you comfortingly, brushing your hair with his fingers to soothe your cries, and once all that remained were quiet whimpers and sniffles was when he finally spoke. 

“You finally fell asleep.” His voice was just above a whisper, brushing against the shell of your ear. You pulled your head back just enough to meet his gaze, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“What?”

“You were sleeping,” Leon’s hand moved from the back of your head to cup the side of your face, “for the first time in weeks.”

That’s when it clicked for you. While you were so busy taking care of Leon ever since he came home from Spain, you were forgetting to take care of yourself.

You lost countless hours of sleep making sure he wouldn’t have another night terror, skipping meals when you were watching Leon make sure he ate everything off his plate, and only giving yourself enough time in the shower to clean your hair and body.

So when Leon woke up before his alarm actually went off, and saw you sound asleep next to him, he didn’t bother you. Leon had a hard time showing his gratitude with words, and he was extremely grateful he had someone like you to hold him together in one of his darkest moments. He figured the least he could do was let you get a full night's rest. 

“You looked so peaceful, and you haven’t been sleeping well because of me. So I didn’t wake you.” Leon stared deep into your eyes as he spoke, making sure you could read his genuine expression, how he would never do anything to purposely harm you.

You looked at him through your damp eyelashes, your face relaxing enough to understand why he did what he did. 

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” you whispered, “I always say goodbye.”

Leon clicked his tongue at your words, his heart aching so badly over how distraught you had been.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he muffled into your hair, kissing the top of your head. You finally wriggled your arms out of his grasp to wrap them around his back, squishing your face deeper into his chest.

“I hated leaving you without saying goodbye.” Leon confessed, rubbing gentle circles between your shoulder blades. You hummed in question, tilting your head to rest your chin on his chest. “I stood in the doorway for ten minutes. Because it means a lot to me, too.”

You could almost start sobbing again. You had gone all day contemplating whether this silly superstition you have actually made a difference to Leon, if a simple goodbye was enough to put both your worries at ease. Now that you knew it not only meant a great deal to him, and how he forced himself not to wake you this morning, it filled your heart right back where it was meant to be.

You gave him a quivering smile, body straightening to have your head reach closer to his. One of your hands reached to his face, your thumb grazing along his jaw.

“Well, I think you forgot something this morning.”

Before Leon could answer you leaned in and softly kissed Leon’s lips. It wasn’t anything intense; just your lips slotting perfectly into his and taking in everything you missed while he was gone. 

Leon sighed into the kiss, shoulders relaxing and pulling you closer to his chest as he deepened the kiss. Everything you had been so worried about flew out the window. All you knew was that Leon was home, he was safe, and he cared about your silly routine just as much as you did. 

“Welcome home.” 

note: anyone interested in makeup sex? ;)

taglist @gracelovesgyu @pinkcatnight @princesssugarplumm @daervannafia @macieyiu

credits to @uzmacchiato for the dividers!

​it feels strange to be back here.

you packed a pile of clothes inside your suitcase. plenty for a few days away from the chaotic atmosphere of your city and right back to where it all began: your birth town. the horrid traffic jam and constant noise— you temporarily left all of that behind for the retreat of your parents’ home.

you crammed everything in a small, pearly white suitcase and straight into the trunk of your car it went— a pair of lacquered pink stilettos and the gorgeous satin dress for the main event, your pajamas, gorgeous clothes and some of them skimpy, for the warm weather and a pair of bikinis. at the bottom, there’s something you weren’t so sure about. lingerie.

it’s all because of leon. you didn’t know if he’d show up, but you assumed he would.

pink pieces of lace sewn delicately around the edge of the balconette bra that meet in the middle, in semblance with a bouquet of white roses: pale sweet satin, brand new, laid neatly in an agent provocateur box, arranged together with the matching panties.

you didn’t text him about it. he didn’t tell you either.

he’d end up looking like a huge asshole and his absence would disappoint your father, especially. you knew he’d show, however. he wouldn’t miss this. he’s not the type to. his reliability is his most predictable asset and that’d be simply out of discussion.

you drove for a few hours in your convertible, a vanilla cream 80’s mercedes benz that you feel in love with at seventeen on a family trip to arizona. you begged your parents for it and they had to comply with their only daughter’s wish to drive around the town in a vintage car.

you tap your nails against the nude steering wheel, vintage— butt sunken in the cushy, cream leather seat, eyes behind a pair of large, cat-eye shades— with your phone on speaker and the highway winds blowing through your hair, dancing and tingling across your bare skin.

“hope i won’t have to talk to all your guests, dad,” you whine.

white slingbacks click against the marble floor when your mother waltzes around the kitchen, with every hurried step she takes. your father talks to the catering staff. his newly found best friend is an old, high quality bottle of bourbon he’s taken from his collection, hidden in his personal study.

it’s a big day, everyone’s stressed.

“c’mon, don’t be like that!”

“anyone i might actually know? at least?”

“well- auntie’s gonna be here. your uncle hasn’t seen you in ages. remember john and georgia? oh well, y’know… their son, pete-”

“your dad’s trying to tell you pete’s single, sweetie pie,” your mother interrupts, “georgia told me he’s been looking to settle down! isn’t that great?”

“how’s that great? mom. dad. please, i don’t need you to be my matchmakers.”

you flick the volume button and turn the music up, plastic fantastic lover. this conversation that won’t lead you nowhere makes you scoff. you take a puff of your cigarette and flick the ash in the car tray with the tip of your fake nail.

“give it a try, sweetie. can’t even remember the last time i saw you with a boyfriend. anyone in the city catching your eye?”

your mother’s insistence feels futile for reasons unbeknownst to anyone you’ve ever known.

except for your father’s best friend.

“honey, i gotta go. drive safely, ‘kay?” your dad walks around the kitchen, “leon’s in the hallway. buddy’s in dire need of some bourbon.”

leon kennedy. your palms sweat with the agony of expectation around the steering wheel— the excitement and simultaneous wave of anxiety of seeing him for the first time in a month. your gaze lingers down to your wrist, the gold bracelet screwed around it, along with a few other bangles.

so, he decided to show up. your press your foot down the pedal and you speed up the highway. you’re not sure if the news make you excited or if you’d rather hide inside your bedroom for the unforeseeable future. at least until leon leaves. on the other hand, he owes it to you.

you sit inside the local bar, sandal heels tapping on the metal foot rest of the bar stool, thighs shut together in your flared jeans. you’re nervous.

leon was just passing by, visiting your city, making sure you’re fine and not feeling too lonely.

his right elbow rest on the bar table. his big, softly defined muscles under his black shirt that looks like it’s going to explode from how ripped he is. he keeps the bottle of beer in his hand, fingers gripped around it, and the index plays around the glued-on label.

his hair, dirt blonde and long falls over his face and it shines under the dim lights. his blue eyes look so warm, soft, despite the natural coldness of his irises. he looks tired. he always does.

if being fine, by definition, of course, implies squirting all over his fingers and getting fucked dirty in the passenger seat of his porsche— sure, you’re just fine and dandy— strong hands around your hips, pulling you closer in a sloppy drunk make-out session, sucking on his tongue. a sort of forgive me from his side. (if the twenty grand cartier bracelet wasn’t enough of an apology for his lack of communication.)

fine, by leon’s definition, would imply making sure you get mind blowing orgasms and that your pussy gets completely filled up to the brim— every inch of of your stretchy walls, with all the length of his thick cock, bent over the counter of your kitchen with his hand pressed flat against your naked back.

your pajama shorts pulled down your thighs, leg climbed up the edge of the wooden counter. right next to your wide open window, under the moonlight, moaning so loud that an entire neighborhood could hear you.

by his definition, you should fine. you think.

then, he puts a plain red bag on the bar, “open it.”

“what’s that?”

he doesn’t vocalize an answer, but raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to look inside the mysterious bag. you shove a hand inside and pull out a red box with engraved golden details and open it.

“oh! wow- cartier?”

a love bracelet.

“can’t do jackshit with my money. don’t care that much either. you deserve it.”

nobody knows. how could they ever find out about this?

“keep it. i mean it, doll. you’re too attached to that car of yours, i get it. you don’t need one. can’t do nothing ‘bout that. can’t get you a new one either. tryin’ to be more creative.”

“i really love my car-“

“yeah. i know. it suits you - gonna let me help you with that?”

“so,” you mumble while he fixes the bracelet around your wrist. he pulls out the golden screwdriver to lock it, “i get dso pays their best agent very well.”

the stark contrast between the bracelet and the bar, which sits around the corner, a street away from your apartment. there’s a few people gathered around the pool table and the some other at the tables in groups to share a couple of drinks.

“you could say that— there you go. how’s it feel?”

“wow! i love it. it’s so… gorgeous. hmm, it’s perfect.”

you throw your arms around leon, around the back of his neck; his warmth engulfs you and breath him in. you pull away, arms still around him and you give him the softest peck on the lips. he pulls you in for another embrace, longer than an usual ‘thank you’ hug and you stay like that for around a minute, before leon breaks the hug and sips out of his beer once.

the air feels crisp with an agonizing desire to hold him longer, but there’s something changing, an awkwardness of some sort. it feels like a farewell gift.

