ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧

Leon Kennedy was a man who carried great prestige on his shoulders, yet when he was off duty, he preferred to be called only by his first name. Leon never felt he should brag about himself, so he preferred to act like a normal, discreet civilian. So if you hadn't been curious enough to ask his friend Chris who Leon was, you wouldn't know much about him.

After all, how could you not pay attention to that mysterious man who showed up at the bar religiously every Friday? Visibly older, covered in muscles that showed every time he wore a shorter shirt, or dark blond hair that always seemed to be messed up in the sexiest way possible. Oh, and the blue eyes that always seemed to be looking into your soul? The man looked like he had stepped straight out of a movie.

Discreet was an adjective that didn't describe how secretive Leon was about himself, and by chance, you had your eyes on him from the first time you saw him, and then came the sudden curiosity about him. It was mutual, because Leon was observant enough to notice that you came to the same bar as him, on the same days and at the same times, and he had a strong suspicion that you were watching him to find out his routine.

It bothered him at first, but after a few flirtatious glances and smiles, he fell for it. He could be many things, but at the end of the day he was just a man, and he couldn't resist when it came to a good drink and the bonus of a beautiful woman.

One thing led to another, and after a devilishly stressful week, what could be more relaxing than a good drink and possibly taking you to bed? He already had ambitious plans for the whole night, and when, after some flirting and a few wandering hands here and there, you agreed to go to a motel with him, his mood suddenly improved.

Once in the room, Leon let you wander around, admiring things as if you had never seen anything like it before. He took his time approaching you, a little awkwardly at first, but soon found his place behind you.

“Do you like it?” he asks, playing with the strap of your dress.

You nodded vigorously, giving him a slight smile that answered him as well as the nod.

“Very well, maybe you should get used to it...” he said, leaving the innuendo hanging in the air.

And before you could answer, his hands found your waist and pulled you close, with a grip that made you let out a gasp of surprise. He held you tight, holding you with a strong grip that was incredibly warm somehow.

“You still remember how to do it…” You joke, placing your hands under his biceps and feeling them flex under your fingers, which, incidentally, give them a firm squeeze to better feel the muscles.

He then chuckles, and it seems genuine from the sparkle in his eyes. Naughty.

“I know better than most people...” He says as he smirks at you, pulling you toward him and stealing a peck on the lips.

With a speed you thought was almost superhuman, he had you lying on the bed, legs spread to accommodate him between them, and he fit perfectly there, in just the right place.

Seeing your surprised expression, he knew he had you in the palm of his hand, just as he wanted. Without delay, he kissed you hard on the lips, his hot mouth pressing firmly against yours, moving against you in perfect harmony, just as when he put his tongue inside your mouth, his wet muscle wrapping around yours with otherworldly precision, almost leaving you breathless just from the kiss.

You even thought Leon wouldn't be so forward, but when you felt his hands wandering over your body, and without any innocence going straight for your ass, you realized you were very wrong. He squeezed you, pulled you close, made you rub against the tent that formed in his pants, a complete bastard, and didn't hide anything at that moment.

In the blink of an eye, he slipped his hand under your panties, tracing your slit, threatening to touch you but never following through, just his fingertips on your warm cunt. He then placed his thumb on your clit, caressing it while still kissing you, silencing your noises. He played with your clit, flicking it from time to time but never keeping his movements fixed there.

His fingers were skilled, once he slid them inside you he already knew exactly what to do, he didn't take long to go deep, twisting his fingers and staring at you, trying to find that sweet spot he knew was there.

“Here...” You moan, holding his fist and guiding his movements. And it was like giving a gun to someone who wants to kill you, because at that very moment he pressed his fingers into a sweet spot on your spongy walls, making you see stars.

Leon grinned slightly when he saw how easy it was to get you in that state, writhing and whimpering so slyly. It was beautiful to see how responsive you were, just seeing your nipples harden in front of him was all he needed to make his cock throb inside his pants.

And in a moment, he lowered his face and took one of your nipples in his mouth, letting you enjoy the sensation of his tongue wrapping around your breast as he sucked you loudly and obscenely, giving you light bites from time to time.

That, combined with the fact that he was still fingering you, was maddening, and you found yourself gasping even more with everything at once.