“thanks, leon, really. i- i’m speechless. i-i wish you’d visit more often.”

he shouldn’t.

he keeps you at a considerable distance away from him, yet closer than he ever intended. leon finds himself missing you deeply during his many sleepless nights, sat at the edge of a hotel bed with some whiskey on his tongue and a bottle in his hand.

he buys you gifts each time he visits you— that already happens more often than he wanted to. or even when he’s away from you.

“what’s up with you and this bar, huh?”

“it’s two minutes away from my place.” this place has seen you in your worst possible moments.

“i know, doll. you’re all so beautiful and dressed up to meet me at a cheap bar? have a mediocre cocktail? so i can crack two beers?”

“don’t put this on me, leon. you’re the one who shows up unannounced at one in the morning. every. single. time.”

you feel guilty for admitting this. for criticizing leon, right when he showed up with a cartier love bracelet to surprise you.

but it’s true. he’s a reliable man when he doesn’t get lost in the scarred corners of his mind.

or when he leaves some finished bottles of whiskey or vodka on the floors of his monotonous hotel rooms—some nights he ends up drunk, half asleep, and the feeling of self imposed loneliness creeps up by his window or terrace, where nothing else is laid; fake flowers in dusty vases, if lucky or a bottle of beer, a gun and a dirty piece of cloth he used to clean up his weapons.

his missions only leave him charred. dead. the edges of his soul reach a state of borderline, emotional necrosis, grown insensitive to his own suffering.

he cares, deeply, and he regrets, truly so. but he feels numb. those states exist in contradiction.

nightmares possess him and he secludes. leon’s isolation only turns him caustic to himself and cautious, to an extent that, naturally so, makes him unreachable and cold, despite his caring and altruistic character. he’s truly a good man. of you asked him, he’d deny it. he tries to be good, always, but admitting it— he’d never do it.

he can’t keep you this close. he’d scare you away. and leon’s guilt is hungry for what remains of his consciousness, for you’re his best friend’s daughter and he should know better than to show up with expensive gifts. or expect you to soothe him. he doesn’t know where this is supposed to be going.

the bartender picks up the empty bottle of beer. leon nods and he’s offered a third bottle, “somethin’ for the lady too?”

“no, no- thanks.” you answer, “leon, you need to stop- stop drinking.”

he sets the bottle of budweiser back on the counter, “yes, ma’am”

“i- i know we shouldn’t be seen together. i do. m-my family.. this place sucks. but i don’t know, leon… what’s this? what are we, the bracelet? the shoes? the clothes? it feels like you’re always feelin’ sorry for some weird reason.”

“let me take you on a date.”

he shouldn’t.

“should i expect another 10 grand bracelet?”

“someone’s a spoiled little girl.”

you’re so spoiled and it’s completely his fault. your wardrobe warns to explode from the amount of pretty clothes, bags and shoes he gifted you. you keep everything stuffed in there. get this. get that. in the very beginning, he used to totally suck at this. but with time, he was eager to accustom to your tastes and get you gorgeous pieces of clothing.

he even left you a credit card to use, like some sort of allowance to cover all your monthly expenses and make yourself pretty gifts— so you’d quit the shitty job that you were complaining about and focus on finding your true passion.

you moved away to escape from the influence of your parents and you ran exactly into the arms of the person who is the best friend of your father. but he’s not a snitch. he proved himself many times.

“that’s not exactly my fault.”

he smiles.

“you drank. don’t go- stay with me tonight? it’s friday. we can… watch a movie on my couch.”

“you mean fuck on your couch? ain’t you subtle, sweetheart. i’d rather have you on the counter. or that pink bed of yours.”

“please don’t leave before i wake up.”

“sure, i’ll stay. i’ll even read you a bedtime story- make us some breakfast. pancakes? ain’t you obsessed with them?”

“i do want those pancakes. but… i want you more, leon.”

“i can book us a table for tomorrow, then. deal?”

leon kept his word and he stayed. you woke up to the smell of pancakes. he made you breakfast and you watched him cook, arms wrapped around his torso, pressing your lips against his back.

but something felt strange. like everything was about to come to the inevitable end and this was leon’s apology.

that was a month ago. ever since that night, leon stopped showing up. he came up with excuses and he stopped texting. although, he didn’t take your card away and your expenses were taken care of.

“my- i almost forgot! i got you a pretty dress, sweetie,” your mom’s voice buzzes enthusiastically through the speakers, “you’re gonna love it! i left it in your bedroom. i was looking through your old clothes, georgia is organizing a charity event with some of the other wives. mind donating some?”

“sure, mom. tell mrs.kane she can demolish my old wardrobe for what i care.”

the celebration of your parents’ marriage brought with it enough ex-coworkers, friends and roughly half of the town’s population.

i already have a dress. you want to tell her, but after all, it’s her big day.

they invited plenty of guests to fill up the great room, the enormous backyard with trellis that overviews your mother’s splendid white garden and victorian gazebo— her flowers kept as well as always: pink, white blooming roses and peonies, magnolias and gardenias. her most precious achievement.

a few lilies she takes pride in, and you’d always run around the gazebo, trailing your fingers through the few vines of ivy she’d keep neatly around the white columns.

she’d put a hand on your small shoulder; rub her palm against your sweaty temples, manicured nails painted always in a tone of burgundy at the local salon. her soft eyes would stare down still at the pages of her book, “careful, cupcake. you’re gonna trip and fall.”

the rich sweetness of the flowers used to fill up your bedroom in small bouquets on your window-still often, throughout your entire childhood, redolent in their smell.

she’s always been overly preoccupied with these aspects of life. with beauty and stability. with your father gone for months at times, working for the government, always abroad. she’d bury herself in housework or spend her time in the garden with you– keeping the house alive.

your home remains unchanged— at its core, it’s a golden box of memories, your innocence untouched. a reverie, mostly sweet, but so repetitive and mundane it turned you bitter.

summer evenings have grown warmer. today feels completely different from the rest. you feel different. like you completely outgrew your own roots and what only remained is the countless of memories stuck inside the walls of this gigantic house.

the air smells of flowers and nostalgia and you inhale it with your eyes closed; then the sizzling noise of your now retired father’s grill— he can’t miss the chance of a barbecue, not even when your mother hired a catering firm to handle the big event.

a few toddlers and children run around the backyard, people chat and laugh, reminiscing about their youth, of what’s been long gone. the few waiters stand around or walk around with plates of entrees and glasses of champagne.

the sun sets the more time you spend zoning out.

you rest your feet in the morning cut grass, stilettos in your hand, and the summer breeze washes over your body, through the flimsy ruffles of your pink dress. you look concerningly similar to the housewives your mother spends time with and it makes you wonder if she’s trying to lure you back into this town; marrying peter kane too. you’d hate that.

leon is here too.

he’s been staring at you for hours, right through the buzzing crowd of people standing and chatting, as if it’s only the two of you and the outside world doesn’t exist.

he laid eyes on you from the very moment you set foot right through the front yard next to your mother, his glass fresh with ice cubes and your dad’s bourbon.

“jeez, leon. ain’t you gonna retire soon? get married? have a kid? can’t lie- it’s hard to picture you like that. but it’s worth it, don’t you think?”

“maybe. i wouldn’t know. you seem happy.”

he was talking to your now retired father about middle aged men boring nonsense. the house roof needs to be fixed. your mother wants a new car. leon sucks on his teeth, not fully present, thoughtful— a part of him regrets his life decisions.

“still waiting for the day i’ll see you at the altar, buddy. i ain’t losin’ my hope.” your father smiles, hand on leon’s shoulder.

you wonder if you’ll be present at the wedding too. as a guest. you’re not the type to settle down and not the type you’d usually settle down with. especially not as a man that’s nearing fifty years of life. unless you’re living in some major state of psychosis and have various delusions.

you too, perhaps, present some form of delusion. despite the many times you claimed settling down isn’t for you, maybe, for leon you’d accept the destiny of a happily married woman. with him, you’d feel safe, accepted. adored.

you’re a wild flower that simply cannot be enclosed inside a garden like your mother’s.

you’re not your mother who spends her days drinking mimosas with the local committee of housewives and baking three hundred cookies for the school fair.

leon’s handsome in the way he rests his body weight so naturally on the balustrade, elbows on the white wood. he looks slightly laid back, but always alert, on the verge of reaction, with a holster tightened around his leg still. not even on his best friend’s marriage anniversary he cannot give up on that gun.

he’s never too elegant, but always so sexy, better looking than any man you’ve ever seen, for what it’s worth– his eyes, so blue and his dirt blonde hair arranged for the big event. his grey stubble peaks out short. he hasn’t shaved in about a week. it makes him look his age, forty nine. and his wrinkles, the crow’s feet radiate right in the corners of his blue eyes.

you’d think his age should make him less attractive, that with time, beauty fades and there’s nothing left of it. but he looks utterly beautiful.