With his fingers moving incessantly inside you, slowly curving and hitting several pleasurable spots along with the flicks he was giving you, you already knew it wouldn't last long. The way his fingers were already covered in your juices was a big indication.

After he was satisfied sucking on your breast, he left you with a small ‘pop’ sound, looking at your breasts and licking his lips just from seeing you like that. If it were up to him, he would spend the whole night licking and nibbling on them.

“Leon, I'm close, close—” you gasped, your hands desperately pulling at the covers so you could anchor yourself.

“You're going to get there, why don't I show you, mh?” He purrs, scissoring you while taking the opportunity to massage your clit with his thumb, putting strong pressure on your sensitive little buddy.

You called his name in a breathy tone, followed by a whisper that warned him you were close, but honestly, it's not like he didn't know that. He could feel you clenching against him, or did you think the way you were moaning and writhing beneath him wasn't a big enough clue?

“So why don't you come, hm?” He whispers, sounding like a little devil in your ear as he caresses your clit, maliciously taking advantage of the moment to give your poor little friend a hard slap.

At that moment, all you could hear was the wet sounds of his fingers going in and out of you, besides your heavy breathing, but once you decided to look him in the eyes and he responded with a roguish smile, my God, you were done for.

And you clenched around him, your eyes closing tightly as you arched your back, feeling like you were seeing stars, and in a way, you were. Because nothing could beat the delicious feeling of coming on his fingers, your body responded so obediently to his command that he felt his cock throb at the same moment, just seeing your folds painting his thick fingers was enough to drive his imagination wild.

“It wasn't difficult, was it?” He asks, watching as you struggle for air beneath him, your chest rising and falling as you gasp heavily.

You laugh breathlessly, opening your eyes to look at him for the first time after orgasm, only to receive a tug on your lip. Leon didn't waste much time in nibbling your lower lip as a way to distract you from the fact that he was already undoing his pants. You only realized it from the sound of his belt coming undone. He was quick at what he did, a lot of practice led to that.

He made a point of taking off his shirt, leaving him completely naked in front of you. And if he wasn't a sight for sore eyes, the man was a machine of muscles that looked like they had been hand-sculpted. Even with his age, he seemed to be in top shape, and not even the scars were able to erase everything he had.

You bite your lip, looking him up and down as you assess him. Six-pack abs, huge, meaty biceps, toned thighs, and a mouthwatering cock. Pink head, full of veins and eagerly hard for you, with a line of delicious precum dripping from the tip. And big enough to make you clamp your thighs together in anticipation, you were certainly in for a ride.

Without much ceremony, he returned to the bed, kissing you wetly on the lips as he helped you sit up, and to your surprise, he wasn't going to do mommy and daddy, he actually had very different plans.

He turned you over onto the mattress, putting you on all fours and pressing your face against the soft surface. For some reason, Leon wasn't the type who liked to look into the eyes of casual encounters, and he was demonstrating this perfectly to you. His hand held your head so you couldn't look at him.

On your back, you felt his warmth, his chest pressed against your back as he pressed himself against you, kissing your back lightly to distract you from what he was about to do. And for a brief moment you felt breathless when his bulbous tip invaded you, and he took his sweet time, sinking into you inch by inch, until you felt completely filled with him, and he did it masterfully. The man grunted with the feeling of being nestled so well, you curled up so perfectly that he found himself wondering if anyone had ever managed to do something so delicious.

“Tight fit... Just perfect, don't you think...?” He pronounces, giving you a light and deep thrust, his tip going so deep that you couldn't even imagine. He was just making you feel every inch of him, as he should.

“Good... Yes... That’s good...” you murmur between moans and whimpers, your eyes rolling back in your head with each thrust of his hips against yours, making his cock go deep into that sweet spot, only for him to pull out again and slowly sink into you, repeating the cycle viciously.

You hear him chuckle followed by a groan, the hand pressing your head against the mattress pulls your hair, making you lift your head a little so he can at least understand what you're saying.

“Are you already cockdrunk, sweetheart?” Leon purrs, and just him calling you sweetheart makes you clench around him in such a pathetic way, as if he had said the dirtiest thing in the world to you.

He grunted in response, and in retaliation, he pulled out of you completely, leaving you empty and desperate for a few seconds, but before you could protest anything, you felt the tip of him at your entrance, slowly rubbing against your wet opening. You then arched your hips, a sly moan escaping your lips as you almost desperately rubbed against him and searched for any kind of friction.

“Why don't you use your words...? Huh? I can't understand you if you don't speak...” He teases, giving your clit a little pat with his cock.

“Oh please… Please…” you beg, moving your hips back and forth, your hands gripping the sheets as tightly as you can.

“That sounds sweet… But I know you can do better…” Leon says in a mocking tone, enjoying the way you once again beg him coyly.

You gather your words and beg once more, whimpering like a slut, lifting your ass up to him even more, like a bitch in heat.You couldn't see him, but you could feel his smile on his face when he saw what you did, patting your ass as a sign of approval.

“Atta girl.” He grunted, sliding into you all at once, without giving you any warning of what he was going to do.

You didn't even have time to breathe when he started pounding into you, faster than before, still taking his time to push deep inside you, making sure you felt every inch, every vein, every bit of him.

With the wet slapping sounds of him entering and leaving you continuously, it was all that echoed in the room, his balls slapping against your skin, which, in addition to the obscene noise, made you roll your eyes every time it hit your clit just right.

His cock moved in and out almost viciously, and all you could hear from Leon were his grunts, which he couldn't hold back even though he tried hard. Your wet heat was like he was inside a paradise he didn't want to leave anytime soon. And suddenly, he grabbed you, reaching down to hug you and rubbing himself against you, and soon after, before you could ask any questions, he whispered breathlessly to you:

“Are you going to take it? You know you will, as you should.” Serious and bossy words, and you understood why soon after.

Leon began to pump his hips into you, humping against you as if he were a dog in heat with no control, focused only on eating the pussy he wanted so badly. It was far from gentle, each thrust of his hips into you was a moan he pulled from the back of your throat.

Leon's fucking was dirty, mixed with the sounds of your moans and his grunts every time he sank into you, your mind a hot mess every time he went into you, the way he was holding on to you was maddening, every movement of his hips hitting you made you clench around him, and in return he gave you a hard stroke as punishment, the kind that made the bed shake and creak more than usual.

And in one of those moments, you felt you were close, your pussy clenching and relaxing around him desperately, every sensation of his tip hitting the right spot making your legs even more shaky. And then you came, your walls spasming around Leon's cock as you came on him, your eyes closed tightly and your mouth open as you moaned, even drooling in the process because it felt so good.

And Leon was just a man, the poor guy couldn't hold out for long when your walls tightened around him, and you gave him the delicious sensation of coming on him, of making a mess on his cock, and soon he felt his balls pulsing, he already knew he was there.

And he quickly pulled out of you, jerking himself off a few times, and soon spurting hot, thick jets of his cum on your back and ass, moaning softly as he did so. You felt the heat run down you, and it made you clench around nothing for some reason.

He still held your hips while catching his breath, but you still felt him take a towel and wipe you down, very gently, then letting you lie down since your trembling legs were a sign that you couldn't hold that position much longer.

Before you could even turn around, you heard the sound of his belt, followed by the sound of clothes rubbing against each other, a clear sign that he was getting ready to leave.

When you turned to look at him, he was adjusting his pants, zipping them up without even glancing at you. He was methodical, not missing a beat as he made the final adjustments to his clothes.

The man was pure business, even when he took out a small card with his number on it and handed it to you, his gaze was cold, and strangely charming.

“Here, you can call if you want,” he said, tilting his head as you examine the card.

With what little shame you had left, you covered yourself and put the card in your purse, turning away for a brief second, a satisfied smile appearing on your lips as you stared at his figure.

“So... shall we do this again sometime?” The question was provocative, but there was a slight air of anticipation on your part. Well, with your legs trembling and that feeling of pleasure coursing through your body, how could you not want more?

He then finally looked you up and down, contemplating something until he let out a breath through his nose, perhaps a laugh, a humorous sigh, hard to tell.

“Same place, same day and time. Be on time.” From his tone, you could swear he was talking about some mission, something like that, but it was about you.