he thinks of himself as an old man already, but truthfully, his effortless way of being makes him more attractive than any guy you’ve met. his calmness makes you seek him out and grow obsessed with the layer hiding underneath. his pain.

his presence soothes in ways nobody has ever done it before. you seek his warmth in your worst days, tucked in under your blanket, pretending he's with you, sleeping on the empty side of your bed.

you call him and he picks up, even when it’s best to keep his distance away from you, instead of creating a habit out of your insomniac late nights calls. that pretty much sums leon kennedy up. he’s a reliable man. he feels responsible, despite putting himself in a situation that could cost his life.

of course, he’d take the blame if anyone was to find out about this. and of course, this ultimately makes him feel like masochist.

when you started seeing each other, he’d leave while you were asleep. even after fucking you senseless, he'd rather leave you alone and not invade your space— he wouldn’t even fall asleep your bed. not crossing the line. what line, you wonder, for he consciously visits his best friend’s daughter for the sole purpose of fucking.

you wonder, also: could there be other woman in his life? it makes you ask yourself if you’re some stupid silly girl, part of a list of countless women. he doesn’t look like the type, but appearances can sometimes be deceiving.

he’d wait for you to doze off in his big arms, face down his shirtless chest and he’d sneak off. he’d let you play with his soft hair before and he’d rub your back till your eyes felt too heavy to stay opened, right in the warmth of his hug.

he’d make you breakfast too and leave it on the kitchen table, next to a small note, “EAT ME! :)”

leon wears a white button-up stays tucked in neatly inside his dark blue suit pants— the sleeves carelessly pulled up to his elbows. he left the jacket in the kitchen, uncomfortable from wearing it for a few hours. now, he’s zoning out, very pensive.

“i’m happy, leon. fulfilled. i did it all for my family. look at this house? wife’s happy too- oh! you remember her, right? i told ya she moved away. look how she’s changed.”

they both come down the stairs and your eyes meet so suddenly. it feels like an eternity since you’ve last seen each other, a month precisely.

this month, though, you spent all of it dreaming about leon with your hands inside your panties and fingers pressed down your swollen clit and a dildo stuffed inside your needy, slick cunt. it feels pathetic to admit that you shoved it down your throat, pretending it’s leon’s cock. you moaned his name too many times, your lips glossy with drool, face buried in your pillows.

leon takes a sip our of his glass.

“haven’t seen you in a while. look at you," he greets you, "your dad told me you moved away. how’s the city?”

he says, as if he hasn’t made a habit of visiting you.

“haven’t seen you in a bit, leon. you’re so much older than i remember. a little bit more… wrinkled-” you tease him and his brows furrow, “the city’s great. the traffic kills me.”

“it happens when you get old like me, y’know. can’t run away from aging.”

“how old were you again? fifty nine?”

“forty… nine.”

“christ! don’t mind it leon, please. is the city so boring that you gotta pick on your old man’s buddy? why don’t you go talk to pete?”

“who’s pete?” you ask, acting dumb.

“cupcake, what’s up with you? y’know pete. he’s john and georgia’s only son... our neighbors? they live down the street?” you look at him, with the same faux confusion and he explains, “he’s single! go talk to him.”

great.

“i’m joking, dad! relax. why would i? isn’t he the one looking to marry? shouldn’t he pursue me?”

a brief pause settles between the three of you. a smirk forms in the corner of leon’s mouth.

“what do you think, mr. kennedy? should i go talk to him? that’s kinda lame, if you ask me,” you scoff, “men these days.”

that’s my girl.

“well-“

“jeez, no. where’s your mother?” your dad looks suddenly agitated.

“i can’t do this. leon, buddy, please don’t answer that. you should talk 'bout this with your mother!"

your father leaves in a hurry, looking around backyard to bring your mother to you. leon stays and he crosses his veiny arms around his chest and it only makes him look bigger. sexier.

“pete? should i be jealous?” leon asks.

“maybe.”

“do you even know what he looks like?”

“as a matter of fact i do. i blew him twice right before leaving for college. so, fuck you.”

“don’t tell me he went down on you too.”

“oh my god-“ you shush him, “are you jealous, leon?”

“i've no reason to be jealous, sweet girl. if i were him, i’d never leave you alone.”

“you’re being a hypocrite right now. we're not talking about this here!”

“who do you take me as? i know it’s risky. i’m just bein’… curious.”

“i gotta go, leon. i don’t wanna talk about this here. it was good… seeing you.”

so, you didn’t pawn the bracelet he gave you, leon notices when you turn around angry and frustrated, fists clenched and nails digging into your palm and it hurts. you could almost bleed.

he thought you’d do it to get revenge on him for disappearing. leon doesn’t fully believe his own thoughts, you wouldn’t to that. you value even the smallest gifts you receive.

you hold a glass of white wine close to your chest and with the your other hand, you subtly tug down the ends of your pink halter dress— which, despite being perfectly adequate for the anniversary of your parents’ marriage, it feel shorter the more leon’s eyes undress your body naked.

he’s not that subtle about it. at least to you. he looks away every now and then— a hand is the pocket of his trousers and a polite smile on his lips. he zones out while three city council members enthusiastically gather around to share some ideas with him, for some reason he can’t seem to fully grasp.

his presence alone makes you freeze after what happened between you earlier.

alcohol flows rapidly through leon’s bloodstream and there’s so much restrained hunger in the way he looks at you. you could melt alone from that and your legs feel weaker and weaker.

the many voices dissipate and time slows down. you can hear your own heartbeat, thudding hard and fast inside your chest. the local governor exchanges words with a neighbor on your left and on the right, two old highschool friends babble nostalgic nonsense, which they try to include you in. old memories. something about your gym classes.

you keep a bright smile plastered all over your face. laugh comes out fake, too high pitched, but they wouldn’t recognize your lack of interest or that you fake it, because, last time you talked them was at the local store two years ago.

your conversation lasted around five minutes and the awkwardness of it made you realize how alienated you've become from this town and its community.

you don't have any friends left. you pushed them all away when you left for college three years ago.

except for aileen kane, pete’s younger sister– the twenty year old girl, who doesn't seem to be here for a very obvious reason– she feels the same alienation, but much differently.

she came out as a lesbian right before you left the town and it a caused a gigantic scandal within the community.

everybody knows everybody here. people talk. they gossip and hate. they also love, but they love their sense of belonging to their happy and safe community. loneliness isn’t healthy for the soul.

they love their own idea of normality just as much. unfortunately for her, aileen is still stuck in this town of religious upper middle class and rich people.

you mother was happy to invite her, as the kanes, especially georgia, hold a special place inside her heart. herself too, seems to be obsessed with belonging somewhere and it looks like she’s already found her place in the local group of rich housewives who thrive on mimosas. it feels utterly robotic and mundane.

people come to you every now and then. after all, you’re the daughter of the happily married couple who invited nearly a hundred people over. it was all your mother’s idea. oh, how you’ve grown! is all that you can hear every five minutes.

your feet hurt from wearing the stilettos and the dress feels uncomfortably tight on your body, around your boobs and hips, where leon’s eyes keep roaming insatiably. you’d take it off for him in a millisecond.

you bring the glass of wine close to your lips and you take a huge sip, drowning your throat in the slight sweetness and numbing taste of alcohol. it feels nauseating, because you’re still somewhere between sobriety and complete drunkenness.

another sip follows, and the stem of the glass rests between your fingers, wine almost finished. you could sneak another couple, instead of looking like an alcoholic in front of the entire town and embarrassing your parents.

leon isn’t a big scary monster, but the opposite, despite his muscular build and job or reputation as a one of government’s best agents. he can be soft and calm. but he’s hard to read at times, especially when he becomes aloof and his sarcasm turns bitter.

you’ve done this entirely sober before.

he’s cooed the sweetest words right in your ear back in your city. he showed up with a bouquet of pink roses in his hand and gifts. so many gifts.

fuck me, you take it so well.

leon has the habit of calling you sweet girl. undoubtedly, every single time, you feel like melting under the caution of his guilty touch.

you’re convinced everybody found out. every single person in and outside this gigantic house is aware that you’ve been fucking leon scott kennedy, your father’s best friend.

this is all staged and by the end of the night, your dirty little secret will be revealed and cameramen will come through the back and front doors— your parents will look at you and feel sorry for you and your mother, with pitiful tears in her eyes will wrap her arms around you, thinking you’re some sort of victim.

wouldn’t it be better if you moved back here? and poof, just like that, she’d lure you back into this shit hole of a pretentious town. she’d make you marry peter kane. you can see yourself having your very own garden— deadly nightshades and black dahlias.

and leon— oh, leon. you’d hate if anything happened to him, just as much as you hate being away from him.

leon raises and eyebrow even from the other side of the great room, you can still recognize that look. he looks at you as if he wants you to stop, which,once again, is a bit hypocritical of him, given his history with alcohol and habitual drinking issues.

you chug the rest of the wine so inelegantly. you defy him. he rolls his eyes.

nobody knows.

nobody knows.

you repeat it in your head like a mantra.

nobody knows. except for you and leon.

it’s your dirty little secret.

and the secrecy of your relationship (or whatever this could be) makes you feel so dirty. like a slut. but it makes you feel special too. the burning sensation aches up to your tummy and your needy cunt feels wet just from staring into leon’s eyes. it reminds you of the many night you spent together with him on top of you, kissing your ankles sweetly, balls deep inside you.

you can’t do this anymore. you’ve spent the entire afternoon and evening trying to avoid your own feelings.

the constant tension between you and the look in his eyes leave you confused. you haven’t seen him in a month and that’s a long time. you don’t see any other men. you can’t. you’d feel guilty. he doesn’t deserve that.

you shove your hand inside your small clutch bag, searching for your phone. you quickly find his contact saved under noel. how silly. you empty your glass down your throat; adrenaline and alcohol pump through your body and your fingers get all shaky against the screen when you text him.