“But... Only next week...?” You ask with a forced pout, looking at him with a mischievous look.

He seemed surprised, and to your delight, he didn't seem to reject the idea, at least he was thinking about it. And you were already expecting a no given his coldness at times, but the reaction was different.

With silent steps, he walked up to you, sneaking up until he was in front of you, one hand cupping your cheek while holding your face firmly, eyes fixed on you.

“Stay tonight...” You whisper, not taking your eyes off him for a second.

Unexpectedly, he pressed his face against yours, slowly pressing his body against yours and pushing you back onto the bed, pinning you against him and leaving you with no way out.

His breath was warm against your cheek, you could feel his lips brushing against your soft skin as if they were light caresses, his free hand that wasn't holding your face soon ended up on your waist, under the blanket you were using as protection, and you felt the warmth of his calloused fingers on your skin.

A light chuckle in your ear was all it took for you to press your legs together, and then he murmured in a hoarse voice that was enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Don't make me regret this...” That was all he said before kissing your ear, once again staring at you with those striking blue eyes.

Once he heard your little laugh, he was on top of you again, like a hungry man. And you had asked for it, hadn't you? So he, like a gentleman, would spend the whole night with you.

The gun weighs less than it used to — for one, Leon has amassed a decent amount of muscle in his arms so everything feels lighter. And, he’s become so used to it — the shooting, not the killing — that he’s actually a decent shot. He’s no Chris Redfield STARS Alpha Team winner of every sharpshooting contest since he began working at the RPD, but Leon’s one of four who escaped the RPD in ‘98 so it’s safe to say he knows what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing. Killing. They’re not people anymore. Anymore. They used to be people. Every death fills him with a greater void, it empties him, makes him feel nothing.

Leon will do anything in the name of escapism. Sometimes he thinks the only reason he’s never done hard drugs is because he doesn’t know any dealers. Weekdays are for work - 9 to 5 most of the time. Then, he goes home to drink until he passes out on the couch. Leon only sleeps when he has a woman next to him. The women who sleep with him are usually impressed that his sheets are fresh, but unbeknownst to them he hasn’t changed them in two months. He doesn’t like his bedroom. He has to resign himself to his own loneliness when he stumbles through the doorway alone. There’s something different about the couch. It’s a liminal space, an in-between, something he can deal with. He can pretend he’ll just rest his eyes for a moment, and he can pretend that this isn’t just his life now. It’s a phase. It’ll end.

It could. It would only take one bullet.

Something in his brain clicks and he realizes he just needs another glass of whiskey and he’ll feel better. It’s not divine intervention leading him away from suicide, and it’s not an intrinsic belief of a greater purpose. It’s just that he’s sobering up real quick right now. A gun entering one’s proximity tends to invoke that kind of feeling.

On his short trek to the kitchen to refill his glass, he realizes that this is actually good for him. It’s one of those self-care techniques his therapist suggested. Well, okay, not exactly. She asked him to tell her what keeps him from these feelings and he lied and said some bullshit about family and friends, but what he meant was: alcohol. And, down the hatch it goes. A quick and easy solution. Now, Leon’s not thinking about all that fucked up BOW shit. No undead children, no shooting the president, not Spain or China or anywhere else. Now that he has a little shot of completely unfounded self-confidence, he needs to make it everyone else’s problem. Or at least, the local female population.

Everyone knows Leon has a drinking problem, not everyone knows about the sex addiction. It’s really a shame, though. Getting laid sounds much cooler than blacking out with a half-empty liquor bottle on the table next to him. Yeah, Leon’s almost 40 and he still fucks. Sometimes. When his dick works. 

If Leon had known how often he’d have trouble getting it up when he was in his 20’s, he would’ve killed himself. He doesn’t have the same shame anymore. You can get Viagra in the mail. He knows this personally.

One time, a woman he was sleeping with graciously grabbed the package from the door and watched him open it. They stopped talking when she left that day, and it didn’t matter because there was no way he could face her after that. Not that they really ever fucked face-to-face. It wasn’t like that between the two of them. 

Leon met a new chick recently, a younger chick, much younger. Way too much fucking younger. He met her at a goddamn coffee shop. She wrote her number on his receipt with her name and a heart. What was he supposed to do? Not call? He’d have to find another place to get his coffee. Plus, she reminds younger version of Claire — the one girl he could never have. The one girl he assumes might have some attraction to men. He’s yet to get Jill into bed, but the odds are stacked against him there. Not his fault she’s a lesbian.

This girl’s fucked in the head. He’s known this since the moment she took interest in him. In what way? He wasn’t quite sure yet. Probably some shit with her parents. Trying to piss them off by dating some sleazebag, or whatever. He wants no part of that. Leon’s got enough family issues already, and no family to show for it.

She cried after they had sex for the first time. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left a woman disappointed but he was at least 85% sure the orgasm she had wasn’t fake, and his dick was working fine. Until the tears came. Then it went completely limp and hung between his legs like a sad, deflated balloon.

Instead of leaving, she clung to him, and the revelation hit him. He was right about the parental thing. Leon knows what its like to not be held enough as a child. Holding her while she cried was the first time Leon had hugged someone in years.

He wasn’t drunk enough to forget that. So now, he’s holding a gun to his head because there’s no other way out of this. She’s in love with him. She hasn’t said it yet, but he’s pretty sure she will. And he cannot love her. Leon doesn’t have the capacity for that anymore. It’s not that he’s too cynical or worn down, that’s only part of it, but he’s got too much grief taking up all the space he’s got for love in his soul. 

The next time they see each other, because, of course, Leon’s too much of a pussy to go through with it, she doesn’t say the ‘L’ word, which makes him so happy he nearly says it to her. Until, she says another word. The ‘D’ word. Not ‘dick’. Leon says ‘dick’ all the time — ‘my dick’, ‘your dick’, ‘you’re a dick’, ‘this sucks dick’, ‘suck my dick’, ‘please, suck my dick’, etc. It’s a word Leon doesn’t remember saying ever, really. Daddy. D-A-D-D-Y. Leon has definitely said ‘mommy’ before. Both to his own mother and to women who looked a lot like her. He never really had a good relationship with his father, not the kind where he ever called his father ‘daddy’. The first ‘D’ word suited his old man better. So does a third: dead.

Leon, unfortunately, due to his cowardice, is not dead. However, he’d be a total dick (and would earn his dick zero affection) if he turned down her proposition to become her ‘daddy’. Not her father. It’s not like he’s adopting her. This whole arrangement is fucked up enough already, best not to add any more layers.

Okay, fine, whatever. He’ll be ‘daddy’ because who the fuck cares anymore, right? If he doesn’t like it, he can just kill himself, he thinks. Or, as she suggests, he could just tell her it makes him uncomfortable. But, that’s a little too vulnerable for him. Regardless, he’s agreed to worse propositions before. Like, becoming a federal agent, for example — though, that proposition was what some may call blackmail.

Unlike the whole DSO gig, he ends up enjoying the ‘daddy’ thing quite a bit. A bit too much. He gets so used to baby talk and speaking in the third person that it spills over into his working hours. As per usual, he’s been fantasizing about sex for most of the day because literally everything about his job is boring when it’s not life-threatening.

When he gets up to take his lunch (an hour or so early), Hunnigan asks him, “Where are you going?”

To which he responds, “Daddy’s just going to get something to eat. He— I mean, I’ll be right back. I’m taking my lunch early.”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

The answer is, and has always been: no.

“Never better,” he says with finger guns just to make things weirder.

He’ll blame the whole thing on the lack of sleep if Hunnigan brings it up but, knowing her, she probably won’t. She does not want to venture into that side of his life. Leon knows this for certain as he’s asked her out. More than once. She’s probably a lesbian too, he likes to think.

Leon doesn’t eat lunch during work hours. Instead, he, shamefully, jerks off in his car. An added perk of tinted windows. He’s deep in the parking garage anyway (even though he has a spot reserved near the elevators).

These days, he rarely gets the post-masturbation clear-headedness that he used to. The only real change one the blood has rushed back to his brain is that his ever-present headache is far more noticeable.