YOU: meet me upstairs? please?

YOU: second floor, take right, down the hallway. i’ll be waiting for you!!

YOU: name’s on the door btw.

leon’s phone vibrates in the pocket of his pants, preoccupied by the same discussion with the two council members, “mr. kennedy. you’ve seen the whole world. illuminate us. how can we make this town better?”

“i- well, i’m not really sure. it’s not exactly my field of expertise-“

his phone vibrates again and this time, leon pulls it out the pocket of his pants, “excuse me. might be somethin’ important.

YOU: pls come !!!

YOU: preferably on my face (;

YOU: i miss ur cock ):

his blue eyes widen and when he scans for where he last saw you, right in the opposite corner of the room, but you’re already gone.

you made your way to the second floor, up the white stairs, sliding through all the guests and making yourself invisiblez

“i have to go. please excuse me.”

you lay on your back on the patchwork cover of your bed and your eyes scan the insides of your old bedroom. it all looks the same. it seems that your mother took care of it. she kept everything in place and clean. there’s fresh peonies by the tall windows with white frames, hiding behind the drawn, mauve pink curtains.

right through the space between them permeates the light and down on the window seat, where an old pink blanket stays perfectly folded. the faded voices of the guests fill up the dead silence. you sight in relief the moment you take off your stilettos and throw them on the worn carpet.

leon.

leon.

leon.

he looked so sexy in his white shirt. each time the muscles of his big forearms flexed and veins pulsed with his rough, long fingers, you’d feel a lump in your throat and your breath would slow down.

you’d wrap your tongue around his long fingers— just the way you always do. big eyes and pretty lashes overdone with black mascara that stare right into his, as you let him fuck your throat. he’d have a bulging hard boner under his pants and you’d undo his zipper and suck on his thick cock till he’d cum white and sticky all over your pretty face.

what a pity he seems to have been losing interest in you.

or could it be that he feels too guilty for fucking his best friend’s daughter?

that sounds more like leon. he has this habit of feeling so terrible and guilty.

you pull up your dress and the brand new satin lingerie you’ve been keeping in your suitcase wraps around you perfectly. you keep your legs spread and you slip your manicured fingers down your clit, pressing the tips down to tease yourself.

the door creaks open a big figure casts a shadow all over your body. you know it’s leon. nobody else you know walks this way. so heavy, cautious steps against the wooden floor. the way you know him, he might’ve eavesdropped before even touching the silver door knob, so you let a little moan slip through your lips, just for his perverted mind.

“oh! you came. finally.”

leon shuts the door behind him and he wastes no time, closing the distance between you. he leans down on the bed and the weight makes the frame creak. he traps you under him and your bodies are almost glued to each other. his knee is locked between your thighs to keep them spread out, apart from each other and if almost touches your clothed heat. and so you move until you can rub against it.

leon caresses your burning cheek and so much heat radiates from him. he looks like he’s starving.

“someone could’ve open the door and see you, sweet girl.” he scolds you.

“but they didn’t, right? did i make you jealous, leon?” you pull him in a kiss and he leans into you. he puts almost his entire body weight on you, but he’s still gentle, despite the animalistic way his lips devour yours. you both taste the alcohol on each other.

you feel intoxicated by his presence and your body is on fire from all the wine you chugged earlier.

“huh?” he pulls away from your kiss.

“pete?”

“pete? as in peter kane? peter kane the son of the kanes who live just down the street?” you roll your eyes, “no. fuck if i care ‘bout that guy or what happened between you two.”

“they’re kinda making me marry him. soon i’ll be off the market, who knows? maybe you’re speaking to future mrs. kane.” you tease him, seeking a reaction. a confirmation that he cares about you.

both of you know that’s never going to happen.

not in a million years.

“yeah? and here i was thinkin’ you’d sneak out and run away in that car of yours. pretend it never happened.”

“would you rescue me like a knight in shining armor?” you rest fingers around the back of his neck and you pull him closer for another kiss, sucking on his tongue “i missed you, leon— mmm, hold on. let me… lock the door.”

leon moves to the side and you move right past him, tip toeing to the door for some reason, in complete silence. you make sure it’s closed and turn the key inside to double lock it and the silver door knob a few times. perfect.

you turn around and leon stands right behind you. he undid two three buttons of his shirt and you can see his strong chest under.

he presses you against the door, muscular, rough arms forming a cage around you and he continues to assure you:

“don’t be silly, sweetheart,” he gives you a gentle peck on the lips, “they’d never force you to marry him. your dad thinks you’re lonely. all by yourself in that city. they’re worried.”

“oh, poor, lonely me! but- would you rescue me, though? hmm? hypothetically speaking?”

he smiles, “probably, yeah. as long as you’re happy.”

fuck him. leon can’t believe he said that; he’s completely swooned by a girl half his age. the person who was supposedly off-limits. he truly is the embodiment of masochism.

he feels pulled in magnetically. there’s times when he gives in and he resists you. and times like these, where all he dreams about is burying his mouth down your wet pussy and drown himself inside your sweetness fully, like some crazed addict. addictions can’t be good.

it’s concerning how much leon cares about your happiness. about your well-being. he’s always so self sacrificial about everything. fuck his endless generosity.

“i’d be much, muuch happier if you’d stop resisting me.”

you pull up the ruffles of your housewife looking dress and sink your teeth down your soft lower lip, and you beg, “fuck me, please.”

“are you sure ‘bout this, sweet girl?”

“i’ve never been more sure about anything in my whole life— ahh, leon!” his lips move down your neck, right where your skin feels the most sensitive. his tongue climbs up your jaw and he sinks his teeth softly against your bare skin. it makes you squirm and dig your nails into the wooden door.

“your dad’s gonna fuckin’ kill me, angel. he’ll blow my head off with that goddamn huntin’ rifle i gave him once.”

you pull him in for another kiss— messy and lonely. it’s so disgustingly sloppy. you don’t want to impress him or be the best, you can’t even think about that. all you want is to devour him. you press your body against his, boobs pressed against his chest and arms thrown around his neck. your hands wander around his blushing face, and you mess his blonde, greying hair up.

“don’t care if he’s gonna kill me?” he breaks the kiss, concerned, joking.

“mmm- leon… shh!” you press your index finger against his lips, “he won’t kill you. because- ah!” he finds a way to slip a hand under your skirt. he slides two fingers against your clothed clit, feeling the slickness. you’re dripping wet and he’s barely even kissed you.

“he won’t find out! please— i need you s’much! i can’t stop thinking about you. where have you been?”

you keep your fingers tangled in his hair and your right leg rests on his thighs, sturdy hand keeping if in place.

“forgive me, princess. been busy as hell.”

“busy enough to keep me waiting for so long?”

another kiss.

“can’t live without me for more than a couple of weeks? that right?”

“can you?”

“i missed you a lot.”

he pauses briefly.

“keep sending me those pretty pics while i’m gone. makes me miss you even more.”

he’s jerked off to them multiple times. dirty old man leon kennedy— he drives around the country and he finds himself pulling his porsche to the side, in the middle of nowhere, to fist the length cock and jerk off to your photos. he daydreams, thinking it's you taking all of his girth down you pretty little throat. you’ve altered something inside his brain to the point he's turned into a true pervert.

your dirty nudes reflect in the blues of his eyes while he keeps his phone in his hand— hard, pinchable nipples and the softest boobs, covered in bubbly foam and droplets of hot water from the shower.

he’s such a dirty pervert.

only for you.

“what do you like the most about them, leon?”

“your smile.”

“really?”

“yeah. you don’t do it often. i like seein’ you happy.”

he loves to know you're well too. you send him photos of yourself throughout the day and the gentlest smile forms on his handsome face. you made a habit out of sending him selfies— doing your makeup, walking down the street with an ice cream in your hand and five shopping bags hanging on your arm.

your safety and the fact that you're living such a sweet life makes him relax. he wishes you'd have more friends. he’s aware that despite making so many acquaintances in your new city, nothing feels real. the dinners feel boring. coffee dates are bland. it's all a pure facade.

leon catches your face and he squishes your mouth until your pout and his thumb presses down your wet lower lip.

“been missin’ those pretty lips too.”