Every time, he swears it’ll be the last. Just one more, he thinks. Just one phone call is the same as just one drink. Impossible. Texting his baby girl pairs well with a glass of red wine. Or white wine. Or whiskey. Or a shot of NyQuil. That one makes him real drowsy, and no longer responsible for his actions. Actions including the weird fucking sex he keeps having. Kinky? No. Kinky is spanking or bondage or whatever other weird things normal people do. This is the kind of freaky shit that weird people do.

It doesn’t matter when you’re beneath him, smiling like he’s god’s greatest gift to the world. Leon knows that if god is real, he certainly didn’t make Leon. Leon was more likely a science project gone wrong. Regardless, he was definitely an accident. His father admitted this to him when he was too young to know how babies could be accidental things.

You, on the other hand, are an angel. A good girl who was probably put in his life to teach him a lesson, like in those made-for-TV movies where the scumbag learns gratitude or kindness.

However, this is merely exposition. He’s close to climax but so, so far from any sort of resolution. There’s a certain stubbornness inside him that forbids him from examining his actions too much. So, some fucked up version of himself takes control and before he knows it, he’s telling you how pretty your princess parts look.

When he was younger, a woman in lingerie did wonders for him. When he got older, it no longer mattered what underwear she was wearing — it was more about getting to the prize hidden behind them. Now, all it takes is cotton panties with a little bow and some polka dots to get him going.

He likes to keep them on, to tease you through them, to tease you underneath them. It doesn’t help that you refuse to wear pants around the house. And, it certainly doesn’t help when Leon asks to go remote for awhile. He deserves it. He nearly gets killed every time they send him on a mission and then they make him go sit in an office. It’s downright rude.

He’s young enough to understand the basic technology but old enough to get incredibly pissed off when he can’t remember the password to his email. Virtual meetings, as it turns out, bring him quite a bit of stress. You don’t. Quite the opposite, actually. You crawl under his desk and unzip his pants while he’s logging onto a call. He peers down at you and raises an eyebrow. You look up at him and smile.

Okay. Fuck it. It’s not like anyone will know, and he won’t have to tell you to shut up when his cock is down your throat. He’s gripping the edge of the desk, saying things like “uh-huh”, “right”, “let me get back to you on that”, or anything that’s not insanely dirty and would get him fired. No, not fired, that’d be a blessing. Killed, probably. No, that’d be good too. The point is something bad would happen if they knew what was happening. Maybe he’d get a spanking. That’s what you get when you’re “in trouble”.

You know his body too well. You know he’s close even if he’s trying to hide it. You pull off — not that he expects you to swallow, he just thinks you probably will but instead, you keep your hand steady, wrapped around his length, close your eyes and open your mouth, ready to take what he’s ready to give.

He slams the laptop closed and paints your face white. Even prettier than before, he thinks.

He has to lift you by the armpits, carry you to the bathroom, and deposit you on the edge of the sink. He takes a washcloth, wet with warm water, and wipes your face clean.

“Keep you eyes closed,” he tells you even after he’s done so he can plant a kiss on your lips.

When he does, he can taste himself. Just bitter enough to make him grimace.

God, you must really love him, he thinks. Because just thinking about swallowing a mouthful of that makes him want to down a bottle of Listerine. Which is something that was confiscated from him long ago. If you’re supposed to spit mouthwash out, then, why make it so tolerable?

Blame it on the corporations. Not because he has the energy to think about his principles, but because he needs a villain, and it can’t be him. And, it sure as hell isn’t you.

You’re too sweet. So sweet he caves to your every wish. Fuck me, love me, spit in my mouth, please. It’s always a yes from him. Slap me, was fine with him too. (No, in the face daddy, took a little while to get used to but you said daddy so nicely that he couldn’t resist).

Usually it’s some sex thing, or not sex — because he’s not allowed to call it that — but this time it’s different.

“I want Labubu, daddy,” you announce, breaking a perfectly good silence.

“You want what?” It sounds vaguely French, and Leon only knows words like Chardonnay and Cabernet etc. “Is that a sex thing?”

“No,” you huff. “I’ll show you.”

You bring him your phone and show him a picture of a weird-looking doll.

You’re kidding me, right? he thinks.

You pout, giving him those big eyes he can’t say ‘no’ to.

“Fine. Just add them to your cart and I’ll pay for them.”

Leon spends hundreds on whatever the fuck “Labubu” is.

But what else was he going to do with it? Spend it on booze?

He’s the one who starts asking if the toys can turn around during sex because he feels like ‘Labubu’ is about to curse his his lineage for the next ten generations with that grin on its face. More like ‘la voodoo’, he thinks. It’ll probably bite his dick off with those teeth sticking out.

He swears he can feel its gaze from behind him, and it’s difficult for him to stay hard when the thought won’t leave his mind.

Until you say something that shocks him like he’s stuck his finger inside an electrical socket.

“I wish you were my real dad.”

He short-circuits. It’s so much worse than he thought. You’re both so sick in the head. He’ll fuck the idea out of your brain. Harder, harder, harder. Until the brief silence before the bliss wears off.

Before he can get himself too strung out about it, he finds another distraction. He always does.

In a consistent attempt to ignore the massive void inside him that is nothing but grief trying to plant roots in the sand, its tendrils swirling around in the pit of his stomach with nowhere else to go, he lets himself sweat the small stuff. He can find a new way to piss himself off every day if it means not examining his psyche. Not getting a package delivered on time, burning the roof of his mouth on formerly-frozen pizza — that kind of thing.

“I’m gonna kill myself,” he groans at what should be a minor inconvenience.

He doesn’t even mean it. If Leon was ever going to kill himself, he would’ve been dead years ago.

“Leon,” you say, letting the word hang in the air, forcing him to reach out and grab it.

Forcing him respond to the name you should be calling him. The name you used to call him. But now, in this tone, you sound like Claire, he thinks. Your voice is somehow both pitying and chiding simultaneously.

“Sorry, baby,” he says. “I didn’t mean it.”

You look unsatisfied, which is, not only a real slight to his pride, but also simply out of the ordinary.

“What,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, subconsciously analyzing the volume its lost.

If he catches one gray hair on his head the next time he looks in the mirror, he’ll surely kill himself.

“I’m worried about you,” you say, quieter, like it’s some sort of secret.

“Don’t be,” he says.

Enough people are already worried about him. Out of love? Maybe. Out of pity? Sure. Out of necessity? Yeah. Leon’s good with a gun.

Except when he’s not.

When he holds it to his head in the middle of the night after a little too much time spent thinking. Each time he ends up putting it away, locking it in his bedside drawer, keeping it safe. Keeping you safe.

You’ve asked him to teach you how to fight before.

“With what? A knife?” Because, of course, no guns for a baby girl like you.

“No,” you say, appalled at his suggestion. “Like, self-defense.”

“You wanna pepper spray me? ‘Cause, honestly, it’s pretty effective.”

“Is that some sort of kink for you?”

“No. God, no. I’m not a freak.”

Well, he is, but not like that.

“You said you wanted to learn self-defense, and based on experience…” He gestures vaguely, realizing he’s backed himself into an embarrassing corner.

“Huh? Has a girl… done that to you…?” You look scared, like somehow you don’t know him. And, you know him. Way too well.

“No, no. I… did it to myself… wanted to see if it works…”

He was 20 years old and stupid. Really stupid, considering he’d watched someone else do it first. The police academy was brutal. He had to do a whole hundred push-ups with tears in his eyes. And then, to those who hadn’t witnessed the initial incident, it looked like he was crying over push-ups.

And then, you’re laughing. Laughing so hard you get teary-eyed.

“See? Decades later and the singular spritz is still making people cry.”

There’s a glint in your eye. He sees the hit coming quickly enough to grab you by the wrist before your fist makes contact.

“Were you seriously—?” And then the wind is knocked out of him by your elbow.

When he gets enough air back in his lungs to talk, he says, “I’m proud of you, baby.” Another cough and a wheeze. “That was a good one.”

Standing there all flustered, knowing daddy’s proud of you, he has enough time to recover and throw you over his shoulder before you can dodge him.

“Daddy,” you whine.

“This is a learning experience,” he says, carrying you to the bedroom. “Should’ve kicked me in the balls when you had the chance.”

You’d never kick him in the balls—you like that part of him too much. That’s another thing Leon doesn’t understand, but when they’re in your mouth, he doesn’t have a mind to over-analyze it.

He throws you down onto the mattress and keeps you pinned down by the wrists.