“i-i’m so wet right now.”

he kisses you again and this time, he sucks lazily on your tongue. you moan softly against his mouth when he bites your lip too. you feel his grey stubble stinging your skin, but it's so erotic, you have to abstain from moaning louder. imagine if anyone in this would hear you. his fingers wander up your waist and up to your breasts.

“take it off, sweet girl.”

you listen. he unzips the back of the dress for you and you take it off, throwing it on the carpet.

his big hand wanders and brushes hungrily up your inner thigh. it makes your skin tingle with so much illicit pleasure. how much you’ve missed feeling like this.

you feel high with him.

he takes the lace of your panties between his fingers for a few seconds— then, while his mouth is busy kissing you, he pulls them down your legs and they hang around your ankles.

“is that right? let’s see what’s goin’ on down here, sweet girl.”

you bite down on your lower lip. your cheeks are hot from the alcohol flowing freely through your bloodstream and the room has almost turned into a sauna. you keep your hands around his shoulders while leon finds your boobs, covered by the gorgeous satin bra, and he pulls one out to suck on your sweet nipple. he grunts and he takes the other one between his teeth, tenderly, not to hurt you— just because he has an urge, an impulse to devour you whole. he wants you so much.

“you prepared too, huh? you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous in this.”

he gets down on his knee and he adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. his eyes never leave yours. he slides his fingers up and down your folds to feel the wetness oozing out of your slick, warm entrance.

“been waiting all wet for me this whole evening? took your damn time, i see.”

“y-you can’t blame me. it wasn’t easy. thought you’d never come.”

he can tell from the way you act that you're nervous and tipsy.

“stop shavin’ so much. leave a heart for me down there like you used to." he jokes, “it was cute. don’t sha- shh!”

footsteps make the wooden floor creak and the knock on your door vibrates down your spine.

“everything ‘kay, sweetie? you in there? heard your door closin’ from down the hallway.”

sloppy job.

georgia kane herself. naturally a brunette, her grey roots stick out of her head and a similarly toned, simple dress adorns her short body. she’s standing on the other side of the locked bedroom door, knuckle still pressed against the polished wood.

“ah! mrs. kane? no- no, i’m fine! just- i’m overwhelmed that’s all- just… so many people.”

“have you seen your dad? your mom can’t find him anywhere and she begged me to go searching.”

“d-dad? last time i saw him he was talking to mr. johnson. y’know, something about holding their liquor. maybe they’re in his office?”

you cover your mouth instinctively when you feel that you’re about to gasp— you roll your eyes in pleasure when leon pushes a finger inside your pussy, just slightly, allowinf your entrance to stretch.

“he said he was looking for leon. and now? poof. gone.”

fuck.

“handsome guy, leon, by the way. haven’t seen him in a hot minute. him and your daddy used to be together all the time. now he’s always gone. hmm…” she thinks, “don’t tell johnny i said that!”

if only mrs.kane knew that leon kennedy was stuffing his face between your thighs right now.

“c’mon, darlin’, be honest. he’s handsome, isn’t he? must be something wrong with him the way i’ve never seen him with a woman. ya think he’s single?”

“i- i guess? i-i never thought about him t-that way” you stutter.

“and i believe you! if you see dad, tell your momma, m’kay? and if you see leon, you better tell me, hah. don’t tell johnny!” she laughs.

“by the way, sweetie, pete’s been wantin’ to settle down for a while. mind if i set you two up on a cute little date? one of the wives opened a fancy place down on aster street.”

“i-i- i’ll think about it. thanks for the offer, mrs. kane.”

“get down there when you feel like it, m’kay? i brought some homemade cake. keeping it for the after party.” her laugh fades away down the hallway when she leaves.

“you think there’s somethin’ wrong with me, huh?” leon whispers.

“everything’s so wrong with you! are you seeing other women?” you look upset when you say it and leon hates himself for making you think that.

it’s true; you’re not dating. but he spends a fortune on you, despite his tendency to seclude when he feels like shit, you’re the only woman he could think ever think of. every night and day you possess his mind and soul.

“hmm, no. i'm too busy with this pussy to see other women, to be honest. you’re spendin’ all my money too.”

a stupid smile stays plastered all over your face.

“relax, sweet girl. let me take care of you.”

he grips down your thigh again and he rests your leg on his sturdy shoulder, spreading you just enough to have a full view of your pretty pussy. his eyes glow like a predator’s that has finally found his delicious prey and he licks his lip.

“fuck me, you really are so sweet. i missed your jealous pussy.” he sinks his face fully down your wetness, drowning himself into you, just like he wanted to. a gasp escapes shyly past your lips and you cover your mouth again, holding in your slutty moans.

his cock bulges hard and big under his pants. it twitches and his veins pulse just from eating your pussy out.

his tongue moves naturally, up and down your folds and he stuffs it inside your needy pussy— this is for himself. he’s missed your taste like the addicted man you’ve made out of him.

“are you seeing other women?’” he imitates your voice.

he drags his tongue up, spoiling your puffy clit with slutry, slow circles and meticulous licks. he’s got you figured from inside out— a lot of attention to your little clit to make you roll your eyes and sink you nails in his skin or grab onto his blonde hair. he couldn’t care less if leave him bloody or with a few scratch marks.

“l-leon! i’m being serious!” you moan.

then, a finger stuffed inside your strechy walls, coated in your honey juices (that he’ll immediately lick off). he moves in gently, knuckle deep, pressing the tip of his finger on your sweet spot, while his tongue spoils your clit rotten.

you love it when he buries a second finger, so deep and rough, faster.

“i know, sweet girl. feels good?” he stares right into your hazy eyes and back to your cunt and at his own fingers stuffed deeper around your g spot.

and the third one makes you crave his cock, from the way he finger fucks you so hard that you’re not longer fully present. you’re high. you reached a feeling of elation that’s impossible to describe— your mouth wide open, drool slick on your lips, moaning yes. yes. yes. with your eyes rolling. you’re so close.

he fucks you harder, ramming his fingers inside your gummy walls, right while his lips suck on your clit and tongue draws lazy and very drunk circles to make you orgasm. he fucks you even rougher, faster this time, stimulating your spot and stretching you out. you feel so good with him inside you. you ride his face messily, sliding your cunt up and down his face to make yourself come.

you wanna feel like this forever.

you finally orgasm and you knees almost fail you, but leon is right there to hold you. you coat his fingers in squirt and honeyed liquid, and it splashes all over his face. he’s smiling like an idiot and he licks it all.

“i don’t need anyone else. i-i think i might be in love with you.”

he must be insanely drunk.

you can’t answer that. you’re too breathless. you feel dizzy.

he kisses your knees and you’ve never seen his eyes shine so anxiously and vulnerably. you’ve never seen a man— a man twice your age, confess that he might actually be in love with you.

another kiss on your knee, “i’m fucked, right?”

he is drunk.

“mmm. i’m so fucked. this past month- i wanted to come see you. be with you. got shitfaced one night. all i could see was your pretty face.”

he sucks in your inner thighs, taking your soft skin between his lips and the tip of his tongue savors on the juices leaking down your thighs, “you waitin’ for me late at night. i hate makin’ you wait. it makes you all sad. you think i won’t show up for some reason.”

he leave kisses on your inner thighs and he rests his chin on your leg momentarily.

“but i can’t do this to you, sweet girl,” leon sighs, as if he feels defeated, “i’d be a monster. can’t let you go through this.”

the room still smells of flowers and the light shines through the curtains. the sky turned pink and orange and the clouds set over the purple shades.

“i know you won’t marry pete. it’s ain’t like you. you’re not the small town type. you… you won’t settle down.”

it feels like he’s waiting for a confirmation and trying to convince himself that i won’t happen.

“what if i am the small town type?”

“i know what you want me to say. no.”

“but you said you’d do it as long as i’m happy!”

“rescue you? settling down in a town with an old man- apologies- an alcoholic who does the government’s dirty work? sounds more like some evil scheme than a rescue mission.”

“we can make it work! leon, i- i’m in love with you too!”

“stop.” he seems to grow angrier. not with you, but with himself.

“you’re young. you don’t wanna settle down. you have so much ahead of you. you think you want this but- but you like the attention and the gifts i give you. you ain’t in love with me.”

“don’t you wanna see me every time you come home? i’d make a good housewife. not perfect, but i’d try for you. and i’d wait for you. days. weeks. months. i’d wait— and i’d wait and wait again… for you.”

he does.

but you don’t.

“you’d hate that, my sweet doll. you’re not seein’ this through. you moved away for a reason,” he pauses, still down on his knees, “you’d feel like a princess trapped in a tower and i’d be the bastard dragon. i’m not your knight in shining armor.”

“why do you hate yourself so much, leon?”

no answer. you get on your knees and they brush against the beige carpet. you cup his burning cheek gently and he kisses your wrist, right where the love bracelet is.

“i’ll hurt you.”

he would, inevitably. he’s already done it and mostly likely, it’ll happen over and over again until you’ll come to your senses and realize you have no future together.

“i don’t wanna trap you.”

“i’m a big girl. we all hurt each other without meaning to. i- i can handle it.”

we’re all meant to exist with flaw programmed within us.