“But you got too busy thinking about making daddy proud,” he whispers.

Even when he’s taunting you, it makes you melt. So entranced that your protests are gone. Not that you’re quiet. Not at all. Not when Leon sucks on your tits like he’s in love with them.

But Daddy’s not perfect. Sometimes his head gets foggy too. Sometimes he forgets he’s supposed to be playing with you, taking care of you, (or whatever pretense or euphemism you use to get him into bed that day), and he ends up rutting into the mattress with his mouth on fixated on one breast.

Leon’s drowned out your noises by now. Not that he doesn’t enjoy hearing your voice, especially in such a state, but it’s more symphony than testimony so it all just blends together — quite nicely. So, when he ignores your pleas, he feels your hands on the crown of his head, pushing him down. A gesture that needs no accompanying words regardless.

Drunk on nothing, his eyes flit to yours and he finds his own arousal mirrored. It takes all his willpower not to give in, to keep teasing you, which only drags him closer to the edge.

He lifts himself up so his face is level with yours. “Need something from Daddy?” he asks, dipping down to kiss your cheeks.

“Need Daddy,” you confirm.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Need Daddy to touch me.”

“Touch you where?”

You whine, kick your legs in frustration. You hate saying the words that you insisted he use. But you love to hear them. Your embarrassment is a facade and so is Leon’s disgust. God, he wants to hate this.

“Your princess parts?” he asks, looking you in the eye.

You nod, shrinking into the pillows in embarrassment. At the words you taught him.

“I’ll go check on them,” he mumbles, making his way down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your panties. Soaked. “Sweetheart, did you pee in your panties?” He knows you didn’t. And, honestly, even if you had, he wouldn’t give that much of a fuck anymore. A piss kink would be less fucked-up, he thinks. Alas, his psyche wasn’t kind enough to just leave him with one of those.

“No! I’m a big girl. I don’t do that.”

“How come these are all wet, then, huh?” He plays with the fabric, running his fingers along your clothing-covered slit.

He earns a sharp intake of breath from you. “It’s your fault, daddy.”

“It’s my fault? I haven’t even touched them yet, baby.”

You huff in frustration, tired of his rhetorical questions, and there’s no way he can stop himself from giving into his own urges when you beg him for something he wants as badly as you do.

So, he pulls the thin fabric to the side and wastes no time getting his dick inside you. Not the whole thing of course. Just the tip ‘cause he’s he’s nice like that.

You look appalled when you realize he doesn’t plan on giving you any more than that. If you had words to say, they get lost between your lungs and your lips. Your face says enough for him, as do your hips which buck up in a futile attempt to take control.

He can’t help but laugh a little at how pathetic you look trying so hard to get him to fuck you. It’s a cruel sound.

When he finally gives in and thrusts into you fully, he can see the bulge in your abdomen.

“Look, baby,” he says, looking down when he catches your eye, guiding you to the gorgeous sight. “See how deep daddy is inside you?”

You gaze at the sight, awestruck.

“You like it?” he asks as he increases his pace.

You nod, almost frantic like you know you won’t be able to respond in a moment.

He can tell how hard you try to keep your eyes open, to watch as he fucks you but you can’t. They flutter closed and you reach out to grasp onto him instead.

He leans forward, fucking you deeper from this angle. He would be worried about coming too quickly if he couldn’t see your impending orgasm.

It might wash over you like a gentle wave of pleasure, but it squeezes the life out of Leon. He couldn’t pull out if he wanted to—maybe he could, if he really tried, but you’re on the pill, and if you had the strength for words you’d beg him, and—

Before a near-infinite amount of excuses can flood Leon’s brain, he fills you to the brim. His ears ring with moans he hopes are yours. God, does he really sound like that? That’d be pathetic, so he likes to imagine all he lets out is some sort of grunt—anything that’s less emasculating.

Whatever. It feels so fucking good that he’s almost grateful that god gave him a refractory period because if he didn’t have time for the sense of shame to overcome him, he’d keep going forever. Like one of those lab rats that gets rewarded so hard that it forgets to eat, he’d just fuck until he dies of starvation.

God, you’re a fucking hand grenade wearing angel wings. You’re going to kill him and it’ll be beautiful.