“yeah? can you? ‘been gone for a month and you’re all sad and whiny. tryin’ to make me jealous, ‘future mrs. kane.’ my ass.”

“trap me. take me. i’ll get over it. let’s get a big house together!” you sink on your knees, “ i’ll be good for you. be selfish for once, leon. if you want me- take me. just do it.”

he’s already being selfish by putting you through this whole ordeal, not stopping this earlier— he can’t deal with that.

“you’ll get bored in a few months.”

“you don’t know me, leon! i want this! with you.”

“fuck, sweetheart, stop lyin’. i know you. for you- i could change. but… but i don’t know how long that’d take. can’t afford to have you waitin’ for me to be a better man.”

it’s easy to figure out a person who ran away from her town. you don’t want to end up like your mother or the other housewives in this town. and with him, you would. there’s two options. you’d either settle down and wait for him to return from his missions— if he returns.

or you’d be on the run for the rest of you life, with a husband who deals with bioterrorism for a living.

and realistically, your dad would shoot leon off the face of the earth if he was ever to find out he even dared to touch you.

“i don’t want you to change!” you put your palms around his face, “i wanna see you happy too, y’know?”

you want to fix him. deep down, you think he’d put away the bottle of whiskey for you.

you want him to fix you— what if he’s been the only cure to your madness until now? what if, deep down, your destiny was to follow into your mother’s footsteps.

you sound insane.

leon wakes up and his strong arms wrap around your waist to pick you up off the floor. he carries you to the bed and with one hand, he moves the patchwork cover aside to tuck you in. he looks around and he grabs an old t-shirt from your suitcase. you lift your arms up instinctively and he dresses you up like you’re a helpless little girl.

he sits on one knee on the floor, right next to you.

“it was never gonna happen. this. us… the bracelet i gave you that night was my parting gift. or so i was hopin’. i wanted to you to figure out that… i’m in love with you.”

he kisses your hand, breathing your sweet perfume one more time, “but even if i’m so in love with you, i can’t put you through this. i’m sorry, sweet girl.”

“do i have no saying in this? i-i don’t want this to end.” you feel a tear pricking down the corner of your eye, “at least— at least come see me?”

“we’ll see each other again if we happen to visit this place at the same time.”

you’re sobbing now. you cry and the tears sting and make your vision blurry. mascara drips down your flushed cheeks and you smudge it even more when you try to wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“please, be a good girl and go take a long bath. eat somethin’ for me?” he wipes your tears too and you hold onto his wrist, kissing it a few times. it’s so warm and real. it could’ve stayed with you forever. his warmth and manly perfume.

“i-i… i will, yeah.”

“i’d kill myself for hurtin’ you before your dad gets to that rifle. now, if you’ll excuse me. i gotta find your dad. he was lookin’ for me.”

“are you gonna drink again?”

no answer.

“i hate you! why did you come here? oh- let me guess… you’re drunk, right? is that your excuse? that you’re drunk, again? fuck you. leave me alone! leave- just leave, leon. i don’t wanna see you.”

“you’d hate me more if i’d keep feeding into your little fantasy.”

and so, he abandons you and the night settles down inside your childhood bedroom. you don’t bother turning on the bedside lamp— you sit in the dark, not truly capable of processing your emotions. it feels like you’ve been doing this for hours, but it’s been barely half an hour.

you stare at the bracelet one more and the tears keep rolling down your face.

a parting gift. a love bracelet.

because leon kennedy is madly in love with you.

leon was aware you’d never forgive him the moment he abandoned you inside that bedroom.

it’s for the best.

for you.

to be continued in PART II ── THE LUCKY ONES. MASTERLIST.

── ivy’s (very long) note : after SUCH a long time, it’s finally out ! <3 i really wasn’t expecting to end up with (around!!) 10k words ;o part two is already un progress and i PROMISE the sexual tension between the reader and leon will be crazy. this part has nothing compared to what i’m preparing. the reader is going to be a massive pain is the ass and brat for leon. again, i SWEAR it’s gonna be insane and sexual. I'll also explain their first time together.

my wish is to always make everyone feel as included as possible, so i avoid describing my readers outside their personalities and aesthetics. but i do like to mess around and give my readers unique traits and aesthetics. i had so much fun with this one <3 obviously, my readers are always inspired by myself and my own tastes !

i wanna share this fic’s pinterest board here, which i’ll also add to the masterlist when i post it. — SAY YOU WANT ME TOO. and also, credits to melscanvas_ on twt for the original screencap i used for my banner ! !

now, please let me know. would you like me to write a separate fic for the bar date? i can write so much about it, but that part alone can have up to 4k words, i think?

as always, interactions, especially reblogs are always super duper appreciated <3 thank you for reading, angels ! to join the taglist, please only leave a comment on this post. you can also comment on the masterlist post that i’ll link once it’s posted <3 love ya, mwuah!

Beautiful was what you initially pegged him as, eyes sweeping along the striking lines of an exhausted face and the stubborn swoop of hair spilling carelessly over his brow. Then you decided he was just prematurely aged. The silver threads catching at his temples and the aggressive shadow of a stubble made him look worn down by a decade of exceptionally bad sleep and even worse stress.

He looked like a man who could fuck good. Looked like he approached sex the exact same way he approached the rest of his miserable life, with unrelenting stamina and a terrifyingly methodical focus designed to dismantle whatever stood before him.

He also looked like an easy target, staring into the amber depths of his glass with a level of sad depression that practically radiated off his shoulders. All it took was you stepping directly into his line of sight, ordering another shot with a dramatic sigh, and offering him a painfully cynical comment about the state of the world (while deliberately showing off your cleavage).

The guarded set of his jaw twitched into the faintest ghost of a smirk.

You offered your name, he offered his (Leon—was it short for Leonard? Leonel?), and he leaned in when you laughed at his terrible attempt at a joke. A genuine chortled laugh because you hadn't expected a dad joke from a man who looked as brooding as he did.

You licked your lips, he followed your tongue.

Hook, line, sinker.

Which explains how you now find yourself trapped in a mating press on a mattress that probably costs more per night than your rent. A dingy, cheap motel would have been your practical choice, but you had noted the expensive gleam of the watch on his wrist within five minutes of sitting next to him. Freaking Hamilton that looked distinctly like a limited edition, judging by the brushed steel and intricate dial.

Frankly, you shouldn't be surprised he carried that much net worth. He’s handsome, weathered beautifully into his age (Late forties? Early fifties?), and clearly paid an exorbitant amount of money to survive whatever horrors are actively ruining his mental health.

What does surprise you is how you’ve underestimated the scope of his physical abilities.

Over the past blurry hour, this complete stranger has effortlessly folded you into positions that defy your understanding of your own flexibility. Knees pressed so securely beside your own ears you start to believe the fee you pay for your weekly reformer pilates class might be a scam.

Apparently what you needed to achieve this level of advanced mobility was the unrelenting dead weight of a very, very capable man. So fucking capable that you’ve genuinely lost count of how many times he’s wrung you out on these expensive sheets.

Four orgasms? Maybe five? Whatever the number is, another one is dangerously crawling up the base of your spine.

Your sanity might be beyond saving at this point. You’re sweating profusely, and the backs of your thighs are screaming in dull protest from being pinned back for god knows how long. Leon pulls out and snaps his hips again with a jarring impact that seems to grow more ruthlessly aggressive with every single grind.

He does it again and again and again until you’re basically screaming from the unavoidable crash of yet another orgasm, toes curling frantically in the suspended air while your nails bite into the heavy muscle of his arms.

This man is something else, obviously nothing akin to the standard parade of disappointing men who talked big but possessed absolutely zero game. They were a flimsy attempt to scratch the very surface of your boredom. Leon, by comparison, is clawing straight down to the bone.

There’s a slowness in his thrusts now, and you blink to find an actual smile breaking through the sweat and exhaustion on his face. The warm puff of a chuckle against your cheek tells you he isn't simply amused. He’s actually entertained.

You huff, making a valiant but entirely useless attempt to mock him, "Stop laughing."

The sweat beading along his heavy brow does absolutely nothing to detract from how devastatingly smug he looks right now. “You’re shaking so much. It’s cute.”

So much for playing the femme fatale act at the bar. He swipes a thumb across your blotchy cheek, courtesy of his rough afternoon shadow.

“You okay?”

You sigh out a harsh breath, blowing a damp strand of hair out of your eyes. “Have you," you manage to wheeze, "even cum yet?”

He shakes his head, blue eyes glinting with unapologetic amusement.

"Are you ever going to?"

His low laughter rumbles warmly in your ears. “Why, you want me to stop already?" he presses a kiss against your jaw. "Thought you were having a good time."

“I’m having a great time.”

“Then what’s with the rush?”

“Maybe we should take a break,” you whine, gasping sharply when the weight of his pelvis rocks aggressively against your lower belly. “I-I need to pee.”

He seems unfazed. Moves like you didn't utter a word to begin with. Instead, what he does is press you even further into the mattress. “Is that right?”

“Fuck—Leon—” You arch your back as he maliciously tilts his hips. “You’re not helping.”

“I actually am,” he argues.

“What—”

“Let's test a theory," he drawls, hot breath ghosting over your pulse. "Do you really think you just need to pee, or are you about to squirt?”

You go completely still for a moment. Considering your track record of thoroughly uninspired hookups and non-lasting relationships, there is absolutely no palpable evidence to suggest you are capable of doing what he’s asking.

“I’m pretty sure I need to pee,” you reason quietly. “I’m not a squirter.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re telling me you’ve never done that before?”

“I have no prior experience to suggest it's even an option.”

He looks genuinely offended by your answer. “Do you want to try?”

Your head falls back to fully take him in. He really is pretty. Never mind the faint, tired wrinkles bracketing his pale blue eyes, or the harsh features of a man who has clearly seen too much and slept too little. He’s simply too devastatingly gorgeous for his own good.

Even with the fragments of scars you’ve spent the last hour subconsciously counting on his neck, his shoulder, his chest. Scars that make you wonder what kind of terrifying life he leads when he isn't in a hotel room with a stranger, fucking their brains out.

And you’re very much aware you’re one of the few he’s taken to bed.

But is he always this attentive? This generous?

Does he fuck everyone else this hard yet still find the gentle grace to cradle their face and brush the hair out of their eyes?

You instantly hate how territorial you sound. It's wildly hypocritical for someone who values the cheap thrill of a purely physical transaction just as much as he clearly does. He’s just a good lover, you decide. And if tonight is the only night you get to have this man all to yourself, then so be it.

If he thinks he can make you squirt, then who are you to deny?

“You really think I’m about to squirt?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

You frown. “What if it’s just pee?”

He kisses the wrinkled line between your brows. “Make a mess then, I don’t mind.”

Yeah, you’re going to let him absolutely ruin you tonight.

“Then make me squirt, Leon.”

He dips his head, breathing the hot air of his lungs directly into your open mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your pussy tightens reflexively at that, which he obviously catches. He catches on to every desperate tell your body gives him, actually. Probably the sole reason why you've already come an embarrassing number of times.

Not enough, apparently, because he’s already moving his hips in rapid rhythms—not too fast or too slow, but enough to have your eyes sliding shut, focusing on the stretch of his cock driving deep in and out of your cunt.

“Fucking beautiful,” he hums, binding your wrists together above your head. “Just lying there looking all pretty."

“H-harder,” you whine, weakly pushing your hips up to meet him.

“Yeah?” He squeezes your wrists together, leaning even more of his massive frame over you. “You like it when I go hard on you?”

Like it? You thrive on it, nodding frantically as your trembling thighs try to lock around his waist. Try is definitely the word when he’s practically flattened you beneath his crushing weight, effortlessly trapping your body. You can feel your limbs turn gooey and powerless, your stomach contrastingly hard.

“I know, baby, I know,” he rasps, ramming his hips harshly against yours. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ngh—h—”

“That’s it, give it to me. Make a mess on me.”

The panic hits you first, quickly swallowed by an absolute wave of pure heat. Starts as a buzzing ache in your core before violently spiking into an unbearable sensation. Your belly burns, coils, rattles—and you blink your eyes open, brimming with tears. “Leon—”

He instantly reads the panicked clench of your muscles.

“Don't fight it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Your groan is feral. “I can’t—”

“Come on, baby, you’ve got to trust me,” he croons softly. “Do you trust me?”

Surprisingly, you do, even if your only judgment on this man comes from the three hours that have passed since you sat down next to him at the bar. “Yes.”

“Good. Then let it happen.”

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

“Breathe through your nose.”

He plunges in with a particularly harsh thrust and you gasp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck—”

“That’s it.” He closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads touching. “Let it go.”

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding.

It’s like a switch. One moment your muscles are tensed, then a passage of whines pitches upward as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Strong and gut-wrenching. Body hot in bliss and shame—only for two seconds. Quick as it hits, he abruptly pulls out, instantly replacing his cock with two calloused fingers.

Your mouth gapes in a silent scream. Even more so when his offhand curls around your neck. Fingers pressing against the sides of your throat, palm flat against your windpipe, but exercising barely any pressure all the while his fingers fucks your swollen, dripping cunt.

You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself getting drenched, but you’ve never experienced anything as wild as this.

Speckles of liquid spatter across the sheets the more he drags his hand in an up-and-down motion, its squelching sound rising above the fight of your labored breathing.

He pushes his palm against your clit.

“Oh fuck! fuckfuckfuck—”

A sudden rush spills over him. Soaks the sheets beneath you in dark patches and streams down the inside of his wrist, seeping hot onto his thighs. He continues to pump his fingers while you lie there—crying openly, violently shuddering. It goes on for what feels like forever until he smoothes out his pressure around your throat, kissing the drool glistening on your lips with a disbelief chuckle.

“Should’ve met you sooner,” he laughs into your mouth, easily slipping his cock back in.

Maybe it’s the bliss completely corrupting your nervous system, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming stretch of his thick cock driving back into your overstimulated cunt. Whatever it is, you completely lose your grip on the casual nature of a one night stand, eager words spilling past your wet lips before you can even screen them.

“Can we meet again?” You pant. “Like—after tonight?”

He withdraws his hips with a smug grin.

“I would,” thrust, “very much,” thrust, “like that.”

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

You’re somewhere right on the edge of a pathetic whimper and a helpless laugh, entirely too pleasured to think straight, dangerously too giddy at the possibility of actually getting to know him. To uncover those scars in daylight, to figure out what kind of hell he had to survive to inherit those devastatingly sad yet kind eyes.

To learn his last name. To unearth his middle.

You gasp when he effortlessly flips you over, twisting his fingers in your hair and pulling it back.

Piled high on the mahogany table were the reports and assignments left unfinished thanks to the bureaucratic chaos by the name of the highly respected Kennedy, ironically enough, the head of the division department, had brought upon himself. Because if we were to consider his work ethic, your Daddy was normally as sharp as a tack, always precise and swift in executing his tasks (and missions) within governmental standards – could potentially even earn him the approval to be running this country his damn self should he ever wish to represent the eagle, soldiers and superb men alike pledged their loyalty to.

But today, a string of high-stakes phone calls atop the plethora of papers seemed to have left their mark on the American golden boy (or rather, rugged old man with legendary status), and thus, his productivity slowed down to a cipher.

It didn’t quite help that his own phone had buzzed with a notification that Leon should have refrained from checking upon in the first place. Because all it took was one look, and the agent, who was known by his protegees as competently indifferent, wasn’t able to think straight anymore, therefore, had explained himself of having to leave work early due to an emergency and rushed out of the building.

Right.

Not much of a surprise when it came to –

Said to be a present, clearly, as he read the message, added with a picture of your body, scantily clad, in the lewdest position possible, only for his eyes to see, of course. Indeed, the man who was as anonymous as one could be, had a very weak spot for a beautiful, little missus in his life.

A-hem, you.

To then say that he wasn’t willing to speak upon of what had prompted him to ditch work ahead of schedule would be an understatement. Everything you did was solely reserved for Leon the professional, and he wanted to keep it that way – under lock and key (in conclusion: secretive). He also wouldn’t be willing to admit (to you either) that he loved your risqué side (proven by the exempt as just shown), more accurately, your overly provocative one, especially when the entire relationship was established on said premise: that he was the one in control, and therefore, intent to be the one to draw the impermeable lines (boundaries) in scorching hot sand, which you had to respect and abide by in return.

Leon had, admittedly, been in denial for a very, very long time.

At the beginning, he had stated time and time again he wasn’t into such things (his browsing history said otherwise, though, but let’s digress), shooed you away and shook his head as if he’d been disappointed by you (translating into: he pushed you away because you had kept boking the bear). Silly you.

But late at night, that’s exactly when he couldn’t help but think about it.

The very first time you had called him Daddy, it was more of an awkward situation to be quite frank – he laughed awkwardly, cocking an eyebrow (didn’t hate it at all, side note) – though it was only natural to you, because Leon was the very embodiment of a fatherly figure, no?

He loved explaining things to you, especially when it came to his job, his guns or his motorcycle (which, obviously, was incredibly attractive and only amplified your feelings towards him). He liked showing you around, driving you around (which became common courtesy as you had admitted once that he looked sexy in his Porsche. Coincidence?). Would often times go to the grocery shop with you just so he could buy you whatever you wanted. He’d let you hold him by his two fingers, thick in girth, whenever you two decided to go for a walk at the park. He’d stroke your hair in bed, and at last, would always make sure you were safe and sound (for example: text you hourly whenever you were at a party or outside enjoying yourself with your friends, reminding he’s home alone waiting for you. Poor Leon, not even his favorite movies could keep him company anymore).

Without a doubt, to fall for Leon was no difficult feat to do. It was very easy, in fact, given that this man was a man, who gently nurtured and guided you through life and luckily, not at the expanse of your own intelligence, for example, to be downright insulted as so often was the case with men, unfortunately.

If we were to look behind the scenes though, Leon constantly debated himself over a predicament of his own making, that he was falling for a woman half his age. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why it felt so wrong. Most definitely assured, the two decades of disparity drove a huge nudge. You were settling down in life, meanwhile Leon already had roughly thirty years of experience under his leather belt. Tough on the mental, for him, to say the least (asking himself daily what his colleagues would think of him were they ever to find out about it).

The need to be close to you was stronger, however, and it eventually won him over, so much so, that he ended up needing you as much as the very air to live and breathe, couldn’t believe you were this kind and stunning, also greatly emphasized: able to empathize with his struggle he was more than ashamed of (his alcohol addiction). How heartbreaking, for what it’s worth, Leon could have ended up way worse for what had to endure in his life. And you had told him that, more so, of how proud you were of him. Sadly, he wanted to keep you at distance to spare you. He didn’t want to hurt you, and purposefully ignored you for about three months.

After much consideration, he told himself screw it, allowing himself to let this all be, no matter what his brain had conspired against him to believe about you – or this relationship. And why wouldn’t he?

He was incredibly thankful you hadn’t given up on him. Having nearly missed out on a little angel like you was a near-miss of a nightmare vivid enough to leave him tossing and turning, wallowing in the sweat of his own self-sabotage. “Cuteness be damned, you do have a head on your shoulders, young lady”, he muttered under his breath with a sincere smile on his face the day he decided not to fight his very own whim to be with you.

With that being said, it was of no surprise that he let himself fall, truly fall, as in: curtains strung wide open for you to see Leon in all of his glory, for who he was, stripped bare and all. He was scared, free from pretense, wasn’t sure whether he was ready to receive love now, considering all he’d known was to care for other people. Nevertheless, he welcomed you to his world and his heart with open arms and hadn’t let go since.

Now, back to the picture.

So, what was the result?

Well, as indicated heretofore, your Daddy had a few consequences lined up for you in case you wanted to misbehave. Though he was very loving, he did discipline you. You knew very early on that certain things were strictly forbidden without Daddy’s permission, including saying the word “Daddy” out loud in public.

Well, little miss provocateur – you – had other things in mind.

Once, he took you out shopping, on the pretext of: needing new clothes himself, but secretly bought them to impress you, wanting to look dapper (yes, dapper, he said so himself). So, when your man – a replica akin to pure perfection – stepped out of the dressing room to show his black slacks (he was more than ready to buy), you complimented him with dreamy eyes, quote, “You look so handsome, Dad.”

Not Daddy. But Dad.

And that’s when things took a turn for the worse for Leon.

Objectively speaking, you had not overplayed your hand here. In all fairness, though, this was just another version of the original, if not the original itself (the paternal one), which, in all candor, wreaked havoc within him, spiraling his guilt out of control to such depths he wanted to resent you for it. You fed into his domineering manhood too much, pushing the envelope until his own mind started to drift off to places he desperately wished he could just forget.

He was, truthfully, at a loss for words here.

He couldn’t believe – well, that he liked –

Clearing his throat, Leon excused himself in front of the shop assistant, his cheeks burning brightly red he looked sunburnt at this point. The emotional concoction of – what was it? –embarrassment, anger and a heavily laden, forbidden lust that turned Leon’s mind into a wasteland with its last standing resident – him – giving in to the madness of his own prurient desires. At that moment, all he knew was this: he needed to escape the shopping mall as soon as possible.

To hell with changing, the price tag issued that sorting out this never-wracking fiasco was way more urgent. You bid your own endgame when you started giggling as he frantically dragged you out, back into his car – not the front, but the backseat (sealing your destiny) – where you were forced onto his lap, telling you to zip it and to listen to him carefully. Each leg of yours rested comfortably over his as you were spread wide open, your slick center turning all puffy and swollen as he imprinted his palm onto your mound, slapping you stupid, his questions leading an entire investigation, forcing you to explain yourself to him.

And that you did. For about an hour.

And this time, it wasn’t your center that had to deal with the result of your tomfoolery that knocked Leon out of his reasoning. No, it was your bare ass, panties dragged to your knees, as you were draped across his thighs like a blanket, a spanking following right up to meet you to remind you who was in charge here.

“Count it, girl,” he rasped, breathing raggedly as he soothed your skin that had been marked already upon the impact of his with veins riddled hand. “C’mon, be good for Daddy and let me hear it.”

“Ten,” you sniffled, regret creeping in until you were completely submerged. Leon had the stereotypical strength of every elderly man who’d spent decades doing manual labor, a very dense, functional strength, though you wouldn’t perceive at first glance (his statue did however support the presupposition). But you certainly felt it now, entirely at your Daddy’s mercy, forced to play the cards you’d been dealt – your fault, shoulders shrugged, mind you.

“Aw, poor baby,” he cooed condescendingly, rubbing your butt and smirking to himself. “Is my little girl crying, yes?”

“Yes,” you whined, wiggling your butt to flee from his grip but it transgressed into him growling out of pure frustration, his hand hitting you so hard you yelped, “I’m sorry, Dad!”

“Zip it,” he warned, bending over to get closer to your face, utilizing his other hand to grip your chin with no chance left to move anymore. “You know you’re not sorry. You were bad today, weren’t you?”

“No, Daddy,” you mewed, your lips jutting out into a pout. “I wasn’t. I only wanted to show you how much I missed you.”

“Yeah? And that involves sending naughty pictures to Daddy while he’s at work speaking to the fucking President of the United States, huh?” he seethed, his breath fanning over your cheek. “You never fucking learn, do ya?”

“I didn’t know!”

“Cut it out,” he countered angrily, another brutal smack landing on your perky buttocks. “Count it. C’mon.”

“Dada –“

“I said,” he groaned through his teeth, cutting you off, clean slices. “Fucking count it.”

Quite the curveball, but you couldn’t. The man in leather jackets, nursing his expensive whiskey, was done here, he was not having it with you anymore. Worse still, he absolutely loved seeing you like this. To be looked upon as a monumental person in your life was too satisfactory of a victory he had no intention of giving it up, ever. You were his baby, no questions asked, it was embedded into the ground like a cornerstone, and like a good father should, lay his girls foundation of the world by showing her what was right and what was wrong. Even if it meant it had to hurt a little.

“Aw, is it getting hard to speak?” he purred, kissing you featherily. “Let’s do simple math then, little lady. I know you’re smart. What’s one plus ten?”

“Eleven,” you quipped to his wit.

“There you go,” he chuckled warmly with half-lidded, lustful eyes. Then added all high and mighty: “See? You do listen when you want to. When there’s a will, there’s a way, sweetheart.”

“No more, Dada,” you pleaded, ignoring his fatherly non-sense, biting your bottom lip and looking him in the eye. “No more spanking.”

“Aw, it’s too much for you already?” Squeezing the plumpness of your ass, he grazed his lips over your skin, his stubble slightly tickling you. “But you’re gonna take it, no? You said you wanted to be good for me.”

“I am good, Papa! I am!”

“Well, guess what’s for dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he asked, a tone so cocky it almost played a wagging finger at you. And he didn’t let you guess either. “A big old slice of be-have-your self, and Daddy’s gonna make sure you leave the plate empty. Understood?”

“Your joke wasn’t funny, Daddy.”

“Oh, I know it wasn’t funny to you, sweetheart,” he snickered, very much amused at the wordplay at hand. “Especially not for what I have planned.”

“Wait,” you quivered panicky, but definitely understandable, considering Leon was able to play extremely dirty. “What?”

“Do you remember Henry?”

No two ways about it. You did.

Hook, line and sinker.

Thus, your throat went as dry as a well out of water. You gulped – well, tried to. It hurt, and while you could explain it, admitting what your Daddy was referring to was definitely too much of a shameful gamble. Before you met him, you had – let’s say – certain ways of satisfying your needs. These, a-hem, tools could vibrate, came in cute colors like pink or purple, and were available in different sizes. Well, Leon here, had found one while snooping around in your bedroom once. In lack of better words: it was an invasion of privacy, but not like he cared. He was looking out for you. Like a father should. Right. He was appalled at first, and, comically enough, had his ego bruised that you still kept one in your nightstand.

Until a bright idea flickered in his mind, that he could use it on you – to make you squirm, to make you moan, to make you cry, all while you were confined to the bed, unable to flee from the calamity. He made sure, no, Leon put you to a test of how well of a student you could be. Whatever you tried would be used as a weapon, turned against you, to tranquilize your maverick energy for his own benefit.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do.”

“Well, our friend should come over tonight. Don’t you think?”

“No! No, please, no,” you begged, trying to kiss him now, but to no avail. He withdrew from your face.

“You don’t like Henry?” he asked innocently, pretending he was a real living and breathing human being. “Young lady, that’s not nice.”

“I don’t like Henry,” you whined. “I like you. I want you, Daddy.”

“’S that so, yeah?” Shifting his gaze back to your ass, he chuckled, “Well, I already called Henry. He’s coming over. No if and buts, dollface.”

“But –“

“I said, no if and buts. Hear me?”